I was pondering the connection of the month of August, keeping august company and the Auguste Clown. Was the clown born in August? Did the Auguste act like a clown version of “respected and impressive?” (Oxford Dictionary). After much research, OK, a half hour on Google, I learned that there are as many reasons that the Auguste Clown is called Auguste as days in the month of the same name. But it seems the truth lies buried in the distant past with a clown whose real name was Auguste. No one knows who he was, where he lived or how the character became associated with his name. But the character has become so connected to the name that Germans now use the word “auguste” as their word for fool.
The Auguste Clown is a paradox. He is considered the dumbest, most unfortunate clown, the butt of every joke, who could be convinced that eating a shoe is a delicious idea. In order to play the Auguste, the clown actor has to completely invest in failure. Auguste never succeeds at anything that he tries – it blows up, melts or collapses in the face of his efforts. Success only happens by chance, or after he has completely let go.
To purposely fail is the height of vulnerability. We are never supposed to fail, let alone let others see our shortcomings. Yet to get something valuable out of a Feldenkrais® lesson, it’s most useful to fail. To not reach the goal, to allow oneself to do something badly, to explore an impossible move fully knowing one can’t do it, these are ways to make ourselves vulnerable to…the unknown.
Years ago, I was teaching a “literacy through movement” class at an at risk school in the South Bronx. The children all felt like failures; they had difficulty reading, writing or even concentrating. I gave them paper and asked them to write with their teeth, holding the pencil in a fist, while dancing, while standing on their desks (the teacher was not happy). For the grand finale, I asked them to write as badly as possible. Their eyes widened and they looked at their teacher, who threw her hands up in despair. And they went for it. One child exclaimed, “Oh boy, I AM making a mess!”
After the exercise, they all sat down to write anything they wanted. Both they and the teacher were shocked to see the improvement in their penmanship. I’m not saying that in order to improve you have to act like a fool (although life might be more fun that way), but maybe, just for laughs, try doing one thing intentionally badly during this month of the fool. You might be quite entertained!