EXCUSE ME?!

While performing, it's really annoying and distracting to have cameras going off in front of you. Flashes can be dangerous, and that little red light is just plain aggravating. My circus is very anti-photography which has really rubbed off on me and made me far more protective, although I suppose that a photo taken on someone's phone probably shouldn't worry me. Even still, when I see cameras going off in the public, I immediately call up to the booth and tell them to go kick some ass.

Then, of course, there's the far more sinister act of filming...

We were performing a matinee with a relatively small crowd. The seats directly on the ring curb were all but empty. All but one. There was one man in a white t-shirt with no one sitting on either side of him. This alone would have made him stand out, but the fact that he spent my entire act pointing his phone at me kind of made the alarm bells sound.

You can bet I gave him dirty looks. I'm sure they didn't register with him, though they made me feel a little better in the moment. I was in a rage when I got off stage. What possible reason could a person have to film an entire act? I immediately thought of this.

One of my cast mates tried to reassure me that he was probably just filming it so he could show his family later that evening, but that seemed unlikely. I didn't have much time to talk about it though. I was working concessions that intermission and had only a few minutes to get ready.

I arrived in the buffet tent and began to share my story of the evil act filmer when the man in question came speeding out of the main tent. Not sure what to do, I somehow found the courage to confront him.

I asked him why he filmed my act. There was some language issues but then a colleague to the rescue and there was no more beating around the bush. The words that then came out of his mouth were like a smack in the face and left me too numb to move.

"I work for Circus Nock. I'm filming it for work."

EXCUSE ME?!

YOU WERE FILMING IT FOR WORK?!?

My colleague made sure the video of my act, as well as the number of other videos he had taken of our show, was deleted from his phone.

I couldn't, and still can't, believe it. When I think about it now, I still feel like the only thing I can do is shake my head in disbelief and slow burning fury.

A bunch of us ended up going to see the show at Nock that very night and, to be fair, I don't think I had very much to worry about. But that's still pretty unacceptable behaviour and seeing as act theft is a very real thing, you can't really blame an artist for being protective of their years of work and research.

In the end, I had the morally questionable satisfaction of seeing my would-be thief shovel camel poop during their show. Petty though that may be, it made me feel better.

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.

Next...

I mentioned how a week into the tour we already had an artist miss a show due to injury. Well, one week later we were another man down. Only this time it was the trumpet player and band leader. He was hospitalized for bleeding in the stomach. The saxophone player stepped in as interim band leader and, I dare say, did a great job. The band very much held it together, adapted the music well, and played a great show.

The only problem now is, as the French say, il n'y a jamais deux sans trois*...






* There's never two without three.

That Didn't Take Long...

It should come as no surprise that, in the circus, sometimes people get hurt. Bumps, burns, and bruises happen every day. Usually multiple times. Then, of course, there are the kinds of injuries that result in missing performances.

It only took eight shows for us to reach that point.

In the opening moments of the first act of the second half, our slackline/trickline walker sprained his ankle. He managed to complete his act and, interestingly, thought it was the best one he'd done so far! Unfortunately the high of doing a great number was short lived as he was unable to do his act for the next two shows. An MRI later revealed that he completely broke one of his ligaments. While he can still work, he'll have to wear this crazy brace for the next five weeks.

We've all been working insanely hard. Hopefully this is just an isolated incident and not a preview of things to come as fatigue continues to accumulate.

First Stop, Hell

After a smashing premiere, the circus packed up and continued on its merry way. Despite not having the faintest idea of what we were doing, the first build down actually went pretty smoothly. It only took us two and a half hours to get everything packed into the trucks. I think that's still an hour and a half longer than it should take, but still!

Sadly, this victory was short lived and did nothing more than fill us all with a false sense of hope as far as the build up was concerned. I'm told the build up should really only take an hour and a half. It took us four and a half hours.

Four and a half hours.

And the only reason we stopped after four and a half hours is because the kitchen is on a tight schedule and we had to get to lunch. The truth is, we were only mostly finished after four and a half hours. There were still little things to do like set up all the backstage and sweep up what seemed like eight tonnes of sawdust.

After inhaling my lunch I ran back to the tent because it was absolutely imperative that I test the floor before the show. That's right, we took a break for lunch an hour and a half before we were to start the first show of a two show day.

When I got to the tent, I discovered that the Chinese pole girls had left their eight million pound pole in the middle of the stage. Unable to move it myself, I tried to set it to the side, only by that time they had to clean the floor, so I still couldn't do wheel. At that point I was told to go put on my make-up and come back. When I did get back, the floor was still unavailable and now everyone was clamouring to do their pre-set.

Eventually I managed to try the floor and sweet merciful crap it was a disaster. It was super sloped from back to front, and also down to the right. In spirals, I was flung back up or driven down to the corner where I would have to end my spirals prematurely or risk falling off the stage or hitting the ring wall. As for straight lines... forget it. In one direction, any effort on my part meant slamming into the decor I was rolling so fast, and in the other direction I had to push with every ounce of strength I had, and even then, I barely had enough height/momentum to complete my figures.

I have never been so miserable on stage. Every second, behind a very plastic smile, I had to calculate how much speed I needed, how much I had to adjust, what was the floor doing, will I make it? And I fell, and struggled, and fell some more. All my technique was useless. It was like I had never done wheel before in my life. Each move had to purposely be done incorrectly in the hopes that it would cancel out the flaws of the floor. And the whole time my mind was screaming "That's wrong! You're doing it wrong! You're going to get hurt! NO!"

It is not fun to be on stage and second guess everything you are doing. It is not fun to be on stage and have to do so much mental math in order to execute your figures that your face freezes in a fake smile and your eyes glaze over. It is not fun to feel humiliated because you cannot even remotely do your job correctly, through no fault of your own, and have an entire audience bear witness.

And there was still a second show to do! But before that, we had a group rehearsal. And after that, I had some solo training time. It was about as disastrous as every other attempt at wheel I'd made that day, but at least I found a few ways to be safer.

From there, I inhaled my dinner once again, then had dish duty, and then had my first break of the day (I worked concessions during intermission and would do so again during the second show). One half hour to myself before I had to be back in the tent.

The second show was just as bad as the first.

Finally, the fifteen hour day came to an end. I was so tired, so worn, so broken, so miserable... If it had been that hard but I could have at least taken pleasure in my work and my performance, it would have been one thing. But the entire experience was just brutal on all levels with no silver lining in sight.

I got back to my caravan and cried. How? How on earth would I make it through the season? That night all I wanted to do was quit and go home. My only comfort came the next day when I spoke with some of the workers who assured me that after that day of hell, they too wanted to go home and wondered what they had gotten themselves into.

I can only hope things get better from here.

Nerves

I've mentioned before that I tend to struggle with nerves. I spend a lot of energy on this. Worrying, fretting, general malaise, you know. It can be pretty exhausting. I've gotten better over time, but it's still an issue.

However, I suspect that that soon may change. It was the third or fourth show, though with all the run throughs it was actually the seventh or eight that week. With the hours of rehearsals leading up to the premiere, as well as nightly run throughs, we had been busting out 14 hour days every day that week. Needless to say, I was pooped.

So as I prepared for my number and began the usual whipping of nerves into a frenzy, something inside me held up it's hand and said "enough". I barely had enough energy to make it through the show, there was simply none to be spared for my nerves and my ego. It was kind of surprising, but also a welcomed relief. Will the exhaustion of this tour be the thing that lets me finally break free of my fear? I guess we'll find out in 8 months and 250 shows time...

The Premiere

Sometimes, you just can't find the appropriate word. The best you can do is utter something lame like "wow", and that's if you can manage more than some barely audible mumbling. The premiere of this show was like that for me. It was intense, humbling, ecstatic, moving, and a huge relief.

This circus is amazing. Their attention to detail and the pride they take in providing a magical experience for the audience is a sight to behold. And I think just as much attention was paid to the artists on opening night, though perhaps in a different way. The love and support from the workers was and remains tangible. We were left flowers and cards from the company directors and workers, as well as a special notes and candy from the show directors and costume ladies. At the end of the night, during the curtain call, we were showered with flowers given to the audience before the show. When the moment came, it felt like the shower of flowers would never end. I thought  I was going to cry.

 

And the applause... my goodness the applause! I remember thinking when I left my last company that I would never hear applause like that again. But the night of the premiere beat any ovation I have ever received in a show. And not just at the finale! The reaction after my act was nothing short of epic. I think part of it had to do with the fact that the I'm performing in the round (the last tour was proscenium style), and suddenly the applause was in surround sound. But when I wanted to leave the stage, I found that I couldn't! The applause was so loud and so long... the public wouldn't let me leave right away. I walked off that stage on air.

And after the applause, the bows, and the rounds of thanks, the circus invited the entire audience to free drinks, cold cuts, cheese, and crudités.

But our celebrations were cut short, what with two shows the next day. You would think that after all that work, you could take a small moment to catch your breath. But this is traditional circus, and there are no days off.

It Begins

After weeks of rehearsals, and fourteen hour days in the final stretch, we made it through the premiere. The reviews I've seen so far seem extremely positive. One critic, after giving accolades to every act, goes on to say that no single number makes the show a success, but rather the imaginative combination of very different acts, the design of the details, the music, and the wonderful way which the clowns weave everything together. They even went so far as to call it a work of art.

Not bad for a modern traditional circus...

But in this circus, there's no time to bask in the glory of our success. Days of double shows, tear downs, build ups, and hitting the road are already nipping at our heels!