The Tiny Red Mask

My experience with Clowning

Firm boundaries have a sound, soft boundaries don't. I don't know where my soft boundaries are, neither as a performer, nor as an audience. Soft boundaries are estimated and identified. Until then, one tip-toes around and see what happens. In this zone, a performance emerges, a story emerges. I attended Clowning workshop by Andres yesterday and learned a thing or two, about identity, performance and emotions.

Like most theater workshops, it starts with walking in the space, stretching and getting inside your body. One has to be inside one’s body to notice their feelings; that's where feelings are. Getting inside your body has a sense of surrender; you’re a puppet and you let your whimsy pull your strings. Not committing to an identity going in helps your true identity emerge. NGL, while I enjoy expressing myself, I hold back. “They won't get it. Their feelings might get hurt if I speak my mind”, I think to myself, pulling my punches.

It ties to my childhood perhaps. Some of us were taught to shrink and suppress in return for peace; to befriend a bully rather than be alone. You carry that rage in your stomach. With shoulders stiff from gaze of the audience, and quads hurting from a leg day before, I put on a hat and the red nose. I walk up to the stage and return the audience's gaze, with a light, floating gaze of my own. My gaze is soft so there's no anchor, which is terrifying. I find an anchor when Andres welcomed me to the stage.

Improve has anchors. Say, a prompt. But in CLOWNING, you build a story out of intangible prompts (approaching nothing). On the other hand, Maybe we need anchors so we don't rush and commit to an identity that isn't us. Maybe uncertainty terrifies us so much that we would find our anchor in an identity we choose arbitrarily; something we saw working for someone else (think modern brands or avery religious person who would betray his/her/their true feelings because they don't align with the identity they chose) Can that be true? Performance gives form to something that exists inside us, it can't be fake. It could, on the contrary, help us reveal or true identity.

An identity is transient; it should be. An anchor helps you breathe. So I find an anchor in someone I hardly know. A performance is given. How do you give to someone you don't know? What if they refuse it? Would it hurt their feelings? I try. I find myself stomping my feet. It came out of nowhere. Why exhibit power to someone you hardly know? Maybe she's a part of a collective that doesn't deserve my authenticity. (She's lovely; this was me mid-performance) A collective that fills me with rage and disappointment.

I find a new anchor and this time from a distance. I stand on a chair and find some half-drunk water bottles. I pick them up and throw them to the ground. It gets old. I try to juggle with one bottle. I prepare to throw the bottles. You’re a witch put your curse and dark magic in it, Andres instructs (how does he know). I don't believe in God; I'm not drawn to the occult but I'm sure if I was alive during Salem witch trials, I'd be burnt alive. Anyway, the bottles come back to me. Pick them up, Andres suggested. I pick the bottles and hug them. They're mine. But it's time to let go. Meaning is transient, like identity, as it should be.

I fill my belly with air and try to float away (or try to be fluid and light-footed). I walk back with air in my belly. I take a leap of faith, hitting a stack of pillows ( I planned where my back would hit; at 35 one doesn't risk injuries) People turned to a collective but this time they were comforting (I wouldn't fall if I didn't trust them). I must have felt safe. The Tiny Red Mask helped me meet an identity which, while transient, is real.