Chapter 220: Life as Circus: Lessons from Art, Language, and Beyond

After running off to the circus for six years, then sailing around the world for two, retraining as a modern languages teacher when we got back seemed like the most logical progression. From balancing on tightwires to navigating ocean passages, the classroom offers its own challenges in communication, adaptability, and connection. Though there’s less trapeze involved now, the same principles of flexibility and storytelling still shape my work — just juggling more lesson plans and scaling fewer ropes!

But even before that, my lifelong passion for languages had already shaped how I see the world. It’s a love older than my fascination with circus, though both hold similar truths at their core: a sense of fluidity, adaptability, and the ability to cross boundaries. Much like circus performers move in liminal spaces — balancing on the edge of what is possible, and historically on the margins of society  - linguists operate between worlds, embracing other cultures, looking from the outside in, and translating the untranslatable.  Whether I’m in the classroom or balancing on a tightwire in my garden, I am constantly reminded that we are all part of the same performance: creating, learning, and moving between worlds. 

Learning languages has therefore always meant more than just mastering grammar or vocabulary for me. It’s about stepping into different perspectives, immersing yourself in new worlds, and cultivating a flexible mind that can switch between cultures as easily as performers leap between apparatus. This idea of linguistic agility was further sparked by a gift from a colleague recently: Through The Language Glass: Why The World Looks Different Through Other Languages by Guy Deutscher. The book delves into the fascinating ways that language shapes thought and how our worldviews are reflected in the words we use. It’s an exploration of the dance between language and culture, reminding me again of how the work of a linguist is, in its own way, an art form — much like circus, where we play with boundaries and invite others to see the world anew.

Recently, I took up Arabic on Duolingo, in part to offer me an alternative dopamine hit to Instagram when I need a break, but also for the love of it, and to move outside my comfort zone linguistically. I’m always banging on to my students about the rich heritage embedded in Spanish, a language deeply influenced by the cultural exchange during the convivencia of medieval Spain, a time of coexistence between Christian, Jewish, and Muslim communities*. The Arabic legacy can be found in words like alfombra (carpet), alcalde (mayor), or even the wishful "¡ojalá!" (may it be so! if God wills it!), which are reminders of this intertwined history, even  if the latter phrase in Spanish no longer carries any of the original religious connotations of "inshallah", it still expresses the same sense of hopeful longing. The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know, and how much there is to explore.

Speaking of exploration, I know it’s short notice, but if you can, check out Natalie Inside Out, tonight at Jacksons Lane. Natalie Reckert, a world-class hand-balancer, teams up with digital artist Mark Morreau to breach the fourth wall digitally by merging acrobatics with immersive video projections. The performance promises to be both playful and challenging of the boundaries, as well as exploring self-image in today’s image-driven world. By combining the raw physicality of circus with videography’s ability to manipulate and amplify, they uncover hidden details — like the subtle creases in her hand carrying a handstand or the thoughts running through Natalie’s mind as she executes a move, blending humour, poetry, and digital art to create a shared experience with the audience.

Coincidentally, today I came across a post on Instagram by Israeli-born artist and photographer Ben Hopper that echoed this idea of the interplay between camera film (if not digital) and performance. I have followed Hopper for years, after the installation of portraits of circus artists that was shown and the Roundhouse, he’s a great photography with an ever curious mind…. and in his latest project Making Art with the Enemy, he collaborates with artists from countries that have severed diplomatic ties with Israel. Much like Reckert and Morreau’s exploration of performance and technology, Hopper’s work seeks to challenge and bridge divides. It’s a call for coexistence and reminds me of how art and performance can offer new ways to connect in an increasingly divided world.

One thing I’ve learned from both circus and language is that, to paraphrase an old Guinness advert, art reaches parts of us that nothing else can. I’ve felt this while watching Fauda, a Netflix series that follows an Israeli undercover security unit. The seamless transitions between Hebrew and Arabic drew me into the reality of a world full of tension and complexity, but also brought home how important it is to see multiple perspectives.

For this reason, when a colleague from the Languages Department at school invited me to the cinema to see the Palestinian film The Teacher, I jumped at the chance. The sheer humanity and courage of the story resonated with me, and through the presentation of individual experiences (based on real life events), the film offered insight into the lives of millions who live through conflict. It captured the power of education and human resilience, in a way that deeply connected with me as both a teacher and a person.

At the heart of this exploration is the idea of crossing boundaries — between art forms, languages, and human experiences. This idea is also embodied in the Blue Rider movement, founded by Kandinsky and other artists, which sought to transcend traditional artistic forms and create art that connected deeply with spiritual and emotional truths. The painting I’ve chosen to accompany this post, Kandinsky’s abstract depiction of a rainbow and dove, is part of an exhibition currently at the Tate Modern. I was lucky enough to visit it last week on an impromptu trip, thanks to a very dear friend. The exhibition and Kandinsky’s work exemplify the Blue Rider movement's belief in art as a universal language, speaking beyond words. The dove, a symbol of peace, and the rainbow, a bridge between worlds, resonate with the themes of flexibility and connection that run through this reflection on language, circus, and art.

Much like the artists of the Blue Rider, who believed that art could inspire greater understanding and unite people on a spiritual level, I see the work of artists like Natalie Reckert, Mark Morreau, Ben Hopper, and even language itself as a way to move between perspectives. Whether through circus, film, or conversation, these are all performances that invite us to look beyond the surface, much like Kandinsky's abstract works, and find deeper meaning in our shared humanity. May they transform how we connect and understand one another. 

¡Ojalá!

Links: Natlie Inside Out, Mark Morreau at www.morreaux.co.uk, for one night only, tonight, Friday, 11th October, at
 www.jacksonslane.org.uk/whats-on/all-performances/  therealbenhopper.com

Exhibition at the Tate Modern: Expressionists Kandinsky, Münter and The Blue Rider (until 20th October)

Postscript 14/10/24: Interestingly, it has just been discovered that Christopher Columbus’s DNA indicates he was of Jewish ancestry. Like many others, he likely hid his faith to avoid persecution as the era of convivencia came to an end with Ferdinand and Isabella’s 1492 decree forcing Jews and Muslims to convert or be expelled. The timing of this revelation, coinciding with Día de la Hispanidad (formerly Día de la Raza), adds another layer of irony, as Columbus is increasingly viewed as a symbol of the brutal legacy of colonialism. Once celebrated for his voyages, he is now often seen as a figure responsible for terrorizing indigenous populations. This complex legacy — a man crossing oceans and cultures while hiding his own identity — serves as a reminder that history, like language and art, requires us to constantly navigate between different perspectives to fully understand its impact.

Chapter 219: Zippos Nomads

 As if by magic a circus appeared...

Like the shopkeeper who would materialize each time in the fancy dress shop and conjure up a new adventure for Mr Benn, one of my favourite cartoons from childhood (and yes, there is an episode where he runs away to the circus and becomes a clown) there is a wondrous magic about a circus tent appearing in the everyday space of Wandsworth Common. 

A wee bit surreal too. On Sunday evening I had just arrived back in London from a very special family break in an oast house in Kent, sad to hop it (ba-boom!). I just wanted to crash after the train ride back but I had an Amazon deadline of that day to drop off a return at our local collection point,. As I trudged down Althorpe Road, ahead I saw a curious sight. A cluster of caravans on the Common. Well, spoiler alert, you already know it is Zippos, but at that moment I didn't. Was it the travellers back for Bank Holiday? They had swept in a few years back and lasted 24 hours before being moved on. As I got closer I saw trailers too. A film set maybe? Our Common is so blimming photogenic afterall (as you'll notice on my Instagram account). Then I saw some men in high vis jackets with drills pegging our a large circular space, and on the edge of the Common a poster - the circus was coming to town!

Timing is everything. I smiled and groaned at the serendipity of it all. Of course, Lucy Loves Circus. But as a secondary school teacher, the last week of the summer holiday is when things get serious for me. I have lessons to prepare, admin to sort, not to mention checking that my own three children are sorted - the school labels I bought at the start of the holiday are now nowhere to be seen. That sort of thing. And then there is the school running club... all inclusive of all year groups, the sixth formers signed those of us over 17 (!) for the official Big Half marathon, the day before school goes back, and the morning after a friend's milestone birthday. This then was a week for getting my head down and being sensible. Instead I found myself juggling all that with running off to the nearest tattoo parlour for my daughter to get her ears pierced, ahead of a trip with friends to see Zippos circus on opening night...

And yet, timing *is* everything. When overwhelmed by to do lists, doing something for the sheer love of it pushes away the fear of dropping all the balls. And I've learned a new trick this summer on a course. Work out which balls are plastic and which are glass, and just focus on keeping the latter in the air, the others can drop. Discernment takes a bit of practice...

When the tent was up, the first thing I noticed was the LED display above the ticket box office, showing clips from the show and delivering messages to reel in the punters. Hello Wandsworth! the first one read. Well, hello Zippos!

To celebrate the occasion, I donned my gold circus heels, one with a female trapeze artist and the other a male, and little circus tent motifs on the back. Mindful of the approaching half marathon though, I walked barefoot from home across the Common and just slipped them on before entering the tent. Looking ridiculous, trying to contort my feet into a position to show both them of and the circus ring with my daughter propping them up, got a laugh from the ushers even if the photo failed. Instagram has a lot to answer for! Bringing them was worth it though as we were also joined by Isabella, who I know from this circus journey, sharing a love of aerial. We met when she made my first pair of aerial gaiters, then tightwire boots (ahead of Harry Styles, thank you! see her website www.isabellamars.com) and the female artiste on my pair always reminds me of her. 

In a sense, the travellers were back in town. Zippos' show this year is called "Nomads", the souvenir guide opens with Tolkien’s quote "Not all those who wander are lost", and it is a celebration of diversity of nationalities and the tradition of entertainers throughout history who have travelled from town to town to amuse and entertain. That chimes with me, both as a teacher of modern foreign languages, as a sailor who spent two years living on a boat, sailing islands and oceans without a night on land, and not to mention being a wondering blogger… But Lucy, get on, with it, what was it like…?!

Well, there was a traditional circus ring, at the back, there was a curtain, behind which a black background studded with little lights glittered like the stars that were about to make an entrance... And...well, let me just spell it out:

Nerve-wrecking. I have to confess I swore a little, out of earshot of the kids (probably) at tense moments. Acts like Ludvik Novoltny from the Czech Republic layering cylinder after blank after ball after box and balancing atop on the rola rola (the name on the programme – why did I think it was called the rola bola?) in a precarious equilibristic act. Then, in a metal sphere, floodlit blue, with petrolhead fumes and drama that reminded me of Mad Max in Thunderdome, there was first one motorbike, then a second, then a third, with perfect timing in a ballet of speed and wheels courtesy of Globe riders from Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay, that was the showstopper of the first half.  That segued into the adrenaline kick start of another spherical ring of potential death, the wheel of steel. Alternatively known as the wheel of death (maybe a bit macabre for a family show), this involved Victor and Bismark from Colombia executing acrobatic stunts on two large rotating wheels at either end of a metal arm that rotates around a central axis, both inside, and, more dangerously, outside. I have seen the act before when the blindfold comes out. It still kills me, if not them… Then there were The Mighty Mongolian Warriors doing acrobalance and skipping acts. That sounds friendly enough until you factor in that at one point the rope was a performer, or that they skipped while doing a three high! Note: A "three-high" is a human pyramid with three tiers of people, with one person (the base) on the bottom, another (the middle) standing on the shoulders of the base, and a third person (the top or flyer) standing on the shoulders of the middle, an act that requires incredible strength, balance, and trust among the performers as did their flying and tumbling from one to the other of each others shoulders.

 Ostentatious. In the sense that circus is designed to impress or attract notice. That is the nature of the show, and traditional circus astonishes and captivates the audience with bright and spangled costumes, like those of Ukrainian dancers Sofia Dobrovolska and Diana Muminova, with which the magpies on the Common would have a field day. As they would with the costume of Khulan, from Mongolia, whose grace of movement and hula hoop artistry was mesmerising. It also refers to daring feats and theatrical performances. Take The Timbuktu Troupe, flipping brilliant Kenyan acrobats in leopard print costumes, diving through hoops and limboing under fire with an agility and tempo that lifts the soul. Or Toni Novotony with practiced dexterity cracking whips and whipping out flaming knives to throw at his partner, who is attached to a spinning wheel, the fire adding another layer of risk and visual impact. Part of me would also like to see the tables turn (rather than spin!) so that his partner could have her turn throwing the knives at the board… And finally, ostentatious in skill but the antithesis in terms of understated theatrics, was Moroccan-born Ibrahim, on vertical pole. A study in holding poses, and slowing movement right down at impossible angles, making the well-nigh impossible (as one who’s tried!) looking effortlessly easy.

M is for musical. So important at driving the circus narrative. Epic music signalling its time to hold your breath, but also underscoring the comedy. One of my favourite moments was seeing clown Whimmy Walker coming on with his trumpet playing the most beautiful soliloquoy. It was a familiar tune, something I couldn’t quite place, the same vibe as Miles Davis playing “My Funny Valentine”.Later I contacted Zippos to find out what it was. “The Story of Love” came the reply. Of course it would be. That’s the story of circus for me, and the clown at the heart of it. Which leads on to…

 

Amusing. That’s an understatement. But there’s no F for funny in NOMADS, and here I want to bring in the clowns. I’ve mentioned Whimmy’s musicality, but his is also a fool who is constantly playing with the audience, when he isn’t juggling an insane amount of tennis rackets, or luggage (back to the Nomads theme!). Or Paulo Dos Santos, his foil, both in stature and character, who torpedos aforementioned soulful trumpet soliloquy with riotous drum-banging, deftly executes both tumbling and the most beautiful aerial acrobatics that kicks of the show, and with his trademark Brazilian joie de vivre always gets the audience engaging and cheering.   

 

Daring. This I reserve for “our very own Jackie Louise”. London is so international “our very own” made me smile. But at the same time, the pride with which it was delivered was genuinely touching, and it is good to be able to cheer on the UK when deserved. Jackie Louise performed such graceful manoeuvres on the aerial loops… oh jeez, and the neck hang, it’s all coming back … then later stepped into the globe, bikes flying round her, without the hint of a flinch. I also enjoyed when she stood atop the globe, as though she owned the world. Brava!

 

Showstopper. The final act was Alexander Lichner, from Spain. Hang on, I thought, with my Spanish teacher hat on. What sort of Spanish name is that? Shouldn’t it be Alejandro at the very least? Then I reflected my kids have Dutch surnames, Swiss passports, live in London and English is their mother tongue. And its circus. Nomads. Who is really from where? It was not surprising to read that Lichner won Gold recently at the French Circus Festival of Massy. His entrance descent was a ridiculous feat of balance, then scaling the rope back up could have been an act in itself. The trapeze sequences were beautiful to watch, the toe hang must have been painful enough but the single heel hang high in the gods was almost too excruciating to watch, still, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Afterwards we took fun pictures of the children sticking their heads through circus-themed face in hole boards, and generally dragged our heels, the last to leave. The children were so animated and delighted, it was a joy to watch their reactions throughout the show and to share this experience with family, bringing them together with their friends and me with mine, well, I felt immensely privileged and grateful.

On the way home we admired the blue super moon in the sky. I hadn’t known it was a thing until Isabella explained it to me. It was beautiful. Like a universal blessing on the night. The only thing it didn’t have were three motorbikes whizzing around inside…

The thing is magic, whether in a sudden circus appearance or a shared family experience, comes unexpectedly. Whether juggling work, family, and personal passions or simply trying to make it through the day, circus is my talisman, a reminder to appreciate the moments of joy and wonder that life brings. Sometimes, the most magical moments are the ones we least expect. So if you have the chance to attend a circus, take it. Zippos has two more shows tomorrow (Monday 4^th September) on Wandsworth Common, before moving on. The experience is unforgettable, and the memories will stay with you long after the tent comes down.

See: https://zippos.co.uk/  and on Social Media (TikTok, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook) for updates. 

Chapter 218: Traces of Rebecca Youseffi in Transmission at Jacksons Lane

 

How does Rebecca Youseffi define herself? "Just a painter" in one interview. An artist who took up aerial in her 20s as a hobby, and then found herself drawn in (sounds familiar), seeing its potential to bring her circus practice into her art. Now, after five years of research and a Masters, her piece "Traces" is the result. I was intrigued. I was short on time. It's a 12 minute performance, I was told. Sold. I used the journey up to Jacksons Lane on the Northern Line to meditate. There is a new app Balance, giving a year's free trial, and I find the only way right now to increase time is to suspend it. One feature I like, a "single", is an immersive wave experience. Listening to the sea, as each wave draws in the phone vibrates gently in your hand, it's very clever. It transports me to another space, the Salt Caves, in Earlsfield, where I can sit in a deckchair, listen to the waves and breath in, if not sea air, ionised particles at any rate. In short, I miss the sea. Like a grounded selkie, my second skin must be hidden away somewhere, I dare not look for it...

Back to reality. I arrived at Jacksons Lane to find the bar shut, so grabbed a coffee from across the road. I enjoy a coffee before watching a performance. It heightens the senses.

This time, no presence on the stage. It was quite literally a black canvas. We waited. A pregnant pause. Timing is everything. Silph or cypher, in black off-setting flame coloured hair. The flame colour of Rebecca's hair reminded me of my niece Fly Davis, (a theatre set designer, who conjured up Ocean at the End of the Lane), and the texture of the hair, thick waves, reminded me of my Neil Gaiman-loving daughter Izzy, a creative free spirit whose imagination is constantly tumbling out into her writing. 

There was no music or speaking, but every sweep of movement and flow punctuated by breath, and the muffled thud of the rope thwacking the floor. Very zen. I was mesmerised. I was fascinated by Rebecca's climbs, the placement of toes curling round the rope, the grace and dexterity, but also the movement, on the descent I believe, where she spun through her hands to face out, back arched, like one of Neptune's wooden angels at the bow of the boat. Earlier that week I had just waved off Dutch friends from Tower Bridge, and as they were waiting at the lock, readying to set sail for Holland, taking a picture of Astrid in a similar position against the lines. So bear in mind I am reading and projecting my own experience onto a work of essentially abstract art, a study in neutrality which I believe, hope, invites such engagement.

As sand tipped onto the floor, Rebecca, inverted, used her hair to create brush-strokes across, tracing semi-circles and waves of light and shadow. Again, there was something about the combination of textual sound and movement that I found gently meditative. I have been thinking a lot recently about the link between repetitive physical movement and the creative process reading Haruki Murakami's "What I talk about when I talk about running". So maybe that is why, at the end, when Rebecca brings on a broom to silently sweep the sand, she reminds me of a caretaker of Japanese gardens where the gravel and stone are raked over and over, into patterns, Karesansui gardens, they are called, which literally translates to "dry landscape", where fertile imagination blossoms, I reflect. Only here the sand is not just swept, but swept away. Gone. Yet, the ephemeral lingers. As the sand was swept away, the medium of film came into play, with a projection of art on a backdrop, making the experience all the more immersive. It was as if the audience was weaving through different moments of movement in a promenade, each brush stroke of sand on the floor mirrored by the strokes of light and shadow on the screen.

I also thought of Jair Ramirez' Sugarman (click here) using sand in an altogether different way, as an autobiographical element to express his relationship with and release from cocaine when growing up in Colombia. Jair, who taught me aerial, from whom I bought the teal green silks that came sailing round the world. A softer sail. I also like the edgy, uncompromising burn of the rope that worked far better here.

There was a Q&A afterwards with Ade Berry, as Artistic Director, where Rebecca talked about her training at the National Centre for Circus Artists and the creative space that had given her as a residency. She also mentioned performing in a medieval church for an Arts Festival. I would have loved to see this in that space. What and which artists inspired you? Bright colours, and Monet. And another name that I didn't catch. My thoughts went straight to "The Great Wave off Kanagawa" by Hokusai. An image at that is everywhere, maybe (like circus!), I still ordered the design for my new iPhone cover that just arrived in the post today. Completely forgot what had prompted me to do that (other than my old transparent case was falling apart) until writing this post and the penny dropped...

What did you used to paint? Asked one child. Circus performers! Came the response. I thought of my next-door neighbour Jane, who travelled with the circus in South Africa and set herself up as the resident artist at what was then Circus Space (now NCCA) some decades ago. I've seen a number of her sketches from those days, beautiful. And I think of @curtis.tappenden, who I follow on Instagram. Often to be found painting performers from Zippos, which in a curious twist of fate has just materialised on Wandsworth Common, where I live. 

In a world where the boundaries between art forms are continually blurring, Rebecca's performance was a testament to the infinite possibilities that lie in the intersection of different creative mediums. It made me reflect on the various artists I have encountered, each with their unique approach to blending tradition with innovation. It's a reminder that art is a language that transcends boundaries, whether they are geographical, as with my neighbor Jane or Curtis, or between different mediums, as with Rebecca. As I look forward to the opening night at Zippos on Wandsworth Common tonight (Wednesday, 30th August), I am reminded that the world of art is vast and varied, from the sublime to the traditional, and I am grateful to be a part of it, even if I am just a spectator.

Check out the interview with Rebecca Youseffi here: Interview at the Coastal Currents Arts Festival

Photo credits: Jacksons Lane

Chapter 217: Rosa-Maria Autio in Transmission, Jacksons Lane

 "Anyone else, with any other explanation, and it would be another story," Sam said later, "but for you Lucy, I get it, circus is your crack."

When my phone vibrated against my leg, it was Sam wondering where I was; we had planned to meet for a walk just a few days ago. As the penny dropped, so did my stomach. At that very moment, I was instead seated in Jacksons Lane, beside the theatre's artistic director, Ade Berry, engrossed in watching Rosa-Maria Autio, the Finnish foot juggler, showcase her research and development for the longstanding "Transmission". This series is an inspired initiative of Ade's to give space to artists for creative exploration out of season. Transmission was how I'd met Ade, nearly a decade ago. He liked a piece I'd written on a cabaret by Aircraft Circus ((From Circus Space to Dream Space) and invited me to come up and see behind the scenes. Then I was hooked. Since then I've had many adventures, the majority of circus ones charted here, then sailing over 20,000 nautical miles France to Australia over two years with my husband and three children on our 40ft cat La Cigale (www.sailinglacigale.com/), and bringing all those worlds into play now in my third year as a French and Spanish teacher in a large South London Academy. Basically, I'm still juggling. And dropping the odd ball, as ever. 

The last time I was at Jacksons Lane, newly returned to the UK, the place was a building site and I was wearing a hard hat. It was fantastic now to see how it had all come together. The discovery of stained glass windows, now features, the open view of a hidden turret, the variety of rigging points, sound-proofed studios, and not to mention the glossy bar. Having legged it from school (yes, it's the holidays, but...), I'd ordered a double-espresso. Then Ade arrived and looked at me. "Lucy, it's Friday afternoon. It's summer." Ordering a large glass of wine as a chaser. was the only possible response, along with cheers! in Finnish. It felt so ruddy civilised. Such a great space, so much to catch up on. The last time I'd been in the auditorium it was putting on a show with Sean Kempton and Michaela O'Connor. I miss those clowns in London. Thanks to the recommendation of kettle-bell juggling performer Hamish Tjeong we had a Finnish juggler in our show one year too, Onni Toivonen (see blog post Chapter 153, click here ) who "clubbed to death" (see video here) and brought the house down. 

Back to the present. We take our seats. The audience seems to be primarily local residents and families. I say that because I imagine so many are up at the Edinburgh Fringe and the only other person I recognize from the world of circus is digital artist Mark Morreau.

Rosa-Maria is already on the stage, shepherding the audience into the best seats for the best views. Gently commanding. At ease, connecting with her public. A brave move, I thought, liking her already for that. I hate dealing in stereotypes but... average height, long blond hair, blue eyes, with an openness in her expression, a directness and  kookiness (evident in her choice of circus art if nothing else), Rosa-Maria is so, well, reassuringly Finnish.

Having seen her in NoFit State's show Lexicon, I knew Rosa-Maria was supremely skillful, but it's the type of juggling one step removed from engaging with the audience. The performer is flat on their back tossing objects with their feet, after all, how do you build a rapport from there? From Rosa-Maria's Instragram feed @autio.rosa, one to follow!, I had an inkling of the answer: clowning. 

And that, indeed, was the heart of it. In an outfit ressembling Wonder Woman with a bustle, Rosa-Maria introduced us to her partner, Rizzo, an 8.5 kilo cylinder that soon wore the shirt, if not the pants, of an actual partner. Introduced by the Turtles signature tune (the intro chords playing on a loop like as we took our seats) "Imagine me and you, I do..." Rizzo really came to life. Rosa-Maria and Rizzo, sharing a glass of wine (kippis!) and other moments of togetherness served to highlight the fundamentally solitary nature of working as a solo performer. It's a work in progress, which is why I don't want to say too much about a scratch that is evolving. But I really enjoyed the comedy, the great choices in music, the atmospheric lighting, the gentle surprises and deft footwork. The audience clearly enjoyed it immensely. Brava!

I appreciate being able to swap thoughts with Mark afterwards about the show and hear his insights, with all his experience, as we fill out our feedback sheets and share. And being able to thank Rosa-Maria and her team when they stop by the table. For me, circus is a world where the whimsical meets the disciplined, where the seemingly impossible is made to look effortless. It’s a place where you can find solace in the company of a foot-juggling cylinder named Rizzo or the gentle glow of memories in a refurbished theatre. In this space, both artists and audience members come together to celebrate the shared joy of performance and creativity. The "Transmission" series, among other shows I've witnessed, reminds me that circus is not just about feats of skill, but about the stories that can be told through movement, expression, and the unexpected partnerships forged on stage. As the lights dimmed and the audience began to disperse, I found myself grateful for the journey – not just the one Rosa-Maria took us on that afternoon, but the personal journey of discovery, passion, and the continuous juggle that is life. To all the performers, creators, and supporters of this art form: thank you for sharing your world with us. Until the next adventure, keep juggling and let your passions guide your path. And Sam, thanks for always getting it – and for being you. And my circus talisman. 

Read more in this Jacksons Lane interview here:  In conversation with Rosa-Maria Autio

For more on What's On with Transmission at Jacksons Lane see: https://www.jacksonslane.org.uk/events/transmission/

Photo credit: Jacksons Lane
https://www.jacksonslane.org.uk/blog/transmission-in-conversation-with-rosa-maria-autio/

Chapter 216: A Circus Valentine

"Not a red rose or a satin heart. 

I give you an onion. 

It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. 

It promises light

like the careful undressing of love. 

Here. 

It will blind you with tears

like a lover. 

It will make your reflection a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful. 

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion. 

Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,

possessive and faithful

as we are, 

for as long as we are. 

Take it. 

Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding ring, 

if you like. 

Lethal. 

Its scent will cling to your fingers, 

cling to your knife. 

Valentine,   by  Carol Ann Duffy

Chapter 215: VOILA! EUROPE - Juggling - Robin Boon Dale

Photo Credits: Be Festival

"This is a historic occasion. We haven't seen jugglers at the Cockpit Theatre for 17 years!" declared Ringmaster Dave, Artistic Director of The Cockpit theatre, in Marylebone, in a tone that had a twinkle of a challenge to the opening act as much as a welcome. It was the first circus scratch night Circus in the Pound (see blogpost Chapter 163 - click here), so named as the entry fee is only a quid into the traffic cone at the entrance. The act being introduced was a work in progress between Gandini Juggling's José Triguero and Chris Patfield, and juggling is now back centre stsge at The Cockpit  with artist Robin Boon Dale, this time as part of VOILA! EUROPE 2017, the non-Brexit fearing theatre festival that busts the barriers of language, and showcases plays from around Europe and the UK to the multi-national audiences of London: see www.voilaeuropefestival.com - click here. As a Brit who has just sailed under a Swiss flag down from France, via Spain and Portugal, and is currently moored in Las Palmas on a pontoon with Swedish, Danish, Dutch and German families, I am very much there in spirit with a festival that brings together such a Euro-Vision.

The festival is the brainchild of Sharlit Deyzac, who has been touring the acclaimed Boys Club with Leonor Lemee as part of Two Tongue Theatre (see blogpost - click here), that came to Jacksons Lane Postcards Festival this summer. VOILA! EUROPE has a cracking line up of provocative, hilarious, life-enhancing, boundary challenging shows running until Saturday 18 November. And this year the programme has a touch of circus thanks to the presence of Robin Boon Dale and his show What Does Stuff Do? 

Circomedia graduate Robin was one of a trio of artists in the excellent bar flair act Shakedown that I heard about earlier this year thanks to Kate Hartoch, organiser with Lina Frank of Circus City, Bristol's Biennial Circus Festival that took place to great acclaim this October (check out the photogallery for starters: www.bristolcircuscity.com/gallery and www.circusdiaries.com for reportage). Robin told me his show is the extension of an ongoing research project entitled "Is Juggling Liquid?" which explores ideas about creative notation and object oriented philosophy through circus skills and I'm intrigued by the description of this new show which has already won the ACT festival prize this summer and just returned from tour in Spain as part of the "Best of BE Festival":

In his charmingly rhetorical debut show, Robin Dale utilises innovative juggling, physical comedy, and almost-philosophy to guide you through his mind and body of research.

What Does Stuff Do? is a lecture style performance in which Robin strives to understand the ever-unfolding relationships between people and stuff, and to help fill in the space between art and science.

Featuring an assortment of unexpected props and a motivational speech delivered by a man in swimming trunks. Please, bracket for the next 30 minutes any scepticism about the value of the totally obvious.

What Does Stuff Do? is on Thursday, 16 November 2017 8.30pm. 

Tickets here: http://thecockpit.org.uk/show/what_does_stuff_do

Find @RobinBoonDale on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook Page. 

VOILA! EUROPE festival runs until Saturday, 18 November at several venues: The Cockpit, Etcetera and Applecart Arts. Check out the shows www.voilaeuropefestival.com/work

Chapter 214: Postcard from La Rochelle

 Seul, on va plus vite. Ensemble, on va plus loin.

On my own, I go faster. Together, we go further.

(motto of Compagnie XY - see post, click here)

My stomach lurches each time we walk along the sea wall.  We are in France, in La Rochelle, and the French are pretty laissez-faire when it comes to health and safety. It is clearly a well-trodden walkway, yet there is no sign of a barrier, a "garde-fou" or "protecting-the-idiot" (moi!). The wall is a good couple of feet across, the drop either side barely a few feet, threatening at most a twisted ankle, yet despite my love of tightwire, my palms sweat each time as I follow my children, who are skipping along without a care in the world. One day my youngest slipped her hand through mine. "Mum, why did you decide we should go sailing round the world when you love circus? It must be hard to like two things at the same time." 

For nearly a month now we have been living in La Rochelle and working on the boat. It is a very pretty old port, one that I can still hardly believe exists after reading about it for years in the Tricolore textbooks at school. I have fallen for the towers at the entrance to the old harbour, the cobbled streets in the pedestrian centre, the houses set behind walls, doors sometimes opening onto an inner courtyard to offer a stealthy glimpse of a grande manor or hidden secrets. Now into October the wave of tourists is subsiding, but the tide of bicycles is pretty constant, and we zip around on our Bromptons too, our helmets a clear indication that we are visitors. We have stayed in three different Airbnbs here now, finally moving onto our boat this week, a 40ft catamaran called La Cigale. She is named after the Cicada in the old La Fontaine/Aesop's Fable story, singing and dancing her way through summer while her friend Ant toils makes yproverbial hay while the sun shines in readyness for the winter months. For us the music in the name conjures up continental summer evenings, and, of course, she will always be our "Sea Gal".  Ironically though, with all the preparations in tow, I feel more formicide than singing bug right now, but it's all about balance: connecting with both the industrious Ant and the carefree Cicada. That is why I turned to learning recreational circus skills several years ago at a time when I couldn't see the wood for the trees. Circus, and cicadas, are a state of mind. 

www.la-coursive.com/spectacles/elephant-room-cirque-le-roux
La Rochelle, 10/11 October 2017

I carry my circus aerialist necklace with me, a talisman from a dear friend, my sea-green silks are safely stowed on board (picked up from Jair during a week intensive at Freedom2Fly - click here) as are a whole bag of juggling balls (in case any slip overboard), but still, I do miss actual circus, the community.

Then one day passing La Coursive, a renowned theatre-dance space here, a Gallic Sadlers Wells, I saw a poster advertising Cirque Le Roux bringing Elephant in the Room to La Rochelle next week. It accentuated, if not homesickness or "mal du pays" exactly, rather a sense of "mal du cirque". I had seen these guys up at the Edinburgh Fringe a couple of years ago (see post - click here), and would have loved to see the production again, wondering how it had developed over the past couple of years, and what it would be like to see it in such a different environment among a non-circus going crowd - or so I assume. Cirque Eloize brought I. D. to La Rochelle a couple of years ago, but contemporary circus does not feature heavily in La Coursive's programme in general. When it transpired that further delays to the boat meant I'd be in town to see them after all, I was further gutted to find the dates were completely sold out. 

Ah well, maybe it really is simply time to open a new chapter and not look back as my youngest assumes. But then the day we moved onto the boat a funny thing happened: I passed by the maritime-themed playground my daughters adore in centre-ville, next to the harbour, to find all sorts of circus shenanigans taking place. My Flying Fantastic-loving daughter spotted the black silks rigged first and tugged at my arm. Mum, look! It turned out that the new playground was being inaugurated that day and Cirque en Scène www.cirque-scene.fr, both a training space and company from 45 minutes down the road in Niort, had been brought in to entertain with all sorts of activities. They had a trapeze up too, a training tight-wire, rolla-bolla, globe, all sorts of juggling equipment and equilibristic apparatus. We were in seventh heaven, because, of course, I joined in too. I loved watching one of the trainers Mikhail clowning around with the kids, putting on his Donald Duck voice and getting them to fall about laughing so they would relax and forget their fear. It worked on the Mummy too, when persuaded up on my old nemesis of the globe, a hard ball that requires the penguin tapping of happy feet to balance atop. The girls and I are itching now to string up our silks alongside the sheets and get cracking again. Setting sail out of the Bay of Biscay on Wednesday, who knows what circus stories we'll discover down the road...