In the fall of 2019 I had a notable visit to The Museum of Jurassic Technology in Los Angeles. In my mind I always think of it as just “The Museum,” because it is my favorite Museum. To explain anything about the inner workings, or even contents of this venerable institution is, in my opinion, to spoil it. This reticence doubtless comes from the fact that upon my first visit, I entered wholly in the dark as to what I was about to experience. I have since insisted upon this policy with any friend I bring to the museum. I’m sure I’ve piqued your curiosity a little bit, no? If you enjoy history, literature, puzzles, beautiful art, or total commitment to a concept, then I believe you will love it like I do. I beg of you, get thee hither to Culver City and see The Museum for yourself. Allow the gentle madness to wash over you, and be inspired!
It is my hope that my artwork inspires people to feel something, and the artwork that this place embodies has certainly engendered feelings in me. In the hope of sharing one of those, and at the risk of violating my own policy about this wondrous piece of educational-installation-art I want to tell you about the time one of their exhibits moved me to tears. But first, I need to tell you about Ricky Jay.
Ricky Jay was a magician, historian, actor, and tale teller. He appeared countless times in films and television programs, many of which he worked on as a consultant, and was the author of over a dozen books. While composing this essay I have tried to think of another artist, that I have not met, who has had such an impact on me personally. I have been unable to. For me, Ricky Jay changed not only how I perform, but also what I perform.
Ricky Jay and his 52 Assistants might be my favorite magic show of all time, at least the filmed version released as an HBO special. Not only that but it contains my single favorite magic trick. The trick, which ostensibly draws upon astrology, sees him pulling a woman out of the audience and purporting to use the discipline to determine… “something.” After she signs a card it disappears back into the deck, after which he attempts to bring it back. And fails. Fails repeatedly, fails copiously, conspicuously and, somehow joyously. Once the card fails to appear the act descends into a parade of vintage wind-up toys, pulled from a large suitcase beside the magic table. Mechanical rabbits, demented ducks, and strange chimeras all appear, each one ostensibly set loose to find the volunteer’s chosen card. They all fail. Eventually in frustration Jay shouts, “Behold! A suitcase I have not opened in a month.” He then proceeds to produce the chosen card from inside it.
Herein lies the key to why I love the bit so much. It is a classic thing in a magic trick that a magician will tell you something wrong, in order to muddy the waters of your memory and thus make the trick more impressive. Something like, “Now I have shown you both sides of this cricket bat.” In reality the magician has done nothing of the sort. Jay has just pointed to the selfsame suitcase he has been opening over and over again for the past ten minutes! This is because this piece of his show is not about fooling anyone, although many bits of impressive magic are still present within the bit. Rather, it is because this whole thing is a comedic bit, one that Jay is presenting to create amusement, and to share something he loves. In this case, the windup toys.
Jay was a collector, he would comb through bookshops, antique malls, rummage sales, and archives. Looking for things people had forgotten about, old books, playing cards, dice, windup toys, concepts, ideas, stories. He would take these bits of the past, dust them off, and shine a beautiful light on them. A friend of mine once remarked to me that, “An artist should be an arrow, pointing at beauty.”
That is precisely what Jay did, and it drives so much of what I do as a performer. I am trying to showcase something outside myself, even if the way I do it is by telling a story about my own experience. Jay showed me that a magic trick was about so much more than just fooling someone, it could be about telling a story.
The fact that Jay told his stories with a narrating voice that was so particularly his own made them all the more compelling to me. Jay’s public persona proffered peculiar patterns of speech, aided by a vocabulary of frightening breadth. He had a gift for making centuries old poetry and dialogue feel alive, as though an actual human being might have one day uttered “Zounds!” with the same conviction you or I might utter a word like, “Fuck.” In the hope of understanding this quality I have studied this speech for years, listening to recordings of him over and over, some of them hundreds of times, working hard to track down obscure ones. I like to think this effort has paid off in some way, though after you engage with his work dear reader, you may be the judge.
If you’re looking for a bite-sized introduction to the writing, and narrating style of Ricky Jay, you need look no further than his series of bite-sized radio essays, “Jay’s Journal.” Every episode of the show was only 4 minutes long, a delightful little window that you could gaze out of for approximately the same amount of time it takes the kettle to boil. The Subjects were as wide ranging as Jay’s interests; Chickens, Detectives, Three Card Monte, Coffee, and Mynah Birds all received their due.
Which brings me back to the museum. Jay died in the fall of 2018, and this visit roughly coincided with the one year anniversary of that passing. I knew from my reading that he had spent time and the museum and even contributed a thing or two, but I was unprepared for what I found. In a small hallway connecting two larger exhibits was a presentation of a few choice objects from Jay’s collection. A small button on the wall triggered a narration he had recorded years ago explaining the objects. I was startled, I thought I had heard all available recordings of him before, yet here was a new one. Somehow, this one particular voice still had more to say, even from beyond the grave.
Happy Halloween Everyone!
Photo by: Sam Teigen