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Fancy and the Loop bring the social circus to dark places
Clown duo wants “to normalize wonder, curiosity, and silliness.”
Lucy Loop and Fancy Nancy, setting out on a journey to the stars.; Tossing balls, lifting spirits — “a channel for people to feel joy.”
I’m sitting in a window seat at Lestat’s coffee shop on Adams Avenue in Normal Heights, waiting, as one does, to meet with a clowning duo who go by the moniker Fancy and the Loop. As I glance up from my book, I see the latter half of the duo pull up on her bicycle. Lucy Loop, also known as Lucy Ray — or, legally, as Lucy Forton — locks her bicycle and ambles inside. Tallish, lanky and husky-voiced, she is wearing enormous earrings that appear to be made out of paper, yellow boots, and a yellow knit hat from which wild blond curls spill forth. She’s left on her oversized sunglasses, which, with their circular lenses and thick yellow frames, give the impression of immense googly eyes. She is hard to miss, and probably wouldn’t come off all that differently if she had just rolled down Adams on a unicycle.
In other words, the clown Lucy Loop, who I’ve seen at parties, balancing plungers and ladders on her chin and eating balloons, is not a persona utterly disconnected from that of Lucy Forton. Forton doesn’t talk, dress, or move that differently than Loop; she doesn’t smile or laugh much less than Loop. I doubt that it takes much for her to drop into clown mode for a gig. A little dab of paint on the nose, maybe an extra wild garment or two — bam!
The clown thing runs deep for Lucy. She knew she wanted to be one even before she was in kindergarten (also before her father started building sets for Cirque de Soleil), even if she’s not totally sure how she first encountered clowns. “It was just in my spirit, in my heart,” she says.
The other thing that is in the heart of both Lucy and her partner-in-clown Fancy Nancy (Nancy Ross) is the mission of “social circus.” Lucy says social circus is about “bringing circus to people who need a little spark of joy. People who’ve been through trauma, through so much. So we bring the circus to them — refugee camps, orphanages, hospitals.”
This usually involves giving instruction in circus arts and clowning, and then putting on a show at the end. It might also involve bringing donations of goods or money to the affair. Both Lucy and Nancy have done that sort of work — mostly in Mexico, but Lucy also tells me a memorable story about heading in the opposite direction and going very, very north — to Nunavik in Quebec, via a four-hour flight from Montreal.
That adventure happened because one summer day, a clown friend from Canada’s Caravan Philanthrope called Forton in her South Park apartment. “When he called me, I was extremely hot. It was August, and I had no air conditioner.” (“I wouldn’t let her run it,” Nancy interjects.) “And I was in my living room just melting, and my clown friend called me, and he was like, ‘Hey, so, do you want to be really cold?’”
He meant it. During her visit, Nunavik’s temperature sometimes dropped to as low as -60. Forton had to pack a down jacket and a self-heating vest. A group made up of herself and three other clowns made their way by small plane, snowmobile, and on foot through 7 towns in 2 months, teaching and performing, bringing social circus to a place filled with a lot of darkness, both literal and metaphorical. Nunavik has the lowest life expectancy in all of Canada, and a phenomenally high suicide rate, especially among young men.
So these are clowns with a mission. Their ideals, their sense of purpose about the work, all this comes out naturally and earnestly during our conversation. “We want to normalize wonder, curiosity, and silliness.” “A clown has always been a disruption to the normal. To let you know that the world is actually fully abnormal and full of laughter.” “It’s to break the barriers. To pop the social bubbles that are holding us back.” This is their dharma. They say they are meant to be around kids. Their work aids children in hanging on to the freedom and joy that so often start to fade as they age. And it aids adults by reminding them that they can still access that freedom and joy.
Nancy says that essentially, she sees a clown as someone using herself as “a channel for people to feel joy.” But she has mixed feelings about calling herself a clown. (“Nance! You are a clown, deeply,” Lucy objects.) Nancy settles on the opinion that neither of them is particularly traditional as a clown. She also works as a drama and music teacher, a bubbler, a singer, a swing dancer, a tap dancer, a dance teacher for pre-schoolers, and a member of over-the-top eight-woman Kate Bush tribute act Baby Bushka. (I’m vicariously stressed as I hear about the work schedules and numerous projects of these two. Alpha clowns — who knew?)
Lucy and Nancy met about eight years ago when they found themselves seated next to each other at a dinner party thrown by a mutual friend, the lead singer of Bushka. Nancy tells me, “We shook hands in the first three minutes of meeting and said, ‘Best friends. Let’s do it.’ We just knew.”
And they are just doing it: school assemblies, roaming characters, festivals, parties, recorded music, and video programming. Most recently, the duo have put two new projects in the works. First, they’ve been involved in setting up Charade, a speakeasy hidden inside The Balboa in Banker’s Hill. It features evenings of surprise performances that are unveiled from behind a red curtain: puppetry, burlesque, and yes, clowning. A sort of modern vaudeville.
They’ve also been making children’s videos. They’d like a children’s TV show. They’d like to win a Grammy for their children’s music. “We have big goals,” says Lucy. “We want to be famous superstars,” says Nancy.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Fancy and the Loop bring the social circus to dark places
Clown duo wants “to normalize wonder, curiosity, and silliness.”
Fancy and the Loop bring the social circus to dark places
Clown duo wants “to normalize wonder, curiosity, and silliness.”
Lucy Loop and Fancy Nancy, setting out on a journey to the stars.; Tossing balls, lifting spirits — “a channel for people to feel joy.”
I’m sitting in a window seat at Lestat’s coffee shop on Adams Avenue in Normal Heights, waiting, as one does, to meet with a clowning duo who go by the moniker Fancy and the Loop. As I glance up from my book, I see the latter half of the duo pull up on her bicycle. Lucy Loop, also known as Lucy Ray — or, legally, as Lucy Forton — locks her bicycle and ambles inside. Tallish, lanky and husky-voiced, she is wearing enormous earrings that appear to be made out of paper, yellow boots, and a yellow knit hat from which wild blond curls spill forth. She’s left on her oversized sunglasses, which, with their circular lenses and thick yellow frames, give the impression of immense googly eyes. She is hard to miss, and probably wouldn’t come off all that differently if she had just rolled down Adams on a unicycle.
In other words, the clown Lucy Loop, who I’ve seen at parties, balancing plungers and ladders on her chin and eating balloons, is not a persona utterly disconnected from that of Lucy Forton. Forton doesn’t talk, dress, or move that differently than Loop; she doesn’t smile or laugh much less than Loop. I doubt that it takes much for her to drop into clown mode for a gig. A little dab of paint on the nose, maybe an extra wild garment or two — bam!
The clown thing runs deep for Lucy. She knew she wanted to be one even before she was in kindergarten (also before her father started building sets for Cirque de Soleil), even if she’s not totally sure how she first encountered clowns. “It was just in my spirit, in my heart,” she says.
The other thing that is in the heart of both Lucy and her partner-in-clown Fancy Nancy (Nancy Ross) is the mission of “social circus.” Lucy says social circus is about “bringing circus to people who need a little spark of joy. People who’ve been through trauma, through so much. So we bring the circus to them — refugee camps, orphanages, hospitals.”
This usually involves giving instruction in circus arts and clowning, and then putting on a show at the end. It might also involve bringing donations of goods or money to the affair. Both Lucy and Nancy have done that sort of work — mostly in Mexico, but Lucy also tells me a memorable story about heading in the opposite direction and going very, very north — to Nunavik in Quebec, via a four-hour flight from Montreal.
That adventure happened because one summer day, a clown friend from Canada’s Caravan Philanthrope called Forton in her South Park apartment. “When he called me, I was extremely hot. It was August, and I had no air conditioner.” (“I wouldn’t let her run it,” Nancy interjects.) “And I was in my living room just melting, and my clown friend called me, and he was like, ‘Hey, so, do you want to be really cold?’”
He meant it. During her visit, Nunavik’s temperature sometimes dropped to as low as -60. Forton had to pack a down jacket and a self-heating vest. A group made up of herself and three other clowns made their way by small plane, snowmobile, and on foot through 7 towns in 2 months, teaching and performing, bringing social circus to a place filled with a lot of darkness, both literal and metaphorical. Nunavik has the lowest life expectancy in all of Canada, and a phenomenally high suicide rate, especially among young men.
So these are clowns with a mission. Their ideals, their sense of purpose about the work, all this comes out naturally and earnestly during our conversation. “We want to normalize wonder, curiosity, and silliness.” “A clown has always been a disruption to the normal. To let you know that the world is actually fully abnormal and full of laughter.” “It’s to break the barriers. To pop the social bubbles that are holding us back.” This is their dharma. They say they are meant to be around kids. Their work aids children in hanging on to the freedom and joy that so often start to fade as they age. And it aids adults by reminding them that they can still access that freedom and joy.
Nancy says that essentially, she sees a clown as someone using herself as “a channel for people to feel joy.” But she has mixed feelings about calling herself a clown. (“Nance! You are a clown, deeply,” Lucy objects.) Nancy settles on the opinion that neither of them is particularly traditional as a clown. She also works as a drama and music teacher, a bubbler, a singer, a swing dancer, a tap dancer, a dance teacher for pre-schoolers, and a member of over-the-top eight-woman Kate Bush tribute act Baby Bushka. (I’m vicariously stressed as I hear about the work schedules and numerous projects of these two. Alpha clowns — who knew?)
Lucy and Nancy met about eight years ago when they found themselves seated next to each other at a dinner party thrown by a mutual friend, the lead singer of Bushka. Nancy tells me, “We shook hands in the first three minutes of meeting and said, ‘Best friends. Let’s do it.’ We just knew.”
And they are just doing it: school assemblies, roaming characters, festivals, parties, recorded music, and video programming. Most recently, the duo have put two new projects in the works. First, they’ve been involved in setting up Charade, a speakeasy hidden inside The Balboa in Banker’s Hill. It features evenings of surprise performances that are unveiled from behind a red curtain: puppetry, burlesque, and yes, clowning. A sort of modern vaudeville.
They’ve also been making children’s videos. They’d like a children’s TV show. They’d like to win a Grammy for their children’s music. “We have big goals,” says Lucy. “We want to be famous superstars,” says Nancy.
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