The Battle Between Brains

Anyone can learn magic; not anyone can be a magician. 

When I was 11, I sat next to a man on a plane who pulled a coin from my ear, then made it appear from the window. It was the perfect routine, the one that introduced me to the world of magic. I haven’t looked back since.

Only years later did I realize why that moment has stuck with me. It wasn't because his dexterity was amazing or because the coin was made of gold. It was because he knew that a bored kid on the plane would appreciate some spontaneous fun. He was friendly and engaging, and understood that the social context would lend pizzazz to it all. 

This is what I mean when I say “not anyone can be a magician.” Magic and mentalism are, at their core, a performance art that requires charisma, showmanship, and social aptitude. These characteristics are the difference between a parlor-trick casual and a world-class magician. 

I think of magic as a “two-brained” operation, similar to the “left brain, right brain” concept. Brain 1 takes care of the mechanics of a routine, like dexterity and speed. Brain 2 handles the audience engagement, the flow of the script, and all other “intangibles.” If Brain 1 and  2 aren’t in harmony with each other, the routine can fall flat.

Obviously, a magician needs Brain 1 to perform a basic routine; practice makes perfect, and the skills required for magic and mentalism aren’t exempt. Without Brain 2, however, this routine won’t resonate with the audience. The script may miss the mark, people may lose interest, and at the very worst, someone in the audience might get offended.

Brain 2 is, very simply, the art of socializing. Script writing, audience interaction, and “reading the room” all require a solid understanding of human nature. What makes people laugh? What causes amazement? What do people want to hear? The ability to weave this understanding into a skillful routine is a lifelong endeavor. 

Here’s a quick example of how my Brains 1 and 2 might work during a routine. I’m booked to perform roaming magic at a private event, a conference for the Institute of Physics. My routine of choice for the night involves a deck of cards. I approach a group of university professors, imply that the deck is in perfect order by suit, then say, “Alright, let’s increase the amount of entropy in this system.” They laugh uproariously, and as they’re laughing, I force a bottom card for their draw. 

I’ve always enjoyed the concept of the “left-brain/right-brain,” even if the science of it doesn’t hold up. It’s a useful way to explain the way we see the world, and it’s the way I see my world as a performer. It’s my professional responsibility to be constantly refining the union of my Brains 1 and 2.