Clown Tales

Let me get real with you for a second, I am not an artist.

I don’t have practice with illustration or visual art. I cannot give you a good reason for why these people got me to do these artworks. I also don’t have any practical advice for creating art. The following stories don’t have anything to do with art, classical or abstract. The following stories are just a collection of memories I have interacting with the individuals that collectively make the theatre group ‘Freshly Squeezed Theatre’.

I am not an artist.

But here are some paintings and the stories that came from their creation.

Balloonless

Balloonless the clown was an odd fellow. He was whimsical and charming and despite all evidence to the contrary seemed to be completely certain that he would end up in the right place. When he arrived at my studio (Shed) we indulged in a little small talk. I asked how the journey was, and he told me that the winds move in mysterious ways. When I enquired about how he got here he chuckled to himself gently and whispered “I simply arrive where I’m needed”.

It was a pleasant session of painting. He remained perfectly still. I felt that it was my duty to capture the purity of his soul, simple shapes, Capturing only the boldest elements of his expression and attire. When it was over I offered to walk him back part of the way. Once we walked up to the top of my street we said our goodbyes. I only walked a few meters when I turned back. Perhaps I had something I wanted to say, if I did I have forgotten it now. Because when I turned back there was nobody there. It was a surreal walk back to my house, had I only imagined our meeting? Was the ethereal nature of the being I just met not just a rose-tinted impression of his personality? Was it actually an indication of some higher power? Is Balloonless the clown perhaps a personification of a concept far beyond human reckoning? Some shining concept of hope, of beauty, refracted through the lens of human form? I will never know.

When I got home I realized that all my copper had been stolen.

Childless

It was three in the morning, I think. It had been my day off. I had wanted to finish work on a script I had been preparing for but had found myself struggling. As I settled into bed that night I told myself: tomorrow. All I needed was more rest and tomorrow I would be able to catch up on the work I had missed out on today. What followed was a restless nights sleep plagued by nightmares, I envisioned the pages of script I should have written turning into dust. Twisting and turning haunted by the potential of the lost day. ‘Tap, tap, tap’. Something woke me up. ‘Tap, tap, tap’. There it was again, what was the source of that noise. I opened my eyes but I only saw darkness. ‘Tap, tap, tap’. That sound… it was coming from the foot of my bed. I tried to get up but was immediately halted, something heavy laid on my bare chest. Smothering any attempt at becoming upright. Tap, tap, tap. Craning my neck I was able to see what it was that was causing my unrest. A face illuminated by a glowing rectangle positioned underneath the creature. The being’s features were distorted, its thumbs rattling across the glowing object caused the face cast in its light to blur. Tap, tap, tap. I watched, my mind still nulled from sleep as its neck grew and stretched, curling over the light. As it did the weight intensified, pinning me to my bed. Tap, tap, tap. Soon my vision was a haze of sinewy neck stretched and bent into a curl. The head of the creature still unclear to me. In the center, the illuminating rectangular object continued to glow. Brighter and brighter until the weight, the light and the tapping compounded into a overwhelming static that engulfed my consciousness.

I awoke prone, in a shimmering white void. I remained still for a moment. Attempting to adjust myself to the alien surroundings, I could feel no sensation on my flesh. No wind, no pain, no ache. Should I get up? Would that only resume the nightmare? No, no I had to try to wake up from this fever dream. I steadily got up, resolved to face whatever it was that my subconscious had prepared for me. Stars, the void’s landscape was awash with an array of stars. Glimmering in the distance. My eyes were unable to focus immediately, I turned every direction lights streaking past my vision. Eventually something gave me pause. In the distance. A small dark shape, slowly moving towards me. As it came closer my vision was able to translate what I was seeing into recognisable thought. A man. But what kind of man? No matter how close he came my brain wasn’t able to settle on one single form. The figure was an ever shifting being. Tap, tap, tap. The figure was on me and as it stood in front of me, it became solid. A pirate, tall, handsome and garbed in a flowing red robe. “Who are you?!” I screamed, my voice came out but was muffled by the yawning chasm that was all around us. The being spoke, its word’s were echoed infinitely. A cacophony of accent’s and tunes. A warrior, a pirate, a philosopher, a cult leader, a musician. My mind ripped as attuned to the beings omnificence. The words that carved into my soul:

“WHAT AM I? I AM EVERYTHING. YOU ARE YOURSELF. YOU ARE NOTHING. YET YOU WISH TO BE SOMETHING? WRONG. YOU ALREADY ARE, NOTHING.”

The word’s washed over me. Sensing the being was waiting for some response, I scrabbled to conjure up a response. Something to satiate the ethereal creature.

“You, you are everything. Doesn’t that mean you are also nothing?!”

In an instant I was plunged back into the storm of voices.

“I AM EVERYTHING, ALL THINGS, I CANNOT BE NOTHING AND I CANNOT BE SOMETHING I CANNOT BE ONE THING. WHY WISH TO BE SOMETHING, WHY BRING ME FORTH? IF YOU WERE TO BECOME SOMETHING WHAT WOULD BECOME NOTHING?”

I could feel myself slipping, with the last of my cognisant thought before, that too was washed away by the magnitude of this creature I asked one last question.

“Why don’t you become nothing?!”

I awoke, in a pool of my own sweat. I snapped upright taking in every detail of my room. It was all as I had left it. All except of a tiny scrap of paper. I blinked, and it came into detail. It was a leaflet for Macbeth at the Cheltenham Playhouse by Grove Productions. “Wow” I thought. “That looks pretty good, I should go watch that."

Friendless

Of all of the clowns I worked with on this commission Friendless was the most human. We arranged the our meeting with no issue at all, he arrived on time. He even made sure to bring a spare suit so that if the one he brought got paint on it, then he would remain presentable. Everything was planned, everything was perfect. And then the power on my street shut out. Just a freak power surge. The room I was working in plunged into darkness, and all I could see was the slightly luminescent outline of Friendless’ pallid features. I offered to reschedule. I offered compensation. I told him we could wait. But no. He insisted that despite the difficulty, despite how inaccurate the rendering that we must keep working.

So we did.

I felt bad for him. I could sense that the clown behind the canvas was a hurting soul, I wanted to reach out, tell him that it would all be ok. So long as he would just be willing to alter the plan. Expand his perspective, and see that the world wouldn’t end just because things didn’t pan out like he expected. When it was time to leave, he turned to me and without looking me in the eye spoke thus:

“My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament. Are merely shadows to the unseen grief. That swells with silence in the tortured soul...”

“That’s Shakespeare” he said, turning his back to me. As he began to walk out of my studio I stood. I wanted to reach out, chase him, tell him that the burdens that weighed on his mind could all be gone! Sensing the rising tension, he turned back one last time. Put a finger on my lips and said “I went to RADA”. I knew then there was nothing I could do. I let him walk off into the darkness. He was lost. Truly lost.

Tasteless

This was truly one of the most unpleasant creative processes of my life. Tasteless the clown is the most crass, unprofessional, transphobic, racist, sexist piece of garbage that I have ever had the displeasure of interacting with. It took ages to arrange the meeting with him, an experience that was not worth the wait. The session only lasted ten minutes, before he insisted he had much more important things to be getting on with and that his legacy was a “tapestry that was being constantly woven” and he just didn’t have time to waste on “peons”. A short meeting but an impactful one. I had no idea you could say that many slurs in such a short amount of time. I tried to get him to stop but he just called me a “liberal pussy”. Since I didn’t have time to do a full sized one, I made it really tiny.

A few weeks later I got an email asking if I wanted to go bowling with him. I told him that if he contacts me directly again I will be meeting with my lawyer.