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Saltomortale of a clown: beautiful?
Circus arena backstage, in a hurry the saddles and horse droppings of the previous number are carried away. There stands the clown in his chequered costume, eagerly awaiting his appearance. The curtain's blown. The artist climbs the rope ladder to the trapeze, under him instead of net a sea of flowers. Yellow daffodils - sulphur yellow, cadmium yellow, mustard yellow, yolk yellow, canary yellow, hornet yellow - as far as the eye can see, iris is not visible, not even yellow. He jumps, floats down on the scent of blossoms, performing the greatest capers. Land gently and disappear behind the curtain to thunderous applause.
The stage workers are standing around, puffing their gitanes and gauloises, the ashtray is already overflowing. Behind them the new scenery, all in yellow, brown and grey, the colour still moist. The clown costume exudes the scent of narcissus, now strangely withered.
It pushes the clown out into the open: Let's get out there, get some fresh air, under those trees. But what does he smell: dead flowers, cold glowing stalks, damp glue colours hanging in the robe. Ventilate quickly. But after hours still the same smell, biting. Get the costume in the laundry!
Conclusion: I could have liked the trapeze act, but the opening act and the after play are not for me. On the program card was "Ingwer & Safran", they probably stayed in the caravan, I didn't even see them on the stage curtain. Some animals should also take part, they certainly scared the stage workers away with their smoke. What remains: wilting flowers and smoldering cigarettes with an airy somersault tree - no, I won't visit this circus again, even if I admire the clown for his courage.
Surely other noses smell different here and let themselves be entertained in the circus Dzing! splendidly. Nefertiti doesn't like circus and daffodils only in nature, so instead she goes to the Botanical Garden.