It reminded me of a post I read on Juggling Talk (Anthony Gatto’s juggling forum) some months ago.  The post was nestled in a long thread of comments on animals in the circus, and was authored by Brazilian juggler  Caio Stevanovich, who was born and bred in the cirucus. In his family, he writes, he “growed [sic] up in different circuses, and was around animals all the time. My family has a long lifetime with animals. They had 5 or 6 elephants, 2 giraffes, a white rhino, a hippo, horses, and lots, lots of others.”

In his post, Stevanovich tells of recent, sweeping legal changes and swings of public opinion — changes which led to the loss of the animals which were in his family’s circus.  In conjunction with tightening legal pressure, Stevanovich writes that “the tv started attacking the circus (which is curious, why just the circus? That’s curious, because, the police works with animals, the zoo, the labs, a lot of companies, there are trips with camels in here, but nobody will move a finger against those shakes, and there is also the rodeo, hn… of course, they are rich, with big farms, so nobody will ever move a finger against it).”

This is the only real mention of classism in Stevanovich’s account, although he does make an earlier reference to feeling as if the circus were a sort of scapegoat for the media.

“The tv enjoyed it, and created a lot of fake infos, showed images from different countries, started doing a bad job. They showed what they wanted to. I’m totally against the bad conditions for the animals, but I’m completelly against the people who doesn’t see the other side.”

With the full realization that anecdotal evidence is troublesome at best, Stevanovich’s “other side” is surprisingly compelling.

He writes that only the largest, most financially viable circuses can afford aniamls, which “need veterinarians, a lot of food, extra care, and a lot of attention.” Following this explanation, Stevanovich expresses a side of the circus animal debate which I found both moving and enlightening.

“If you bring an animal to you, you’ll do everything for him, trust me. If you are a juggler, and your rings are dirty, you will clean them before your act, won’t you? It’s the same with the animals. You’ll feed them, you’ll take care of them, you’ll want to be with them. First of all, that’s a lot of money, to just forget about it. And in second, you create a new family. Those animals are super affectionate, really smart. If you will peform with them, you will want them beautiful, healthy. It’s natural, if you are an artist.”

If that was touching, his conclusion was distressing.

“After that, the circus continued, without the animals. The animals went to different places, different zoos, and they all started having a different style of life. Less care, less food, less attention. In a month, some horses died. At the end of 6 months, a giraffe passed away. After that, the other giraffe passed away too. The elephants have marks in their bodys and are all skinny now. When the IBAMA took them, everybody said that “finally, those monsters won’t hurt the animals anymore”. Ok, but here is my question… who is the monster now? All the animals are having a terrible life now, the most of them already died. But, the tv didn’t showed that … they just showed the police as heroes rescuing animals. Nobody knows that those animals are dead now. Or, if they are not dead, they are in trouble.”

I’m sure there are a lot of sides to the issue, and I wonder how reresentitive Stevanovich and his family really are.  Even so, it’s kind of a heart-breaking story.

I had a short performance with my fellow Neverthriver, Charly the Poi spinner, Saturday at the International Street Performer’s Festival in downtown Athens. We had a short, clean set which the crowd seemed to really enjoy.  Before that, though, Dave Altman, an enormously talented AJA juggler from the  Atlanta area stopped by my house. He brought along a set of 10 Renegade 85mm’s, and we passed for a little over an hour.  It was a great session; Dave did some really exciting stuff!

Dave’s visit also served to fan the fires of lust for my own set of new Renegades, which should actually be arriving tomorrow, just in time for the next Neverthriving meeting!

Sunday, Ben, Allie, and I headed over to Circus McGurcus — a circus-themed event for one of the UGA housing organizations.  I tried a few of Dave’s moves out with Ben, and we had a great time.  A few of the students were able to juggle pretty decently, and I think we built some interest in our club, so it was a successful couple of hours.

My juggling class Sunday evening saw a pretty dismal turnout, sadly.  A new student did show up, though.  She’d never juggled before, but within the first 10 minutes of class she’d managed three catches with three balls.  Five minutes later she’d qualified with a six-plus-catch run!

It’s always inspiring to see that happen.  There is a small percentage of the population who seem to have an innate ability to juggle. For these people, it’s just a matter of having the process explained, and the execution comes naturally. It’s a wonderful thing to see a new juggler come into being so instantaneously!

I’d like to draw on an essay from Steven Ragatz, particularly the following passages:

“First, work on only one thing at a time. For example, if I am working on the start of a trick, on a single trial, I would focus on the first flash and not care about anything that happens after. On another trial, I might be training the pattern balance, particularly since my left hand likes to be a bit lazy. And on yet another trial, I might focus on shoulder placement, etc.

I have found this to be more valuable than to always try to do the entire trick, with all of it’s various parts, correctly on each trial. Once the trick is out of my head and into my hands, I can put all of the pieces together, but it is just too much to remember and too many things going on to split my focus initially. When I have a clear, limited idea what I wish to accomplish with a given trial, then my chance for success improves dramatically and training is less discouraging.

Second, I try to focus with my “mind’s eye”. The information that most jugglers latch on to is visual information. That is, we watch the pattern and analyze if a given throw was too high, or outside, or under spun, etc. This feedback is crucial, but is merely a symptom of the actual juggling itself. After all, once I see the throw in the air, it is too late to do anything about it other than try to recover. The only point that I can actually influence the trick, is the point of release when I let go of the prop and send it on it’s pre-ordained path. As soon as it leaves my hand, the prop is no longer in my control and I can no longer have any influence over it.

As such, I try to focus on the body and how it “feels” when executing a given trial. Even though my eyes are looking up, my mind’s eye is watching my hands. I try to make it feel correct. I much prefer a run that feels smooth, but results in an error, than a run that requires constant adjustments and is a struggle to keep off of the floor. The body-tool is the only way I have to influence the trick, so I try to focus on it and not rely only on an intellectualized analysis of visual information alone. On some trials, I might focus solely on elbow placement, or placement of my feet. A common focus point for me and small ball juggling, is for me to “see” how the balls are oriented in my hands on the catch/throw cycle. Is it on the palm, or is it in the fingers? Are the hands different? Do they feel like the arm swing is symmetrical? Does one hand tire more easily? Is my left wrist tensing? Etc.”

Whew.  That’s kind of a lot, but maybe I can pull some of the best passages for next Sunday’s class.  I also think some basic breath-awareness exercise, and a short guided body scan would be good points to include in this session. Also, Mr. E’s warmup method (do something which is easy for you, then do it while turning in a circle) is a great tool for the development of body/juggling awareness.

As Ratagz points out, everything comes from the body.  Posture, arm motion, wrist position — these things make or break juggling.

It is important, though, not to be overly prescriptive in this line of thought.  Is our ultimate goal to juggle a perfect pattern while standing absolutely rigid and unmoving? No, of course not.  Juggling should be a fluid, artistic and natural expression.  It should be fun.  But it should be an expression in which we are distinctly aware of every motion and every facet of our bodies.

Like any athlete, dancer, performer the ultimate goal of the juggler is a state of mind in which thought is less important than instinct, in which a free flow of creativity and enjoyment can be expressed. For this to happen, though, there must be a foundation of fundamental skills. Before we allow ourselves the freedom of movement, we must achieve mastery over both our bodies and our patterns.

Keep the body in mind, it is all important.  Let it be your primary focus.  Once you know that the task of juggling is nothing more than “right, left, right, left / throw, catch, throw, catch”  there is very little thought which must be given to the pattern itself. The act of throwing becomes of critical importance.  Mentally reset yourself — your mind, your arms, your body — after every trial.  Fight the urge to rush ahead of yourself.

In juggling, craving is nearly inevitable. Holding the props in your hands, it is natural to want to juggle, to feel a jugglish urge. Be aware of this without letting it consume you.  When you feel frustration and craving think, “ah, my old friends have returned to me, but they shall not lead me astray.”  There is danger in giving in to the craving for a pattern to work. It is a distraction.  It will cause you to forget your body.

Avulsion will also arise. How sick you will become of drop after drop — that mocking thud. Do not think of a drop as a failure. Think, rather, “ah, so I have dropped once more. It is time to start again.”  Do not rush to snatch up a fallen prop.  Rather, take a moment to consider it as it lies on the floor. Consider it’s location relative to your own. Try to remember it’s path in the air.  Try to remember the throw that came just before it and what your body was doing.  Then pick it up.  Pick it up with a smile, perhaps chiding it or yourself good-naturedly.  Welcome the fallen prop back gratefully, full of joy.  There is no room for frustration or anger in juggling. You are already working against gravity, against physics. Don’t work against yourself, too. The mind and body must be full of a calm collectedness. A subtle and happy awareness. Strive for equanimity irrespective of your success or failure.

Mmm… This feels like a good start.

Six students showed up representing a nice range of skills. Everyone seemed to work quite diligently, and seemed to make good progress.  The practice space at Rubber Soul was quite ideal.  Very high ceilings, good lighting, and even padded floors to ease the mental anguish of drops!

I’m excited about the class and have a few new ideas brewing:

- I definitely need to work on promotion and get some posters and flyers made up.  Business cards would also be a good asset — something I can hand out if I happen to be juggling in public.

- A juggling 101 handout of new students would be good resource. Some tight, clean prose on juggling basics and a 3-5 panel illustration to be used as a reference guide.

- A second handout with basic three-ball tricks would also be good to have. Target this at new jugglers who know only the cascade. Perhaps a second, intermediate, and even possibly a third, advanced, handout to come. It might be a good idea to brainstorm some ideas for 4, 5, 6 object handouts; clubs and rings; siteswap and other advanced-juggling-concepts handouts.

- Make props!  I need to pick a material and make at least one set of bean bags.  Something that is good quality and durable which I could sell to new jugglers at a low cost. The ideal case would be to make at least 7 bags so, in the meantime, I can start attempting to flash 7.

It is the same sensation of limitless potential and effervescent joy I felt when I first flashed five. And again when I saw the pattern first becoming solid. It is a wonderful feeling, an up-swelling of self confidence and inspiration.

There is an undeniable commonality to these experiences, but there is also a nuance and individuality.  All are similar, yet none are the same — in much the same way each of the patterns themselves have an individual identity, and yet they all share the innate quality of juggling.

My most recent  moment of personal accomplishment — and perhaps one of my most profound personal juggling accomplishments to date — is four ball Mills Mess.  I’ve always had a deep affinity for the Mills Mess patterns and their variants.  Mills Mess feels almost like magic.  It completely transforms the pattern with such subtlety that it it feels almost like cheating.

Most patterns or tricks distinguish themselves with broad, clear strokes. Throw heights or orders are altered, changing the tempo of the juggling that is happening — creating a syncopation, stealing time for a trick or flourish.  Mills Mess isn’t like this.

Rather than the juggler altering the order or tempo of the pattern, in Mills Mess, the pattern manipulates the juggler.  A three-ball Mills Mess has the exact tempo and siteswap of a standard cascade, yet through the twining and untwining of the juggler’s arms an entirely new, almost organic pattern is created.

Mills Mess has a smoother flow than any other pattern of which I know. The balls seem to chase and follow one another alternately, pulling the juggler’s arms into place at the pattern’s insistence.  I make all of these observations based largely on my experience with three ball Mills. I feel, however, that with four these observations are, if anything, more apropos.

Three ball Mills Mess is a thing of beauty. It is a smooth and elegant pattern.

Four ball Mills is damn near poetic.

Like all even numbers, working with four is quirky.  The base pattern comprises two independent circles.  While they are in time with one another, they are fundamentally separate.  There are, of course, patterns which alter this but they can never escape this fundamental characteristic — the natural rhythmic disorder which accompanies even-numbered juggling.

Yet if any pattern could be said to come close to erasing this disharmony, Mills Mess would be it.

Those distinct circles — two sets of two each bound with certainty to a pre-determined hand — merge in Mills Mess. They dance like lovers, boundaries rendered invisible yet kept intact. Every moment each half of the pattern shifting in compensation.  Every prop seems lost in a miasmic tangle, and yet through it all each pair maintain their integrity. It’s a breakdown of dichotomy, a seemingly impossible union.  It is all bound by the arms of the juggler and yet simultaneously it binds him, commands him. It demands a sort of liquidness — a fluidity of motion.  It pulls the arms, constantly winding and unwinding those subordinate appendages to form a pattern of subtle and ever-changing complexity.

I’ve really only just broken into the pattern at this point, but I finally have a solid base to work from.  It’s only a matter of time and practice before I can begin incorporating more variations, some simple siteswaps and really begin to delve into the depths of four ball Mills Mess dynamics.

It would be an effort in futility were I to attempt to comprehensively  list my personal developments since my last post.  Just to bring things up to speed:  I’m making good progress on flashing six balls, have the five-ball cascade pretty solid, and have just cracked open the long illusive  four-ball Mills Mess.  I have to take a moment to say what a beautiful pattern four-ball Mills is.  It alone made me want to resume blogging here. Maybe more on that later, I want to get a few other points down while they are fresh.

Our juggling club, Neverthriving of Athens, is … well … thriving.  Take THAT archaic middle-English linguists!  The club is growing in both quantity and quality, and there is some fantastic juggling happening every week.

I’ve also been working on a short three-ball routine choreographed to a Flogging Molly song. Hopefully this will land me a spot in Mr. Blank’s Carnival of Black Hearts.

Last, but certainly not least, is what appears to be a very real chance for me to begin teaching a juggling class at a local yoga studio here in Athens, Rubber Soul Yoga (see links).

Well, as you can see, dear reader, these are exciting times.  I’ve done a lot of facebook posting of juggling accomplishments in the past few months, but maybe after re-working this site, I can shift back here.  I could certainly use the space, and this gives a much better archive to review.

Only time will tell.

Put simply, I really like this city.

I’ve gotten pretty familiar with the little corner of Athens known as the “Boulevard Neighborhood” over the past few weeks. Our house is nestled at the end of a quiet street, which dead-ends at a vacant, kudzu-covered lot and is bordered on one side by a very small creek with rather steep, heavily-wooded  banks. While we don’t have much of a yard, there seems to be an abundance of open green space in the area, and Echo and I have had quite a lovely time exploring it.

We have a very nice base route for our morning, afternoon and early-evening walks. From our house, we head about five or six blocks along Hiawassee, where it once again dead ends, this time at a rail-road track. We typically head over a block, then start our trip home. Over the past few days, we’ve been taking a route which allows us to cut through the playground of a near-by elementary school. It’s been quite nice. In addition to the standard, expansive playground area, the school has a sort of out-of-doors, secret-garden-style classroom, which Echo and I have enjoyed exploring at the end of our walks. However, today I discovered an even better option.

As school will begin shortly, I knew the days of our elementary-school diversions were coming to an end, but quite happily I’ve stumbled upon an option which will seemingly serve our needs in perpetuity.  The story of the discovery is a bit serendipitous.

Emily and I had gone out to run a few errands, and when we came back to the house I realized, much to my dismay, that I’d driven off with Echo’s leash resting on the bumper of my truck. I promptly picked up a reserve leash and Echo and I set off in search of the missing equipment.

I had a notion in my mind that the loss had occurred in the near-by parking lot of the bank, which was the first of our errands.  Quite happily, my intuitions proved well grounded, and Echo and I were joyously reunited with our leash.  This happy occasion was rendered all the more exciting when I noticed a large, naturalistic green space directly behind the bank.

Echo and I spent the next 10-15 minutes exploring the area, much to our satisfaction. We eventually discovered a small footpath, which connects directly to our current walking route.

Walking Echo is a very enjoyable exercise  in our neighborhood. On every outing we meet a new dog, and the side walks teem with activity. The people are friendly, and despite Echo’s nervous disposition, I think the city is growing on her.

Dog-walking aside, though, Athens is a charming city. I’ve only been out downtown once or twice, but the experiences were quite enjoyable and the people seem interesting. The Athens-area juggling club certainly holds a big appeal for me, and I’m looking forward to meeting more jugglers.

Also, now that I have a job, I’m looking forward to settling down in the city and making some new friends.

But I suppose all of that will wait for another day.

Perhaps the most noteworthy event in the past week is my return to the workforce. I’ve been through my first day of training at Athens Student Business Services, a local transcription service primarily devoted to transcribing case notes for financial planners. I can’t say that it is the most fascinating job I’ve ever had, but it has flexible hours and will provide a bit of income for me, so I am rather pleased with the development.

I’ve also recently returned from a trip to Jesup for my birthday, and while I am glad to be back in Athens, I enjoyed the trip. I had the opportunity to attend a group sit at the Vipassana center, and it was really nice to visit the Dhamma hall again.

It’s been a bit of a struggle for me to keep up my meditation practice. I can’t really say why, either. I’m not sure where my motivation breaks down, but I only manage about an hour a day two out of three days. I think part of it is the miasma of an entirely ungoverned schedule. Hopefully, once I start my job in earnest (Monday), establish some sort of regular schedule for myself and really settle into a more sustainable life here, I will have a bit more of a solid base for my practice.

On the subject of Vipassana, I’ve been meaning to get this bit of thought out of my head for awhile.

On the first day of our 10-day meditation retreat I met a few of my fellow meditators. We had about 3 or 4 hours before our vow of silence, and during that time we all pretty much asked the same questions: “How did you hear about this, why are you here?”

Most of the answers were pretty generic — a friend of a friend, a trail of on-line links — but one stood out. It came from an older member of our group. Like me, like most of us, he was a “new student,” meaning he’d never sat a Vipassana course before. He was as prototypically middle-aged as you can imagine. He was taller than me, wore glasses and was slightly balding. He had the softness of features and body that comes from decades at a desk job.

“I came here,” he explained, “because I’m over 50, I have two children who are grown — over 20 — and I can’t remember any of it. I can’t remember anything. I was so busy living in the future, I missed my whole life.”

I suppose the occasion warrants some note, but quite honestly I’m at a bit of a loss. I feel pretty good about the overall progress of my life at this point. I don’t have any real regrets or unfulfilled desires looming over me, and all things considered I’d have to say I’m pretty happy.

I’ve just moved to a new city, I’ve got my sites set on graduate school and my five-ball juggling is progressing at a very pleasing rate.

I suppose things are still a bit unsettled from the move. Or perhaps I’m just a bit tired today.

So it goes.

Either way, there’s a dinner happening, and things to do. So perhaps I’ll be a bit more creatively predisposed later in the week.

I haven’t come up with a manageable approach to the convention as a whole, but there is one thread of thought which emerged during my time at the IJA which stands apart. On the final night of the convention, I met Erik Åberg, a member of the juggling company known as Team RdL (Renegadedesign Lab).

Team RdL put on some amazing shows during the convention, featuring some of the most innovative and impressive juggling I’ve ever seen. They preformed at both the Welcome Show at the start of the convention and the Cascade of Stars at the end.  Erik also performed during the late-night show known as Club Renegade (no relation). At Club Renegade, Erik put on a fantastic show with french juggler Florent LeStage, who also put on some fantastic performances during the IJA. Erik and Forent are both amazingly artistic performers, and they have a lot of great stuff online.

Erik and Florent’s collaboration at Club Renegade was pretty avant guard , and it was more of a show “by jugglers, for jugglers” than something geared toward the general public. Well, at least in some respects.

What intrigued me about the show, though, was Erik’s approach a combination of juggling and story telling. Shortly after taking the stage he addressed the audience and introduced the conceit of his show; to paraphrase: “What has made me a juggler?”

I won’t rehash the details of Erik’s story, but I will take a moment to ruminate on his theme.

I love this concept. Part of what interests me most about juggling is it’s universal appeal. Juggling can be a universally accessible form of artistic expression. The inherent drama of intertwining and shifting patterns–the illusion of sustaining the unsustainable –can be compelling without context and regardless of cultural differences.

And yet, at the same time, it can be intensely personal. While the balls, clubs or rings may have their own story to tell, the juggler below them is also a player in the performance. For many old-school jugglers (Enrico Rastelli, Francis Brunn, Bobby May etc.), there was a clear dynamic between these two parts. If you watch old footage of these performers, there is an immediate and  undeniable connection between prop and performer. A lot of modern-day juggling, though, seems to lack this interaction. The props have a story to tell–a path to follow–and a mechanical, uninteresting juggler stands below, a disengaged conductor.

This isn’t to say no modern manipulators are keeping the old-school prop-performer dynamic alive. Viktor Kee, for example, is an astonishingly vivid, if somewhat creepy, example of this.

But what interested me so much about Erik and Florent’s show, was that, in keeping with that compelling command from Ezra Pound–they “made it new.”  They changed the dynamic of juggling and the juggler, by putting the juggler on center stage, and relegating juggling itself to a secondary, supporting role.

There is a vast potential in this–this personalization of the universal.