There was a stretch of time when I felt a giant disappointment after my weekly performances. The flip side of two high-energy ninety minute shows, back to back, is the inevitable drop back to reality. For three hours, I gave pleasure and excitement to my audiences – brain and body working at full tilt. Yet, at that time, there was little pleasure in it for me.

The painting above resonated with me during this time of my life. It depicts Stanczyk, the famous 16th-century Polish jester. Having read about his life as a royal entertainer, I found that the true events represented in the painting differ from my interpretation. Looking at Stanczyk, I could see myself sitting there in the chair, all dressed up in performance costume after a show. The aristocratic audience he just entertained are visible in the background. While the jester sits drained and dejected, the guests continue their revelry in the next room. He completed his role as purveyor of levity and is left to himself, unwelcome to join the ongoing party. I could really relate to this…

The entertainer is ultimately the perpetual outsider, a service provider — one of the “help.”

It’s easy to feel alone when you’re not invited to join those who you’ve entertained.

David Bamberg wrote the following passage in his marvelous autobiography Illusion Show:

“The curtain falls for the last time as the applause fades away and later you sit alone in the empty, darkened theatre watching the boys pack the illusions, the wardrobe mistress carrying bundles of clothes across the stage and the stagehands striking and folding the scenery. After a while there is only a bare brick-walled stage with a single pilot light picking out the crates and trunks scattered about and waiting for the trucks to take them away.

“Then you are really alone in that sea of empty seats and the color, light, music and warmth of the applause are just a memory, and in spite of all the excitement, you know it’s been a lonely life.”

Those words by Bamberg resonated with me. And they still do, to some extent.

However, I’ve discovered some ways to beat the post-performance blues that are felt by performers. It’s not uncommon for musicians, actors, dancers and athletes to feel depressed after an intense demonstration of their skill. A public performance is inevitably preceded by training, anticipation and personal denial. When the event is over, there’s no place left to go but down. Right?

Unless you can find a way to channel your high, or redirect your creative energies.

After my shows now, I have been inviting other magicians over to join me for a post-show “session.” We work on new material, show off our skills, and tinker with half-baked ideas that may have potential some day. This provides me, first, with company, and second with something to look forward to after a performance.

Other times I’ll bring a DVD or book with me. Before the show starts, I watch or read for a few minutes, and stop at a particularly suspenseful part – in the middle of an ongoing scene. I tease myself in this way so that I have something to look forward to later.

And finally, I often bring along a new trick or routine that I’m working on, for possible inclusion in my shows. After the audience has left, I quickly set up the props for my new trick and run through it in the exact performance space where it will be used. This is much more effective than practicing it at home or in a studio. Being on stage, you feel a sense of distance and spatial relationship that can only be learned through rehearsal in the actual performance space.

I’m usually very giddy to try out these new routines, so my creative energy is dialed up high. I’ll practice and work on new routines well past midnight, in search of the most refined handlings and presentations.

These types of coping technique have served me well for the past few years. Our reality is always what we make of it, and depression can be warded off by creating our own fun.

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