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Tout bouge / Everything Moves - Jacques Lecoq I wasn’t sure if I should write this. Honestly, sharing something this personal feels a little like standing on stage in my underwear. But I’ve realised that if you’re going to live with any kind of freedom, you’ve got to get comfortable being uncomfortable. So here we are. This is my story, one that starts with feeling completely trapped by anxiety and ends with finding a strange, beautiful kind of freedom through clowning. Let me take you on a trip. Not a fancy, passport-required, white-sand-beach kind of journey, but an inner one. A messy, sometimes ridiculous, often frustrating journey from anxiety to freedom. Warning: it’s not a straight line, and at some point, you’ll probably question your life choices. I did. More than once. I used to live in a mental prison. Picture a tiny cell, with walls made of every self-doubt, anxiety, and fear you can imagine. It wasn’t dramatic; there were no chains or grandiose epiphanies, just the slow drip of inner criticism, chipping away at me. My inner critic, let’s call him Gerald, was like a bad housemate who never did the dishes and always had something snarky to say about everything I did. Cue the scene: I’m standing in my kitchen, frozen, staring blankly at the counter. Was I lost in thought? Contemplating life’s mysteries? Nope. I was stuck. Anxiety does that. Turns you into a statue with a racing heart. I call it “Frozen in the Kitchen” because it’s one of those absurd moments where you realise something’s got to give or you’ll stay there forever, waiting for a sign from the heavens. Then, one day, my body whispered, “Move.” And not in the “motivational Instagram quote” way. More like, “Hey, human, just take one tiny step, for the love of all that’s holy.” So I did. It wasn’t some magical, anxiety-killing breakthrough, but it cracked something open, enough to let a little light in. What followed was a chaotic, beautiful stumble toward freedom that involved more than just a little bit of clowning. Not the circus kind, but a liberating, absurd exploration of movement and play. I packed my bags (mentally) and enrolled in Ecole Jacques Lecoq in Paris because, apparently, I thought I needed a challenge. This place was about physical theatre, not just heady ideas. It was about MOVEMENT. And that’s where clowning came in. Clowning turned out to be the most unexpectedly profound and liberating thing I’ve ever done. Through clowning, I learned how to laugh at Gerald (my inner critic), how to break out of my mental freeze, and, most importantly, how to reclaim my freedom, inch by ridiculous inch. Clowning gave me permission to move, feel, and express without the self-conscious need for perfection. It taught me to embrace being foolish, awkward, messy, and to find the beauty in that. It wasn't about being funny (although important); it was about being free.  Alicia on her way to Freedom What does freedom actually look like?
It’s a tricky thing, isn’t it? Freedom. It’s not as neat and tidy as we like to think. But here’s my take: Physical freedom: Letting my body move without tension, fear, or expectation. Turns out, just moving your body can shake loose the cobwebs of anxiety. And no, it’s not about doing it right. Just do it. Emotional freedom: Letting out the ugly cry, the rage, the belly laughs, all of it. Clowning didn’t give me a space to perform emotions; it gave me a space to be them. No filters, no masks (well, except for the red nose). Mental freedom: Learning to tell Gerald to sit down and shut up. He’s a persistent little bugger, but through clowning, I found ways to quiet him down. Let’s face it, Gerald will always be there, but I’ve learned to laugh at him now. (Seriously, the guy’s a joke.) Creative freedom: Being allowed to imagine wildly without sticking to the script. Screw the rules, the expectations, the “shoulds.” Clowning was a giant permission slip to create outside the lines. Freedom of identity: Realising that who I am is a constantly shifting, fluid thing. And that’s okay. Clowning let me embrace my many selves, the absurd, the serious, the messy, all of them are welcome on stage. Spiritual freedom: Finding a deeper connection to the wild, unpredictable, and often hilarious essence of life. Clowning aligned me with something greater, like life itself has a sense of humour and is just waiting for us to laugh along. So if you’re feeling stuck, frozen, or just ready to throw in the towel, remember this: sometimes all it takes is one tiny movement. Move your body, move your mind, hell, just wiggle your toes. And if you’re up for it, maybe consider clowning, it’s more liberating than you’d think. Freedom doesn’t look like perfection. It looks like movement, messy and imperfect, but oh-so-beautiful. Until next time, move like your life depends on it, because it just might. Alicia xx
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[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.]  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! 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...
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! P.S. Still can't believe they let me loose in a science museum. Their insurance company is probably having kittens! Bonus reflections: the vulnerable courage of clowningSafety 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. Stay brave. Stay soft. Stay wonderfully, ridiculously human. From heart to brain, and back again: Insights from my own coaching journeyThis week, something cracked open during my own coaching session. There I was, the coach being coached, when the universe decided to serve me a delicious slice of cosmic irony. I was receiving the very questions I usually ask others about joy, freedom, and play. Rumi called it the mirror of the heart, but I call it getting wonderfully caught in your own medicine. And wouldn't you know it? That mirror showed me exactly what I needed to see. What it revealed went far deeper than simple reflection. It showed me why joy isn't just a nice-to-have bonus in our lives – it's a gateway to something far BIGGER. The ancient ones knew this. They had different words for different kinds of happiness, but what they really understood was that JOY is a technology for TRANSFORMATION.  Alicia in foolish action with a sage audience Think about it: your brain literally shrinks when caught in negative patterns. But in joy? It expands, creating new possibilities. It's like your consciousness does a happy dance. And this isn't just poetic metaphor, this is how we're wired for evolution. Speaking of evolution, have you ever noticed how your heart seems to know things before your mind figures them out? There's a reason for that. The heart has its own kind of intelligence, something the mystics knew and scientists are now confirming. When we journey from brain (hello, overthinking!) to heart (ah, there's the wisdom) and back to brain (but now with understanding), we're following an ancient map to our own transformation. This map, though, often leads us straight into the territory of the fool. Let’s get a little honest here, we all get caught in patterns, like wearing an invisible suit of "shoulds" and "must-dos." The fool in every tradition knew something about this: sometimes you have to break the pattern to see it wasn't real in the first place. Kinda like attempting to get out of the Matrix.. but less scarier. It really is all BS! And here's where it gets really interesting. That pineal gland the ancients called the third eye? Turns out it loves to do a little salsa dance. Every time we choose play over constraint, wonder over certainty, we're lighting up this inner vision centre. It's not just mystical talk, it's about accessing different kinds of knowing. Sometimes the deepest wisdom comes wrapped in laughter, and the most profound insights arrive through play. This matters more than we might think. When we contain our joy, we're not just suppressing an emotion, we're refusing an invitation to EVOLUTION. The price of staying small isn't just personal; it ripples out into everything we do. Every time we choose constraint over expression, we're not just dimming our own light, we're declining an invitation to grow.  Alicia as the Fool What I'm discovering on this path is that freedom lives in the space between structure and spontaneity. The heart's wisdom often comes disguised as play, and sometimes the most profound truth wears a crooked smile. What looks like foolishness might be the highest wisdom. The fool and the sage are the same person, just catching different light.
Actually, during our last Clown Camp, we found ourselves deep in conversation about the dance between the fool and the sage. The sage sits atop the mountain, dispensing wisdom with grace. The fool tumbles up that same mountain, tripping over truths and accidentally discovering enlightenment in the process. Same mountain, same truths, wildly different approaches. Yet somehow, they both get there. Someone brought up the Zen masters, who would often act as holy fools to shake their students awake. Another mentioned the court jesters, the only ones allowed to tell kings the truth. These weren't just entertainers, they were wisdom workers in disguise, using laughter to bypass the ego's defenses and plant seeds of truth. This journey from heart to brain and back again isn't just personal development, it's part of a larger dance of THE FOOL. It's about finding the courage to play at the edges of our comfort zone, to let wisdom and wonder mingle freely. It's about trusting that the path to growth might look more like a skip than a march. And maybe that's exactly as it should be. After all, as Roald Dahl reminded us, "Those who don't believe in magic will never find it." So what do you say? Ready to play at the edges of wisdom and wonder? I'm in! P.S. Writing this was a challenge, I’m trying to pack so much depth into a few words. If you’re up for a deep, philosophical chat and want to dive into these ideas together, reach out! I’d love to explore and wrestle with these insights with you. #heartwisdom #joyfulfool #wisdominplay This blog post is dedicated to my friend and collaborator, Andy Mac—a true connoisseur of foolishness, who once shared a nugget of wisdom: “A stand-up is trying to be funny. A clown is just trying to be, and that’s funny.” These words perfectly capture what it means to embrace your inner fool—a journey toward joy, creativity, and freedom. Here’s how you can let go of seriousness, dive into joy, and step boldly into your really smart idiot. 1. Let your body be boss We often think playfulness is just for kids, but it’s your secret spicy salsa for reducing stress, getting creativity going, and making us feel gooooood. Your body is your greatest tool in this—how you move, gesture, and sound invites the audience (and yourself) into a shared experience of joy and spontaneity. When you let your body lead, playfulness becomes a natural state of being. Tip: Start small by incorporating playful movements into your routine. Begin with a warm-up of imaginary bananas—pretend to squish them with your feet (grounding). Then, open your eyes wide, stick out your tongue, and pant like a dog (curiosity). Finish with taking your hips downtown and circling them around and around like an imaginary hula hoop (pleasure). This playful routine helps get you out of your head and into your body. If you feel like an idiot trying these moves, then you're doing it right. 2. It’s okay to get it wrong One of the key aspects of being a “smart idiot” is letting go of the fear of making mistakes. Clowns don’t shy away from mishaps; they embrace them, turning them into moments of shared joy and clever solutions. This principle isn’t just for the stage—it’s a way of living that frees you from the pressure to be perfect and opens the door to creativity. Tip: Intentionally introduce surprise into your day. Put Vegemite on your toothbrush or flip a coin to decide your route to work—ditch the GPS! I tried this last month and ended up on a delightful, unplanned adventure. The goal is to disrupt the expected and celebrate the joyful chaos that follows.  3. Build Bridges with your quirks Think of your quirks as the bricks and mortar of a bridge, connecting you to the people around you. Your clown persona is an invitation to build rapport (complicite), to share your most authentic self with the world. When you play with your quirks, you create a space where others feel safe to join in the fun. Tip: What odd habits or quirks make you, you? Exaggerate them, play with them, and see what character emerges. This isn’t about putting on a mask, but about revealing the playful, raw you. Are you a clean freak? Imagine being a character who's obsessed with wiping down every surface they come across—polishing doorknobs, washing the air, maybe even carrying a mini vacuum to clean the floor before they take a step. You could have a collection of spray bottles strapped to your belt, misting everything and everyone you meet. Do you love collecting remote controls? How about becoming the king or queen of remotes? Picture a character with dozens of remotes dangling from a belt, each one with a different function. Perhaps one controls the volume of people's voices, another changes the weather, and a special one only works on cats. 4. Become a mirror Imagine holding up a mirror that reflects the world as it is—unfiltered and unjudged. When you stop worrying about how others see you, you become that mirror, simply reflecting the absurdity and beauty of life. This lets you connect with others, not by trying to be the life of the party, but by being genuinely curious and engaged; the clown who genuinely wants to know where the party's at. Tip: Get into the quirks of everyday things. Get ridiculously fascinated by how a toaster turns your bread into crispy gold, or how the ocean pulls its tide dance. Obsess over the nuts and bolts of these oddities. This kind of wild curiosity makes you present, engaged, and ready to share a laugh or two about the bizarre world we live in.  5. Boredom is our friend In the often misunderstood world of clowning, there exists a paradoxical truth—a creative approach can emerge from embracing boredom. Transforming the mundane and empty spaces into fertile ground for exploration and self-expression is where the artistry of the really smart idiot shines through. Tip: An exercise I use in class known as "The Black Emptiness" encourages performers to delve into nothingness and emptiness, trusting that movement and inspiration will organically surface. You can try this abridged version: enter a room, tune in with your body and breath, turn on your clown radar by picking up how you’re feeling moment to moment (hungry, tired, itchy, etc), and responding without censorship. Take emptiness and silence as a starting point for play and see where these subtle nuances take you. The exercise encourages an unfiltered, honest exploration of emotions and reactions. 6. Breathe together in absurdity Tension is like a balloon—if it’s inflated too much, it risks bursting; if it deflates too soon, it loses its impact. The key is knowing when to puncture it with a burst of absurdity, allowing everyone to exhale together. This shared breath, this collective release, is the catharsis that binds the audience in a moment of joy and relief. Being a really smart idiot means embracing the absurdity of life. It’s about recognising that sometimes; things just don’t make sense—and that’s okay. By celebrating the absurd, you allow yourself to let go of the need for everything to be logical and orderly. Tip: Use absurdity to puncture the tension and invite your audience to breathe alongside you. Try something completely illogical, like hiding your partner’s shoes in the freezer (yup I did this and we still crack up about that brilliant moment of madness years later), or crafting a nonsensical poem for a friend. The aim is to create a moment so unexpected that it pops the balloon of tension, letting everyone breathe out and laugh together. In these shared, quirky moments, you and your audience find release, connection, and laughter.  7. Be big in a small-ish way A truly smart idiot knows when to dial it up or down. Imagine your presence as a warm breeze—gentle but noticeable, carrying just enough energy to stir the leaves without overwhelming them. When you're with younger audiences, or in sensitive environments like hospitals, it's important to be "big" in a small way. This means using your body and sound in ways that are soft yet expressive, engaging but not overpowering. It’s about being fully present, but with a light touch—like a whisper that captures attention more than a shout ever could. Tip: Practice using your body and voice to create a gentle impact. Instead of broad gestures, try small, deliberate movements—wiggle your fingers like a wave or bounce lightly on your toes to convey excitement. Your voice can be a soft hum or a gentle coo, rather than a loud shout, to draw children in without startling them. This approach is especially powerful in settings like hospital clowning, where your ability to create a bubble of calm and joy can be a gift in an otherwise tough environment. Your presence, when subtle and intentional, can make even the smallest moments feel wonderfully big.  If these tips didn't tickle your funny bone, here are some bonus hacks straight from our real-life clown classes. And if that still doesn't do the trick, it's time to haul your butt to clown school! 👇
Butt dance Chuck on some music and partner up and do some butt-to-butt dancing. Yep, you read that right. Let your backs “talk” to each other in a silent, slightly ridiculous conversation. It’s physical, it’s funny, and it’s a great way to get into the clown spirit. Nail your entrance First impressions matter—even for clowns. Work on entrances that catch people off guard, whether you’re sneaking in with a sly grin or busting in with a bang like Kramer the king of Seinfeld entrances. Play “Clown Assassin” Get a group of friends or colleagues in on a game of “Clown Assassin” where you “kill” others with ridiculous facial expressions. This is a modified version of the game Wink Murder. Think death by pout, nose wiggle, or exaggerated orgasm face. It’s a killer way to practice clowning without saying a word. These simple, playful acts can totally open the door to more spontaneous fun. Try them out and hit me up with the details—I’m keen to hear how you let your inner mischief-maker loose! Long Live the Really Smart Idiot! In an era where individualism often overshadows communal bonds, the Clown Chorus Ensemble Lab held earlier this month in Sydney aimed to offer a refreshing perspective on the delicate balance between selfhood and collective identity. This lab didn’t just explore theatrical performance; it challenged our understanding of how unique individuals emerge from and contribute to the collective. The questions posed in this lab weren’t merely academic; they were deeply relevant to contemporary society in 2024. Redefining heroism and community Activist Emma Goldman's poignant challenge to "be oneself and yet in oneness with others" resonates profoundly in today's fragmented world. The Clown Chorus Ensemble Lab was an experiment in rediscovering this balance. By creating a collective flow (aka the chorus) only to intentionally disrupt it, we were able uncover the unique "clown" within each participant. This joyfool disruption isn't just theatrical; it’s a metaphor for societal change. Who is our modern hero? In our quest to identify modern heroes, the lab proposed that today's stereotypical heroes are not the traditional strongmen or flawless figures but those who, like clowns, embrace vulnerability and imperfection. They are individuals who can stand apart from the collective, question it, and yet remain an integral part of it. In this light, the clown becomes a symbol of resilience and truth in a world often obsessed with superficial perfection and lies.  The lab's approach to building and breaking collective flow highlighted an essential truth: genuine progress often requires disruption. This perspective challenges the notion that harmony and conformity are always desirable. Instead, it suggests that the most profound truths and innovations emerge from the cracks in the collective facade. The clown, by daring to be different, exposes these cracks and invites us to confront uncomfortable realities.
Ethical and universal connections As I observed the lab participants in choral formation it reminded me of the power of communal performance. It’s not just about moving in sync; it’s about connecting deeply with others, society, and the universe. This connection is ethical in nature, urging us to be conscious of our movements and their impact on the collective. It’s a return to the roots of theatre, where the chorus was not just a group but a representation of societal conscience. Clown as a mirror Naturally, the clown’s role in this lab was not merely to entertain but to act as a mirror to society. By embracing perceived inadequacies (cracks in our personas), the clown challenges the observer or audience to reconsider their definitions of normalcy, success and how one should behave. The clown’s perpetual rise after every fall is a poignant metaphor for resilience and the human spirit’s triumph over adversity. The clown teaches us that true bravery lies in the ability to rise repeatedly like the tallest sunflower. It’s not about wallowing in despair but about using it as a catalyst for creating meaningful connections and understanding. The clown, by existing within this tragic space, bridges the gap between individual pain and collective empathy. In the end, the two-day Clown Chorus Ensemble Lab was more than an artistic experiment; it was a call to action. In urging us to embrace our vulnerabilities, joyfully disrupt the status quo, and find the sweet spot in our collective humanity. By reimagining the roles of the clown and the chorus, maybe we can redefine heroism, adopt deeper connections, and create a more resilient and compassionate society. Who knows, perhaps in the laughter and tears shared through this journey we call life; we may find the true essence of what it means to be a funny old human. I'm excited to tell you about my recent adventure on the Sunshine Coast, where I teamed up with the fantastic Coastal Caring Clowns to explore the world of therapeutic clowning. Coastal Caring Clowns traces its roots back to the passion and inspiration of a Sunshine Coast resident, Barbara Brewster, who toured with Patch Adams in Russia and the USA in the 1990s. When I was invited to facilitate a Healing with Humour Lab, I wasn't sure what to expect. What I encountered, however, left me in awe. Over two days filled with laughter and insight, I witnessed the profound impact of the group's skills and dedication to the art of therapeutic clowning. Let me start by sharing the stories of Eileen and Brian, aka Bluebird and Bubbles, the dynamic duo of giggles. “Your workshop helped me make more eye contact with a group. Shyness has always been a real thing with me. Clowning has helped me immensely to be more confident & speak up more. Your workshop has also increased my belief in myself.” - Eileen aka ‘Bluebird’ "Alicia, you dragged something out of me which was trying very hard to stay hidden behind a quiet and very conservative and comfortable existence. I had been thinking that my clowning had become a bit stodgy. You stirred up the sediment and turned it into something which is the start of the new me” - Brian aka ‘Bubbles’ Their words hit me right in the funny bone, showing the power of clowning to bring out our inner goofball and jump out of our comfort zones. What touched me the most was the profound sense of community and camaraderie that permeates their organisation. Despite most of the volunteer clowns being retired and not receiving any monetary compensation, each volunteer shares a unified mission: to illuminate lives through laughter and empathy. It's this collective dedication to service and craft that sets Coastal Caring Clowns apart. At its core, therapeutic clowning embodies the essence of artistry in service, offering a poignant response to contemporary realities of isolation, inequality, and powerlessness. It acknowledges the interconnectedness of mind, body, and spirit, fostering healing not only for individuals but for entire communities. In a world often plagued by division and despair, these volunteer clowns stand as beacons of light, wielding laughter as their healing tool. As a therapeutic clown, I've had the privilege of witnessing firsthand the transformative power of play and laughter in healthcare, arts and corporate settings. In my journey, I've gleaned invaluable lessons that have not only enriched my practice but also shaped my perspective on life. Eileen and Brian's stories inspired me to distill my insights into five guiding principles for fellow travellers on this path: 1/ Play and laughter: medicine for the soul One of the fundamental truths I've discovered is the profound impact of play and laughter on physical and psychological well-being. Beyond mere entertainment, play and laughter serve as potent remedies, reducing stress, boosting morale, and fostering a sense of joy amidst challenging circumstances. Whether engaging in whimsical games or sharing a moment of levity, the therapeutic clown's role extends far beyond entertainment—it becomes a beacon of hope and healing. 2/ Connection trumps performance Contrary to popular belief, therapeutic clowning isn't about being the funniest or mastering a repertoire of gags. Instead, it's about forging genuine connections, establishing rapport, and creating an environment conducive to laughter and play. Authentic connections transcend barriers, fostering a sense of belonging and solidarity among patients, families, and staff.  Happy and in awe with the Coastal Caring Clowns, Sunshine Coast 3/ Self-care through connection and play In the demanding realm of life, work and everything in between, self-care often takes a backseat. However, I've come to realise that true self-care stems from fostering connections and indulging in play, rather than erecting emotional barriers. By immersing ourselves in the world of others, we replenish our spirits, finding solace and rejuvenation amidst the chaos. 4/ Embracing the present moment Therapeutic clowning has taught me the importance of embracing the present moment—the "now." In the whimsical realm of clowning, there's no room for dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. Instead, every moment is an opportunity for spontaneous connection, uninhibited expression, and boundless creativity. 5/ Empathy and perspective-taking Perhaps the most profound lesson of all is the ability to see the world through the eyes of others. By embodying compassion and empathy, therapeutic clowns create a safe space where patients feel understood, valued, and empowered. Whether engaging with non-verbal children, improvising with props, or playing the role of the "low-status" clown, our ultimate goal is to uplift and empower those we encounter. Alicia in 'Enclownter', a public art therapeutic clowning performance. Therapeutic clowning isn't just a vocation—it's a journey of self-discovery, resilience, and profound human connection. By embracing play, fostering connections, and embodying empathy, we not only bring laughter to healthcare settings but also sow the seeds of healing and hope in other spaces and communities.
May we all find fulfilment in spreading laughter and compassion wherever life leads us. Exploring Therapeutic Clowning: Learn more about the principles and practices behind therapeutic clowning and its impact on well-being. Motherhood – a journey filled with laughter, tears, and the constant balancing act of nurturing our children while tending to our own needs. In August 2023, I found myself drawn to share the beauty of clowning with a group of remarkable mothers. Together, we embarked on a workshop that became a sanctuary of laughter, camaraderie, and self-discovery. Amidst the chaos of parenting, we rediscovered the importance of play – not only for our children but for ourselves.  Beautifool Amy & son, accompanied by mama Brinley ❤️ Motherhood often leads us to shelve our inner child, consumed by the demands of daily life. We forget the simple joy of play, prioritising practicalities over the whimsical. Yet, within the realm of clowning, I am able to find a bridge between my roles as a caregiver and a playful spirit. It is allowing me to navigate the complexities of parenthood with a sense of lightness and creativity. I wish for the ‘Clown for Mamas’ workshop to become a space for collective healing and reflection. Where we laugh to forget the challenges, but we also can cry to remember the beauty of our journey. Through clowning, we are encouraged to embrace the duality of motherhood – the loss of freedom juxtaposed with the creation of precious memories.  Mama clowns by the grandmother tree Now as I embark on crafting a clown show inspired by my own motherhood journey, I am confronted by the uncertainties and joys inherent in both parenting and performance. Like raising a child, creating a theatrical piece is a labour of love, fraught with obstacles and moments of pure delight. It echoes the universal question that every parent grapples with: "Am I doing this right?" “Will they still love me?”. Clowning is teaching me to embrace the messiness of life, to find beauty in imperfection, and to celebrate the joyous absurdity of motherhood. It's not about following a script but rather improvising with the unexpected twists and turns that come our way. Just as each clown performance is unique, so too is every moment of motherhood. The art of clowning is offering me profound insights into the nature of joy and resilience. In the world of clowning, perfection is not only unattainable but also undesirable. Clowns revel in their flaws, finding humour and humanity in their quirks and imperfections. Through their antics, they invite us to laugh at ourselves, to release the burden of striving for an unattainable ideal, and to embrace the messy beauty of being human. In the end, the journey of motherhood is not about achieving perfection but rather about embracing the journey with all its ups and downs. Through clowning, I am discovering that the key to finding joy amidst the chaos lies in embracing our inner child, nurturing our sense of play, and cherishing the precious moments of connection with our children and fellow mothers. In embracing my inner clown, I'm learning to let go of my need for control and perfection. Instead, I'm embracing the spontaneity of the moment, surrendering to the unpredictable rhythms of life with a sense of curiosity and wonder, and yes sometimes dread. In a recent heart-to-heart with a fellow mama, I confessed a truth that resonates deeply: part of motherhood is grappling with moments where enjoyment feels elusive. It's a sentiment shared among many mothers, a recognition that the journey is not always smooth sailing. Like a clown navigating a slapstick routine, I stumble, I fall, and I pick myself back up again, laughing all the while. And in doing so, I'm discovering that the true joy of motherhood lies in the messy, imperfect, gloriously chaotic dance of life. As I reflect on the transformative power of clowning in my motherhood journey, I am filled with gratitude for the laughter, the tears, and the profound sense of community that it has brought into my life. And though the road ahead may be uncertain, I am comforted by the knowledge that as long as I have my clown nose and an open heart, I can navigate the joys and challenges of motherhood with grace and resilience.
Enter the fantastical domain of the clown's universe, and you'll find yourself captivated not only by the dazzling performances under the spotlight but also by the enigmatic world that lies just beyond the curtain—the backstage. A liminal space where reality and fantasy intersect, the backstage serves as the gateway between the stage and the outer world. In this hidden dimension, the clown, that whimsical and unpredictable figure, finds a home—a space where the unseen, the negative space of the clown, comes to life. The backstage as a planet Imagine the backstage as a celestial body, a planet orbiting the stage in a parallel universe. This is where the clown resides, navigating through a cosmos of red noses, exaggerated props, and vibrant costumes. The backstage is not just a physical space but a dimension filled with the echoes of laughter, the scent of greasepaint, and the anticipation of the performance yet to unfold. As we explore the backstage, we delve into the very heart of the clown's universe—a place where transformation occurs. Here, the clown sheds the mask of normalcy and steps into a world of absurdity and paradox. The backstage becomes a playground where the laws of reality are bent, and the clown's essence is distilled. The clown's habitat: Where does the clown live in this peculiar backstage planet? The answer lies in the interstitial spaces between costume racks and makeup tables, where chaos and creativity collide. The dressing room becomes a sanctuary, a cocoon in which the clown undergoes a metamorphosis, shedding the mundane and emerging as a fantastical being. Within the backstage, the clown's habitat extends beyond the dressing room. It encompasses the narrow corridors adorned with faded posters from performances long past, the cluttered storage areas housing oversized props, and the secretive corners where laughter and camaraderie intertwine. This habitat is a reflection of the clown's spirit—colourful, unpredictable, and delightfully chaotic.  The unseen silhouette:
In the outer world, the audience witnesses the clown's larger-than-life silhouette under the spotlight. However, it's in the backstage's negative space that we discover the essence of the clown—a silhouette shaped by vulnerability, resilience, and a deep connection to the art of laughter. The unseen silhouette is not just a physical form but a manifestation of the clown's inner world, a world that thrives on the tension between joy and melancholy. It's in these backstage moments that the clown grapples with the duality of their existence, finding beauty in the absurdity of life. The backstage, a planet unto itself, is where the clown's journey truly begins. It is a space where the ordinary transforms into the extraordinary, and reality gives way to fantasy. As we unravel the mysteries of the backstage, we gain insight into the soul of the clown—their laughter, their tears, and the vibrant, unseen silhouette that dances between the worlds of the stage and the outer reality. 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
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