I Was a Rigid Kid and Now I Am a Carefree Clown
At sixty-six, I am finally pleasing myself!
So, I stand as neutral and relaxed as I can. The teacher walks around me and invites others to comment on key junctures in my body. My feet, weight on my toes. My knees, slightly bent, ready for action, my pelvis, tipped forward. Shoulders are back and my head is forward.
She imitates the posture as best she can and invites me to move. I move around the room and she follows imitating the movement. She invites me to exaggerate the pelvis, shoulders and head positions and she mirrors me so I can see how I am doing. Once I hit my stride, she invites the others to give this creature a name.
No, it’s not a posture class. That’s on Monday with some very similar constructs. It’s Thursday and my teacher, Joan Howard is a master clown who teaches at San Francisco’s Clown Conservatory and performs at a variety of venues. This is Stagebridge, a performing arts school in Oakland, near where I live.
My classmates call out words and images evoked by the way I move. My arms get flappy and they say things like whatever, or haaay. This is my somatic clown persona. She grows organically out of my natural stance and ways of moving.
It may sound silly but it’s deep work. In the world of sacred foolery, it’s a both/and. We are exploring our bodies and how they connect and move. We are allowing that to flow into our most natural clown character — one that fits who we are at the core. One we resonate with deeply.
Joan’s own clown persona is a “Neanderthal” in a pink Quinceanera dress and bright yellow boots looking for love. D’s clown is an uptight prince trying to fit in. My clown appears to be laid back and relaxed but secretly judges everyone.
Next week for our showcase, we will let these personas play together and see what mischief we can create. Down the road is social clowning — modeled after Patch Adams’ innovative medical support work through this ancient archetype.
At 66 years old, shouldn’t I have more dignified pastimes?
Like what? Taking care of grandkids? Being on the board of my church and making sure it’s shipshape? Publishing a book since I love to write so much? Visiting and supporting friends and family, especially those facing scary challenges like Alzheimer’s and cancer.
I do all but one of those things and do them happily. And responsibly. But this clowning thing? This is for me! I have no ultimate goals with or for it. It’s an alive in the moment experience and as such is rather Zen-like.
You could almost say it’s a spiritual practice. Being present to each moment as it arrives and let it go as it leaves, but exploring the heck out of it and trying on different guises in and with it.
If that’s a metaphor for life, so be it. But that’s a by-product. Not the original intention. The original intention, if there was one, is to learn anything I can and have fun so doing. Period.
A ‘pause’ for the cause…
Speaking of which — I don’t have them anymore. And that’s a huge hurrah. What I want to say is, at age 50, I had one cycle and the next month I did not. Two hot flashes treated with black cohosh herb and that was it. Just so you know it is possible to be this asymptomatic.
If you’re on the young side of the change, don’t hold those stressful images. Let them go so they don’t necessarily have to be your experience. The mind is that powerful — as Job of the Bible said, what I have come to fear, has come to pass. Don’t dwell on what you don’t want.
There. Digression over.
Back to clowning…It just feels right. It’s a great stress-reliever. Getting out of my head and the myriad of responsibilities I’ve taken on is so healing. Getting to move in silly and comfortable ways is so good for my body. So this is body/mind/spirit work par excellence and par fun goofy-ness.
The point is I do it for me. This is my time on my dime. I answer to no one. Even the teacher has to respect my body’s rhythms — if I need to put my head down or sit down to take care of myself.
My upbringing was uptight. Constantly being told keep my knees together, don’t raise my arms or my voice, say yes ma’am, no sir, don’t get my dress dirty, etc, caused me to shrink into my body.
Add the ogling at my precocious twelve-year-old breasts, years at the computer, and I hunch even more. When I walk my arms stay pinned to my side. My body tends to contract in response to my life.
Clown play is different. It is expansion and opening up organically. I learn exactly how my body normally moves and rests into mad creative play. I eat this up and cannot get enough. I crave the way this feels. A happy, healthy addiction that puts smiles on my face and anyone’s within viewing range.
Clown school is about play. I didn’t play spontaneously as a child. I played rigidly and educationally and enjoyed it. I took ballet, after all. Now it’s time for free play. Me play. We play. Silly sacred fool clown play. Making up for lost time? So be it.
No one to judge. No one to please. Just me, finally.
Just me.
Marilyn Flower writes humor to laugh the changes she wants to see and make. She’s the author of Creative Blogging: Ninja Writers Guide to Character Development and Bucket Listers, Get Your Brave On. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times. Stay in touch!
Oh I am so glad to have found your newsletter! I love clowning and love hearing of this experience of yours. How delightful. I haven't been in an ensemble or class for some time, and reading about it is so refreshing! How long have you been clowning? What got you into it?
SO good, Marilyn! thank you!