scholar    •    magician    •    consultant

At the end of my trip to France in November, I had the pleasure of dining with Philippe Beau, Raphaël Navarro, and Valentine Losseau (pictured above from left to right). I first heard about Navarro and Losseau’s magie nouvelle movement — a circus infused new wave of magic in France — sometime in 2012. At that time, I was writing the magic manifesto that became the conclusion of my dissertation and searching for what had already been published. I stumbled upon the wonderful April 2010 issue of Stradda magazine, which mentions that Navarro, Losseau and Clément Debailleul were working on a manifesto for their magie nouvelle movement. It was a real treat to hear about the latest developments of their work and to get an update on the development of their forthcoming publication. I was amazed to hear from Navarro that roughly 60 magie nouvelle companies are currently performing 100 different magie nouvelle shows. I highly recommend seeing one — by Yann Frisch, Etienne Saglio, CLOC and others — if you visit France.

Wayne Houchin and some weirdo

Wayne Houchin and I grew up going to the same magic shop — Grand Illusions in Sacramento, California. We aren’t officially kids anymore, but we still go to the Johnson family’s store. In early November, I had the privilege of creating a full evening of magic in which Wayne, his wife Frania, and Steve Johnson (who continues to nurture our love of magic) all performed. Here is a brief clip of Frania performing an upside-down straitjacket escape as part of that event. We’ve come a long way from being those kids in Steve’s shop. But in many ways, we never left.

I’m excited to announce that my interview with French magician and shadowgrapher Philippe Beau is now available in Genii magazine‘s December issue.

I grew up reading Genii in my hometown’s magic shop in Sacramento, California. Years later, I lived with the Domergue family in Nimes, France, to learn their beautiful language. Nowadays, I work in Montreal (French-speaking Canada). When Philippe came here to perform his one-man show last April, I interviewed him in his native language to learn about his work, the French magic scene, and the avant-garde movement known as “magie nouvelle.” There’s exciting, interdisciplinary exploration being done overseas that hasn’t received much exposure in North America and Philippe’s magic is one example of it.

Both magic and French have radically changed the way that I analyze the world. So it’s special for me to have combined the two for my first contribution to Genii.

This will come in handy for teaching magic history to French speaking students in Montréal. I found it in the boutique of le Musée de la Magie in Paris. The publishing house — Editions Georges Proust — have translated quite a few foundational texts from the magic canon.

This is the first intersection I crossed while looking for my friend’s place in Paris today. I’ll be staying with her and her boyfriend who happen to live near the core of the November attacks. It’s surreal to be talking about the geopolitical implications of all of this with Robin, while also catching up with her after 10 or 11 years. She and I had French class together in high school. We once did a co-presentation on the documentary film Microcosmos in 10th or 11th grade. A lot has changed since then. Our French is better, the stakes of everyday life are higher, and our observations of the world after living outside of the United States for many years are different. Much has remained the same too. We are still those high school selves sharing the bond of Sacramento, IB, and knowing many of each other’s friends, and family. Old friends are the ones who take you in at the drop of a hat. These are the ones with whom you rapidly share your life’s intimate updates within a few hours without even thinking about it. Who cares if it’s been a decade since you last saw one another. No formality is necessary.

This is a strange combination for me here in Paris. The warmth of friendship in the aftermath of violence. I’m experiencing this familiarity and comfort in a deeply injured city.

These are the things I love:

The cab ride to a previously undisclosed address,

Careful conversation about origins,

How much was paid,

Who made the deal,

Who loves the books,

Who actually reads them,

What condition they’re in,

Signing past security,

The vault opening,

Touching the collection,

Ruminations on the way out,

Imagining the future.

Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man — photo by Luc Viator

When McGill’s writing centre asked me to propose a new workshop for current PhD students, I took a look at the subjects usually covered. The classic topics were all there: outlining, reverse-outlining, conference abstracts, etc. These are the same useful yet purely intellectual workshops that I took during grad school at the University of Toronto. A few aspects of human life were missing: the physical, the psychological, the social.

So, I suggested a new workshop titled “Healthy Writing Habits: physical and Social Exercises for Scholars.” It would focus on remaining physically and psychologically healthy while writing professionally. It would contain the lessons that were the most difficult for me to learn as the demands of my PhD forced me to become a marathon writer. To my surprise the writing centre liked the idea. (I thought the pitch was going to be rejected for being too “soft” or “holistic” or something).

As a result, I had the opportunity this morning to share some of the tips and tricks that I learned for forming healthy writing habits. A group of about fifteen PhD students were in the room. It was a surprisingly emotional experience for me to watch these writers, who I know are suffering as they tackle huge projects, nod in recognition when I spoke honestly about the solitude, physical pain and psychological obstacles that I experienced during my PhD. It was gratifying to see them learn stretches, trade emails for arranging “writing sprints,” and actually clap at the end of the workshop. If even a few of them benefit from some of the strategies that helped me write and defend my dissertation, then leading this workshop was well worth it.

On Friday, I directed the largest magic and variety event of my career. Approximately 1,000 people attended the spectacle created to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the advertising firm Duncan/Channon. The evening was designed to provide guests with the greatest variety of magic possible (close-up, parlor, and stage). These acts were carefully crafted to fit our performance environment: the historic Adam Grant Building in downtown San Francisco. Chester, a giant fire-breathing horse parked in front of the building, made the party easy to find.

The opening piece of stage magic was the 19-century illusion photographed above. It was performed by Kyle Driggs in the foyer as guests arrived. Heather Houseman and her string quartet played a Philip Glass composition to accentuate its ethereal, otherworldly effect. Close-up magician, Noah Levine, amazed one to two guests at a time for a more intimate experience of the impossible on the 14th floor. Steve Johnson, posing as a guest, melted minds with the custom joker cards printed as souvenirs by Duncan/Channon. Roman Spinale roamed about as a fake server who magically produced bottles of champagne throughout the night. He also opened the main stage show with some sand magic. The fantastic Ralph Carney and the All Ones accompanied him and rocked the house throughout the night. Wayne Houchin performed a lovely version of Houdini’s needles. Sebastian Boswell III walked barefoot on glass, mystified minds and pounded a nail into his face. Jade performed her brand of elegant stage magic. Kyle manipulated seven rings and an umbrella with supernatural skill. Bri Crabtree freaked guests out with a specially constructed clown prop that she and I designed. Richard Hartnell made a flaming, crystal ball float. Paul Nathan welcomed guests to hell in the main conference room. Kim Silverman performed deeply meaningful magic in the wizard’s den past midnight. And to top it all off, Fran Houchin escaped from a straitjacket while hanging upside-down from a twenty-foot ceiling. We pulled all the stops to impress this crowd. San Francisco audiences can be tough. Here is what the president and founder of the company wrote to me after the event:

“Holy crap! It worked. It couldn’t and wouldn’t have without you. That impossible, improbable, way too ambitious fever-dream of a hurricane of an event. Your resourcefulness, your cool, your imagination, your diligence, your friends. Many many thanks for what some said was the best Tipmas ever.” — Duncan.

Thanks, team. We did it. Everything is possible.