What my job as a balloon artist entails

Making people delighted is my job. I've been a balloon artist for 17 years.

My twisted unicorns.

My Spider-Man with bulging biceps.

Ballerinas in pink tutus.

My hands are always flying. My speed of twisting is fueled by my need to amaze. I want those trilling giggles and tiny arms embracing me at the end.

My favorite gigs

In Miami, where I live, we have some areas that are seriously deficient in art. Performing there are my favorites.

I know what it's like to be poor. I grew up in Russia in the 1960s. We patched our socks, played with candy wrappers. We thought that bread with sugar on top of it was the best dessert ever.

Yet, I was trained in classical painting, attending the Art School as a teenager. I speak the language of art fluently.

"Don't touch the lady!" a mother would jerk her kid back while a toddler touches my pink-and-gold dress. It positively made an impression on this tiny art connoisseur.

"Oh, no. It's totally fine to touch me," I say smiling at the mother. She wears baggy pants and flip-flops, and carries full shopping bags in each of her hands.

We are at the grocery store. I am twisting balloon animals in the produce section. Sitting in a folding chair between bananas and coconuts, I am swooning in personal bliss.

How I got started as a balloon-twisting clown

I never thought of being a professional artist in the United States. Seeking gallery representation just didn't feel right.

Yet, when I saw a balloon-twisting clown on South Beach one day, I was fired up.

The clown caught my attention with his long colorful balloons and kind grin. Not that I thought of being a clown – at least not then – but rather that I was simply very impressed by the idea of using your talent to make others happy.

I didn't need anyone to teach me. I just followed my own intuition. Stepping out on the street with a bag of balloons and a hand pump, I began twisting for tips the very next day.

My expenses were ten dollars. I made a ten-fold profit that night.

How I create my balloon art

“How do you keep track of so many designs,” people would ask. “No need to,” I say very seriously, “I twist by the dotted lines that only I can see.”

Then, I laugh and explain. I work as any sculptor would. Only in my case, it’s not clay. It is latex balloons.

I have a huge repertoire of balloon sculptures. But there is something else.

I love listening to kids’ stories. Once, this young man told me about how he lost his teeth in "some big bad place.” We made a little skull to commemorate his experience.

Then, a girl told me about her fear of taking the school bus. My brave balloon rabbit helped take care of that anxiety. The bunny held a big orange carrot as a sword, she loved that.

What motivates me to be a clown

I feel like I'm doing something important. Oh wait, maybe I’m fooling myself into thinking that it is very important. But how can it be unimportant if joy is palpable?

In Russia of my youth, creating a job for yourself was a felony. We marched at the same beat. We held government-assigned jobs. Being too much different was neither possible nor forgivable.

Bless you, America, where I can be myself. I didn’t even know who I was. I think I know now.

Wait, there is another reason why I do this. My job helps to fill in the gaps in my personal life. My American husband died a decade ago. My immediate family is in Russia. I treat these kids as my own. They are the kids I never had.

Is that what you should be doing?

Sometimes, I wonder, am I wasting my time? Should I be doing something else? Should I create and sell my art to millionaires at one of the ArtBasel exhibits?

Okay, one day, maybe. Meanwhile, I am one happy clown.

Dear Readers, thank you for reading! I write mostly about love and meaning of life. Feel free to share stories with your loved ones. I also read my writing at public events as a professional performer. Special Thanks to Pam Mayer — my tireless friend, editor, and collaborator.