Rummaging through some ephemera lately, I came across a playbill for a show I attended back in 2008 in Cambridge, MA. The show was called Aurelia's Oratorio, starring the wonderful Aurelia Thierrée. 

Aurelia is the talented daughter of Victoria Thierrée Chaplin, the celebrated British circus performer, and one-half of the creative team behind the legendary Le Cirque Invisible.

Aurelia's Oratorio was dream-like, whimsical, and mysterious. I remember afterwards being inspired by the show to work on the Suitcase of Wonders, which at that time was sadly languishing is somewhat disrepair in my basement. The show gave me fresh inspiration for new creative ideas, perhaps even indirectly attributing to my giving the Suitcase a pair of drawers based on seeing Mme Thierrée perform the magical Chest of Drawers vignette. (as seen below)
Please enjoy the pacing and structure of this piece, along with the almost tableau vivant images it provides. 

The curtain rises to reveal the Magician standing on the stage next to a glass pyramid, the height of which is slightly smaller than the performer. Behind the pyramid is a clear plexiglass table. The table is moved forward onto the carpet where it now covers the pyramid. Everything is see-through, including the legs of the table. 
An ornate purple cloth is then draped over the whole affair. The lights on the stage go dim. The front of the cloth is folded back onto the top of the table to reveal some movement underneath. As the spectators take a closer look under the table they see a butterfly flapping its wings inside the pyramid. The rear of the cloth is folded onto the table so that the spectators can see clear through to the other side. Is this a real tiny butterfly? Is it a projection of some sort? If so, where could it be coming from? 

The Magician moves in front of the pyramid, the butterfly still visible behind him. A white box is introduced and set down next to the performer. Its lid is opened to show that it is empty except for a gold pin standing up in the center of the box. The lid is closed, but the empty interior can still be seen due to the clear top of the box. The cloth is unfolded to cover both the table and the box.

After a command by the Magician, the cloth is whisked away to reveal that the butterfly has vanished from the pyramid and is now in the box, stuck onto the gold pin!

I am very excited to be working on this new illusion, which I'm calling the Butterfly Effect. The first part involving the butterfly inside the pyramid is actually a hologram. This term is used loosely, as it is really a version of the classic Pepper's Ghost effect, a technique used in the 19th century to create ghosts in theater productions, but still used today for complex illusions in theme parks, stage shows, and Halloween displays. 

My pyramid hologram is created using a hidden iPhone playing a four-sided video of a butterfly. Due to the angle of the sides of the pyramid, the video is reflected so that it appears like one butterfly is inside the pyramid. It is a wondrous and magical effect that apparently first started to appear on the internet about two years ago as a clever party demonstration. However, almost all of the versions I have seen involve a home-made acetate pyramid perched upside down on top of the phone. The effect is the same (the image just needed reversing) but the viewer needs to either crouch down to see the hologram or the whole apparatus has to be elevated to eye level (see my example on a mantelpiece in the animated gif above). This arrangement is good for practicality purposes as it is easier to set an inverted pyramid atop a phone than it is to balance a phone atop a pyramid. 

For my show I wanted the phone on top of the pyramid, both because I wanted the butterfly to appear to be trapped inside the pyramid, and because the viewer could more easily see the illusion. So, how to reliably balance and conceal the phone? Some sort of table would have to be crafted for the phone to rest on with the pyramid beneath it. In addition, the phone would have to be hidden, perhaps with an ornate railing around it. I was originally going to have the curtain rise to reveal the hologram already in view, but as I played around with the apparatus I came upon the idea that I could simply introduce the phone surreptitiously while I covered the table with a cloth. I could then remove the phone in the same manner. The result is a beautifully clean and mysterious appearance and vanish of the hologram.  Perhaps this is the first trick to use an iPhone where its use is purposely hidden from the audience? 

The pyramid hologram produces an amazed reaction from people, even in its simplest form. When demonstrating it on the mantelpiece for friends and family, both kids and adults ask if the butterfly is real, while some adults who know its a digital projection wonder where the projector is as they look all around the room for it. It's interesting that people do not consider the projection to come from directly below (or above, in the Suitcase of Wonders version). A hologram is something that most people have not yet experienced, especially in such close proximity.  so their perception of how it is generated is not yet formed.  

The second part of the illusion, where the butterfly appears inside the white box, occurs courtesy of a commercially available pocket trick manufactured by the Tenyo company of Japan, entitled Magic Butterfly. At first I wanted a 'real' butterfly to appear inside the pyramid as a sort of transformation from the hologram. But making that happen was a daunting task, as the only way to get anything in or out of the pyramid is through its bottom. A trap door might need to be involved, etc. In all it was too much work for the desired effect. So then I started thinking about having the butterfly vanish from the pyramid and re-appear fluttering around inside a sealed glass mason jar. In turns out that a jar exists which does just that (also manufactured by Tenyo, among others). It's a very realistic effect, the flying butterfly being triggered by a tap on the top of the jar. However, the scale was all wrong, and I could not find a way to effectively conceal the butterfly in the jar before it started to fly.

Then I remembered this butterfly box from Tenyo from a couple of years ago. The scale was right. the box could be shown empty beforehand, and the appearance of the butterfly on the gold pin was striking -  a perfect end to the routine. 

I've always wanted to incorporate Pepper's Ghost into the Suitcase of Wonders, and the pyramid hologram has proven to be the answer. The effect may be smaller in size than I had originally hoped for, but it is no less wondrous, and after all, I am Smallini, the Word;s Tiniest Magician. 

WARNING
For ostensible readers of this Diary, the following entry contains spoilers about the Derek DelGaudio show, "In & Of Itself." Please do not read if you plan on seeing the show as it might "spoil" your experience.

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Yesterday I attended the new one-man show by magician Derek DelGaudio entitled, "In & Of Itself," which is playing at the Daryl Roth Theater in Union Square.  I was accompanied by my non-magician friend BJ Rubin. We were both quite entertained and baffled by the production. 

Several "bits" were strung together along a thematic line having to do with identity, especially on a personal level, as DelGaudio shared some tales about his past and spun other fictional stories that were equally as gripping. Within this 70 minute monologue were sprinkled magic effects, as well as what I would call dramatic stunts. The show bends traditional classifications and labels - I have seen it described as a one-man theater show, and as a magic show, but it is really both. At the end of the show, my friend BJ was comfortable calling it a magic show, and I think I would agree, although I would ad "post-modern" to it. I am not going to try and detail every element of the show, but rather select a few highlights and share my thoughts about them in this diary. 

One of the three most talked about effects from In & Of Itself was the "I Am" effect. Hundreds of white perforated cards were hung in the lobby beforehand, and theater-goers were asked to select one from the wall and present it to the ticket-taker before entering the theater. People seemed to have fun choosing a card that either described themselves as they were, or as they imagined/wished they could be. All the cards were different.

The cards were torn by the ticket-taker upon entering the theater - she took the descriptive portion while the audience held on to the "I Am" half. It was an easy matter to remember who you were. For example, I was, "a vaudeville entertainer."

All the cards were then squared up and set upon a table on the stage, where they remained in full view until the magician picked them up later in the performance, At that time, he identified, one by one, every audience member's card. As he casually walked among all ninety or so of us, DelGaudio pointed to people (more than half of which he had previously instructed to stand), and named their card. For example he would point to someone and say, "You are...a mime!" Correctly identified, the person would then be seated. "You sir, are a...are you actually a millionaire?" The person would sit. "You are an innkeeper!" Point, identify, sit. Point, identify, sit. It was breathtaking to witness, and garnered cheers from the audience. 

Upon reflection, I regret not surreptitiously switching my card with my friend in the lobby or bathroom before giving it to the ticket-taker. This way, we might have at least known whether the information was gathered at the wall or at the entrance to the theater. Ah well. An astoundingly impressive feat, nonetheless, and a real crowd pleaser.

The second effect of the "big three" from the show ended up being a sort of half magic/half dramatic stunt, so to speak. DelGaudio presented a gold-painted brick, set it down and proceeded to tell a true story about his childhood, of which a brick being thrown though a window of his home was a part. It was a strong and emotional, and intense section of the monologue. The magician then placed the brick on the card table on the stage. While continuing to speak, he then methodically built a house of playing cards around the brick so that it was no longer in view. After a dramatic pause, he blew the house of cards down - the brick had vanished. Almost as an afterthought, DelGaudio then had an audience member chosen (I can't recall the selection process, but it seemed fair), and asked to name an Ave. in New York City. They chose Park Ave. Another audience member was asked to name an intersecting street. They chose 72nd. The magician declared that the vanished brick was now on the corner of Park and 72nd, and that anyone could go and see it after the show if they wanted. 

Of course the brick was there, as documented by audience members who chose to seek it out, take a picture and post it online. Pictures of bricks from previous performances at different locations around the city can also be found online. The vanishing of the brick was a fine stage trick (although I can't remember whether the brick was at the center of the table or on its edge before he built the house of cards around it. No matter. The vanish was smoothly executed). However, the second part of the trick - purporting to have the brick re-appear at the named corner in the city, was an inspired piece of theater. The beauty is that that part of the effect, for lack of a better word, was not really a magic trick. I think it's fair to say that the audience speculated that DelGaudio had people race over to the named spot and place a brick there. But he had to be admired for going to the lengths to actually do it! For some, it meant a sly, fun continuation of the show if they chose to seek it out. For others, it was fun to look for a picture of it on the internet. The whole conceit was strong and well thought out, perhaps the most memorable part of the show for many, aside from the killer "event" described below.

Finally, I will now talk about the last, most astonishing, most emotionally dramatic of the evening's effects. I will call it, "The Letter." The effect was so strong that I can't recall the lead-up to it, although I'm sure it was narratively appropriate. At a certain point, DelGaudio was holding a hand full of envelopes that was part of the previous effect. He invited an audience member (again, seemingly fairly at random), to sit on the stage with him. He handed him the envelopes (at least a dozen), and asked him to choose one. The magician pointed out that all the letters were addressed to DelGaudio, and that the return addresses were redacted. On the back of each envelope was written a different word having to do with family it seemed, although I'm not too certain about that. For example, on one was written, "mother" or "sister." On the letter the spectator chose was written, "Grandfather." 

The magician then told the man that he was to open the envelope, and that within he would find a real letter written to him (the spectator) from his grandfather (whom the spectator confirmed was still alive) - a letter that was new and that he's never seen before. What on earth was DelGaudio talking about? The magician cautioned the man that he might have an emotional reaction upon reading the letter, that others had in the past. He could read it to himself or out loud. The spectator chose the latter. 

The man proceeded to read a heart-warming, loving letter from a grandfather to his son, talking about how proud he was of him and mentioning some specifics about the man's career, etc. DelGaudio pointed out that it was hand-written, and the spectator confirmed it was his grandfather's handwriting, as he stood there on the stage visibly emotional, hands slightly shaking. All he could say was, "How? How did you do that?"

How, indeed.

​The piece packed an emotional wallop for everyone in the theater, not least of course for the man on the stage. It was intense. DelGaudio created a genuine moment of humanity out of a magic trick - no small feat. As all that was wearing off, my Sherlock Holmes-ian  deducing kicked in. How could it not? Unlike the gold brick, this was a true magic trick that begged inquiry. That's not to take away from the emotion it produced, or does it? Perhaps the lack of magic at the end of the gold brick effect allowed for one to appreciate the narrative meaning without the distraction of a mystery. The gut-wrenching impossibility of "The Letter" might, in the long run, diminish the emotions that it produced, But perhaps not. It was a gamble that DelGaudio took that just might have payed off on both measures, a true rarity in the performance of magic.

Anyhow, after the show, as my friend and I were going over the (im)possible scenarios that could lead up to this effect, we spotted the man who received The Letter outside the theater, still holding his letter, still clearly shaken from the experience. While perhaps seeming rude, I nonetheless approached the man and asked what acting school he attended here in New York. He laughed and said he was a real person, and took out his business card to show me. He said he hadn't seen his grandfather for a while, and he offered to show the letter to anyone who cared to see it. 

​If DelGaudio was willing to go to the lengths required to accomplish the gold brick stunt, he might go much further to do what was required to set up The Letter. The magician Teller once said that a great magician will go to unimaginable lengths to set up an effect, lengths that people might think, "Nah, who would ever do that?" Who? WHO? The guy I just saw perform last night, that's who. 

What a thoroughly relaxing and enjoyable vacation my wife and I (Smallini), had in London last week. Of course it was wonderful to take in the sights (historical, cultural, magical), but frankly, it felt good just get out of the United States for a while. Our accommodations at the Montague Gardens Hotel were superb - quiet and convenient. Of the entire visit, my favorite occasions were perhaps the hotel's English breakfasts, especially as I was enjoying them in my hotel-provided  (tiny) slippers each morning. 
Every day and evening there was something special in store for us, but I am going to highlight only a few of them for the purposes of this particular diary. 

​​Of all the museums we visited in London, the most unique and intriguing turned out to be the Sir John Soane's Museum. Created by the slightly eccentric architect John Soane, the museum is enclosed within his three adjacent townhouses. Lots of interesting historical treasures can be found within, including a basement Soane turned into a crypt, complete with his very own Egyptian sarcophagus (popular at parties, we're told). Soane's clever use of windows, stained glass, and convex mirrors throughout the townhouses allowed for a level of natural light that seemed almost unreal.

​The real treat, for me at least, was Soane's "Picture Room." This was a small gallery not much larger than the size of a walk-in closet, and with high ceilings. The docent claimed there were more than one hundred paintings in this room, which seemed like an outrageous claim. Even though paintings covered every available space, there could not have been more than thirty or forty of them in total. With a sly grin, the docent then undid a latch midway down one wall, and a large panel swung out revealing more paintings on the wall behind, plus others on the inside of the panel. There were several of these "moveable planes," as Soane called them, in the room that hid dozens of more paintings. Very clever!

​Of course I wanted to visit an authentic London magic shop, so my wife and I took the tube over to International Magic. This little shop was most definitely in the "old-school" style (as opposed to say, Fantasma Magic in New York). The proprietor, Martin MacMillan, was exceptionally friendly, and seeing as it was the late afternoon, offered my wife and I some tea. I conversed with him a bit about English coins, and how I was surprised and delighted to find that some of them were attracted to magnets. This of course is not the case with American coinage. The magnetism of these English coins can allow for some interesting close-up effects, although as Martin pointed out, it can also be a hinderance on occasion, especially since it seems only the newer coins allow for the attraction.
Alas, I left International Magic without making a purchase, owing to the fact that I am I finicky buyer and that there weren't a whole lot of items on display that I could use. I hope Mr. MacMillan didn't think I was a cheap American, because I enjoyed visiting his shop and spending some time there, if not my dollars.

​The last of the London attractions I'll mention in this particular diary are the two Pollocks. The first is Pollock's Toy Museum, "It is a collection of mainly Victorian toys. On display in six small rooms and two winding staircases are teddy bears, tin toys, folk toys, toys from around the world, dolls houses, puppet's, toy theatre's, optical toys, toy soldiers and more besides." What's not mentioned in that description from their website is the collection of antique dolls scattered throughout the premises, many of which were, quite frankly, disturbing in appearance. I suppose when it comes to dolls, like clowns, some people are just rubbed the wrong way by them, myself included. Still, the museum was astoundingly impressive and was well worth the reasonable price of admission.

The second Pollock is Pollock's Toy Shop, a spin-off, you could say, of the toy museum, but now unassociated with it and located in an entirely different London neighborhood. While the toy museum had only a small gift shop, this store contained a wide range of interesting toy theater-based items. I did spend some of my American money there, purchasing a paper toy theater construction set of a French production of Beauty and the Beast. I look forward to assembling that on a rainy afternoon, 

All in all, a wonderful first visit to London, a city that I've been meaning to see for years. I hope to return again some day, perhaps with the Suitcase of Wonders in tow, so that I may humbly perform in this exciting, awe-inspiring, and clean international city.
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Woe to the individual who does not check to see if there is a New York City marathon scheduled before leaving their home in upper Manhattan to drive to Coney Island for a performance. For that is exactly what happened to me, Smallini, today, as I was supposed to perform at the Coney Island Museum, but instead was forced to turn around mid-trip and head home, defeated and dejected.

The Brooklyn Battery Tunnel might have been Mars, as far as this morning's "commute" was  concerned. I just kept getting forwarded east by New York's finest - first from the completely closed down West Side Highway to 12th Ave., then 10th Ave. and finally to 8th Ave where I wandered  in vain below Tribeca in search of any road that might lead to the tunnel or any crossing into Brooklyn. But alas, as the time of my scheduled performance came and went, it was not to be, and I had to inch my way back home, two and a half hours later.

It was the first show I've missed and I do not feel good about it. Let this be a lesson to any Manhattanites who venture out to another borough on a Sunday morning. Check for those damn runners!

One of my favorite books in my barrister's bookcase of magic books is, Classic Correspondence by Mike Caveney. I own one of a series of three volumes containing correspondence to and from magicians of yesteryear. The letters provide a glimpse into the daily lives of entertainers both well-known and virtually unknown. In addition, Caveney includes insightful and witty annotations to give a helpful context. I've always found correspondence to be a fascinating alternative to traditional biographies; One of my other favorites is, "The Groucho Letters: Letters To And From Groucho Marx."

​With the Caveny book in mind, I am humbly including in this diary entry a recent example of the kind of correspondence that I, Smallini, engage in from time to time. This example is with a Mr. James Goode, a musician and sound designer with whom I was interested in collaborating. How many more thousands of letters of this type are in my archives I have no idea, but perhaps one day long after I am gone, Mr. Widdle will curate them into a volume for future historians. 

I have documented here in this diary the main influences and inspirations for my Suitcase of Wonders - from toy theater and flea circuses to Alexander Calder. However, anyone familiar with the Japanese form of street theater storytelling called Kamishibai might well assume that I derived inspiration from that art form as well. The truth is that I just discovered Kamishibai, and it amazes me that I have never heard of it in all my years. Not only that, but as I have recently queried others with whom I would have imagined Kamishibai to be familiar (librarians, teachers, performing artists), none of them had heard of it either.

​I found out about Kamishibai from a casual conversation I had with one of the co-founders of the Pinbox 3000, an amazing cardboard pinball kit created by a duo from Vermont. When I told Mr. Ben T. Matchstick about the Suitcase of Wonders, he informed me that it sounded a little like Kamishibai, something he had performed in the past. You never know where new doors of inspiration may open.

The more I delved into Kamishibai the more interesting things I found, including a 19th century pre-cursor to the current form of Kamishibai called Kamishibai-ya, where the performer is standing behind the theater with his hands coming through the back. This is the closest thing I have seen yet to the way I perform the Suitcase of Wonders.

The current version of Kamishibai whereupon hand-painted cards are pulled out from the front of the theater as the performer reads the story, was apparently inspired by silent films from the West around 1929. Today, it seems like the art form is mostly performed in schools as an alternative to reading illustrated children's books to a group. However, there does seem to be some street performers who practice Kamishibai, including a gentleman from London who performs the theater from the back of his bicycle, like in the post WWII  days of Japan.

In Kamishibai I feel like I have found a long-lost cousin to the Suitcase of Wonders, and I hope to learn more about the art form, see it performed live, and perhaps even give it a try (in my own modified way).