i write for inner peace.
The great American spectator has seen it all before, now, and after. They watch you, the magician, and their watches equally, as if continuously weighing if what you can show them is worth their time. Spectators like these are spoiled by attention- from Hollywood movies and their special effects, from ADD-style commercials, and the hundreds of apps on their smart phones. The great American spectator is smart- an intellectual from birth. They are trained to know it all, and receive points for it. The geniuses in the audience can never be impressed, God forbid fooled. The magician carries the threat of putting their precious brains to the test. The feeling of astonishment is too childish, because the great American spectator is a grown up. They are trained to think critically, financially, and quickly. The great American spectator feels nothing. They watch you with glazed eyes, as if dead to the magic you can show them; applauding politely, then turning away.
There's a delicate balance I wish to achieve with the magic I make. It's as fleeting as a moment on a tightrope. On one side sit commercial mages of the gig circuit with their invisible decks and their snowstorms in China. On the other, effect junkies of the club scene waving their newest torn and restored cards and signed coins jangling in bottles. I don't want to stand on either of the two towers, but right here, in the middle of the two: nowhere magicians of either industry would feel like going.
I have a knack for falling out of any population I find myself in. I want to express myself out of it, like a lonely passenger on an express train out of Tokyo into the hermitage of the mountains. When I am alone with my magic, I fall in love with it. When I see the way other magicians can rape it, I feel bitter; maybe, the way a lover of words would react to the lyrics of rap songs on the radio.
As I regain consciousness from my reflection on the tightrope, I find there is no way to walk the thin line between magic as "art" sold to magicians and magic as entertainment sold to laymen. The way is to be still. I am resolved in my position, not to sell out completely to either camp, because I disagree with both sides equally. I do not agree with the effect junkies who perform for no one and spend their days worshipping creators and chasing them around the convention circuit. I do not look up to the commercial magi who spend all their time performing the same played-out material that everyone else is doing, with all the same corny jokes that they all use for the sake of a reaction. And the few famous celebrity magicians like Criss Angel on the billboards across the street? I don't want to be them, because they are who I am not. I don't want to be like any celebrity for that matter, for fame is a fume that can be addicting and deadly.
If there was a balance I'd want to achieve, I'd have to fall several times to figure it out. The way I want my magic to go is up, and away. All art is a bridge to heaven, so I'll lay down on this invisible string and stare at the sky in between the two towers, levitating in my place.
The Move Unseen
A blog for magic.