Becoming a clown.
One night in Manhattan I found a clown nose in the corner of the stairwell to my apartment. My friends shouted, “No! Alyssa, Don’t Do It!” Excited I put on the nose. The transformation was painless. I quickly became who I have always been but with a big red qualifier. Suddenly people understood my antics. I gave flowers to beautiful people. I had a full out shouting match with my mother on a fake cell phone. People were so intrigued they offered to speak with my mother not realizing it was a fake cell phone until they were laughing so hard they could barely keep their hats on. They trusted the clown, go figure. For the following weeks everywhere I went the nose stayed on. I entertained children, danced in subways, got kicked out of the MET for being a terrorist. Surely the guard was afraid of clowns, but a terrorist, really? I snuck past him and enjoyed a day of being art among art. Clowns are extreme, happy or sad they go all the way. This is me. Often too convincing for my own good people either try to save me or they hate me for being too happy. The nose provided clarity. Finally I was free and I owed it all to the chance find of a prop I would have never sought. I contemplate clown school or learning how to make balloon animals, but the world, my stage, is filled with ways to amuse, entertain and engage. Have I earned the nose? I am the nose!
"I should have been a clown; it would have afforded me the widest range of expression. But I underestimated the profession."
-Henry Miller