No Rest for the Wicked

As I write this, I’m sitting in my caravan. I can hardly move for fatigue. I’m actually surprised by the speed my fingers seem to be typing with because I can’t imagine ever summoning that kind of energy again. And yet… tap tap tap… there they go!

Every part of me is sore. Including stupid things, like my speedy little fingers. Last night we pulled off a near miracle. A good thing too, what with last night’s performance being the premiere in my circus’ home town. As if the dramatic arts weren’t dramatic enough on their own…

The night before last, the night of the dress rehearsal, A was too sick to perform. So we put together some half-assed run where we mimed his presence and handed out his cues. My personal favourite moment would have been when 52 year old P pretended to do A’s strap act, bare-chested and all.

A is a fighter. I’ve seen him continue a show after crashing head first into the floor. And that too was a dress rehearsal. He could have stopped and it wouldn’t have mattered. He performed on a torn bicep for a ridiculous period of time. He is too proud, too stubborn, too good sit out.

Which is why I surely don’t need to tell you how shocked we were when, the morning of the premiere, we were told he would not be doing the show.

We were all so convinced that he would be up and moving come show time that we didn’t have a plan “B”. There was talk of canceling the premiere! Telling 1000 people to stay home. One thousand and one if you count the Dutch photographer who was coming in for one night only to get pictures for the Dutch portion of the tour.

Shit.

Phone calls were made. The beginning of the show was reworked, the group act was adapted. A replacement was found, but he only arrived some time after 16h00. He learned A's act and, as C and I basically sit on stage looking pretty the entire strap act, we coached him as he ran it. By the time we managed to go over everything, we were all late for the preset.

Somehow, we made it through. Under circumstances like that, I don't think there's any other choice. I suppose it's part of the magic of live performance. But I'm good for magic for the next little while. So let's have things get back to normal. Okay? Okay.

La Trame

Back in February, I had mentioned going in for a La Trame treatment. While some effects were immediate, the treatment works over 21 days so I wasn't really in a position to go into much detail about the effects of the treatment.

March 15th was the 21 day mark, and let me tell you, I was not disappointed. Not only were the effects noticeable, they were pretty monumental.

As I mentioned in a previous post, when I arrived in Blagnac after a month-and-a-half hiatus, I suddenly found myself free of fear or nervousness when performing my act. Moreover, I felt incredibility grounded. I felt extremely open, giving, and easily able to connect to the audience. I smiled more and more naturally that I ever had before. I felt so at ease on stage and each performance was truly a joy to do. Even technically I felt lighter, smoother and more like an aerialist that and an acrobat. And the best part? It wasn't a one shot deal. Night after night, I was able to perform in this free and easy way.

Circus being what it is, it didn't last forever, but the rock is still there.

The other major effect, which I am still amazed by, is my ability to cope. Often, when something stressful happens, or I am upset or deeply troubled by something, that one negative emotion will often consume me. I won't be able to think of much else, let alone be able to function fully in other settings. Now, I find myself able to separate myself from my troubles and I really be in the present moment. When I'm with other people, I'm really with them and not brooding. I can be genuinely happy and succeed in detaching myself from whatever is bothering me. Not only that, the things that do weigh me down, weigh me down considerably less.

I'm looking forward to being back in Montreal for another treatment!

Whew! (Whew! Whew!)

It was a Sunday and we were performing a show just like any other. Little did I know that I was about to experience one of the most touching moments of my career thus far, if not the cutest.

The lead-in to the bazooka number (yes, you read that right) is performed by yours truly and is probably best described as a brief lapse into my own little world. My crazy, somewhat violent, little world...

Anyhoo, this fit of madness ends in me tiring myself out, a loud "whew!" and a sniffle.

All of this, I am told, is quite funny.

But on this particular night, the "whew!" wasn't just met with the regular laughs. There were at least four kids in the audience who thought I was funny and/or awesome enough to immediately mimic with "whew!"s of their own.

Outstanding!

Bazooka! Bazooka! Bazooka!

Back to Square One

Upon arriving in Blagnac, I was really very surprised at how good I felt while doing my number. I tend to be nervous all the time, even if we've done at least 100 shows by now. I keep waiting for the day where I feel bored. Not because I want to be bored, but because more seasoned artist friends of mine have talked about this confident place where they need to find extra motivation to do a good number (I have the tricks) and I really hope to find myself there one day.

Well, I wasn't bored, but suddenly, I was good. And by good I mean grounded, anchored to the floor. I felt calm, at ease on stage, like it was easy to relate to the audience. I was smiling freely and felt quite aerienne while executing my technique. And considering I had just come back from a month-and-a-half long break, that didn't seem possible. But not only was it possible, but it lasted for at least a week.

Ease, comfort, joy. I suspect it had a lot to do with the La Trame treatment. But more on that in a later post.

Then the karma show struck.

From that point on, I was never able to get back on track. In fact, during one show, I had one of the most terrifying experiences I've ever had on stage to date.

I was going to start my backwards spiral, just like always, only I missed the handle. I should mention that I start the backward spiral very close to the edge of the stage. By not actually starting/completing the move, I wobbled back and forth quite a lot, and was disoriented from expecting to go backwards but then finding myself upside down instead. Moreover, when you fail to properly start a backwards spiral, the wheel will sometimes bounce back up and send you forward. In this case, that would have meant off the stage and onto the audience.

I managed to stop the wheel before I was even fully inverted, caught my breath and kept going. But on the inside, I was shaking. When I got off stage and the adrenaline wore off, I started trembling and wound up sobbing into the arms of one of the technicians. It was of the utmost importance that I do some spirals after the show.

If I was off track before, well, now every show was a struggle. The good time feelings of the beginning of the run had evaporated and left nothing but anxiety. It's amazing to me... to be doing something for an entire year, over a hundred times and yet it remains so fragile. You wouldn't think it, but circus can be just as fragile as live theatre. It is a living, breathing thing.

So here I am, starting the second year of the tour and it's as though I need to relearn the entire number. I'm back at square one just trying to integrate it into my body. Really, it shouldn't surprise me. The circus is all about circles. All about cycles. And while it may be frustrating, in the end, it certainly is better than being bored.

Why, Yes!

That is a duck carcass! How good of you to notice!

Toulouse? More Like TouWIN!

Toulouse is a great town. Not too big, but certainly not a small town. The city is beautiful, colourful and strikes me as very livable. Also, they're really into rugby.

This is something I can appreciate in a city. I played rugby in high school and think its a great, fast paced and very physical game; not unlike my city's sport. And while Montreal and hockey are inseparable, Toulouse goes a step beyond regular sports fanaticism.

Allow me to introduce to you the city's attempt to teach its citizens some manners when it comes to metro etiquette.

And my personal favourite...


Who knew there was no French term for "Fair Play"?

I love how there can be no mistaking that these are rugby players. From the different and specific build of the characters, to the little skull cap. Not to mention that in the second image they're either in a scrum or rucking over whoever is trying to get out of the metro car.

Classic.

And while I can't really imagine pictures like this in Montreal, I've got to admit, a poster of some hockey player checking a little old lady into the metro doors could be pretty awesome.

750 Words

A long time ago, when I was still in theatre school, my voice teacher had us purchase a book called The Artist's Way. As a class, we did the first 9 or so chapters together, but then, when we went into production, we were expected to finish the program on our own.

None of us did.

And yet, if it weren't for the Artist's Way, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have got this whole circus party started. One of the tools it mentions is synchronicity, the experience of two or more events that are causally unrelated occurring together in a meaningful way. It was through a series of seemingly unrelated events that I finally realized I was so angry in life because I wasn't living the life I wanted, and that the life I wanted was that of a circus artist.

And while that is a very interesting component of The Artist's Way, and also a fun snippet of my life story, I'm actually letting myself get side tracked. What I'd really like to talk about are Morning Pages.

Morning Pages would have to be the most powerful tool in the Artist's Way toolbox. Morning Pages consist of three pages, written by hand, first thing in the morning. No coffee, no tea, morning pages. There's no structure and no required elements. Just three pages of whatever comes into your head. They're not supposed to be edited or censored in any way. The idea is that if you can clear your mind at the very start of your day, you will be free of the clutter and baggage associated with it. Moreover, it leaves place for questions. Questions that often get answered over the course of writing out the pages.

I remember finding Morning Pages useful and beneficial. But I also like to sleep. And getting up a half an hour earlier to write something I'm never going to read again (that's part of the process, no revisiting what you wrote)... well... I just couldn't do it. Especially while working 17 hour days in the summer. Plus, the amount of paper I would go through just killed me. So I let Morning Pages slip into my past.

And then, I stumbled upon 750 Words. Basically, this guy Buster took the idea of Morning Pages and put it online. The site counts the words as you type (apparently three written pages is equal to 750 words), and while it is online, it's not a blog. It's not meant to be social, it really is just a dialogue between you and yourself.

Maybe I've just been making excuses to avoid this thing that I know is beneficial to me. Maybe, with all the work I've been doing on myself lately, stumbling upon the online version of Morning Pages is a little bit of synchronicity nudging my shoulder. Whatever the case, Morning Pages have found their way back into my life, and I hope they find their way into yours.

Ah, Karma

I should have known better than to make fun of the non-traditional wheel. Though in my defense, I did restrain myself and try to point out some of its positive points. In the end, however, the Circus Gods would have none of it. I would get my comeuppance swiftly, and in front of an audience of over a thousand people. And for it to really count, it would be the night the staff from the Lido was to attend the show.

I often mention the more disastrous performances. The ones riddled with technical glitches and costume malfunctions. But this show was different. I felt off from the start and never managed to get back on.

Of course it didn't help that a good chunk of the cast and crew had their substitutes come in, or in the case of P, take over from his substitute. Among those picking up the slack, was B, the guy who replaces the pianist and composer. I remember back in St-Quentin there was a bit of a problem with one part of my music so I made sure to go over it with him prior to the show. So you can imagine my surprise when, getting into the groove of my act, the music starts a good 30 or 40 seconds early. The other musicians, of course, had no choice but to follow.

Thrown completely off guard and left extremely unsettled, I spent the next 6 minutes chasing the music. The number was terrible. I was in a panic the whole time, I was messy, I made a number of stupid mistakes and just wanted the act to be over.

Afterward, I had to endure comments of "you scared me when the wheel wobbled, don't ever do that again" and "wow, your number seemed better tonight. It wasn't as slow as usual". And my favourite, "Oh? There was a problem with the music?"

The musicians were oblivious to the fact that the music was not at all with the number and T left me feeling like my act, when done in a way that feels authentic to me, is slow and wrong. That I should be in a panic all the time. Great.

I was so angry. Those responsible for hiring me at the Lido got to witness a mediocre number (we hired her? Aieee...) and now I'm completely questioning how I am on stage. That state of questioning plagued me the entire show. I wanted so badly to redeem myself that I became hyper-aware of everything I was doing, judging myself as I went along. And that right there, is artistic suicide.

The whole show I went from feeling bad to worse. There were times I just wanted to burst into tears I felt so ill at ease on stage.

And yet, today, with 12 or so hours distance from that crap show, I don't feel quite so bent out of shape about it. Which is a relief and a welcome change of character for me. I'm curious to see what tonight's show will bring...

Exhibit A, Exhibit B

I've talked a lot about how my student at the Lido has a rather unique German wheel. My first reaction, of course, is to say that it's not a real German wheel (it's not). But that seems insensitive and snooty, so instead I got into the habit of saying that it's not a traditional German wheel.

And, because part of me is a kind of a jerk, I took pictures to post on this blog.

Here we have Exhibit A, my German wheel.

Real German wheel.

Here, we have Exhibit B.

Non-traditional wheel.

While at first glance, they may appear similar, there are some very key differences. For example, my plates are much closer together than hers are, and the placement of her straps make it impossible to have her toes on the rims. That's not a good thing for spirals.



Also, though it's hard to tell from the photo, the distance between the two hoops of the wheel is far greater with the non-traditional wheel than with the real German wheel. This has it's advantages (shoulders pass through easily), but also it's disadvantages. I'm pretty sure the greater distance makes things a bit trickier for spirals, especially with with placement of the straps in the middle of the plates.

Then, there are the handles.

Obviously, the shapes of the handles aren't even remotely comparable. Nor is the size. Also, my wheel has four and the non-traditional wheel has two. Then there's the fact that two of my handles also come with bars.

And that's where things get interesting. While I would never change wheels, I've got to say, some of the moves that this girl came up with using that enormous space around the handles are wicked awesome. Of course, they also come close to smacking her in the face every time she does a prise d'elan... so... yeah.

I'm not going to lie. When I walked into the studio the first day and saw the wonky handles, the duct tape, the rubber strip spiraled around the rims though not actually covering the entire surface of the wheel... I was thrown off my guard. My time at ENC and my employment by this circus has been a huge blessing and has left me incredibly spoiled.

But seriously, did you click on that last picture?

Through the Looking Glass

When I agreed to coach at the Lido back in November, I had no idea that the experience would impact me so deeply. I figured I would go there, teach someone a few new tricks and earn some extra cash on the side. Don't get me wrong, I took the job seriously, but having coached in the past, I didn't expect this experience to be all that different from my previous coaching experiences.

What I wasn't prepared for was having waves of insight knock me over. You see, more than any other time in my life, I could really see myself in another person.

I've been in my student's place. A new coach arrives, works you harder than your regular coach normally does, changes your technique, throws new skills at you... you want to learn, there's no question, but your body screams out in pain from the new and sudden bruises, the bumps, and the general ache of overwork. I remember going over figures, constantly smacking that metal bar into my already bruised abdomen. My hands raw and red. And still, no matter how badly I wanted it, not being able to get the move. I remember that after forty hours of one particular workshop, I just started bawling and couldn’t stop. I couldn’t take it anymore and I broke.

And my student got frustrated too. Moves she had been doing fine the day before, the week before, the month before suddenly eluded her. I explained that it was normal. Her bad habits were fighting the new technique and the mixed signals were messing everything up. It would pass and would all work out in the long run.

But she was angry with me. Suddenly, I doubted myself and the corrections I was giving. I was lucky enough that this girl uses the same size wheel that I do. However, hers is far from a traditional wheel and I couldn’t do a damn thing on it. I would return to the theatre after class and try the moves myself, confirming that, yes, you do in fact need to pull with the left arm and not the right, and yes, your arm is fully extended, and yes, it sure as hell does work better my way.

I can’t help but wonder, when I was in her shoes back in Montreal, did I give my guest coaches so much attitude? When they told me that I wasn’t pushing hard enough, did I contradict them and tell them that I was pushing as hard as I could? Or that my legs were indeed straight? My core solid? It’s all a little hazy in memory, and while I know that to a certain degree, I did whine about this and that, I think the submissive 12-year-old gymnast in me basically took everything that was said to me and considered it an absolute truth.

Which may explain why, after explaining to my student that it was important to keep her wheel tightened as it would affect and potentially hinder her ability to execute her movements, her neglecting to so irked me so much. I remember going out and buying new shoes because my World Champion trainer suggested they would be better for me. This kid couldn’t even be bothered to tighten her wheel once a day? She tightened it after our first class and never again because it took her 15 minutes and used a bunch of duct tape.

Sigh…

Suddenly, I realize that I’ve switched to seeing myself through the eyes of my coach. I can totally relate to what my student is going through, but now I also understand what I must have put my own coaches through. Whatever coaching experience I may have, I’ve never reached that place. I’ve never had that dual understanding. And to be perfectly honest, it freaks me out. I’m still trying to make heads or tails of what it all means and how it will influence me as a coach and as a student in the future.

In the end, the only thing I am certain of is that this all feels right. I think a new door may have just opened.

Remember What I Said About Spring?

Lies.

Lido Circus School

What? No Apple?

For the past little while I have been dropping hints about new and exciting career opportunities. Well, the first step in what I hope to be an enduring adventure is just about up and I feel about ready to share.

For the last week, I have been teaching at the Lido circus school here in Toulouse. For me, this is quite an honour, and just plain cool. I was, of course, a circus student not too long ago. As a student of circus, I was made aware of other well reputed circus schools around the world. To find myself now teaching at one is pretty mind blowing. I suppose it seems silly, but it makes me feel that much more professional and that much more like I'm leading a successful career.

The experience has also been incredibly powerful on a personal level. I've coached before, but nothing like this. I've always worked with young kids (between five and eleven) on a mostly recreational level. When I coached Kindergym (beginner's gymnastics) I never did the coaching workshop and hadn't actually done gymnastics for a number of years. And while I could do all the tricks, I had no real memory of the learning process and therefore no memory of the key hints a coach would provide. Plus, when it comes to working with five-year-olds, the coach pretty much physically manipulates the child through a lot of the movements.

Then there was cheerleading. Yeah, I had cheered for six years by the time I started coaching, and I was certainly old enough to know what was what and remember the way I had learned the basics. Plus I actually did the coaching workshop this time. But there were three of us coaching ten girls. And a lot of cheering is teaching choreography, which was a shared responsibility, and as for the pyramids... well... I could give the flyers first hand advice, but I didn't have that same insider knowledge with the porters.

And now, here I am being asked to teach something that I not only do in the here and now, but also something I'm very good at. I remember all (most) of the great tips that have been passed on to me from the various coaches I've had the good fortune of working with, plus the secrets I've figured out on my own along the way. Plus, my student would be an adult working toward a professional level! And frankly, when it comes to German wheel, I know what I'm doing.

So to find myself being asked to give a stage was very exciting, but also, mildly terrifying. You see, as much as I know what I'm doing, I've never coached wheel. The only time I ever really tried was during my first year of circus school. My boyfriend at the time also did German wheel and asked me to spot this one move. Already, I was terrified of the wheel coming toward me (those things are big) and was unsure of the height he needed for the move in question and would basically stop the wheel every single time.

Not too successful.

Having only that under my belt, I was a little nervous going in. But then, this girl I would be working with... she's never had a coach except the acro coach who would sometimes step in despite having no knowledge of wheel technique whatsoever. So really, how advanced could she be?

It turns out she's advanced enough to deflate my ego a smidge. Or at least, provide me with more of a challenge than I was expecting. I have one class remaining and while I'm looking forward to having my mornings back (coaching in the early mornings plus shows at night has been brutal), I think I'm going to miss it. But if I've learned anything (and I have, and will be sharing those things in the near future), it's that I really like coaching wheel. Its a good thing too, considering what the spring has in store...

But these are stories for another time.

New Rule

Sauerkraut may not be cooked in the theatre.

Last night was probably the most disgusting show I have ever performed in. For this leg of the tour, the circus kitchen is in the theatre, right next to the stage area. On this otherwise unremarkable Saturday, the biggest vat of sauerkraut you have ever seen spent the entire day simmering and contaminating the theatre with its noxious odor. By the time show time came around, the stench of over-cooked cabbage was so strong you could hardly breathe. There's nothing quite like trying to catch your breath after your act only to have stinky cabbage fumes fill your lungs. Except maybe wearing a mask and breathing condensed cabbage fumes through the tiny nose holes.

After the show, a woman asked what kind of paint we used because it smelled so strange.

The Director of the theatre was none too pleased either. His reaction to the news that the sauerkraut was actually being prepared in advance for today's dinner?

"You mean you're going to reheat it tomorrow..."

Today all the doors in the theatre were wiiiiiiiiiide open.

Me? I skipped dinner.

The Day the Music Died

Monday was the premiere of the show here in Toulouse (technically, Blagnac) and also the first set of shows after a month and a half long break. As you can imagine, we were a little bit rusty and a little bit nervous. But that is to be expected. What is not, however, is sudden instrument failure.

And let me tell you, nothing sets the mood better than a false note played on an accordion.

Well, almost nothing. Several, false notes in succession does a pretty good job as well. It wasn't M's fault. Her instrument just up and died. On stage. After a couple of failed attempts at starting the melody, she just gave up and started signing it. Oddly enough, the accordion seemed to allow a later part of the music to be played on it. But not that first section. Weird.

But the accordion has been problematic in the past. This day wouldn't be of any particular note if it weren't for the double bass.

Oh the double bass...

Of all the instruments in our circus, the double bass is the most prone to catastrophe. Things fall on it, bump into it, and knock it over (it is kind of tippy). It is constantly under threat of being damaged or knocked out of tune. The saddest thing about that, is that the musician who plays the bass takes such good care of his material and is exceptionally careful around his equipment and the equipment of others.

So it was no surprise that when a loud bang occurred off stage, the first thing that popped into most people's minds was a variation of "Something just happened to the double bass."

Sure enough, upon entering the wings, there was the double bass, strings slack and askew, bridge no where to be found.

While the first thought was that it had fallen over, initial reports suggested that something had actually fallen on it. However, a lack of any such thing in the vicinity of the accident quickly ruled out that possibility. After no other explanation could be found, the best kind of explanation was settled on: spontaneous combustion.

Okay, not the really awesome fiery kind, but the kind where it burst apart for no other reason than it damn well felt like it. This has happened before, but at the time the neck was loose, resulting in the sudden collapse. But that was fixed months ago.

L brought his double bass in to be looked at, but nothing seems to be wrong with it.

Except that it went and exploded again a couple of days ago.

Oh, I should probably mention what happened after the double bass flipped off that night's show. L, being made entirely out of awesome, quickly adapted all the remaining double bass material for a five string electric bass. He had only one number to do this and had to do it in total darkness.

That, ladies and gentleman, is an artist.

Things in My Room That Have Caught on Fire

The hotel we are staying at isn't exactly the Queen Elizabeth. My room in particular seems to be particularly susceptible to bursting into flames, as is evidenced by the various scorch marks throughout. And while I've been pretty good about not setting anything on fire so far, I do have another two weeks to go.

Things that have caught on fire at some point in my hotel room's life?

This blanket:


The headboard of the bed:


And, inexplicably, the bathroom floor:


The first two, I get. But what the heck is that last one all about? While the picture doesn't do it justice, it's almost as big as my foot! Also, looks kind of like a super hero flying, doesn't it?

La Ville Rose

It's been a week since I arrived in France, and what a week its been! I already have so much to write about, but my schedule has been absolutely packed! I can tell you this though, when I left Montreal I was sad to have had such a short winter, especially since there wasn't much snow while I was there. But being in a city where the grass is already green and dotted with blue and white flowers while the sun shines down on you while little birdies sing, well, that kind of makes it all better.

La Ville Rose, by the by, refers to Toulouse. The city is constructed largely out of reddish/orangey brick, giving the whole city a pinkish hue. We had the day off yesterday and while I did do some exploring, it was rainy and grey, so photos will have to wait for a sunnier day.

All kinds of fun stories are waiting in the wings, including a very exciting career opportunity I've been exploring, so stay tuned!