In October’s editorial we shared the sad news of Juan Tamariz’s passing, and promised to celebrate his life and work in these pages. That promise led to a busy month, as we grappled with the challenge of how we might pay tribute to a magical genius.
As you will see in this issue, we opted for a series of short pieces written by a number of contributors; a format that is a particular challenge both logistically, with just a few weeks’ lead time, and editorially, as we try to minimize overlap. Along with magic editor Lorenz Schär, who helped shape the feature and translated several of the texts, I want to thank all those who shared their words and images in these pages—they all worked within small wordcounts, with tight deadlines, and with specific requests on what they might write about. We are also grateful to those friends of the magazine who offered advice and suggestions on the curation of the piece.
I have no doubt that each of the contributors whose words we feature could have written much more about Juan, and that there are many others we were unable to bring into the project with their own stories to share. It is a testament to Juan that the more you learn about the man and his work the more you want to dive deeper… while there is no way we could fully chart his depths we hope that our tribute gives you a moment to reflect on and engage with his magic.
I recently had the opportunity to see the English-language version of R. Paul Wilson’s film portrait of Juan, Love and Magic. It is a beautiful film that, I think, will leave you thinking about both Juan and magic in new and exciting ways—I can’t wait for it to be released (a Spanish-language version has already been broadcast, at the time of writing) so that I can enjoy discussing it with friends. In the meantime you can reacquaint yourself with how R. Paul has shared some of Juan’s work on film before by looking up The Seven Veils of Mystery on YouTube.
In this issue of Genii Krystyn Lambert explores the difference between discipline and devotion in the development of one’s practice. Along the way she comments on the loss of passion or excitement for magic that can strike from time to time, and explores how it can be minimized. That idea is something that resonates with me, as someone who dipped a toe into our world as a childhood interest before it evolved into a serious hobby, and then a profession.
For me, one of the solutions to the feeling of a diminishing passion for magic has been to explore other areas of craft and practice, something I was reminded of last week when recording a podcast about the intersection between conjuring and calligraphy.
Calligraphy has become a hobby of mine, and is something I guard as such, avoiding anything that might make it essential to do it within any given timeframe. It also offers interesting points of overlap and difference with magic. Both calligraphy and magic, for example, require technical manipulative skill to be developed. And both then require that technical skill to disappear in service of a bigger idea. Each form offers a chance for creative expression within a defined framework, and they also involve analog work with physical materials. As an example of a point of difference, magic is a performed process that doesn’t produce a physical product, while calligraphy is a private process that exists in order to produce a material item.
Importantly, for me, exploring calligraphy as a hobby has removed the need for magic to fulfill that role; a lowering of pressure that actually helps some of the joy return to the world of conjuring. It has also informed the side of magic that is my hobby, allowing me to better understand what aspects appeal in and of themselves, rather than being professionally necessary. Finally it meant I now have notebooks filled with ideas that felt interesting to me (as well as things to write down), which will undoubtedly inform the work I produce, both for business and pleasure.