I’m in the business of creating moments. Moments of wonder. Moments of amazement. Moments of truth. Moments of mystery.
Let’s assume there’s no such thing as real magic (there isn’t) and I can’t really read your mind (I can’t). Then what’s the point of coming to my show?
Those moments.
The goal of my show isn’t to trick people into thinking I have psychic powers. It’s not about claiming supernatural abilities. The goal is to leave the audience with a beautiful mystery.
Simple as that.
All of my free time is spent thinking about making something out of those moments. On the treadmill, in the shower, stuck in traffic, waiting in line at the airport - that’s all I’m thinking about.
It usually starts with a question:
How do I give my audience the most incredible mystery possible?
The ideas start as a far-fetched pipe dream then morph into a more realistic, real world version. That evolution takes a long time.
Then, I have to build the idea and rehearse it. I have to find the words and let them become part of me.
Finally, after months (or years) of preparation I have to bite the bullet and try it out onstage. That’s the only way to truly discover if the idea is any good.
That’s when the “real work” begins. The script gets torn apart and reassembled. The blocking starts to make sense. The idea gets better.
The “real work” takes forever. FOREVER. It’s a slow process, with constant roadblocks and distractions. But, I can speed it up slightly if I’m willing to listen.
I have to:
• Listen to myself and trust in my ideas.
• Listen to my peers.
• Most importantly, listen to my audience.
Are they bored? Are they paying attention? Do they care about the mystery as much as I do?
It’s a lot of work.
And that’s only the work the audience gets to see. There’s plenty of work that goes on behind the scenes. Creating mysteries is all about being willing to work harder than anyone could possibly dream of. If the audience’s only solution for my performance is a NASA-level-Rube-Goldberg-style-machine-that-could-only-exist-in-an-MC-Escher-world then people stop trying to work it out and simply enjoy the mystery.
A couple years ago I overheard two performers talking after a show. One performer explained the preparation and practice he had put into his show in great detail. He was proud of the time he spent crafting the moment and happily shared his behind-the-scenes POV.
“Oh I could never do that,” the other performer responded, “that’s too much work.”
TOO MUCH WORK?
Get the fuck out of here.
I get it. Work isn’t fun. It can be agonizing and downright boring. But if mastering your craft is too much work for you then find a 9-to-5 and settle in. Work isn’t easy - it’s not supposed to be.
That’s what makes it worthwhile. I go the extra mile (and then some) so my audience can experience something jaw-dropping and unforgettable.
Enough said. Time to get back to work.