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I’ve spent my whole clown life reassuring people that I’m not that kind of clown, that I’m not frightening, that no, of course I don't wear make-up, but today I felt more authentic and free than I have in a long time, dancing between innocence and experience, feeling like a beginner again, but on solid ground.
In hospital as Dr Maybee, the depth and breadth of my expression is of course limited by the space, environment, people we connect with. I practice breathing life and authenticity into the space that is available, but lately i’ve been longing for a vehicle to express the deeper, less acceptable, less polished, less child-friendly parts of me. Being in the street, clowning for adults, knowing that they will either be repelled by me or attracted to me depending on their own inner landscape and desires is so liberating. This performance in Riga is an exploration of an image that has been nestled in my imagination for maybe 15 years; a clown on her own, walking with purpose through the city holding a bag of oranges. Inevitably, the bag splits, the bright, beautiful oranges spill and she can’t continue without help. This image has gently tapped at the walls of my consciousness, and unlike some other ideas that I have scared away, I’ve always managed to greet this one with kindness - ‘not yet, love, not yet’. Somehow it has always felt too tender, too slight, too innocent for the real world, and better nurtured in my own solitary imagination... But when it transpired that we couldn’t clown in hospital in Riga it surged into my minds-eye, and now Igor was there too...not one clown, but two. I left him a rambling voice note - ‘so there is this idea that I’ve had for a long time…bla bla bla….oranges…street…bla bla...it's okay if it's not the right time for you...’ and he replied, like the perfect co-conspirator that he is, ‘I was going to suggest we clown in the street too - let’s do it!’. Neither of us have any idea what this will be, other than the two of us, a bag of oranges, and the street, but we both have that feeling that we’ve jumped into a beautiful, fast flowing river - delighted, exhilarated and fortunate beyond measure to feel so inspired and so in-step.
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 I google ‘learning curve’ and see that I have gone past the bit where I am amazed and delighted that anything at all is possible, and have arrived at the part of the curve that drops suddenly into an abyss. I have been hit, like a frickin’ tsumani, by everything I do not know. This is a very familiar feeling, and is why my past is littered with passions I have cast aside when the task of gaining any kind of facility felt like too much pain and trouble. In the studio today I am pushing the puppet around, we are in a battle and I am not having fun; a grumpy child whose skateboard is somehow harder to use than everyone else's. The next morning I write on a big piece of paper 'don’t take yourself so seriously’, ‘you are not a real bear’ and ‘put in everything you’ve got’. I look Hercules in the eye and ask what music they would like to listen to. In the silence I hear ‘Etta James’ so we listen to 'Stormy Weather' and we begin again.
The audience is whooping and cheering as we step onto the bouncer. As Ben takes my paws ready for our first move and I can feel something is off. I look at him for confirmation that we are, indeed, sinking, and I see by the sparkle in his eye that he is fully committed to this shambles. I get the giggles, lose my balance and fall in exquisite slow motion onto my side, entangling Ben in my legs and paws. I reach out my arm, ‘help!' And as Catherine rushes into action, pulling Ben from the morass of fur and limbs, the bouncer begins to fill again. He leaps back up, I steady myself and slap him over the head with my giant paw. All is well. It turns out to be my favorite show of the tour. On our opening night we do a dress before the premier and I am in the midsts of an endometriosis flare - this involves burning pelvic pain, sciatic pain, and also a very heavy feeling in my limbs, amongst other things. The idea of being a bear on a bouncer when I feel like this is overwhelming. I am worried that I just won't be able to hold the positions necessary for the show, my legs feel so wobbly. Fergus and I eat lunch by the river, watching the long bony finger of a JCB scrape the windows off a high-rise. It's good to be outside and remember that even with the wobbliest legs in the world, this is just playing, and it is going to be okay. In the end my performance feels on the edge of un-hinged, like I've gotten away with something I shouldn’t have. I feel a bit like that half demolished building, hanging on. That night's Epsom Salt bath is transcendent. The week after press night is intense! Of course, I know it doesn't matter what the press say and how many stars they give, but the whole thing sets my ego on a rampage. I decide not to read them and that helps a lot, but can’t resist checking with Fergus that no one has said ‘it would be a good show if it wasn’t for the terrible puppeteering’. The first week of the tour, I experience big lows on the days after each show. I wake up in a cloud of sadness. I wonder if it is because we build this rapport with the audience, fall in love, and then they all leave without saying goodbye. I know this is how it should be, and Diane and Ben seem to take it all in their stride. I recognise that the intensity of feeling is totally disproportionate. I decide to help with the get-out, so that I can be back in the space, feel how the energy has changed and ground myself in rolling up carpet and cables. Often also rolling myself up in carpet and cables, laughing a lot with the crew. I say thank you to the puppets after each show. We walk into Carinish Village hall after our workshop and Natalie looks bereft. 'We will have lighting for the show tomorrow but we can't change state'. It's hugely disappointing but because we are in the Outer Hebrides there is clearly no possibility of replacing the broken part. 'I wish we could just beam the part here!' Judy sighs. A pause before Diane opens the door of possibility, 'there is an airport here...' and Susannah confirms 'yeah and there is a flight arriving from Glasgow tomorrow morning, I am bound to know people on it'. From that moment on we are living our 'Challenge Anneka' dream. The part is picked up by Ben's friend just minutes before the hire place closes, ferried to to the centre of Edinburgh where it waits to be picked up by Lewis's parents and delivered to Fergus in Glasgow. Meanwhile we identify someone who is able to take the part on the flight via a Facebook message on a community notice board. Fergus drops it off to her that night. The next morning we meet her at Benbecula airport and she hands over the small flight case. We take it to the hall, plug it in, and boy oh boy did those lights look good! ON Stornoway we hear there is a really high chance of seeing the Northern Lights with the naken eye, so we jump in the car, and drive towards what we think will be the darkest spot possible. House start to thin, no more street lights, until we come around the bend and arrive directly in front of a lighthouse - and not just any lighthouse - the one that Fergus based his Gaggle designs on. Needless to say we could not see the northern lights. I think my favorite part of the show is the start, when we come in from the back and climb and run about the audience. A woman scratched my back this evening, and someone gave me one of their chips. I love starting the show with this chaos, subverting expectations and giving permission for the audience to play and bring themselves to the space too. The front row this evening was filled with a group of Scouts. Children saying their thoughts out loud throughout the show; 'That was the best thing I’ve ever seen and the funniest thing I’ve ever seen' 'That’s what theatre should be like!' 'This is SO weird!' 'I think the bear is peeing' ‘It’s a moose! No! its a Cactus!’ 'Oh my god the bear is LITERALLY behind you!' 'ELSA!' I wish audiences knew that the closer they sit together the better time they will have. I didn't think it was possible to love Diane and Ben anymore than I did before we went on this tour, but seeing them performing each night fills me with so much tenderness. What glorious and ridiculous creatures they are. I feel so lucky to be touring with people I admire so deeply and who I can be totally myself with. |
AuthorI am a therapeutic clown and performer. Writing here is part of my wider practice and maybe some of my thoughts will trigger some thoughts of your own and I hope that helps. Archives
November 2025
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