| Routine
Wave. Do the lean. Sip a drink. Grab a rope. Lasso someone. Now it’s a fishing reel.
Carry your gear up a ladder. Try to catch a bigger fish. You fall into a box.
Oh, the wind has caught your umbrella. As you float away you find a hamburger. Eating the hamburger makes a mess. Now grab a tomato at the fruit stand in the sky. Eat it like an apple.
Float down to perform a violin concerto for pigeons.
Remove your face and take someone else’s face and put your new face on where your old face was. Act like the person you took the face from.
Take off their face and put it in your pocket. Walk away slowly, as if on the moon, never surrendering their face. It’s your face now. And only yours. |
Translation
We mime because we care. As mimes, we are everyone’s favorite party attendee. Our silent art of gesture and expression delights. Now am I pulling a rope? Am I pulling you in? Are you my rodeo heifer? We bring people together. Now what could this be? This pointe fixe could be anything! a rod? a reel? Oh, did my fishing cast a spell?
We make people feel at ease; we cultivate imagination.
When we are in a box, we break out of the box.
The true box is only in our minds. Our rainy, rainy minds.
We are but clouds. We are but feathers. We are so, so hungry. Within our lives exists a constant tension between hunger and satiation.
We eat; we despair; we eat again.
We are silent so others might speak. The size of our ambition is inversely proportional to the amount we use our voice. Our audience is everywhere and we must constantly perform. We do not rest.
Let no one say they attended a party with a mime and left in despair. People cannot resist our contagious exuberance. We exhaust with joy.
We are mirrors. We are reflections.
We are better versions of those around us.
And when we leave they will know we are mimes by our deeds. We are delicate; we live forever; we leave them free to become who they are.
We are who they aspire to become. |
