What is Clown?

What a fool I must be for attempting to define a concept so immeasurable. A clown is often relatable when we try to the best of our ability, but fail. I have a feeling that is how this page will go!

My definition of clown is: Clown is a state of mind where a performer has a heightened connection with the audience.

That’s it. Clown as a state of mind has nothing to do with face-paint, silly walks, or talent. While those are all great, all you need to clown is a genuine connection with the audience.

There is no absolute truth when studying the mindset of clown. Everyone finds the state differently. Even when taking workshops coaches will use different techniques, teach different principles, and play different games to help their students achieve clown. What’s important is you find what works for you, you create your own path, and listen to your audience.

There will be clowns who tell you otherwise. They will tell you “you are wrong”, “your teachers are wrong.” Listen to everyone’s feedback before making any drastic changes. No one person makes up an audience, no matter how high they think their status is. Use what works for you and what resonates with your audience.

Generally speaking, Here are some characteristics I have noticed when someone is using Clown:

  1. Clown is requited with an emotional response from the audience.

  2. Every action should have purpose.

  3. The two things a clown must focus on are their actions on stage, and the reaction of those watching.

  4. A Clown moves at the pace set by it’s audience.

  5. Accepting failure and mistakes is necessary for clown.

  6. Clown is a connection that is universally understood.

My first clowning workshop was with Aitor Basauri at the Celebration Barn, in South Paris Maine. I was in a bad state of being, and I drove up with the intention to find an answer to a question “am I funny?”
I had decided that if the answer was no, I would quit performing all together and become a software engineer, sitting in a cubicle, writing lines of code for a program that did not better humanity.

But if the answer was yes, I would continue the familiar struggle.

Aitor taught me that week that I had been asking the wrong question. No clown is always funny, we all have to bomb, and that we did. Over and over in that workshop. Destroyed and rebuilt several times, until there was a moment where someone watching genuinely laughed, and our teacher gestured to keep going.