Scraps of fabric and pieces of japanese paper held together with thin threads as strong as diamond tendrils. There is a platform of pale paper inked with a spray of symbols: a koru, a manala, the ourobos, infinity, the monas heiroglyphica, all reminiscent of the contortionists tattoos. A structure of carefully woven red and golde ribbons that flutter lightly like flames. Miniature lanterns burn with black flames that give off white sparks, and daring patrons who pass their hands through the flames discover it is not hot, it does not burn, instead it has the softness of a whisper, a small breath of air against their fingertips. Still, there is the smell of the circue, so subtle it is a nuance, barely there: oakmoss, frosty lilac petals, hot cider, aumtumn leaves, burgundy wine. With the mirror light dancing on the meticulously constructed paper tent, it is the same feeling as standing in the circus. The same air of mystery and excitement. The coolness of a shadow with the warmth of a blazing fire. The same delight and curiosity.
Art by Helen Musselwhite
Text by Lucie MacAulay
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