Oh, Public...

Having nearly completed the season, I think I can say with some authority that the Swiss public has a tendency to get lost. Maybe not lost, but certainly a little turned around. Which I must admit, I find rather interesting. I know we're in a tent, not a theatre, but there's still a pretty clear divide between where the seats are and where backstage is. It should be pretty clear that if you need to go on stage and through a curtain, that probably isn't the exit. And yes, that did happen.

Also, there was this lady.

During a matinee a father and his sons decided that the best way to exit the tent was by just going underneath the tent wall near the artist entrance.  Before the show even finished, I might add.

There was also the very curious moment during warm-up when a man stuck his head in the tent opening in the backstage and just smiled and stared at us. We said hello and asked if we could help him. He just kept smiling and looking about and then after a minute or so popped his head back out.

Weird...

But my favourite would have to be the time when a father and his daughter sat down with a bag of popcorn and watched while we were getting ready backstage. It happens all the time that people walk around the tent and check out what's going on, but at this point, the show had already started. Instead of sitting in the tent and watching the actual show, this man and his daughter decided to watch the few of us who weren't on stage yet as we did arm circles and stretched our quads...

It seems we've gotten off pretty easy this year, though. Apparently one time a man was found in the laundry room washing his own clothes while trying to steal other people's clothes. This was a particularly ludicrous situation as the pants he was trying to pass off as his were the official work pants of the circus, complete with circus logo and the name of the owner sewn in. And while in Zurich last year, a man was found in the kitchen one morning after having eaten so much he was laying in a pool of his own vomit...

And people think circus folk are the ones to be weary of...

May I Help You?

The first act of the second half of the show had just come to an end and we were all coming on stage to tear down the equipment. As I made my way toward the stage I saw a woman get up from her seat, make her way around the ring, and then head straight for me.

I was stunned and kept going about my business. When I turned back around, she had made her way on to the edge of the stage and was grabbing part of the still standing platforms from the previous act.

At that point, A grabbed her by the shoulders and forcibly removed her from the stage and directed her back toward her seat.

I have a few questions regarding the incident:

Where the hell were the ushers at this point?

Why was she not wearing shoes?

What the actual fuck?!

A said that she reeked of booze and was quite drunk. Apparently she really needed to know what the equipment felt like and if it felt "gummy".

Facepalm

I had just come up from the opening spiral sequence when I noticed a rather large puddle on stage. This made absolutely no sense as it hadn't rained a drop in days. Then I looked up and noticed a very sheepish looking woman remove her half empty beverage from the ring curb.

Way to spill your drink on stage, lady. In the future, please refrain from using the ring curb as a table.

Yeesh.

Growing Resentment

The tour schedule as of late has been nothing short of hellish. To say that everyone is exhausted would be an understatement. Typically, Sundays and Wednesdays consist of a matinee, build down, and transport. Then on Mondays and Thursdays we have build up in the morning, and the rest of the day off.

But for the month of July, we have had build up and a show on Mondays, leaving only Thursday afternoon and evening off. The temperature in the tent during performances has been in the high twenties to low thirties, and humid. Plus, we've been in the mountains, so the higher altitude has also been kicking our asses. Most days I feel weak and exhausted. I seem to have done a number on my shoulder (not to mention the continuing saga that is my back) and while the osteopath I saw told me I was on the brink of exhaustion and not to work for a few days, well, the show must go on. So much for getting better... At night, I read for a bit and then go to sleep.

And I am not alone. Pretty much everyone is just trying to make it from one show to the next. We have one artist working with a hernia, another who was in so much pain she was in tears before and during her act, another who, at 19 years of age, has thrown out his back, plus one of the clowns working on messed up ankle.

But the worst part, the very worst part of all, is that we're killing ourselves with this schedule and the tent is practically empty. I could understand really wanting to push the number of shows if we were playing to a packed house, but we've been consistently at 12% capacity for the past two weeks.

Now I've always tried to go in with the attitude that whatever the size of the crowd, those people paid to be there and deserve to see a quality show. But for the first time in my life, I've found myself cursing in my head when I take that first step on stage and see mostly empty seats.

Why is there that extra Monday show when they know Monday shows don't sell? Why are we doing four shows per town that are only filled to 12% when we could just as easily do two or three shows to more sizable crowds, especially in towns where they know from past experience that the crowds aren't there? And why, why such a heavy workload now (again, to an empty tent) when in the next three months we have almost as many shows to do as we've done in the last five months?

The resentment is growing and I'm really starting to feel angry. Three months to go is one thing, actually making it to the end is another...

The New Neighbour

After our stay next to the cookie factory, our new neighbour was a psychiatric hospital. Not quite the same charm, but a very interesting public.

Little Old Ladies

I love little old ladies. Love ‘em. The vast majority of the time, if there’s a member of the public that is incredibly generous and invigorating with the energy they give, it’s a little old lady.

Lately, there have been some pretty spectacular elderly members of the audience. The woman in the polk-a-dot blouse, the super generous clapper, the happy man in the wheelchair... Once, when the opportunity presented itself, I found the courage to go up to one of these gems of the public and thanked them for their generosity and enthusiasm. Nothing makes getting through your act easier than having a shining beacon of a face beaming at you. When it’s stinking hot, or you really just didn’t feel like going on stage that day, a member of the audience like that just carries you. And on those rare occasions where you can make your appreciation known, well that just goes straight to the heart.

The other night, we had two little old ladies sitting in the front row on the right. They were very close to my trapeze and after my first drop, I literally saw them jump in their seats and clutch their chests. I smiled at the sight of it and knew they would be wonderful.

When it came to my wheel act, they did not disappoint. And a good thing too as my act got off to quite the rocky start. But they had the most luminous smiles and had their hands clasped in front of them right below their chins, completely enthralled.

At the end of my act I always look centre, left right, then back to centre and whisper a little thank you to the crowd. But that night was centre, left, right, the two little old ladies for a special thank you just to them. They nodded back and whispered something of their own, and I swear, I floated off that stage.

From Russia with Love

One night after a show, a man came up to me speaking a language I didn’t understand. Seeing as my German is pretty weak, this is not surprising. Only this man wasn’t speaking German, he was speaking Russian.

Naturally, the first thing he asked me was if I was Russian.

I swear, they always know… “Niet Ruski, my family… Ukrainski.”

After a nod of understanding he took my both my hands in his and kissed them. Then he kissed his own hands in a gesture that is universally understood to mean “magnificent”. He went on trying to express a few more things but then simply settled on taking my hands again, offering a small bow, and then kissing them one last time.

Needless to say, I was a little overwhelmed. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone bow to me and kiss my hands before.

I guess he liked my act.

Two Thirds

When I was working in France, standing ovations were pretty much the norm. In Switzerland, the public is far more discriminating. Though I must admit, it feels more satisfying this way because you know that if they're on their feet, you've really just knocked off a considerable amount of socks.

The other night both the left and centre sections rose to their feet. The right side? Not a soul...

When playing in the round, sometimes certain parts of the audience get a little less attention. I guess we now know where our weak spot is!

For One Fleeting Moment

For the last four years I performed on a proscenium style stage. Now, for the first time since leaving circus school seven years ago, I'm performing in the round. It's nice to be in a ring. Maybe it's silly, but it feels more like a circus this way. But the best part is the proximity to the public.

The ring curb is probably about 50cm wide. That means the first row of the audience is probably about 60cm away. Sometimes, this closeness can be a real blow to the ego. You think you're doing a great act and you look out to the person just in front of you and... they're looking somewhere else. Or they look terribly bored. Or they're yawning...

Ouch.

But sometimes, oh sometimes...

Sometimes my wheel comes very, very close to the ring curb and I can look someone right in the eye while hanging upside down. It's wonderful to seem them lean back a bit in surprise and then, relieved to find themselves perfectly safe, they smile. Even more wonderful, though far more rare, is to have a dialogue with one person in particular over the course of my act.

Maybe it's a spectator who is particularly appreciative and claps far more than her peers. Those people stand out and you can't help but take that extra moment to smile right at them, as if to say thank you, and they just glow at the attention. Another look a little later really cements the exchange.

The most powerful and truly touching exchange I ever had was with a woman in the front row. I felt as though we spoke the exchange was so clear. There was more than one moment during the course of my act where we looked at each other, made eye contact, had a dialogue of head nods. Like with Amanda Palmer, I really felt as though in that moment, each let the other know "I see you. Thank you for this moment. Thank you for sharing this with me."

It was absolutely incredible. I have never had such a profound experience with a member of the audience while on stage. Who knows if I ever will again?

One thing is for certain. Even after seven years of working, this traditional tour and Swiss audience continues to teach me new things about my art and myself. And for that, I say thank you.