No Risk, No Circus – On The Importance Of Risk In The Circus

In common definitions of what constitutes circus as an art form, the concept of risk plays a central role. “The skills needed to make circus are a unique blend of acrobatic and artistic and, in its immediacy, its liveness, the circus performer places herself/himself at risk, whether perceived or actual.” (1) This is stated, for example, in the “Routledge Circus Studies Reader,” edited by Peta Tait and Katie Lavers.

Even though years of training drastically reduce the risk of accidents for circus performers, incidents like the recent fatal fall of a trapeze artist in a German circus constantly remind us of the dangers inherent in artistic performances. And the predictable reactions remind us how poorly this acceptance of risk, inherent in the circus, fits into our risk-averse society. “This should be banned,” one reads in some social media comments.

Risk, I argue, is an integral part of all forms of circus, albeit in varying degrees. I’m not referring to the risk of accidents, which should in fact be minimized. Every trick carries the risk of success or failure. Will the juggler catch the club? Will the aerialist manage to grab the trapeze bar after the somersault?

In traditional circus, this risk is at the heart of the dramaturgy – drumroll included. In other forms of circus, the risk may not be so highligted. This brings other types of risk into play, as researcher and circus performer Kristy Seymour suggests: „For successful contemporary circus productions, creative and ideological risks are as important as the physical risks encountered in the execution of tricks.“ (2)

I would like to add: Since even among circuses typically described as “traditional,” there is now a differentiation in various directions, with more or less pronounced elements of “new” or “contemporary” circus, this broader concept of risk can be applied more generally to the circus arts.

In my own circus productions, I observe the enormous creative potential that can lie within artists who are more used to being required to perform a consistently repetitive routine. Unlocking this potential is, in my view, a core task of circus direction. Recognizing this potential and aligning it with the production’s goals, even during the artist selection process, is a key task of casting. Anyone who looks not only for the finished product but also for potential, always takes a creative risk. However, I believe there are already enough circus productions consisting of a wild mixture of pleasing acts that one could just as easily find on YouTube.

Unlike in theater, circus performers generally don’t play roles. This is what creates the authenticity often associated with the circus. The circus artist always reveals something of themselves. In traditional circus, sophisticatedly developed personalities are usually reserved for clowns, while the acrobats embody only the superhuman, the heroic. In this context, the emotional risk is limited; the risk is primarily physical: will the trick work, or won’t it?

Perhaps the most striking characteristic of contemporary circus forms is the ambition to express a whole spectrum of emotions using circus techniques. The performer no longer simply says, “Look what amazing things I can do!” They reveal something of themselves, showing vulnerability and complexity. In short, they take emotional risks.

I would like to broaden the concept of risk to include economical risk. Circus derives its perception as a particularly free, conventions defying art form, in part from its history as a counterpoint to state-regulated “high culture”. This history has also shaped its artistic form: In its early days, circus did not contain any spoken word because the established theater industry claimed a monopoly on it, not for any genuinely artistic reasons. The emphasis on risk also arose from the audience’s hunger for sensation. People had to be motivated to buy tickets.

What is often dismissed as “economic constraints” is, in reality, not a contrast to a world of artistic freedom, but to entirely different constraints. Those who want to eliminate the factor of economic risk make circus dependent on factors such as the cultural policy agenda of politicians and on state structures that are rather conservative than innovation-friendly. Bernhard Paul is not alone in knowing that – as he often puts it – bureaucracy is the greatest enemy of creativity.

The proverbial English saying “run away and join the circus” always carries an element of precarity: sacrificing security and striving for freedom, one joins the world of the circus. “Run away and join the circus” – not “Write some grant applications, check if the government pays you a living, and then maybe join the circus.”

Thus, the history of the circus is not only a story of daring artists, but also of equally daring entrepreneurs who took enormous risks to realize their dreams. In my view, young circus makers should not be modeled on elitist structures granted by the state, but rather on this very entrepreneurial spirit.

Certainly, not everyone can or should take economic risks. Artists already take a significant risk by choosing a profession that could be ended by one injury, a wrong move during training, or a performance. I am convinced that the entire chain, from artists to producers to venues, needs a greater willingness to take risks. Ideally, this requires funding structures that reward this willingness and don’t operate according to the maxims “those who already receive funding will receive more funding” or “those who could have an audience don’t need funding.”

And this brings us to the connection between creative and economic risk. In my opinion, the primary goal of public funding in the circus arts should not be to shield circus performers from risk, but rather to enable them to take risks – creative risks. For a venue or producer, it is simply a greater risk to present a young, innovative company than to put together a conventional variety show. And for the artist, it’s a greater risk to test new ideas and forms of expression than to offer a pleasing act that fits into any standard program.

Ideally, we would have structures that motivate artists to explore new paths and make the associated risks more manageable. At least in the German funding landscape, it often seems otherwise. It’s simply a matter of swapping one box for another. You either check the “mainstream entertainment” box or the “cultural establishment zeitgeist” box. I never understood why one should imply “freer” art than the other.

The only way to break out of these boxes seems to be by taking tremendous risks. It’s no coincidence that the founding stories of circuses considered key innovators of the circus world usually have one thing in common: their founders took existential risks along the way. On the road to success, everything often hung in the balance more than once.

With this article, I want to show how multifaceted the concept of risk is and how all its facets are connected to the art form of circus. To attribute individual aspects to only certain types of circus would be an oversimplification and would contradict the freedom we associate with circus arts. So let’s all, as the circus community, have the courage to take risks – physically, creatively, emotionally, and materially. No risk, no circus!

(1) Lavers, Katie & Tait, Peta (Eds.). The Routledge Circus Studies Reader(Abingdon: Routledge. 2016)

(2) Seymour, Kristy A Rhythm of Bodies: Making the Impossible Plausible Through Physicality, Risk and Trust in A Simple Space (Circus: Arts, Life and Sciences , vol. 3, 2024)

Featured Image: The grab for the trapeze bar symbolizes the risk. (c) Priska Heynert