The Art and Science of Clowning

​[Note: This reflection on the "Clown and the Body" workshop at Questacon was written in December, with the wisdom of hindsight adding depth to the memories from June.]

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In the realm of clowning, safety is not about building walls, but about creating a compassionate container that allows performers to dance dangerously close to the edge of vulnerability, where true creativity breathes, a paradoxical space where protection and risk perform an intimate, improvisational duet.

Think red noses and silly walks are just for circus folk? Hold onto your lab coats, because I'm about to blow your mind! After leading a workshop called "Clown and the Body" at Questacon (yes, THE Questacon - Australia's temple of scientific amazingnesssss), I discovered something wild: clowning and science are like long-lost siblings who finally found each other on ancestry.com!
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The art of gentle mischief (or: how to break rules properly)

Here's a juicy secret from my Jacques Lecoq training days - we use this thing called 'via negativa,' which is fancy-speak for "figure it out yourself, darling!" Instead of spoon-feeding instructions like some boring cookbook, I like to create a playground where chaos is your best friend and curiosity is the only rule.

Now, let me spill some tea about being a professional troublemaker (ahem, I mean "workshop facilitator"). I LOVE playing the provocateur - poking, prodding, and throwing absurdity around like it's no one's business. But oh crap, did I learn some lessons! One of my playful jabs landed a bit too sharp with a participant who wasn't from a performance background. That moment? Pure teacher gold. It reminded me that while we're all here to get weird, we need to make it the good kind of weird. 

But here’s the thing: Questacon requested we squeeze what’s usually a three-day workshop into just one. It’s like trying to bake a soufflé in a microwave. We got there (kind of), but the time crunch made building those delicious layers of trust and vulnerability a bit more... let’s say, al dente. It was still fun, still weird, but with a bit more room to stretch, I think the magic could have hit a whole new level.

If you are a clown teacher, coach, facilitator or even contemplating it, here are some learnings along the way...

Safety goggles required! (even clowning needs boundaries)

I am a lover of rituals to create trust and harmony. First up: We establish some deliciously inappropriate rituals. My favourite? Getting everyone to shout their favourite swear word together. (Sorry, not sorry, traditional educators!) My other fave is the sacred red nose ceremony: It's like putting on a superhero mask, except instead of fighting crime, you're fighting your own dignity (ps: dignity always loses).

The "Oops" revolution

Mistakes aren't just okay, they're the WHOLE POINT! When someone gloriously messes up, we celebrate with a massive "Hooray!" Because nothing says "welcome to the clan" like turning your embarrassing moment into a group celebration.

I keep the feedback vibes super chill with questions like "What made your heart sing?" and "What sparked joy?". It's about building each other up while we're breaking down our walls.

The scientific method of getting weird

Just like a scientist fine-tuning their experiment, I'm constantly reading the room. If someone's inner critic is getting too loud, we pivot. If the energy's dropping, we shake things up. It's all about finding that sweet spot where people feel brave enough to be brilliantly stupid.

FINALLY MY 3 TOP LESSONS...

1. Not everyone comes to clowning with a theatre geek’s background, or even a love for the spotlight. And that’s okay! The beauty of this work is meeting people where they are, even if they’re clutching their metaphorical lab coats for dear life.
2. Every workshop teaches me something, and yes, sometimes that lesson is, 'Oops, maybe don’t push that button!' The joy of clowning is the learning never stops, for participants or for me!
3. Clowning thrives on time and trust, which is why I usually stretch these workshops over days. But hey, even a single day can spark something transformational. It’s like trying to eat a whole cake in one sitting...messy, hilarious, and maybe a bit overwhelming, but still pretty sweet!

Here's what I've learned from mixing clowning with science: when you create a space where people feel safe enough to be silly and brave enough to fail, creativity happens. Real, messy, beautiful  creativity. It's where  everyone's inner weirdo gets to come out and play.

And the best part? No one gets cancelled for being themselves! (Though I can't promise your dignity will survive intact...) 

Stay curious, stay rebellious, and for goodness sake, stay weird!
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P.S. Still can't believe they let me loose in a science museum. Their insurance company is probably having kittens!

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Bonus reflections: the vulnerable courage of clowning

Safety in clowning is a delicious paradox. It's not the safety of comfort, but the safety of radical vulnerability – a sanctuary carved out by courage so raw it becomes its own protective cloak. When a clown steps onto the floor, they're not seeking to hide, but to expose the most tender, ridiculous parts of human experience.

To clown is to make a profound act of service. It's saying to an audience, "I will fall, I will fail, I will look absolutely absurd – and in doing so, I give you permission to embrace your own beautiful messiness." Each stumble, each ridiculous moment is a gift unwrapped with trembling hands – an offering that says, "It's okay to be human. It's okay to not be perfect."

This is not easy work. Clowning is not for the faint of heart. It demands a commitment that goes beyond performance – it's a spiritual practice, a continuous excavation of the self. Every moment on the floor is a wrestling match with your own ego, your own fears, your own desperate desire to be taken seriously. The clown laughs in the face of that desire and says, "Seriously? Let's get real."

The search is real work. It's about being funny & about being true. Hours spent in exploration, moments of utter failure, the willingness to sit in the discomfort of not knowing. Clowning asks you to show up fully, to stay when every instinct screams to run, to remain present when the vulnerability feels too intense.

And the golden nuggets? They don't come from perfection. They emerge from the cracks, from the moments when you're so lost that suddenly, miraculously, you find yourself. It's in those suspended moments of pure, unscripted humanity that the magic happens. Then the hard part? How to craft it into a 5 minute act! 

To those who dare to clown: you are warriors of vulnerability. You are the ones who transform spaces, who create momentary sanctuaries of shared human absurdity. Your work is not just performance – it's a radical act of connection, of healing, of remembering that beneath all our carefully constructed facades, we are wonderfully, terrifyingly alive.
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Stay brave. Stay soft. Stay wonderfully, ridiculously human.