What He Said...

Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is the night. Wish my luck, wish me love, and most of all, wish me courage! And also, aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Dun Dun DUN!

Its been three months. There have been arguments, breakdowns, tears, laughter, hurdles overcome and breakthroughs made. Most importantly, a show was born. Tonight was our final run before the doors open to a curious and eager public. And I, for one, am crapping my pants.

Last night we had a small audience of about 30 people (the Chapiteau holds 1000). Oddly enough, I wasn't nervous. I had heard they were the people from the office and some theatre company that often comes by. I figured they were friends and so no big deal. I later learned they were actually one of those super critical bunches you need to be wary of.

Oops.

Things went well, but I feel like I've plateaued a bit. I don't really feel like I'm inhabiting what I'm doing. I think having a real audience will help.

I also think it might kill me.

Tonight, I was so nervous. There were six people in the public. The director, assistant director, the costume designer, the technical director, the maintenance/all around go-to guy, and the videographer. That's it! People who have been here from the start and know the show inside and out! And yet I was on the verge of thoroughly soiling my costume...

If I felt like that tonight, I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow.

One thing that's really great though is my placement in the show. My wheel number has always been either last or second to last. That's a long time to let your nerves build up. Now, I'm rather close to the beginning, just before the middle. Its a good spot. I can get into the show, do my number without getting too worked up, and then continue with a lot less stress. It's pretty awesome.

Also, I now have a costume! Its still not quite finished, and it did sort of fall off at one point in the run (but that can be avoided later on), but its a costume! And its orange... a nice orange though. Kind of a burnt, rust, pumpkin kind of orange. Well, the pants are, I've never really had a chance to look at the top in the light. Anyway, its orange. I must admit, its one of the last colours I ever thought I'd end up in...

I can't believe its finally here. This journey started with my audition in 2007 and now I'm finally going to be presenting a show as a member of this reknowned circus. And you know what? Tonight, at curtain call, I felt like a real member of this troupe. And that is a beautiful thing.

So wish me 'merde' all over my broken legs! Because tomorrow is the beginning of a whole new chapter of this crazy circus life of mine.

Allez!

Worlds Update

I have purchased my train ticket to Switzerland.

There's no turning back now!

Look out Baar, here I come!

I Feel Pretty! Oh So Pretty!

There’s one thing I’ve been meaning to write about for quite some time. From inside a show, it’s my favourite part. I always find it terribly exciting and quite frankly, for me, it’s the part I find most magical and the part that really makes me feel like I in a show.

If you haven’t figured it out, I’m referring to the costumes. The idea that someone is going to make a costume especially for me, to exactly my measurements, so that it best suits my shape and highlights my best features… well that, my friends, is one tasty looking carrot to be dangling in front of someone’s nose.

It’s funny how the things just left of the actual show are the parts I love most. The costumes, make up, the poster, the program… I suppose that’s what makes it real for me. Anyone can put something together and call it a “show”. I feel like it’s these elements that make it real, official and professional. At the same time, I guess it makes sense. When the show is over, everything that has occurred on stage exists only as a memory. When you get back up there the following night, the experience will never be the same, even if the gestures are. And one day, the show will end. The lasting reminder, the proof that it really happened, lies in the things you can hold. The poster, the program, the costume...

I suppose I’m just getting a little wistful because we open in five days… Five days!!

But back to costumes…

As I just mentioned, we open in five days. I still do not have a completed costume. There are some people who are missing elements of their costume, but I’m flat out missing pants and a top. I do have a costume just for my number, which is really quite awesome, albeit now covered in paint (damn you, clowns!). And I do have a sequin-infested jacket. But for the duration of the show that I am not doing German wheel I have only my shiny, shiny coat to keep me decent.

I almost have pants. Every time I try them on the fit is disastrous and I have the costume designer up in my lady parts muttering under her breath. And one day I may have a top but the costume designer hasn’t found “my colour”. I have, however, been told that that colour is not green. I suppose that’s a start.

As for my German wheel costume… after having lived through costumes that made me look like an ice dragon (actually kind of cool) and a diseased sperm (very far from cool), I am happy to report I will finally be represented as an attractive young woman!

For starters, the costume is red. Red! Only sexy women get to wear red. But not only that, its a little bustier that shows off my cleavage (!) coupled with what the costume designer calls little underwear, but are actually just little red shorts. They aren’t really interesting enough to call them anything but shorts. Except for that, like the bustier, they have roses all over them! Needless to say, the wheel costume makes it much easier to bear the sequin-infested jacket and lack of pants.

The Second Run

The day started out rough. We were all exhausted from the night, and weeks, before. I swear you've never seen a group of droopier acrobats than the ones oozing off the structure for the trampoline number.

And of course, there was the infamous wheel session in the afternoon...

But its true what they say, the show must go on, and run through number two was looming.

As you can imagine, I was nervous. I have the incredible fortune of incredible friends here and after my difficult wheel session, I shared a good cry*. Still, doubt remained. Also, inadequacy, embarrassment, fear and many other emotional parasites. I had no idea if I could what I had to do that night. Using a technique called EFT I worked through a good portion of the things holding me back. For the first time in a long time, I felt some kind of peace and was ready to work. I know I still have a lot of issues to work through, but I took some huge steps in the right direction.

The lights went down, the music started, artists paced the backstage.

And it was glorious.

I don't know what happened, but somehow, we did a show. Not a series of acts and technical bits, but a show. A living, breathing entity consisting of the sweat and passion of thirteen artists, three stage technicians and a handful of others. We progressed by leaps and bounds and we felt it. That is magic.

And my number? I exploded. I blew them out of the water. I left them with their little jaws dangling and even made one of the musicians cry. I took my time, and for the first time, I did my number for myself. Not for the director, not for the sake of the show, but for me. I rediscovered my relationship with my wheel, the love of what I do and what the hell I'm doing here in the first place. And it felt so good.

After wards, the technical director came up to me and told me that I took him in my hand and held him the entire time. He later told me that my number was the moment in the show when the energy really took off. And he is not a man who gives compliments gratuitously. I finally did my job.

I'm also finding my place in this show. I understand who I am a little better. I'm having fun, still trying to learn the show, mind you, but slowly I am starting to have fun.

And the best part? We won our Saturday! We were supposed to work the weekend because we were so behind. The thing is, we're all breaking. One colleague got an infection in his knee and now has all these crazy bumps on the glands in his knee. Others are getting sick too. Plus tempers are growing short and the pressure and stress are mounting. We need these two days. Especially since starting Monday, we go seven days straight.

But! We have a show... and from the whispers of those who've seen it, it might even be a really good show. I guess we'll find out Thursday.


* Understatement.

Number Drama: The Moment of Truth

As I stumbled out of my caravan, still half asleep, trying hard to find some hitherto untapped scrap of energy with which I could attack group trampoline, I ran into the director. I apologized for not commenting the night before, and explained that I wasn’t in a state to be constructive. He assured me that was fine, and then went on to tell me that we would be working on my number that afternoon. That we had never taken the time to do so. We were going to fix it. He really likes my character in the show and would like to see that character in my number…

Oh…

Those words struck me as a death sentence. My character, if you don’t know, is somewhat silly, runs around a lot, and has absolutely nothing to do with the spirit of my act.

When the time to do wheel arrived, the director started proposing things like:

“Put your arms up here to give the image of Da Vinci.”

“Add a little smile there* for the public”

And that’s when it went to shit.

I have an extremely difficult time hiding my inner monologue. Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves. I wear my thoughts on my face. I looked like I was in pain. And finally the director lost his patience with me and started yelling.

"With every proposition, you look like you're being slapped! You put up walls, won’t listen, will accept no criticism when it comes to your wheel!"

Not being one to start a yelling match, I got off the stage and went to speak to him face to face from where he was seated in the audience. And by speak to him, I also mean speak to the musical director and technical director (founding members, all), and the assistant director.

I tried to remain composed but just started crying. I explained how I felt lost, that I had no idea what they wanted from me, and that the only thing I’ve been hearing from them lately is that it doesn’t work. I told them of my doubt, how I’ve spent the last weeks worrying and dreading, unsure how to proceed. They said they wanted to see my funny character, I told them that if I were to do that, it would be caricature, and besides, that is not how I am with my wheel, that I don’t know how to be that, and if they had wanted a wheel number like that, they should have hired someone else.

I told the director that, yes, I do put up walls as soon as he comes to speak to me. I don’t know what it is about him, but I get angry and frustrated when he tries to intervene. I told him he’s unclear and while I don’t talk to him, I do seek the counsel of others. I suddenly understood that one of the reasons I have such a difficult time working with him is because of his lack of clarity and because I have to dig to get at the tiniest scrap of specificity.

More importantly, I have a hard time working with him because he proposes solutions without pinpointing the problem. And because I don’t know what the problem is, I don’t understand And because I don't understand, his propositions make no sense, feel super fake and imposed. Because his proposed solutions feel dishonest, superficial and placed, I become resentful.

Wow.

So finally, someone specifies the problems. There’s the manipulations, of course. However, unlike what I had been led to believe, it wasn't so much the manipulation as it was the approach. I was convinced they disliked them so much that I kept trying to be as efficient as possible. What they needed from me was time and care. To move my wheel with the same tenderness I approach it with at every other moment.

Out of nowhere, the director’s wife/founding member/artist in the show appeared. She began to tell me how when she was still wire walking in the show, she too would try to hide the preparation. But the truth is, the audience is interested in you. So much beauty and interest lies in the artist. Those moments of preparation are as much a gift as the the actual trick because the time the artist takes to prepare for a figure is an act of generosity to the public. That feat is being prepared for the public. There's no need to be afraid of taking the audience in your hand and bringing them along for the ride.

I took her hand and I cried.

They continued to pin point the exact moments, the four or five moments (and not the piece as a whole!) that didn't pass. I may be an artist, but the technical acrobat in me, the former gymnast in me, that side of me needs specifics and precision. Now armed with those tools, I could work.

I made some changes, and most importantly I made a request.

The one thing that has been missing in this process is a period where I can take all the time I need. The entire "Your number is too long! Cut! Cut! Cut!" period severely crippled me. I rushed, I was more worried about finishing that doing. More concerned by where I was in the music that what was happening in the moment. So I asked if during the night's run, I could take as much time I as I needed. Even if that meant taking twelve minutes.

I got the okay. Armed with clarity and time, all that was left was the real moment of truth. The night's run through would tell...


* ‘There’ is a moment midway to standing up where I’m bent over with my arms hanging down and my ass sticking out. Classy.

The First Run

After months of research and creation, fine tuning, chopping and rehashing, we finally did a complete run through of the show. I believe the first comment the director gave afterwards was, “Some moments are really magical. Some moments really aren’t.”

It was hard. It was long. It was exhausting. I suppose the first sign of trouble was when we started an hour and a half later than we were supposed to. Not having time to warm up is one thing, warming up and having a half hour delay, then another, then another is an entirely different difficulty. It’s draining to remain present, and hard on the body to stay warm in inactivity.

Not ten minutes in, there was a huge technical mishap when couscous started falling from the ceiling. I’ll let you do what you will with that image as I don’t think I could do it justice.

Then there were the half dozen or so people (myself included) who wiped out on a poorly placed accessory because for some reason, the lighting designer keeps forgetting to put lights on backstage. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to set up a trampoline in the dark, but it isn’t as easy as you might think.

Of course, for me, the wheel was the deal breaker. It’s no secret that I’ve been having a considerable amount of difficulty with my number and my place in the show. The way my act is going, I am filled with dread up until the moment I do it, and then after wards, I dread the feedback. My number did not go well in this run. Entering the space, I was disoriented. That confusion and uncertainty dragged me down. It was plastic, I messed up a lot of the technique and once again, the musicians had to extend the music…

It was terrible. The worst one yet. And it wasn’t that the number was bad that bothered me. What left me discouraged and unhappy was the thought of what the director would have to say later. And I really let that feeling drag me down. It was not a joyful run of the show.

I know I can do my act well. I know I can. And while I keep telling the director it will come, it isn’t. I feel like I’m failing my art.

Some positive points on the run: we were under two hours. I am told that them first run of the previous show was between three and four hours long. Um… I remembered to do most of my manipulations.

What can I say? It was exhausting and discouraging. We stayed in the Chapiteau giving notes until close to midnight. When we got to my number I flat out said I couldn’t comment, that I was too tired, and had nothing to give. I knew that if I had to talk about it, I would just get angry. That would have served no purpose and would have been unfair to the troupe.

The director wanted to start at 9:00 am the next morning. There was no way. I didn’t even shower at the end of the day. Eat. Bed. Back to the drawing board…