A truly great loss...

A clown has died. Not just any clown, not some soulless shill for hamburgers, no mere twister of balloon animals, or amateur juggler in whiteface but a true, soulful, brilliant clown - the Clown known as Sol.

Sol is dead - The sun has truly gone out.

I remember watching Sol on TVO and on the french channel as a kid. I took french immersion so I could understand most of what he said, and it gave me a measure of much-needed pride knowing that no one else in my family understood this bizarre little hobo. I can recall him standing on screen, 3/4's open, picking at his the fingernails of his left hand, a look of despairing incomprehension and bewilderment in his eyes at the follies of those more affluent than him. His weird way of speaking, of emphasizing a word by sticking out his tongue as if for a doctor to check his tonsils.

The guy made french more than just something I was learning in school. He expressed the heart of the language, he brought me to a greater understanding of what a language is, and how powerful it can be when you know how to express yourself. I stand in awe of Sol. Thank you Marc Favreau, Merci bien Monsieur. Je ne peu pas te donne un compliment meilleur que selui-ci "Vous etez un Cloune."

Ils y a plus longe temp que j'ai parlez Francais. Excuse mon epellation, s'ils te plait. Si j'ai besoin de faire un liste de les meilleur clounes en monde, il y a besoin que Sol est presque la premiere. Les autres? Michelle Courtemanche, Bill Irwin, et Jackie Chan. Clounes, totalement.

So, I've often found that francophones don't think the way anglophones do. There seems to be an innate visual quality to the way they think. They can communicate without words better than I could dream. Perhaps it's a result of speaking a language that makes SENSE as opposed to english. Hmm.

Bon Voyage Sol, a bientot mon vieille.