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This year, around this time commemorates a decade since I initially stepped onto the Lecoq floorboards. In the enchanting realm of theatre, where words meet movement, the Jacques Lecoq pedagogy has been my guiding star—a transformative journey that has unlocked the door to crafting poetic, moving theatre shows. Especially when it comes to approaching the smallest mask in the world; the red nose. The power of the body as a storyteller Lecoq’s teachings have gifted me a profound appreciation for the body’s eloquence. Every gesture, every step, every nuance becomes a note in a symphony of comedic storytelling. Characters beyond words With Lecoq, characters cease to be mere words on a page. They become living, breathing entities birthed from the depth of movement. Through masks, mime, and physical exploration, I’ve discovered the art of shaping and embodying characters in a way that transcends the boundaries of language. The dance of emotion Emotions are not just felt; they are danced. Lecoq’s pedagogy has shown me that emotions can be conveyed through the subtlest of movements—the quiver of a hand, the arch of a back, or the rhythm of a heartbeat. Creating worlds without limits In the Lecoq universe, the stage knows no bounds. It’s a canvas where imagination runs wild, and the laws of physics are mere suggestions. Through physical improvisation, I’ve witnessed the birth of surreal landscapes, the magic of impossible encounters, and the beauty of limitless creativity.  A young-ish Alicia lost and found in Paris A journey of self-discovery
Beyond the artistry, Lecoq’s pedagogy has been a journey of self-discovery. It’s an exploration of my own physicality as i get older, an excavation of hidden facets of myself, and a continual process of growth and revelation. Crafting poetic moving theatre With every step, every mask donned, every character embodied and inspired, I’ve learned to craft theatre that is not just seen but felt. It’s theatre that lingers in the hearts of the audience, leaving them with a sense of wonder and a yearning for more. In embracing the Lecoq pedagogy, I’ve found a path to create theatre that moves and is not bound by the limitations of words. It’s a journey that continues to inspire, challenge, and illuminate my artistic soul, and I’m endlessly grateful for the poetic world it has allowed me to weave on the stage. Merci @ecolejacques Let me tell you about the day I nearly shit myself because someone asked me to sing. Not kidding. There I was, in the middle of developing my latest show, when my colleague springs this "let's sing in our clown warmup" business on me. My heart? Racing. My brain? Screaming "ABORT MISSION!" But here's the wild thing about singing – it's like emotional streaking. You're basically naked, but instead of your bits, you're showing everyone your soul. And let's be real, that's way scarier. You want to know what REALLY happens when you sing? Your voice shakes. Your palms get so sweaty you could start a small lake. That little voice in your head starts listing every single embarrassing thing you've done since third grade. Yeah, THAT voice. The one that's currently telling you that you sound like a dying whale having an existential crisis.  Trying to block out my singing voice But lean in closer, because I'm about to tell you something important: That trembling, terrified voice? That's where the magic lives.
Remember when you were a kid and you'd sing without giving a single damn who heard you? That's what I found in that clown warmup. Between the nervous giggles and cracking notes, I found something real. Something raw. Something that made me go "Oh shit, THIS is what it's about!" You see, in the clown world (my weird and wonderful home), we celebrate the wobbles. The mistakes. The moments where everything goes "wrong" but actually goes so RIGHT. When my voice cracked during that warmup, it wasn't a failure – it was a f*cking doorway. A doorway to connecting with everyone else in that room who's ever felt scared to be seen. Here's the truth bomb: Your voice doesn't need to be perfect. It needs to be YOURS. That warble when you hit the high notes? Golden. That moment when your voice breaks because the emotion is too big to hold? That's the good stuff. That's the stuff that makes people lean in and go "Oh my god, me too." Listen, I know it's scary. Trust me, I KNOW. But there's something absolutely magical about standing in front of people, shaking like a leaf, and singing anyway. It's like giving fear the middle finger while simultaneously hugging it. That day in the warmup changed something in me. It wasn't just about singing – it was about finding the courage to be spectacularly, gloriously imperfect. About letting my weird little light shine, wobbles and all. So here's my invitation to you: Sing. Sing badly. Sing loudly. Sing like you're the only one who can tell your story (because you are). Let your voice crack. Let it soar. Let it be exactly what it is in this moment. Because in the end, the most beautiful songs aren't the perfect ones – they're the ones that make us feel less alone in our beautiful mess of humanity. Now excuse me while I go practice my off-key power ballads. |
AuthorAlicia Gonzalez is a clown and coach living the beautifool life. Archives
January 2025
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