I’ve been meditating a lot, usually 2-3 times a day, and trying to practice mindfulness in my daily life. I’m actually not a monk, nor do I have a formal spiritual orientation. But I am going through a quarter life existential crisis and reeling from heartbreak. And that, folks, is a story for another newsletter that doesn’t need to exist. I’m bringing up my meditation game obviously to brag! And also because clown is a form of spiritual practice rooted in mindfulness, compassion, vulnerability and impermanence—Buddhist tings.
If you know what mindfulness is, it’s basically doing normal present moment stuff that feels hard when your brain is spiraling into the soupy, melty, pitch black abyss of existential thought. Present moment stuff like breathing deeply, smelling the toast that’s browning in the toaster, noticing the dappled sunlight streaming into your room, feeling your left toe wriggle inside your shoe. Mmmm, delicious. Being in the present takes you out of your head, your ego, your sense of “should” and “ought to.” It’s a pure state of openness devoid of expectations—a nearly impossible state to achieve when you have stuff to do, people to please, obligations to fulfill.
Clown exists in this state of presence. On the literal level, if a clown doesn’t first show up and exist, there is no show. But emotionally too, if a clown doesn’t show up—that is to say, see the audience, sense their environment, feel the energy of the room—there is also no show. Example: a clown’s entrance. In every workshop I’ve taken so far, we’ve spent a solid chunk of time on entrances, the moment the clown steps on stage. Sounds simple, but it’s a very powerful thing. It’s the first time the clown sees the audience, the audience sees the clown, and the clown enters the space. Through their entrance, a clown builds rapport with the audience; reveals their personality; and offers up some mystery, impossible situation, or strange game. Maybe this is a controversial opinion, but if I see a clown make a strong entrance, no matter what else happens, I already love them. An impactful entrance is also part of what makes clowns stand out from other kinds of performers—they break the fourth wall and create a bond between performer and audience. In sum, a strong entrance cannot exist without a mindful clown.
Just like in other forms of mindfulness, clowns must also receive what is already there. Because so much of the magic of clown happens off script, based on the special cocktail of circumstances transpiring on stage that cannot be replicated, this state of presence is crucial. Clowns read the room, they feel the connection and energy from their scene partner, they sense willingness or resistance from the audience, they are ripe and ready for whatever might happen on stage. And the antonym to this receptivity is force. A clown who tries to force things to happen on stage will lose the audience. They’ll be less game to play and you, the audience, will be less game to play. And what is a clown without a sense of play?
Before my first clown show (bombfest!), Chad Damiani gave our duo a little pep talk offstage (read: hallway) and encouraged us to focus on finding moments on stage. He did not encourage us to find a story, or to make people laugh, or to move to the left when the thing happened to the right, or even to do anything, but to find moments. Mindful clown, that Chad.
In When Things Fall Apart, Buddhist nun and writer Pema Chodron also talks about the power of moments. Moments are what move us forward on what she calls “the path,” and are a source of wisdom. She says “[The path] comes into existence moment by moment and at the same time drops away behind us. It’s like riding in a train sitting backwards. We can’t see where we’re headed, only where we’ve been.” (Riding a train backwards? Pretttttty clown.) I’ll get into this in an upcoming newsletter, but clowns do have a history of being the spiritual figures and even leaders in many cultures.1 I don’t think this is coincidental: by living in the moment, clowns tap into this wisdom.
In Natalie Palamides’ live show LAID, recently part of the Netflix Is A Joke festival in LA, we watch a woman lay an egg every day. At the start of every day, there is a moment, egg in hand, where she wrestles with the impossible decision of whether to eat her egg to stave off her hunger, or raise her egg and enjoy the company of a child. She becomes the arbiter of this conundrum, asking this question day after day, and attempting poorly at playing the sage. Ultimately there’s maybe more anti-wisdom than anything else in this piece, as we watch her tragic choice to eat her egg play out again and again—she’s seemingly riding her train backwards and blindfolded.
Alongside this string of moments that comprise a wise clown’s life path, is impermanence. Ah, the sweet gift of impermanence! Straight from the dharma (Buddhist teachings), impermanence is the idea that nothing is ever the same from one second to the next and that as a result, the concept of self doesn’t exist. Impermanence is also the wheel that keeps the clown car driving. What I mean by this is, as a clown you are permitted to stop thinking of every decision as precious or consequential, because performing means you can THROW IT AWAY. Throwing away stuff fuels creativity’s infinite generativity machine! It is a gift. And it empowers a clown to play and explore when they’re less concerned with making something good, or right, or perfect. A clown can exist in the moment in a state of impermanence with the knowledge that the moment will pass and never exist again. There has been enormous power for me in approaching clown with a spirit of impermanence in a culture obsessed with the permanence of a digital record. It makes the thrill of doing a live show that will never exist ever again absolutely intoxicating.
Clown About Town
Your guide in clown events. To submit an event, please email me by Thursday
for publication in that Friday’s newsletter.
6/27 9:30 pm, Stand Up and Clown (Elysian)
Promo code is HALFCLOWN for half off tix
6/28 12:30 pm, Clown Zoo (Griffith Park)
The event is outdoors and free, by the old zoo in the park. This is the last Zoo of the summer!
6/29 7 pm, An Evening At Summer Camp (The Yard)
6/30 5 pm, Playspace (Elysian)
Clown open mic happening weekly on Thursdays
6/30 9:30 pm, Bill O’Neill: Work in Progress (Elysian)
6/30 10 pm, A Woman On The Verge, Hannah Pilkes Solo Show (The Yard)
I’m putting this on the newsie because it involves puppets and pratfalls.
7/2 11:55 pm, Tomorrow! With Ron Lynch (Elysian)
UPCOMING WORKSHOPS
Mime with Dean Evans, Thymele Arts (LA)
ICN is written by me Isabella Kulkarni, edited by Emma Colon with original art by Julia Sillen.
That’s it for the first issue! See you in two weeks!
https://www.nativetimes.com/index.php/life/commentary/5149-heyoka-a-man-taller-than-his-shadow
this brought me great joy to read your voice so clearly and persuasively talking about the joys of clown! thank you for sharing with us!
feeling more mindful and excited about clown than ever :) great read!