Pretty in Pink…Panties?

            Literally, not even 48 hours had passed since I first set foot in London for this UC London experience, and I had already bore witness to my first artistic performance. As part of proper University of California London orientation, a brief stroll around our neighboring London surroundings was of eminent priority. As we walked, we took note of the vital landmarks, Chipotle on the corner of Tottenham Court Road (10 minute walk) and Sainsbury (home to the best 2-for-1 croissants in the world). During this tour, the tour group made a pass through Covent Garden. A crowd had formed in the square, and my eyes were fixated on the energy. I could not make out what exactly what was before me, a man was sitting on a makeshift platform stage, on the verge of mounting a flat-tired unicycle, chainsaws filled his hands, and children right in the line of fire… the potential for success, or failure for that matter, was too high to omit. I had to watch. And so did Bryan Sadiua. The rest of the group, however, saw no enchantment in this scene, and they left us. We were lost. In London. On day 2.

Given the circumstances, Mr. Sadiua and I saw no realistic chance at rediscovering the group, thus came to the executive decision of becoming full-fledged members of this street performer’s entourage. His act was budgeted, as noted by his poorly customized chainsaws and worn-down, crackle box of a speaker. His use of props both further enchanted his performance and endangered his audience. The man did not look desperate, but signs of his restlessness and fidgeting ways were abundantly clear. Some of his opening acts were unperfected, and for a brief moment, his struggle drew sympathy rather than excitement from the crowd. But the hope for a successful overall performance was still there. It was a spectacle to watch. He called for six, seven, and eight year olds to hold random items as he shred the objects to bits and pieces with his chainsaw. He humorously bickered with drunken tourists viewing from a pub balcony across the stage. Before we knew it, the man stood before us in nothing more than a pair of pink booty shorts stuffed with what seemed like an entire linen closet and not just a sock or banana. His performance was sporadic and enigmatic, but more importantly, it gained momentum and drew exhilaration from the audience. 

It was in watching this street performance that I was introduced to at least a sector of the performing arts industry, and I feel fortunate to have come across it in this manner. His struggling act has humbled my judgment of the arts, he has revealed to me the honest humility that comes to and from the presentation. And after having watched a greater array of performances throughout this course ranging from the grandiose and lavish shows at the National Theatre to unarranged street performances in Covent Garden, I could now say that I see more than a materialistic consumer industry, but a genuine field of passionate and hard-working artists.           

Ta Ta for now.

 Thanks for reading!

Jacob Johnson

UC Irvine