You may know Lance Pierce as the author of Roger Klause in Concert or The Award-Winning Magic of John Cornelius, or his own World-Famous Bowl Routine, or perhaps from his entertaining and educational posts on The Magic Cafe and the Genii forum. I know him as a friend.
I strive to be a good magician, writer and person. In all these areas Lance sets a mark I may never achieve but am happy to try. The poem below is Lance's and it is wicked funny. I'm reprinting it here with his permission.
Without further ado, I present Lance Pierce's take on Edgar Allan Poe. Enjoy.
Quoth the Maven . . .
Once upon a session dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary
Over many a packet trick
With stories, poems, and more
While I plodded, nearly snapping,
Suddenly, I thought of lapping
Would this catch the audience napping?
I propelled them to the floor
'Tween my knees with naught a breeze
They softly hit the floor
Lain dormant evermore
Ah, distinctly I recall, in Xeroxed lecture notes I saw
This artful, dartful stratagem
Method wise and more
A Goldstein treasure sure to pleasure
Most amazing by any measure
But could I shape it to my leisure
To meet my skill so poor?
To bring the handling further ease
and meet my skill so poor?
Quoth the Maven, "Nevermore."
Standing sudden, quite uncertain, I looked around me, behind the curtain,
Underneath the table, and peered around the door
As I thought, I was alone
But little had my small faith grown
Could I whittle his masterpiece
But still retain the core?To rid the work of each half-pass
Each triple lift and more
For that rare and radiant packet trick
With the Goldstein touch of lore?
Quoth the Maven, "Nevermore."
"Sir!" said I, "or Max, please consider all the facts
When I express my admiration,
Your forgiveness I implore.
But your wonderful trick, a neo-classic
Is to me a touch Jurassic
But I have a thought that Copperfield would pay a million for
And give us both the fame and fortuneWe both are yearning for . . ."
Quoth again the Maven,"Nevermore."
Not to be so soon defeated, I took my chair and quickly seated
I counted, flipped, and KM-moved in many ways and more
Vainly I worked into the morrow
When finally fatigued with sorrow
I sought to lift my head and borrow
Illumination as before
"Mr. Goldstein, I beseech you
Knowing not if I can reach you
Knowing I have naught to teach you
I beg of you and more,
Please lend some inspiration to my vain infatuation
Before I lose my will to continue."
Came the stony voice, as before:
Quoth the Maven, "Nevermore."
And so I sat, tattered, beaten
Borne of suffering, soul half-eaten
Knowing that I would never be the magician as before
Meddling with an art perfected
The dissector is himself dissected
No more cards would be selected
I moved slowly through the door"
Perhaps a second deal," I thought,
As I hobbled through the door...
Quoth the Maven,
"Nevermore."
-- Lance Pierce
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Investment
Back when my bum knee wasn't such a bum I also juggled. One day at the juggling club I ran into a guy who used to be a magician. I asked him why he got out of it. He said he was disappointed that anyone could walk in to a magic shop, buy the props he was using, and essentially do the same act. With juggling he knew he could do something someone off the street couldn't do.
Unfortunately what he said about magic is true for far too many of us. Anyone could buy our props and do our act. Magic has what at first looks like a feature but often is a liability; it has an inherent interest. Even incompetent magic can fool and, barring that, there is always the fun in busting the magician. Juggling, after the first few minutes, doesn't carry such inherent interest.
Why is this a liability, you ask? It means the performer isn't required to invest as much of himself to get a nominally positive response. Buy a dove pan, produce a bunny, get a few "ooh"s and "ahh"s. Instant magical gratification. One can (and many have) earn enough spare change to call one's self "professional" without doing much more than that.
Why are magicians and not jugglers fictionally portrayed as incompetents? Because the jugglers that make it do so based on their act and the work they put in and not on how their props look or work. (That being said, I want to acknowledge some jugglers who have raised the level of their art. Michael Moschen. Viktor Kee. Viva and Olga. And I really want to pass on a personal debt of gratitude to the now-defunct trio Airjazz, for their kindness, professionalism and artistic vision.)
So what does this mean to you, O Worker of Wonders? It means you need to make an extra effort to insert yourself into your magic. Be brave. Open yourself up and let the audience see who you are. Have an opinion, and state it. Make an emotional investment in your art. There is a quote I've always loved regarding how easy it is to be a writer. I've reproduced it below. Make a couple of changes (most acts, for example, don't use a typewriter) and it applies to the ease of being a magician.
Unfortunately what he said about magic is true for far too many of us. Anyone could buy our props and do our act. Magic has what at first looks like a feature but often is a liability; it has an inherent interest. Even incompetent magic can fool and, barring that, there is always the fun in busting the magician. Juggling, after the first few minutes, doesn't carry such inherent interest.
Why is this a liability, you ask? It means the performer isn't required to invest as much of himself to get a nominally positive response. Buy a dove pan, produce a bunny, get a few "ooh"s and "ahh"s. Instant magical gratification. One can (and many have) earn enough spare change to call one's self "professional" without doing much more than that.
Why are magicians and not jugglers fictionally portrayed as incompetents? Because the jugglers that make it do so based on their act and the work they put in and not on how their props look or work. (That being said, I want to acknowledge some jugglers who have raised the level of their art. Michael Moschen. Viktor Kee. Viva and Olga. And I really want to pass on a personal debt of gratitude to the now-defunct trio Airjazz, for their kindness, professionalism and artistic vision.)
So what does this mean to you, O Worker of Wonders? It means you need to make an extra effort to insert yourself into your magic. Be brave. Open yourself up and let the audience see who you are. Have an opinion, and state it. Make an emotional investment in your art. There is a quote I've always loved regarding how easy it is to be a writer. I've reproduced it below. Make a couple of changes (most acts, for example, don't use a typewriter) and it applies to the ease of being a magician.
There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a
vein. ~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith
Monday, November 20, 2006
Improving it worse
"He improved it worse." [Al Baker]
The effect known as "botania" used to be a thing of beauty: vines would spring forth from a previously empty pot, then roses would sprout on the vines. Real roses. Then someone decided it would last longer if the roses were made of cloth. Someone else decided the effect could be made more cheaply by covering the pot between each phase, lifting the cover to reveal the results. And so on and so on, ad nauseum. It is no longer a thing of beauty.
Once upon a time I set out to learn the Paul Rosini impromptu thimble routine from The Dai Vernon Book of Magic (now how is "Dai" pronounced again?). I had trouble getting that fifth thimble to cooperate, so I did the effect with four. I figured people who had never seen the effect wouldn't know the difference. The guy who suggested I learn it was seriously unhappy. I got mad at him at the time but he was right.
Don't take shortcuts in your magic. Don't "improve it worse." Take time to work out all the details, and don't succumb to the temptation to cut corners. Our art is worthy of our respect and attention.
By the way, I handle that fifth thimble like a charm now.
The effect known as "botania" used to be a thing of beauty: vines would spring forth from a previously empty pot, then roses would sprout on the vines. Real roses. Then someone decided it would last longer if the roses were made of cloth. Someone else decided the effect could be made more cheaply by covering the pot between each phase, lifting the cover to reveal the results. And so on and so on, ad nauseum. It is no longer a thing of beauty.
Once upon a time I set out to learn the Paul Rosini impromptu thimble routine from The Dai Vernon Book of Magic (now how is "Dai" pronounced again?). I had trouble getting that fifth thimble to cooperate, so I did the effect with four. I figured people who had never seen the effect wouldn't know the difference. The guy who suggested I learn it was seriously unhappy. I got mad at him at the time but he was right.
Don't take shortcuts in your magic. Don't "improve it worse." Take time to work out all the details, and don't succumb to the temptation to cut corners. Our art is worthy of our respect and attention.
By the way, I handle that fifth thimble like a charm now.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Thought for the day
"Success and sacrifice go together. if you succeed without sacrifice it is because someone before you sacrificed. if you sacrifice without success, it is because someone will succeed after you." - Adinoram Judson
Friday, November 03, 2006
To flourish or not to flourish...
...that is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to show the five faces of Sybil or to take arms against a sea of flashy flourishes and by opposing, end them.
The question above (usually in simpler form) gets argued on a lot of message boards. The problem with those discussions, like so many, is that people go in with preconceived answers and they don't want discussion so much as validation. What many in these discussions don't take into account is that we are all in different places and are all trying to say different things. Magic is, after all, simply a vehicle for communication.
"So how does this help me, O Wise One? Should I flourish or not?" Depends on what you want to say. You can say, "I'm really cool and can handle a deck of cards (or whatever) incredibly well." Or you can say, "The universe is a stranger place than you can ever know." Now this is not a value judgment. There are times when the first statement is more reasonable than the second. If you and some friends are standing around bragging about your various talents and you say, "The universe is a stranger place than you can ever know," then at best you will get some funny looks.
I consider flourishes to be spices - best if used sparingly. I like cayenne pepper, but a little goes a long way, and then only on certain things. No cayenne on my lemon custard, thank you.
A related issue is that flourishes are not magic, at least as I define it. Magic, by my definition, has to look impossible. It has to seem there is no way to accomplish what just happened. Flourishes can kill that twice: first, they are inherently not impossible in and of themselves (and I'll come back to that in a minute), and second, if you can do a seven-packet running cut, well then hey, it's no surprise the selected card ended up in your wallet.
I've heard flourish artists argue that flourishes do seem impossible, based on the fact that they've heard people say, "Man, that's impossible! There's no way you can do that!" The problem with that is if that's the criteria you then have to include jugglers, acrobats, gymnasts, knife throwers and yoga masters under the umbrella "magicians." People use the word 'impossible' as a superlative to mean 'very difficult.' A little analysis will show a clear difference between a billiard ball roll-up flourish and the sudden appearance of another billiard ball. A spectator might say, "Impossible!," to both, but one clearly has the appearance of defying natural law, and the other clearly does not.
So should you use flourishes? The more important question is, what do you want to say? Figure out what you want to say and the best way to say it, and the question of flourishes will answer itself.
Want a flourish link? Here ya go.
The question above (usually in simpler form) gets argued on a lot of message boards. The problem with those discussions, like so many, is that people go in with preconceived answers and they don't want discussion so much as validation. What many in these discussions don't take into account is that we are all in different places and are all trying to say different things. Magic is, after all, simply a vehicle for communication.
"So how does this help me, O Wise One? Should I flourish or not?" Depends on what you want to say. You can say, "I'm really cool and can handle a deck of cards (or whatever) incredibly well." Or you can say, "The universe is a stranger place than you can ever know." Now this is not a value judgment. There are times when the first statement is more reasonable than the second. If you and some friends are standing around bragging about your various talents and you say, "The universe is a stranger place than you can ever know," then at best you will get some funny looks.
I consider flourishes to be spices - best if used sparingly. I like cayenne pepper, but a little goes a long way, and then only on certain things. No cayenne on my lemon custard, thank you.
A related issue is that flourishes are not magic, at least as I define it. Magic, by my definition, has to look impossible. It has to seem there is no way to accomplish what just happened. Flourishes can kill that twice: first, they are inherently not impossible in and of themselves (and I'll come back to that in a minute), and second, if you can do a seven-packet running cut, well then hey, it's no surprise the selected card ended up in your wallet.
I've heard flourish artists argue that flourishes do seem impossible, based on the fact that they've heard people say, "Man, that's impossible! There's no way you can do that!" The problem with that is if that's the criteria you then have to include jugglers, acrobats, gymnasts, knife throwers and yoga masters under the umbrella "magicians." People use the word 'impossible' as a superlative to mean 'very difficult.' A little analysis will show a clear difference between a billiard ball roll-up flourish and the sudden appearance of another billiard ball. A spectator might say, "Impossible!," to both, but one clearly has the appearance of defying natural law, and the other clearly does not.
So should you use flourishes? The more important question is, what do you want to say? Figure out what you want to say and the best way to say it, and the question of flourishes will answer itself.
Want a flourish link? Here ya go.
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