In which Our Hero becomes a stickbug and briefly a rooster.
My b-b-b-boring dance
Yesterday’s boring dance left me with two lingering side effects:
- I am now wearing gray facepaint and an all-gray outfit for camouflage purposes.
- I am suddenly much more interested in doing dumb things for others’ pleasure—which, conveniently, is exactly what clown school is for. (“Paint my face gray so it matches my outfit because I’m a stickbug? Absolutely.”) [Reader: “But stickbugs aren’t gray.” Me: “It’s for camouflage. Have you ever seen a gray stick bug?” Reader: “No” Me: “So it’s working!”]
A friend asked me today: “What exactly is Neutral Mask?”
Good question.
Neutral Mask – the course I’m currently taking – is a theater exercise using literal plastic masks—blank, expressionless, un-opinionated. We use them because:
- With the face hidden, you naturally grimace less. (“Grimace” = any habitual expression or tic that blocks the actor from sharing themselves with us.)
- You’re forced to communicate with your whole body.
A typical Neutral Mask sequence:
- Put on the mask.
- Channel some external entity—this week: animals (reptiles, savannah, big cats, barnyard creatures). Last week: elements (fire, water, earth, air, snow). The instruction is always: Find the fun of the image.
- Midway, the teacher bangs her drum: “Fixed point!” Students from the audience remove the performers’ masks.
- Performers continue and are called on one by one to give voice to their creature.
- If there’s not enough pleasure, you’re kicked off.
- If you pass, you slowly stand, taking that pleasure “inside,” transforming the creature into a character.
- Perform that character, always keeping the fun alive, whether through movement, worldview, or physical logic. This fun must not be ideas nor the concept of fun: it must be actual fun.
My creature: the stickbug
The stickbug mostly sits still, scanning the horizon for predators. When bothered, it:
- drops to the ground, or
- throws off a limb.
When it moves, it scurries, antennae twitching, always on alert.
My character: Simon Schticklington
Simon is entirely gray: outfit, face, and demeanor. When frightened, he collapses from sudden “heart trouble.” He also has severe imaginary arthritis: elbows locked at 90°, hips straight, fingers in rigid blade-positions forever.
He lends himself to a few games:
- Motor incompetence. Want a soda bottle opened? Simon will attempt it with profound sincerity and fail with even more sincerity.
- Fear-collapse. When scared, he drops—and because of the elbow/hip rules, he cannot stand without the heroic assistance of classmates.
- Projectile panic. Startle him while he’s holding something and he throws it. Today I brought a baguette specifically so I could chuck it at a friend guilt-free.
He also just looks silly. Which is good. Yesterday’s boring-dance taught me the deep wisdom of looking stupid on purpose. It’s liberating.
Today’s unexpected triumph
Today I had my biggest solo success. I entered inspired by a rooster: chest puffed, arms akimbo-ish, each step ceremonial and deliberate. They laughed. I kept the pleasure. I preened (like a gym bro). They laughed again.
I lost the balance shortly after—but for a glorious five seconds, I was clowning.
It’s good to remember that I’m b-b-b-boring. It’s good to remember that I do dumb things. People like people who admit such things about themselves.
And anyway: I’m dressed like a stickbug. 🧐
Julian Wise 