The Instinct of Collection

Humans can be funny and predictable creatures.

I was reminded of that fact strongly when I went to the Renaissance faire at the end of the summer season. I have friends among some of the entertainers; I like to see them perform live, support them, then wander around to check out other performers I think I may like.

And I find plenty. Silk aerialists, music bands that do new fusion styles incorporating Medieval tunes with modern instruments and beats, sea shanty singers, dancers of all kinds, blacksmiths, glass workers.

And now, whip artists.

I am spoiled, I really am. Three large Ren faires within a day's reach, and another six or seven up and down the East coast. I get to see the most awesome shows, with a delightful double handful of up-and-coming acts.

Some are names you know, if you check out the various faires. Barely Balanced, Wolgemut, Celtic Legacy. Don Juan and Esmeralda, Lamning, Ship Shape, Trio Mondo. O and La-La, Washing Well Wenches.

My hubby and I have been Ren rats for a good thirty years, and most of that time also active in the SCA, a Medieval re-enactment group. We know how hard the life can be, and how many of these performers live on the edge. A single circuit has exploded into a proliferation of Ren faires, many overlap, and though good performers can get stipends for performing at the bigger shows, life on the road is hard.

Costs are incurred. As Wolgemut says, The Eternal String/Reed Fund is a thing. Instruments, transportation of instruments and equipment, grabbing meals at odd intervals between shows, cheap flop places because some faires don't allow the performers to stay on site. Some faires don't even allow tips.

Like I said, a hard life.

This was driven home to me, when I finally caught up to a famous whipper.

No, not that one. Jacques Ze Whipper has still eluded me; we missed him by exactly one week. No, I'm talking about Aaron Bonk.

I've been chasing him for a while. Not in a creepy stalkerish fashion, but in an "I really appreciate good acts" way. There are others on my list, of course. I've missed Arthur Greenleaf Holmes a few times now, and I'm annoyed with myself. I also missed Trio Mondo on their last pass, which was just a combination of bad timing and being at another performance on the opposite side of the faire. Good faires have lots of good performances.

I had been chasing Aaron Bonk for a while, I really wanted to see him perform.

Whips. FIRE WHIPS. What's not to like??

People, he's good. He's reeeeal good. The patter, the balance of humor to skill, smoothly moving from one strenuous performance to another, taking breaks to get a breather and tease for the finale, mixing in his own music, anticipation, repetition. This is awesome stuff, and I loved it.

And somewhere in the middle, it hit me.

Haven't I seen this pattern before?

Not Aaron's performance. The whole performance scene.

It struck me that this is something I've seen, many times before.

Specifically, have you ever been to the circus?

Most of the good ones are long shuttered, and a lot of the smaller ones have collected an unsavory reputation. Even Cirque de Soleil prefers larger stadiums and long engagements now, so they can set up their expensive equipment in relative safety. Can't blame them, really.

Do you remember the side shows?

I don't like using the word "freaks." I think it's rather demeaning, reducing those born with genetic oddities to a thing to be gawked at. Sometimes, after being bought and sold and traded as commodities, the side show of the circus was the closest thing they had to community and family.

Most could make a decent living, eventually buying a cottage in the swamp at road's end. Some had precarious employment, facing being fired if another came along that was shorter / taller / more exotic. Like the World's Tallest Man, for example. If there was another even taller in the crowd, the previous one could be terminated immediately and the newly-opened bench filled in moments after they were measured back-to-back. It's happened, and it's documented.

How do I know this? I'm not that old to have seen it in action, really.

Jewelry.

Have you ever seen the souvenirs sold by the side show? Many people collected picture cards, or whatever other things were sold by the individual performers for some extra retirement money. Can you imagine, one of the tallest men in the world, hunched over a campfire, trying to cast lead rings that he could sell to curious visitors?

I visited the Carousel Museum in Leavenworth, Kansas, and saw their collection of Tall Man rings. Of course I'm curious about unusual jewelry, so I rummaged around via online sellers, and collected a few. Names like Ted Evans, Eddie Carmel, Gilbert Reichert, and Johann K. Petursson grace my collection box. My thumb is something like a ring size 14, and I can play ring toss with these things and spin them like a hula hoop.

But the other thing that was the bread and butter item, was the souvenir card.

A picture of the performer, name, title, claim to fame, and relevant stats. They were collector's items, still are, and like all serious acquisitors, collectors were dissatisfied unless their collection was complete.

Does that sound familiar?

Because I've seen baseball card collectors just as fixated on getting the last of the series. (Looking right at you, GS, I know you very well!)

Or people who keep their old movie and concert tickets. I still take screen shots of my digital ones, and they're in a special folder on my desktop.

We are collectors by nature, souvenir hunters with a deep drive to take something of a place home with us. This urge, of course, can be either good or bad (or somewhere in between). It's been with us from almost the beginning; just this week the journal Quaternary discussed the Neanderthal Collection - and the fifteen sea snail fossils that likely came from a site eighteen miles away.

We haven't changed much, really.

When Aaron's performance was over, I dutifully got in line for a quick meet and greet, and I wondered what I was doing. I have a horrible tendency to say the wrong stuff when meeting people I admire. I wish I could have come up with something witty, or whatever, but what I did say is something along the lines of "I've been chasing you through three different Ren faires to see you perform, and I'm so glad I finally got to see it in person!" Okay, not too bad. I didn't make a fool of myself. Whew.

And when I saw what collectibles he had for sale, I just knew.

A postcard.

I instantly flashed to the sideshow performer cards from the circus. Ren faire circuit as a new type of carnival?

I quickly scooped one up, and deposited the money dutifully in the jar.

Both Aaron Bonk and Barely Balanced reference their unique choice of occupation, and incorporate it into their performances. I think Medium from Barely Balanced said it best:

"Hey, people, come see our 'Plan B' career! (beat) I've got a degree!"

Audience member: "In what?"

(another beat) "Teaching! Can you imagine me teaching your kids??" (mimes juggling swords)

It is a hard life.

It is a magical life.

The idea of collecting cards, or stickers, or other sellables from my favorite performers is an old idea, but one that still has relevance. Timeless? True, though we don't think of it in those terms. Human? Very much so.

I look at the pin I got from Jeremy Graeff, usually performing in his band Lamning, along with some of their CDs. The sticker I bought from Wolgemut, when I bought the USB with all their CDs and some videos.

I'll be seeing Lamning this weekend at Ren faire, and I've heard about some of the other performers that will be there. I will have some money to spend, carefully hoarded from last year's Christmas cash. And I will spend it on their collectibles, and I will listen to their awesome songs or performances, and I will enjoy the magic of people pushing back the darkness, for a small while. A chain of song and story that stretches far back into all the yesterdays, and makes those lives relevant again, keeping history alive.

It is the human thing to do.