As Old As You Feel

You're only as old as you feel! Age is only a number! How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?

I've heard all these things before, and I'm sure you have as well. And I try to keep them in mind, I really do. But there are some days were I really do feel old. Okay, maybe not old. But definitely older. Or perhaps just not as young as my fellow artists.

While most of my counterparts on stage are in their early twenties, I'll be turning thirty in the fall. With my last company I was easily one of the youngest and with most of my colleagues there was an age difference of ten to twenty years. But I never really felt the difference. Here a mere six years feels like a full generation.

I know I'm a very different person now than when I was 23. And I certainly have different wants and needs. But holy crap, sometimes it feels like I'm in kindergarten. During one rehearsal before the premiere, one of the artists literally bent over, turned his butt to us, started smacking it and yelled out "I need attention!"

I don't know if he was serious or not, but you would think someone would have sense enough to know that if it was a joke, it was neither the time or the place.

As time goes by, I find myself spending more and more time with the workers, and less and less with the artists. Funny how it always tends to work out that way.

Smooth Move

It was the worst build up yet. We were in a field masquerading as a mud pit, it was pouring rain, there was snow on the ground, and it was freezing cold. This circus puts down sawdust when it's wet, and I think we may be responsible for some serious deforestation considering the amount that was put down on this build. For reasons that I do not understand, the build up took five hours instead of the hour and a half I hear it should take (we've never even come close to this).

When it was finally time to break for lunch, we were all pretty miserable. But that's when this circus showed us just how classy they are.

The circus director missed the beginning of the morning's build up. You know know why? He went to a local bakery and bought everyone beautiful and delicious pastries.

Delicious cake may not be the way to your heart, but it sure as hell is to mine. Well played, circus. Well played!

Blood, Sweat, and Tears?

More like mud, snow, and sawdust... Come on, Switzerland. Get it together!

Small Victories

As we made our way through yet another miserable build up, I looked over to the stage only to have my heart sink. Just looking at it I could see that it sloped dramatically downward toward the audience. Looking more closely I saw that before the slope really got going, there was first a small hill to get over. The stage as a whole was nothing short of wavy. I could feel the tears welling up inside. Another town, another fight against the floor. And this one looked to be a doozy.

When the build up was finally done I went to speak with one of the folks in charge. Not to complain about the floor, I know the guys who build it up are doing their best. It's not like I didn't notice the mud and the rain and the lumpy field we had to work with. What was really bothering me is that I felt dishonest. I was hired to do a job and so far, I've only been able to deliver a few times. And the more I struggle, the more I wonder if it's not so much the floor that is bad, but me. Needless to say, the idea of spending the next seven months like this makes me want to run screaming for the hills.

I was assured that they can see it's the floor that's the problem and that they too feel badly about the conditions. They also added that it's okay because I still give a a good performance, even if it's not at the level I would like it to be, and also, the public always reacts well, so they're happy.

Toward the end of this conversation, the director of the circus joined us and echoed those sentiments. What I didn't know is that after I left, he went to look at the floor. In a nutshell, he looked at it, shook his head, stated that it wasn't possible that the floor was in that state, and had the workers reinstall it.

On the one hand, I was very happy about this. On the other, I felt kind of bad. The workers have the longest days imaginable, and I'm sure that putting the floor up a second time was not the most welcomed assignment of the day. It was surely not my intention to have them do so.

And was it really worth it? I don't know. I tried the floor and I dare say it may even be worse than in Lenzburg. I had to cut at least three lines from my act and replace them with the simplest moves possible. Falling was embarrassing. But so is performing an act that I could have done in my first year of circus school...

Strike a Pose

Currently my favourite circus picture ever. Photo by Stanley Kubrick.

Shut Up

Ah, the floor. How many times have I talked about the floor? Enough for even me to be sick of it. But the truth is, I am at the complete mercy of the floor I have to perform on. And no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to articulate just how important the quality of the floor is, the effect it has on what I do, and just how incredibly difficult my life becomes when the floor is out to get me.

After my first disastrous show in Lenzburg, one of my co-workers, a chap fresh out of circus school in his early twenties turned to me and said "That's live performance."

I wanted to smack him so badly.

No, dear boy, that is not live performance. Live performance is my trapeze being a little crooked but me doing my job anyway. Live performance is me messing up one of my tricks but making it look like I did it on purpose, or at the very least, smiling through it and getting the crowd on my side. Live performance is something going wrong back stage and everyone pulling together to make the show work regardless. That is live performance.

Having conditions which make it impossible to do your job is not live performance. Having what essentially amounts to unsafe conditions is not live performance. If I were to go up to him and say "Looks like your mat got lost during transport, you can do your act without it, right?" he would not smile and say "Sure! That's live performance!" He would say that he would not be doing his act until a new mat was found.

Live performance means things go wrong. But not even having a fighting chance before the lights even come up? I'm sorry, but that's just poor working conditions.

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.