Giovanni Fusetti (Italy) * Lisa Brickell (Aotearoa) * Angela de Castro (London)
Question: What do these three have in common?
Answer: They are most-time clown and clown teachers.
As I write this my husband is listening to Tool’s ‘Reflection’ from his always handy IPhone. The percussion works like a life-force heart-beat and pulls this post from me, somewhere. Where to begin to tell you why I’m writing about – the life of a clown…
Interesting information: Giovanni Fusetti goes by the title of clown midwife and this makes me smile.
Funny, usually I find words flow from me whilst writing in wild & grace yet tonight my mind is playing hopscotch without adhering to rational rules. Fragments of ideas come to the frontal lobe and then like a kite blow somewhere unexpected and nearly lost and possibly tangled and then maybe to kamikaze ground-ward. Perhaps the clown has been evoked? Perhaps I shall set free convention and allow the clown to follow?
Whispered: I invite you to a clown course. I’ll pop the invite at the bottom of this.
A bit louder: Lisa Brickell, a red-headed woman who has a laugh like a gentle and short-lived lawnmower (but don’t tell her I said that, cos this is my clown speaking) was my first clown ‘teacher’ or ‘midwife’ or whatever you’d like to call it. This terrifyingly kind & devoted-to-fun with twinkly-eyes-&-bouncy-hair teacher is leading a 1-day course on Saturday 8 October, 2011 in Auckland.
Shouted with warmth: Don’t miss it.
Said with great significance and importance and clown greatness: You don’t have to be an extrovert, or a performer, or someone who wants to be funny to enjoy a clown course. You may be someone who wants to try some fun, wants to take life a little less seriously for 8 hours, 1 day.
Background helpful information: These 3 clown teachers I’ve emblazoned above come from the European ‘School of Clown’. Without being too official and technical – they’re gentle clowns. They’re not clowns with floppy red exaggerated sad mouths drawn on with Nana’s left over lipstick. They’re not the grotesque white-faced clowns that would tour to you with a circus in the 80s. They’re not typically the kind of clowns that get too close and too loud and are too much of stacks of things and make you cry when you’re 3 or maybe 4. They’re more like the clowns many may have watched during a Cirque de Soleil extravaganza.
It’s getting to sleep time: I’d like to tell you more, because there’s lots more to tell. I would tell you about clown-doctors and Dumbo Feather’s article on Ati. I would tell you about the wonderful, and I mean literally full-of-wonder Giovanni Fusetti’s Tao of Clown course. I would tell you about Angela de Castro’s 10 Clown Commandments. And in a moment of mad abundance I would tell you the lyrics for Tool’s ‘Reflection’.
But alas, the night is calling the dreams and the head on the pillow and the feet on the mattress tucked under the duvet and the breath going in and out into the place sleeping is.
My clown bids you farewell. Do something wonderful and unexpected for yourself and find one of Lisa (based in New Zealand), or Angela (based in London) or Giovanni’s (based in Florence with Helikos, but travels around the globe to teach) courses.
Nigh-night from my clown that loves to pretend to be a marching band whilst dreaming of living under heavy duvets and drinking milos made with cold blue-top milk.