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WE DREAM !
Have you ever dreamed of being for a second, for a moment, for a minute of eternity suspended, someone else, an incredible person; to leave your own skin, and, freed from the limits of reality, to reach an elsewhere of oneself by a metamorphosis that seems instant, enigmatic, fabulous?
This worrying and crazy dream is what I accomplish, first in front of the mirror, then on the stage, every night, me the transformist ...
Magic brushes, rice powder and perlimpinpin ...
Under my fingers, the magic operates, the reflection of Miss Caline appears.
To be in Harmony and in affinity with the character, I will have to analyze, to immerse myself in his every gesture, to observe and feel his emotions, expressions, manias, and more: to be possessed, to evoke in a few minutes an interpretation of the star that we imitate, that we mime, that we parody, express something of ourselves through this reference.
In the dim light of the stage, dressed in rhinestones, feathers and sequins, I, Miss Caline, gasped, my heart beating, and stars in my eyes ...
An exhilarating wait begins ...
The first notes of the melody resound, the lights come alive ...
The curtain finally rises on my dream that begins ...
Transformist : A job!
No transformist artist interprets a character like his colleague: with more or less talent, professionalism, in the manner of a painter who makes a portrait by printing his own sensitivity, the transformist artist evokes the character, it is a living and moving portrait. A sculpture in motion and this sculpture is itself.
One can notice in this respect that certain artists return in imitations, certain figures of women high in colors, extreme, endowed with a strong personality and celebrity (Dalida, Mylène, Madonna, etc.). And the interest of the thing is that they are interpreted by men, who transcend their data of departure to metamorphose. And that is what makes them so fascinating, because they reduce the fatal margin that separates gender and gender. In a fleeting moment, the opposites are abolished, merged, outdated.
You only have to see the intense emotion aroused by the man-woman transformation numbers, when under the masculine costume are hidden feminine outfits extracted in the blink of an eye from clothes designed for a strapless dressing: velcro closures, pressures at the right place to snatch in one second the three-piece suit and bring up evening dress or corset.
This is where the transition from one genre to another is dramatized, symbolized, and fascinating.
One can use what one felt as attraction, as hope, as energy, for a corporal transformation. Vertigo of desire for oneself. This fascination with the mirror can be repeated, perpetuated by the transformist exercise. It is an infinite psychic pleasure, a vertigo of the loss of oneself, for reunion with other parts of oneself.
That's what I live because I'm on both sides of the barrier, fascinated spectator and enlightened transformist, I hope.
It requires passion, questioning, "feeling" and work, more work than one thinks. Including that of costume designer (I often do my costumes) ... not to mention the thankless work of play-back.
It must prove to be "trans-orchestra"
Sometimes I use my bodily transformation - that is, the flatness of my torso - to further obscure the tracks, to give some ambiguity. The viewer often scrutinizes the attitude and body of the artist to detect the biological origin of it, we must not hide it. Are we all "fair beasts" of a new kind? I do not hear it that way, because I think that the quality of the performance makes it possible to transcend this situation, and that it is necessary to allow the spectator to remember, above all, the artistic performance, the beauty.
The body is given to be seen and not hidden as an object of embarrassment or shame. We must be able to psychologically assume this view of the viewer, and make his difference an asset.
It is the splendor of the costume and the whole of the interpretation which is largely the attraction of the transformist.
I leave you to your reflection.
My answer, and at the risk of making you jump ... on your feathers, I repeat:
Transformer, a man's job!