guest post by Simone Davalos
Trapeze artist Erma Ward by H. A. Atwell Studio
Vintage photos of jolly things like circuses always strike me as a little creepy. It could be the memento morii aspect, a philosophical meditation on time passing and the joys of today being subsumed by the ruins of tomorrow. Or perhaps it’s a call to a simpler time, nostalgia for the allure of the mysterious world that carnies and show people inhabited, the excitement of getting just a glimpse of that sordid existence, free from the mundane, signified by the sudden appearance of the circus parade on Main Street of small-town America.
Toto the Clown with children by Angus B. McVicar
Or it could be the clowns. Yeah, actually, I would have to say it’s definitely the clowns.