I noticed myself after the improvisation today. It put me into a state where my true nature, or whatever you’d call it, was venerable. It made me feel like myself, which was scary. I feel so wired, shaky, kind of like a child, kind of like a sex addict, kind of like a tragic philosopher who shoots himself in the foot. My levels are slightly erratic, and I feel incredibly open and sad at the same time. But that’s life!
Just tired. Rooms a mess! Half creative development butchers paper, and half bags turned inside out.
I think my brains all screwed into a little snowball from writing head bending applications all afternoon. Two projects with different but similar philosophies. Mapping out how ideas and feeling states connect to produce something else :) Kind of like now. What’s it mean for me to be writing this down. Feels self defeating. I don’t know when I’m playing a character and when I’m not. No more paradoxes today please!
I have 2 new projects it seems: Snow, and Third Space. Applications are done, thats a good thing. They’re quietworks. I think you’ll like them.
I’ll do my own thing. Cut hair.. Probably would help things a little. Red wine too. Melbourne girls soon. That’ll be nice.
Remember those strays..? There is a little cat watching in one of the photographs of my "Third Space" Tunnel impro today.
“Make circus like music.” I’m listening to music as I write this. The people in the café are talking about a gay zombie porno.
Primarily I’m a balance artist, it’s my talent, and hearing loss and vertigo runs in my family. I already have tinnitus.. Beethoven said, “Music is like a dream. One that I cannot hear.” Marlee Matin said, “Silence is the last thing the world will ever hear from me.”
I would like to imagine the world sensitised differently. How would we treat it, how would it transform, what would we feel? If the world was silent, would circus become music?
Sometimes I go for a walks and all there is, is Street. Today I noticed somebody has started leaving cat biscuits for the ferrel kittens living next to the walking tunnel under the train line. This time the ginger cat I often see didn’t run as I exited the tunnel. We watch each other through the fence. I feel like there is some symbolic relation, but I’m sure to the cat I’m just a person.
Still, often I feel like a cat. Even if we were just watching, that’s what cats do isn’t it. I’ll let you do your business and I’ll do mine and in the meantime we’ll watch. I know that side of the fence. Domesticated homeless. Or in my case, fashionably homeless for a time.
During then, emotions were bloody. We’re all killers, liars, lovers, home-makers etc.. Animals feel it all. When my home was threatened I retaliated I wanted him dead. When there was no home I literally built it. When there was no love, I brought girls back to hard floors under candle light.
It sounds romantic, but only on reflection does it become art. Some might say my life was art - that’s what I wanted - really though, in the moment, there are only types of survival.
I was attacked once walking back to my ‘place’ years ago. I was followed down a side street in Fitzroy at 1am. They tailed me for about 5 blocks. I could feel them behind me. Then I turned to look, hearing, “Come here.” We were face to face, I turned and ran. Bottles were rebounding off my back and legs. I was breathing but screaming. I tried to hail a car and they thought I was crazy and drove past. I ran more blocks not looking back, and then started bashing on the door of a closed pub. They let me in and I collapsed on the floor exhausted. They called a taxi for me, and I caught it 2 blocks to where I was sleeping that night.
One day I’ll stop doing stupid shit and raise a ferrel kitten instead.
Remembering this really gets my pulse up.
I’m sure this isn’t exclusive to me. I get ALOT of people I don’t know striking up conversations with me on the street. That’s a lie, 40% I strike up. But at any rate, it’s every couple of days and it blows me away.
Strangers, who share the intimate things from their lives. Yesterday, a woman came out of the train station and started talking to me. The conversation ended with "Do you know of any places to rack around here?" To which I replied, "I’m not sure, you know I might not look it, but I’ve been in some trouble myself." To which she replied, "You look like you’ve straightened yourself up dude, I hope I can be like you one day." - Then she headed off to probably look into the windows of every parked car in search of opportunity.
I get all kinds of stories: “I was suspended from school.” “I want to find a job as a bus driver.” “I’m on a spiritual pilgrimage.” “People in Sydney are the worst out of any state.” “The whipper snippers hurt the trees.” “I’m a chef in a kitchen.”
.. Or maybe they just want a quick chat, like this guy who stood next to me getting off the train at Sydenham.
Sometimes I like the people and I’m a little torn when they go. Other times, I want to escape - there was a really rough construction worker 3 days ago who was obnoxious. Where as I had a coffee with this other man a month ago for 4 hours and I’ll never see him again.
I guess it’s just the street. You get all types. Mainly men talk to me. I’m not sure what it means to them. I take their picture and they don’t seem to care.
Launceston Tasmania, September 2013
Images by Skye Gellmann
A lone wolf at the moment, tapping away, making Europe happen this year - still all question marks. Looks like it’s going to be a work holiday. When I sent 30 or more emails off and got 1 (concrete’ish) offer out of it, I wrote on the page "DREAM AN INSPIRING TOUR!" - which was part out of frustration, and part out of what I’m about. What does a tour mean anyway? The most inspiring thing you can do, is something on your own terms.
At some point in the next week I should book flights. Not sure how I can interact with Australia anymore. I’m pretty conflicted. There is something to be said for sticking around and carving something out of ‘happy island,’ but there is also something to be said for expanding yourself. I’ve plotted out my path to get to where I am, making sure I have a secure foot here in circus and contemporary art, but, short a few great festivals, there isn’t a market. I don’t want to be an exploited bum forever - I want to effect the world.
So I’ve been thinking about the kind of artist I want to be, and it comes back to my values.
- Loving person.
- Effects the lives of others (positively).
- My own path / Set an example to others.
- Open / Talk to anyone.
- Determined / Industrious / Expanding.
Essentially, I want people to be able to see what I’m doing, and come and have a chat, online or in person, then go do their own thing.
Practice wise, I’d like to develop it more. Read more. Play more with ideas. Collaborate more. Excited about immersive theatre. The more I do / read / talk about it, the more traditional theatre bores me.
And also, work immersive elements into other forms like video and audio. I think about what makes a photograph immersive, and how you would create a context for that. Context is still king in my books.
The other day, I was particularly excited when I read about the “Sensitised body.” I work with the senses, space and bodies. A sensitised body is simply a normal person, as themselves, focusing on different parts of what they are feeling. It’s a good way to look at what happens when you are yourself on stage, and I think it’ll help me develop more a language with that. It’s an interesting way to think about the audiences role too. Right now, I’m interested in the audiences proprioception and touch. Smell is also interesting for triggering emotions, but I think it’ll be a whole other exploration to develop a common language of smells, and quite hilarious when working with circus.
This is where I sit tapping!
Learn French. Learn Blues Guitar. Before August, then combine.
I feel like a caged lion, completely under utilised. When the door opens you better hope theres an audience, or I will destroy all.
I meet 29 and everything feels strange and new. I feel the same age I’ve always felt (sort of), since I was 7 or 8 I knew who I was and what I was to become, but now, there is also a little fire burning under my toes. It says, you’re no longer 7 anymore. It’s not really sad, getting older is good. Swimming in the thunderstorm in my undies today I didn’t feel 29. Age isn’t what makes you. There’s not much to get at really, just get on with living the life you want. Blessed.