MATT WILSON

Matt Wilson:
Circus performer 

When I met Matt Wilson, it was his 49th birthday. ‘It doesn’t feel that different from 48… birthdays are like that,’ he says with a modest tug at his curled moustache. 

But what is different about Wilson compared to your average 49-year-old is that he is an active circus performer. ‘It is great to still be in the circus and doing physical acts. When I first started I thought I’d give myself till about maybe 31, or 32, until I would have to hang up my boots and do something else. But, touch wood, it just keeps on going.’

Originally from Perth, Wilson first experienced the Flying Ashton’s when he was five years old, but the dream to run away and join the circus came later in life. ‘I was about 23 when I did my first handstand,’ he admits.

Setting out to be an actor as a teenager, Wilson’s career in circus now spans decades. He enjoys the scope of the profession – having worked as an acrobat, stuntman, slapstick comedian, clown, juggler, human cannonball, actor, singer, musician, director, and teacher.

Currently performing with Circus Oz, he has performed with companies nationally and internationally, most recently touring as Dame Edna Everage’s stunt double. Other highlights include bungee jumping off the Sydney Opera House on New Year's Eve in 2000 and being shot out of a cannon in the New Victory Theatre in New York.

But it isn’t all acrobatics and unicycles as a circus performer. In 2006 he came within millimetres from death when performing his human cannonball act during a matinee performance on a blistering hot day in Canberra.

Such a near death experience might see any performer hang their hat, but after a few years off to recover, Wilson returned to circus. He even devised a stage show Memoirs of a Human Cannonball exploring the themes of risk, danger, sacrifice and how far some people will go to have fun.

‘You always get to see a part of a person in a circus because they don’t just perform as a character, it is an extension of themselves.’

Armed with the ability to take the excitement, the terror, the mastering of a new trick along with the many failings in his stride, Wilson jokes about performing until he is 80. ‘I'd like to keep doing this as long as I can because it is one of the few things I feel absolutely right in – this is what I was meant to do.’

Wilson acknowledges that not everybody can say that about their career. ‘A day doesn't go by where I feel like I take that for granted. So the longer I can stay on stage the better, and if not, as long as I'm involved in circus in some way, I’m happy.’

Currently touring with Circus Oz’s But Wait…There’s More, Wilson takes us behind the guise of a circus performer to share the various lives it entails, along with the challenges and the moments of spontaneity amongst a strict regime.

From lessons on the art of doing nothing, to what a near death experience can teach you, Wilson is arguably as captivating as any carnivàle.

DAILY ROUTINE ON TOUR

Being on tour is very different because obviously my family is not there and things tend to shift into more of a night-time routine as we will do the show each night. I’ll usually sleep in till around ten to recover from the night before.

We get called into the theatre around 5pm and have a warm up and go through any notes from the night before. Then it’s makeup, costume and showtime. We usually finish up around 9.30pm after a bit of a cool down and pre-setting for the next day.

Usually after that, if you are too tired you will just go back to your hotel and chill out. But often we will have a couple of drinks as a group, sit down, dissect the show a bit, and what not.

We quite often hang out together, play a few games, listen to music or watch telly. It is sort of like a family on tour, really.

In some ways, being on tour is more mentally or emotionally challenging because you are away from home for such a long time, but there is another part of it that is a little bit easier because you are just responsible for yourself. I love being at home, but it’s just different. In some ways it’s a bit like downtime. 

We quite often hang out together, play a few games, listen to music or watch telly. It is sort of like a family on tour, really.

Sometimes I'm almost reluctant to plan and to commit to things on the weekend. One thing I do like to do is go down to South Gippsland. I share a holiday house with some people near Wilsons Promontory. It is next to a national park, near the beach and really quiet and beautiful. I like to just go down there and light a fire, make nice food, play a guitar and read.

Otherwise I might do a bit of work in the garden, clean the gutters, build something. I like to have thing to do, but also like a bit of quiet time as well where I am just flat out on the couch. But generally I like to have little projects on the go.

I like to have thing to do, but also like a bit of quiet time as well where I am just flat out on the couch. But generally I like to have little projects on the go.

On the multifaceted nature of a circus performance…

I have been able to practise and exercise all sorts of things that interest me. You find there are just so many different parts to being a performer, from building props to coming up with ideas; it is really rich.

The more you do it, the more you learn and you find yourself not just thinking of an act but how it is lit, how to craft it in terms of its performance. You start seeing it as a whole picture. 

On the art of doing nothing…

I really like those moments where you sit down and you have nothing to do, but you are perfectly happy doing that. I think that could be a definition of real happiness, just to sit down at your kitchen table and not feel the need to have to do anything or fill your time with some activity, or fill the air with words just because you feel a bit nervous sitting down and being quiet.

You are feeling content with just nothing and enjoying that moment in your life.  Moments like that are rare, perfect moments.

They come from something inside you that it is not being stimulated by some other thing, it is so simple and yet it is so challenging and hard to find. 

On slowing down…

The pressure you put on yourself is immense and just to simply be able to slow down and not feel guilty is difficult.

I think such moments used to exist a lot more when the world was a lot slower, I suspect, but everything is so fast now. The answers are just a press of a button away, which is a wonderful thing, but it is not everything. There is something else that is a bit grander than that. 

On the relationship between routine and spontaneity…

It probably sounds like a day in the life of a circus performer is very structured and routined, but within that there is a lot of scope for exploration and spontaneity.

Part of the job brief in a way is to encourage creation – to let yourself be open to what instinctively or intuitively comes next and allow that flow to happen. In that way it is very unstructured, in a sense.

You’ve got to have some structures in place to allow it to happen, but on the whole I would say I am not a structured person. I like to be reasonably organised – my shed has shelves and boxes and it is quite tidy – but there's a little bit of mess on the bench. 

I like a bit of chaos here and there because that is where surprises come from and what makes life not so predictable.

On making his own circus props…

There’s that old chestnut: if you want something done you’ve got to do it yourself. But there is also something really cathartic about making my own props.

As I’m sitting there making something, I’m not necessarily thinking about the act, but it brings you into that world so that when you come to performing, it is just a piece of you. There is something more to it, rather than just getting someone to whip something up, I don't know, it just means you have invested a bit of your soul and your love into it. 

On laughter and resilience…

Laughter is always important – and being able to laugh even at the unfunniest of times. Laughter and resilience. Being able to take the knocks and bounce back from them.

There is a fine balance between being sensitive and resilient as well.

I’m not talking about a tough kind of resilience, I am talking about a resilience that is able to accept failure. Because out of failure is where you learn the most important things. 

On having a near death experience…

I don’t think one moment can change everything – all your experiences have an accumulative effect on where you are at and where you get to, but that was certainly a big one, a kind of a big punctuation mark I guess.

The biggest lesson from that was really not to take for granted how other people regard you or feel about you.

When you realise that if you didn’t land on your back but instead on your neck or spine you could have died, that is a pretty profound thing. All these people were ringing me up to say they were glad I was okay, and that was very humbling.

To know there are people out there that care about you, you’ve got to acknowledge that and not forget it and it is a really valuable thing to have, because not everybody does. I think a lot of people do have that, but might not realise it.

On telling people how you feel…

As clichéd as it sounds, the accident also made me realise it’s important to let the people I care for know that, because why keep it to yourself?

Those sort of things should be expressed. Don't get caught out one day wishing you had have said something, and you didn't. Express those things.