Chez los Excentricos. Building the Sacred Mischief.

November 4th, 2007

In a garden oasis, behind a sturdy brick wall lies an old catalan house, and a few converted worksheds have over the many years been the home of Los Excentricos. Visiting the house over the years I have watched the neighborhood transform from a quiet forgotten country patch of small houses and overgrown forgotten gardens to a highly upscale dominion of arch angled block mansions. The rise in status of Barcelona as a Cosmopolitan playground has plump fingers in this neighborhood. There is still an abandoned orchard next door to Marceline Josep and Zaza are their cactus gardens, and artly creations.

They enjoy a simple life as they work hard to create their new ‘Los Excentricos’ show.

Zaza,

who might prefer to be playing Charlie Parker on the piano (from memory) is busy working on a set of shoji like screens for the set.

meanwhile Josep is hard at work creating a dancing skeleton

The house is full of amazing creations, automatic puppets that Josep has created, such as this magician …

one wall is home to a history of publicity photos…

There are two months left before the first opening of the show in January, the costumes hang ready,

rehearsals are happening in a studio nearby, so i don’t get to witness the creation in action. I get a chance to quiz Marceline about her view of clown in the kitchen.

Later Zaza and Josep add a few quips. Come morning they will be off to reheasal nearby, and if you happen to be in Barcelona in January, check the Ateneu No Barris’s calendar for

what might be next?

transform a parking lot

November 1st, 2007

Put up a circus.

Ok, not just any parking lot, but the one between two great theaters in Barcelona, the Teatre LLiure and the Mercat de Flors, nestled in the forested Montjuic hillside behind the Plaza de Espana. Not just any circus either, but the wonderful one ring Circ Cric. Setting up for a one month run.

Creating a forum for mischief, fun, amazement and wonderment, sacred and otherwise.

There is a certain amazement to watching a space transform from a shell

into a space of warmth and intimacy

those who work hard to create this reality

a slight deviation from straight lines had the architects scratching their heads for a moment

before stepping back to enjoy the creation

that leads past nights of uncertainty

to places full of opporunities for a little bit of attentive dusting by Tortell Poltrona,

whom along with his partner Montse, head a community dedicated to spreading a little bit of that magic dust….

om to barcelona!

and some magic under the bigtop

CWB-Sweden in Lebanon

True sacred mischief is afoot in the Palestinian Refugee Camps in Lebanon. A team from the Swedish Clowns without Borders has just started working with 15 young artists to create Circus Circuna. Part of the Swedish team, Nalle Blue is writing about it on nalleblue.wordpress.com…

here are a few words from yesterday:

“During the final circle today the stories came out;
How the people from the destroyed camps from the north sacrifice a day of rebuilding their houses to be part of the group.
How the artists from the only Palestinian christian camp have never had a chance to meet muslim palestinians before and ….”

I so encourage you to follow the link.  The story is just beginning….

…a Zen Master’s perspective on Sacred Clown….

The deeper I delve into clown from the teaching side, the greater the desire to put a finger on this word clown, what and all it represents. This has led me to explore the traditions of the sacred clowns amongst many of the indigenous tribes here in North America.
Their function in their communities depends on the tribe. They have different social and ceremonial roles that they play, yet invariably there is laughter involved.
For example, one thing the Hopi clowns do, is to clown problems that exist in their society ( such as obesity, diabetes, alcoholism) allowing people to laugh around the problems. Another aspect of sacred clown has deeper meaning. I offer up a paragraph from Joseph Eppes Browns’ book “Teaching Spirits”, this is the beginning of 4 pages of the book that discuss clowning:

Breaking Through with Laughter. The Lakota Heyhokas

That these are serious, sacred rites doesn’t mean that the rites do not contain some humor. Very often, right in the middle of a sacred ritual such as the opening of a sacred bundle, people may start telling funny stories. Suddenly, in this most serious context, people are laughing and holding their sides. Their laughter may seem to ridicule the rite, thus destroying it, but it does this so that the deeper truths contained within the rite can come forth and reveal themselves. Among many tribes on the Northwest coast, certain rites and ceremonies cannot be started until the guests who have been invited to participate start to laugh. Once they are laughing, the ground is prepared for a real quality of participation.
In many traditional societies, the clown is the first one to break through the solemnity of a ceremony…

In December of 2006, I was invited to perform at the Anjos Do Picadeiro festival in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Anjos do Picadeiro means Angels of the (Circus) Ring. What a nice way to refer to clowns. One of the extraordinary things about the festival was the presence of the Hotxua, the sacred clowns of the Kraho tribe in the Amazon. I had wonderful encounters with them, backstage at a documentary film shoot in the Hotel Gloria, and at various moments of the festival. They came to my show, loved it. I went to a demonstration of their rituals, more than loved it. There is a whole story about their rituals to be written, sometime soon

In the meantime, here is an extract from a discussion with the Roshi Wendy Egyoku Nakao, at the Zen Center in Los Angeles. I find her observations most illuminating on the nature of sacred clown. I showed her some photos of the Hotxua, and then read to her the translation of a conversation that I had with Liberto Kraho. Here is the discussion with the Roshi that followed:

Moshe: So the words spirit or spiritual don’t really apply in Zen, I am wondering about the word ‘sacred’. What does that mean for you? I had certain expectations about Sacred clown, yet when I saw the Hotxua play, they were so human…

Egyoku: Well yes, that’s the key in Zen, IT IS so Human. So (the words) sacred and secular is just another dichotomy.

Moshe: So sacred for you it just means being human?

Egyoku: Yes, but not just being human, but JUST being human-so fully human!!! There is no notion of sacred, secular, spiritual, not spiritual, you are just so fully embodied, which sounds like what they (the Hotxua) are doing, their completely embodied activity of human life. This complete embodiment is a very Zen thing: you are completely poured into it, and it’s poured into you; it goes both ways. There is no gap between anything really. That sounds like what they are doing. They are IT. They are playing, they are fighting, singing, dancing. They’re celebrating all these facets of life.

I love also what he says (Liberto), we don’t put anything on, we take it all off. We strip down to being human.
(Egyoku is reflecting on Liberto’s earlier comments about how they don’t wear any costumes or big shoes, but just shorts. )

What to say about all this? Perhaps that as clowns, here in this increasingly complex modern world, we can remind people what it is to be truly human, and to laugh about it all. Could this be our role as ‘sacred’ clowns ?

(there is a surprising amount of information about sacred clown on the web, links in the ‘about clown’ section of yoowho.org)

Airport Tai-Chi anyone?

“People who look at you might think you are crazy” the Dutch policeman says to me in the outdoor plaza of Schipol Airport. Grey morning clouds, wet pavement, umbrellas, deep rain spouts, the drops multiplying exponentially as the grey expanses of cement and asphalt disappear in an opaque cacophony of silver bullet lines.
I was in the middle of the Cherokee “Dance of Life”, or some variation on that theme, a Tai Chi’ esque ritual offered to the four directions ( wing, over the big mountain, tree, energy from the ground to the sky, energy from the sky to the ground).

Well I often do some form of stretching before long flights and stuck moments, sometimes the ritualized version if I feel so inspired, other times more straightforward yoga/chi gung style exercises.

I was quite surprised by the negative, near street fighter energy of the short wiry near shaved head policeman. Two had approached me under the huge awning of the all glass wall of the terminal. The two men who approached me in their blue uniforms surprised me, I was deeply engaged. I guess that after twenty years of the practice, and much philosophical reflection on the value of doing such actions in the public forum, that I had come to the conclusion that my actions were not worthy of security considerations. Even in these heightened security alert times, only once has any security official wished to check the nature of my actions.

This time however I am subjected to the good cop/bad cop treatment. I am honored, and perturbed. Resisting sparks of argumentative nature surfacing, I let the smaller cops attitude wash over me. Still when he came up with the comment about people perceiving my actions as crazy, I felt the need to reply and did, in a respectful calm way. I told him that I resented his comment, his suggestion that I might be looking crazy I told him was his judgment, that people usually wanted to know if I was doing Tai-Chi.

I thought that would be the end of it, after all I showed him my ticket and passport, and certainly what I was doing had no illegality about it. However, the little guy started questioning my ability to speak Dutch, what was I doing in the country, did I visit a lot and so forth. Eventually he ran out of questions, or maybe got tired of giving me a hard time. So I asked if I could finish my stretch. Both policeman told me it would be best if I didn’t. There was a hint of threat in the answer, like maybe they would be taking me in for more severe questioning if I attempted to continue.

There had been considerable discussion with friends during my three day stay in Amsterdam about how stricter the police had become in Holland, and that was a reflection of the shift in government towards a more conservative right wing stance. Most of that discussion had focused on how the city was cracking down on it’s free wheeling bicycle tradition, issuing tickets for traffic violations and not using bicycle lights at night, something that would have been unthinkable when I lived in Amsterdam twenty years ago. Well I guess everything changes…

About airport stretching:

Of course it is not that accepted a practice to stretch outside, or inside airports. Having a bad back ( I wear a brace for long flights), the stretching is essential to my well being, especially when there is a show to perform at the other end of the flight. I have often thought that there should be yoga lounges in airports. The consideration if it is a proper thing to do in a public forum seems like a no brainer to me. After all people jog in public streets all the time, and stretch in all ways imaginable. Public parks include plenty of facilities to enhance the activities, so why not airports.
Taking the thought a bit further, is it not the role of the clown to do just that, to do actions like mine in public places. Isn’t it part of the role to make people question entrenched attitudes and cultural/public moral values. Wouldn’t a logical conclusion to a philosophical pondering of my actions be a positive outlook towards the practice. Certainly airline officials at countless boarding gates have smiled, quipped, and offered encouragement of my practice. No doubt they understand a little better how that cramped airplane seat feels like after five or six hours.

Stockholm-almost

does it look like Stockholm? If you have ever been there you would probably say no. Does it matter, not to me. This spot is a good 30 minutes outside that amazing archipelago gathering of islands they call Stockholm. This spot is an outskirt, there are project highrises visible from where I am staying, a little apartment that is part of a tower at the end of one building that comprises the circus complex housing the national circus school as well as the modern circus ‘Cirkus Cirkor.’ There should be photos, but I deleted a whole slew by mistake. I am here with 19 other clowns without borders people, from 9 different countries, for our 3rd annual summit. Slowly the group moves from a meeting of rather separate organizations in 6 countries, to one where we are discussing projects in common, and looking to officialize a Clowns Without Borders International. Yours truly is the international ambassador, and fascilitator and moderator for the meeting. Three days in the circus environment, our meeting room right above my little apartment, a tower at one end of the building.

The meeting room is full of light, windows on all sides, and the discussions are full of light as well.

that’s Jonathan Gunning of the new Clowns without Borders Ireland making a point, with humor. the plastic hammer in the foreground is our talking stick and moderation tool-if anyone gets out of hand, the hammer bomps with a loud obnoxious squeek, everyone laughs and we move on. The hammer barely gets any use all weekend. This is to say that there are lot’s of positive discussions about how to cooperate more, and get more laughter into places where it is needed.

the circus school is quite a story in itself, a few trailers are parked in the lot outside the building, with some students living in them. The school is very active, offering professional training as well as an alternative high school path. Sorry no photos. but here is a link to their site:
http://www.cirkor.se/

Behind the school are the woods,

and a few minutes away is a small lake, a complex of small apartments, all painted in yellow, and community gardens.

I get caught up in taking a photo of blue chairs in front of one of the yellow apartments

In the middle of my artistic deliberations, I am interupted by a voice from the balcony. There is a man who wishes to know just what I am doing. A long discussion about just why I am taking the photos ensues. He doesn’t like my answer that I am taking the photos because I like the blue chairs. He doesn’t laugh when I put on the clown nose, however it does disarm him a bit; enough to ask if I am taking pictures because i am interested in buying the place (whether he likes it or not). Evidently the clown nose is not enough on it’s own, but my words of reassurance allows the conversation to end on a pleasant note.

There is this beautiful old mansion, also yellow, with a clock tower, and baroque fringes that is very intriguing.

I pass by it everytime I go to the big yellow house, another one, not as fancy, next door, where everyone in the clown world is staying and eating . It has some kind of official purpose, and some mystery associated with it as well.

I am told that this is a work place of sorts for people who have to do community service. Well dang, Sweden has something going on here that is looking good, at least from the outside.

There is also a broken down boat in their gardens. who knows.

I am told that they are working on it a lot, but it sure doesn’t look like it. Then I spot another boat, upright in good shape it would appear, covered by a tarp. Perhaps that one looked like this a year ago. Who nose?

F-X from Canada, and Heiko, from Germany.

Countries at the Clowns Without Borders meeting: Spain, France, Sweden, Canada, USA, Belgium, along with new members: Ireland, Germany and South Africa.

Sevilla to Salzburg

I ask him if he was born in La Algaba. Yes Yes. And how was it different back then?
Everything was orange groves he tells me as we drive the 6 kilometers into Sevila. He gestures across fields to a myriad of housing projects and suburban developments, and the occasional holdout orange field.
It used to rain he says. It wasn’t this hot. When I was a kid people slept outside, where ever they felt like it, no one locked doors.
When I discussed the rain with a few locals as we assessed the evening sky, and I asked if they thought it would rain. “Va venir el agua” he tells me, the water is coming.

Unexpected sight as the hotel van crosses the bridge towards town, the vibrant elder driver points out this strange metal grey dome. ‘Christopher Cololumbus’ he tells me, as the active churning of wastewater treatement plant directly below the bridge attracts my attention. The only holdoever from the world’s fair, the driver tells me and as we pass by, from another angle, there is a huge statue of the man. I have the hotel ‘Torre de los Gussman’ 11 am 2 euro shuttle into town to myself.

Ah the beauty of Sevilla. After three days in La Algaba, I am swept up by the colors of the town, plunging immediately into the small side streets. I come across a house with straw shade shutters, seemingly old traditional style. My camera claims my attention.

i am drawn into this walkway near the Bullfighting ring, a must see i am told. I am not too enthused by the whole drama and gore of the bullfighting world, and a sudden swarm of tourists as i round the corner to the entrance, and the 7.5 euro entrance fee has me back exploring the sidestreets.

the esthetic of the arches calls me in closer

my eyes brighten at discovery
circus in other contexts.

images of beauty of Sevilla…

what’s inside these archways?

Well in Salzburg they do not call the rain the water, however after a very dry spring, they are not complaining about the heavy soaking rains that graced most of my time there. Two fun shows for the thirtieth anniversary of the ST Virgil Bildingshaus (Learning Center) and then a two day workshop with 16 motivated participants seeking to ‘humor their human’.
From the dryness of Sevilla to the green wonder of the nearby alps.

Wet Wet Wet, no photos of the Salzburg beauty, the huge castle on the hill and more green onioned churches…ah but the main shopping street…

a ittle bit of sacred mischief?

Next up, the meeting of Clowns without Borders, International, in Stockholm. 20 clowns and administrators from 9 countries….

from Aatnang to La Algaba.

hello world,

bringing humor to the people, in the land of onion shaped church steeples, Austria.

right near the beauty of the low mountain lake at Gemung

teaching a workshop in the basement of the Aatnang church

we go to eat in the local Italian restaurant, a converted traditional restaurant

The second day of the workshop is May 1st, which in most parts of the world is labor day, hence a holiday. Why is it that the US chooses a different day to celebrate as labor day? A question that has crossed my mind a few times. Meanwhile, it turns out that May 1st is also the day for pilgrimages to the Aatnang church. I am surprised by this procession of men, only men, walking down the main stream, an audible sound of prayer in the air. One hundred or so men, many chanting along, some holding their hands in specific pose. One holds a mast up high. I figure some type of icon, but it turns out to be two little speakers and a wireless antenna. Evidently modern technology is in action too, broadcasting the priest’s prayer to the faithful as they walk along.

I decide to start the afternoon in the beautiful garden full of little flowers, trees, smells and a pleasant breeze.

A perfect atmosphere to look for the lighter poetic side of clown. Everyone is having a marvelous time, until the priest in black robes and white pompom accoutrements passes by above. One glance at us, and he demands we cease and desist. No room for play here today, at least not in the sweet spring garden. We create one inside instead.
A few plane flights the next day and i find myself in a quite different environment. La Algaba, Spain.

The poorest town neighboring Sevilla, some 6 kilometers away from the splendour and touristed city. I think it would be safe to say that no tourist has strayed into this little town. The town though had the great idea three years ago to start a music and theater festival, hence my presence here. In town the day before I play, I go into the little town to enjoy the evenings offerings. Los Gingers, a great comedy circus show is performing.

They mix high level acrobatics, juggling, teeter totter and other circus skills with a great sense of humor. There is extensive slapstick as Ramiro,

oh the posed macho, continually runs into poles, slips and falls that has the audience falling out of their seats laughing.

Their show is in a public housing complex where it would seem not much else takes place.

I am told that it is not the best of neighborhoods, some 160 forced detentions (arrests) the past two years. Considering that the project is home to around 500 people, this is quite high for Spain. There are bars on second and third floor windows

There are also a lot of green flags hanging out windows, draped off of balconies everywhere. No not nationalism, or election time. Football (soccer) fans, or perhaps fanatics. There are two teams in Sevilla, one has green flags, the other green and white striped. They are arch rivals i am told, although some balconies have both flags hanging side by side. A few buildings have exclusively one flag or the other. No doubt there are some good stories to be told. Today the focus is on Los Gingers, whose techinical virtuosity and great humor is delighting this jaded I’ve seen everything clown.

needless to say, I am not the only one.

Onwards into the evening, and to another neighborhood of La Algaba, a relatively normal neighborhood, where a small park has been transformed into a performance space for Portugal’s Circolanda, which offers a nighttime show around a circle of prepared earth. The neighborhood is out and waiting, and finally as darkness unfolds the show begins, a group of men on bicycles playing brass instruments arrive on the scene after a video projection of them exploring the countryside ends. they have somewhat dirty faces, and frumpy clothes. The music sounds rather slavic, and is something of a conversation between them. the show is quite visual with beautiful images but the clown in me is wishing for more interaction between them and humor.

May 3rd. the organization of the festival brings me to the spot where i am going to play, a small square in yet another part of town. There has never been a show in this spot, and as I am taking a look around the several of the neighbors come out. I am going to block a garage door in a corner, and a person appears at the doorway, so i go to introduce myself. i explain that his door will be blocked off during the show. He is fine with that, and invites me in to visit his workshop behind the door.

That would be the man in the middle of the photo. He works with metal he tells me, silver and gold. I ask him how long he has been there-18 years. Earlier I had asked his neighbor the same question, 35 years he answered, and explained that he had built the house himself, with his own hands, as if he were being paid to do it he adds.
I am surprised by what I find behind the metal garage door. the walls are full of dusty posters, and designs for various items he has built.

It would seem that most of what he makes are religious icons for the semana santa-easter-processions.

Later on during the show, I have a great time starting from behind the narrow door that is part of the garage door, banging into it ‘by mistake’ numerous times. The audience loves it, and it becomes a theme of the show everytime i need to go back inside to get a few more props running into the door and slapping my flat hand hard against the side of the opening as i jerk my head back as if i had hit it. The metallurgist’s father shows up wanting to get inside but has to walk right through my stage to get to the door, so of course I play with him. We have a good moment, and so does the audience.

next up. Sevilla to Salzburg