Chosen Life

Those who know me often marvel at this circus life I have chosen. They’re awed by the feats that my fellows and I perform, and envy the traveling and the mystique. For them, the romance of circus is alive and well. As well it should be. The magic of the Big Top, the spectacle, the thrills… it wouldn’t be circus otherwise. For the most part, even I’ve maintained this view of the world I now inhabit. There are hardships, of course, but you learn to take them with a grain of salt. After all, don’t all great romances have their share of difficulties?

But no matter how spellbound one might be by the world of circus and all its splendours, and I say this as an acrobat in the thick of it all, there comes a time where the consequences of having chosen this life come to harsh reality.

My grandfather died a month ago. A couple of weeks before that, I received some very bad news concerning my sister. And despite all the goodwill of my heart, here I was, completely helpless in Paris.

The initial news about my grandfather was that he wouldn’t live to see the end of the week. I was told to ask what the company policy was when there is a death in the family. I received this news a Sunday morning, right before a show. Every time I return to France for work, my great fear is that something should happen at home, and that I can’t be there. Every time I leave, I wonder if I will ever see my grandparents again.

This time I received an answer.

When I asked about potentially going home for the funeral, I was later told by the director that I was indispensable to the show and that it wouldn’t be possible. I mostly expected that response. In truth, I had hoped for it. I know that makes me sound like a terrible person, but under the circumstances, I couldn’t handle the stress of having to choose between going home and the madness that would accompany that decision, not to mention the guilt and disrespect towards the troupe, and staying in Paris to perform, not having that closure and being unable to be there with my family in that moment of duress.

I’m not proud of it, but I can’t deny it was a relief to have that responsibility taken away from me.

And I cried. And no matter who offered what kind of comfort, all I could do was ask them to wait… to leave me alone until the end of the show… otherwise, there was no way I would make it through. It was one of the hardest performances of my life. I scarcely remember how I felt, just that I hated every moment of it and was on the verge of tears the entire time.

Tuesday morning I got the call that my grandfather had passed. Being the weekend at the circus, there was virtually no one on site. I was terribly and desperately alone. To add insult to injury, Wednesday evening, just before the show I found some packages waiting for me in my trunk backstage. One was from my grandparents, signed from both of them. Of course it had been mailed before my grandfather had died, but nevertheless it was a painful reminder and a slap in the face from the Universe. Again, I cried. For the rest of the week I painted large bouquets of flowers at the end of the show.

And while I must admit that the idea of a funeral scared me (this is the first grandparent I’ve lost) and the image of my grandfather in a casket rips my heart to shreds and I don’t know if I could have handled it, I envy my siblings for being able to be there and having that closure. To a certain extent, none of this seems real. I’m just going to go home and never see my grandfather again. How do you deal with that?

My answer, of course, is baking.

Since I couldn’t be there for the actual funeral, I felt it was important to make some kind of gesture to mark my grandfather’s passing. As such, I baked the most complex, elaborate and chocolately cake in my repertoire. I invited the troupe and those who work at the circus’ bar to share it with me. To my great relief, one of the more senior members of the troupe led the proceedings. I said some words and we shared a moment of silence. Then we saluted my late grandfather and enjoyed the cake baked in his honour. Though I did have to remind certain people who were very excited to eat cake (“Le gateau! Le gateau!”) that it was not so much about the cake as it was about the passing of my grandfather.

And so a month has gone by, I have another 20 shows under my belt, and more than ever the fence surrounding the lot feels like a cage keeping me in my circus bubble. Two and half more weeks and I'll finally make it home... two and half more weeks...

Le Musee des Arts Forains

Yesterday I had the extreme good fortune of visiting Paris' Museum of Fairground Art along with the cast of La Clique. Located at Les Pavillions de Bercy, this spectacular museum is only available to groups who request a guided tour. Being a wily band of circus folk, we also had the honour of meeting the man who started the collection, Jean-Paul Favand, and were even permitted to peruse the warehouses!

The collection is huge and beautifully presented. The space also doubles as a rental hall. But the best part is that they actually let you play some of the games and ride the rides! I was pretty skeptical of this one old timey ride where you pedal a bike (I'm told it was a thrill to try a bike way back in the day) and your pedaling powers the ride. But it turns out the damn thing goes hella fast and the tour guide constantly had to pull a brake to prevent the thing from picking up too much speed and throwing us off!

Les Garcons de Cafe, best game ever.

Carousel!

After the rides, the most wonderful part would definitely be the warehouses. As I mentioned, they aren't normally part of the tour. One room housed all the carousel characters awaiting restoration. Then there were these creepy wax models of messed up anatomy. To give you an idea, the double penis/triple scrotum was the least disturbing specimen...

At night,

they come to life...

And that, my friend,

is when they come for your soul!

Lastly, we visited a room housing the museum's most recently acquired collection. It consists of over 2000 individual objects! They are they sets, puppets and original mask molds belonging to a family run company that operated for over 200 years! The room was made up almost entirely of heads. All kinds of heads of every imaginable character all for the purpose of making rubber masks. They had everything from fictional characters to politicians, pop culture icons to mutilated zombies. It was brilliant. They even had the heads of two former Canadian Prime Ministers! I was quite surprised.

Chretien and Mulroney

Don't run with scissors.

Oh, and you may be familiar with the fellow who appears at the 1 minute 50 second mark of the following video. His remains could be found at the museum as well!

All in all, we were there for three hours. The history and artistry is absolutely magnificent. When carnivals were at their peak, part of the draw was their splendor. Looking at today's carnival rides, you would never imagine that only 100 years ago, carousel horses were hand carved with real horse hair tails*! Not to mention the gold leaf and inlaid mirrors. Here are a few more pictures because really, you don't read a museum, you see it.







* Only the German made horses used real horse hair for tails. Otherwise, they were made of wood.

"The Dots are People"

This arrived at the circus' head office just after my birthday...



I think he really captured the essence of my act, not to mention my feminine charms. RAWR!

Seriously though, Raphael may have adored the show, but he'll never know how much joy his drawing brought me and how deeply moved I am by the heartfelt doodlings of a small child. This was one of the best birthday gifts ever and that is why it has the honour of being the 100th post on this blog.

Best Gift Ever!

Sometimes, coincidences are awesome. Now just happens to be one of those times because my brand new German wheel arrived in Montreal just in time for my birthday! How sweet is that? Now I just have to wait until I get back to Montreal to put her together and take her out for a spin!

Or should that be 'a spiral'?

Either way, a Cadillac of German wheels is waiting for me in the living room!

Woo!

Oh, Yeah?

So the Universe thinks it can push me around, eh? The circus gods are getting a good laugh as the troupe struggles through the last leg of the run, are they? Well maybe in France they put up with those kinds of shenanigans, but we Canadians, we're made of tougher stuff. You push us, we'll apologize and push you right back.

This ain't no joke, or funny story you tell your friend over breakfast. This is serious.

Skull and crossbones shoe laces, serious.


Party's over, Universe. Its ass kickin' time.

Deep Breaths and Curse Words

Things don't always go according to plan.

Mama said there'd be days like this.

Sometimes everything that can go wrong does go wrong.

And sometimes those three things team up and kick your ass from here to Sunday.

Only if it was Sunday I'd have the next two days off...

Where do I even begin? The show seemed destined for difficulty before it even began. I've been having some health issues as of late, and tonight seemed to be one of the rougher nights. I mean, nothing sets the mood like having a heart to heart with the porcelain princess right before the show.

Troubles with the costume change, couscous in my wheel shoes (don't ask), straining my knee a little mid-way through my number, followed by taking a severe blow to the calf at the end.

Things seemed to look up until I came very close to knocking the marimba off the stage (only one side fell off...). This was then followed by the near catastrophic swinging-into-the-bottle chandelier incident. Thank the circus gods none of them broke... not that I didn't come close to breaking the extra bottles I was left to take onstage.

And hey, you know what goes good with a blow to the calf? Having a mirror shoved into both your shins! Which pairs marvelously with taking a platform to the gut as you maneuver your way through the backstage in the dark.

Cue the group battle scene (really!). Only add a stage covered in so much make up residue and couscous (don't ask) that everyone is sliding all over the place. Then try and do some acro on the slippery slippery floor. And then, for good measure, bash your forehead on the floor before you exit.

Nice!

Can't find the carabiner in the mess of fabric? No worries! That's beans compared to what's about to happen...

End of kite number. We try to take the kite down, but the kite won't move. Its stuck. Meanwhile, the white curtain is trying to go up only now its stuck in the kite. Fine. Bring everything back down. Big, gaping, silence of death follows... okay. That bit's settled. Move the structure forward and put everything in place. Cue the... wait! C isn't there yet! The bassist's mic pack and headphones are stuck on something and strangling him! The weight is still on the trampoline! P goes gives the audio cue to start and since I'm running late (someone had to get rid of the weight) and he often starts before I give him the visual cue anyway, I bolt to my place. More awkward silence and feeble attempts at curtain waving...

The curtain falls. The trampo-wall act finally starts. Its the last act of the show. So for good measure, I roll my ankle...

Deep breaths...

Curse words...

And now, bed.

F is for Fail

Don't let the title of this post worry you. F is for Fail is a lovely video that takes the viewer through an "alphabetical odyssey through the creative process." The film was created by Brent Barson, a freelance media designer and assistant professor of graphic design at Brigham Young University.

I've been through the creative process a number of times, and will undoubtedly find myself there again. This film sums up the experience nicely.

Enjoy.