A Journey Through Mindplay
Photo By Chris Ruggiero
When an audience buys a ticket to my show, they’re stepping into something deeply personal—an experience where their thoughts might take center stage. I understand how unsettling that can sound. But my promise to the audience is simple: I will never embarrass you. Instead, I strive to create a space where you feel safe and comfortable, even as you face the vulnerable premise that there’s no place to hide.
Mentalism is a genre of conjuring, but it’s also much more. For me, it’s a medium to explore thoughts and memories—a participatory art form that blurs the line between performer and audience. It’s a collaborative experience, where the mysteries of the mind become the foundation for wonder.
Growing up, it was ingrained in me that mysteries were scary. It’s probably why I gravitated towards performing good mysteries that I could control. It was also probably why I was captivated by participatory theater where the performer wasn’t on stage alone.
I’ve always been enamored by all things psychology and neuroscience, and have incorporated it into my work, I think, as a way to highlight the contrast of what we know and don’t know. I think I use performance as a way to transform and heal both myself and others. Or at the very least to allow the space and time for looking closer at one’s thoughts.
This show isn’t just about mind reading—it’s a deeply personal exploration of memory, fear, and wonder. It’s about what happens when we’re afraid of our own thoughts or deceived by our own memories. It’s about loss, control, and what it means to embrace uncertainty. The act of creating and performing this show has been a way for me to meet myself, confront my fears, and unravel my vulnerabilities. In turn, it has become an invitation for others to do the same.
The most rewarding part of this journey is witnessing the audience leave the theater with a renewed sense of awe. Even if only for a fleeting moment, seeing them connect with one another, ask deeper questions, and make a place in their minds for good mysteries gives me hope. We live in a world overwhelmed by terrifying uncertainties, and with my work, I aim to remind people that uncertainty can be a wellspring of creativity and connection.
Photo By Chris Ruggiero
Theater is one of the last spaces where people can gather to think and feel collectively with minimal disruption. In an era where we’re increasingly isolated in the dark palaces of our own minds, often comforted by a single light of a screen, the act of sharing a real thought with someone with a real person becomes radical. Through this show, I want to pose a question: What if you let others in? What if someone could hear your most precious thoughts? Would that be terrifying, or would it be a relief, knowing that you’re not alone?
This exploration of wonder, grief, and memory isn’t perfect. The show changes nightly, shaped by the texture of thoughts in the room. But that imperfection is the point—it mirrors the ever-changing nature of the mind. The process has taught me to sit with uncertainty, to accept flux, and to find beauty in the collective experience of being human.
We must decide together what is worth remembering and how our memories and thoughts will shape what comes next. In the end, for me, awe is the antidote—to fear, to isolation, to the overwhelming complexities of modern life. It awakens our shared humanity, reminding us to care for one another, even in times of great uncertainty. That, above all, is the magic I hope to ignite.
