The life of a card mechanic and magician isn’t always what it seems.
A playing card is dealt and luck strikes again.
The cards are shuffled, the deck is cut, and once again, a high value card is received.
The first time it was luck, and the second time it was deception. The spectators will give me credit for both instances because nobody will ever know the difference. Or, I’m not fulfilling the role of a magician and I’m operating as a card mechanic. In that case, I’m a ghost. The reactions of the stunned spectator’s won’t phase me. Silenced speechlessness and nervous laughter. Either way, they witnessed their interpretation of magic. I’ll fade back into the darkness to illuminate the only real magic in sight: the people gathered around to watch magic unfold.
It would make sense for this blog to be posted on a website dedicated to magicians, but the reality is different: I don’t belong to a world of magicians. It’s a life of anonymity. The cards are my therapy, an extension of my soul, and the art of magic is how I justify aimlessly shuffling a deck of cards.
It’s a dark choice.
A world for all magicians exists, but the traditional magician’s route doesn’t align with my ideologies about magic. Paying homage to the craft of magic is a personal choice that all professional card mechanics and magicians must eventually confront. It’s a murky area without established rules and guidelines. Only cultural norms and widespread expectations from other card mechanics. You can live in the light and never think twice about it. Or, you can suffer for your craft and be the difference.
Yes, a dark choice.
The Magician’s Purpose: Magic with Meaning
A reputation that’s molded from everything you never did with a deck of cards. A beautifully constructed lie that tells the truth. Deception and sleight of hand that’s taught within the shadows of darkness. Sip another gulp of water to rehydrate the craft. Inhale to breathe more air into the next magic performance. Will it be your own performance or a consultation for a theatrical show that allegedly never happened? Nobody knows. Selectivity at its finest. A mysterious world of sleight of hand, deceit, and mystery that the general public rarely sees.
Most magicians endure a pseudo apprenticeship before they join the ranks of the qualified elite. The dark side is different. The jury never returns an official verdict on your qualifications as a magician. In the traditional academia of magic, the jury are performers that are bestowed the blessings of other professional magicians. The dark side turns the jury into spectators. Self-declared experts. They were once rejected to work as a demonstrator at your local magic shop because they were too inexperienced, but not anymore. Now, they’re masters of their craft. Lifelong students of the craft.
It’s a simple life from the outside: A backpack, passport, and decks of cards. Many decks of cards. Everything else is a deflection away from the raw purity and passion for the showmanship of being a magician. Most of the world would never understand the nuances of being a card mechanic.
Boarding cross-continental flights for the sole purpose of magic. It’s what I do. The snippets of touristy lavishness is nothing more than a distraction from the dark alleys. The dark alley leads to underground card mechanics, mentors of magic that don’t abide by the rules, and sleight of hand skills that only intense solitude and personal instruction can properly hone. From the gritty backroads of Bangkok to bargaining with the lone taxi driver on the outskirts of Saigon, extreme lengths have been taken to ensure my audiences witness mind blowing magic.
A Life Sharing Magic
A modest man with an intriguing talent. A craft that I practice in secrecy but perform in countries around the globe. Cardistry. Sorcery. Wizardry. Card tricks. Whatever it’s called, it exists. And I’ve dedicated my entire life to making it special.
I didn’t read a magic book to get where I am in the world of magic. And if you were somehow introduced to the world of magic, it’d mostly say I don’t exist. It couldn’t tell you that I’ve amassed a small library of magic books. It doesn’t know I’ve filled two passports with stamps to perform magic across the globe. Nobody knows I’ve trekked through some of the most remote locations to further the art of magic and be mentored by unspoken names. The power of anonymity is magic in itself.
I’m not alone. You’ve heard of many of us. David Copperfield. Criss Angel. Dynamo. David Blaine. And then, there’s me: Andrew Lejon. Seemingly less qualified to be on the list but equally capable. Other card mechanics are lurking nearby waiting for their opportunity to strike.
The tool of the craft hasn’t changed since I began studying magic at eight years old. It begins as tricks. It later turns into magic. The distinction is solidified with practice in solitude and classified in public. Can I palm a card? It’s not important because it never happened. The Diagonal Palm Shift isn’t included in the regular world’s repertoire. When the uninitiated researches an author, they expect to find answers. In the dark arts, the mystery of S.W. Erdnase is only the beginning. There’s a deep level of respect for the magicians of the past and tricksters of tomorrow. Nothing meaningless. A lifetime spent studying the creation of meaningful context in relation to magic. Legerdemain or the Card Table Artifice. The choice is always open.
This is a lifestyle more-so than a profession. Notoriety and curiosity opens professional opportunities that the dark arts never prepare you for entering. A talent manager represents you. Too much dedication to the craft and not enough time for the business. A light path is also a possibility. Words that laymen don’t fully recognize. FISM. Blackpool. FFFF. The Session. But the dark side is too rewarding. Many roads to obtain a notable level of notoriety. Respect isn’t guaranteed.
Magic is a language that speaks to everyone differently. Magic doesn’t require linguistics. Any country. Any place. Any culture. The magical experiences become the language. The effects and illusions become the portal to unlock communication between the showman and spectators. The level of showmanship determines the quality of the communication. Astonishment floats in the air. Uneasy laughter. A deep respect for the card mechanic’s skills looms in the air, but the possibility of witnessing real magic never fades. It’s a feeling that never gets old.
Respecting magic means being selective about performances. Doing magic as a novelty to share lighthearted humor is only offered in extremely limited capacities. It’s my decision. There’s a subtle art to approaching impactful performances. You begin inching towards a meaningful magical performance when the timing is appropriate. The suspense builds. A card mechanic’s timing can only be anticipated and understood after a lifetime of practice. The only exception is the light side of the magical arts that talent managers arrange.
Sharing magic isn’t usually associated with dread, but the life of a showman isn’t always ideal. There’s nothing worse than being treated as a trickster instead of a showman. It rare, but it happens. The psychology of audience management. The structural design of a magic effect based on emotional responses. Performance conditions. To the enlightened, names such as Darwin Ortiz, Juan Tamariz, Kenneth Weber, and Dariel Fitzkee have outlined the blueprint to an effective magical performance. That’s not a secret. And still, the most astute students of magic can’t always avoid performing for spectators that have no interest in experiencing magic. On these occasions, I usually bow to the shallowness with mediocrity. My magical talents are ordered to retreat, begging to be unleashed, reluctantly restrained, withholding their aptness to reduce one’s shallowness to speechlessness and respect. A talent I’ve honed for a lifetime. It’s a profession of discretion. A talent of magic that I reserve for mutual respect.
My magic performances are unique. I regularly bring it to places where privileges and luxuries aren’t options. Destroying one’s shallow perception of a magician is less important than using it to bless people where blessings rarely exist. The Jacks turned into Aces? Interesting. It’s far more interesting when the effect is symbolic of something deeper than a trick. Perhaps the values of the playing cards changed, and the spectators witnessed a changing metaphor for their own circumstances. There’s an art to making that happen.
That’s real magic.
Life Before Becoming a Card Mechanic
I don’t remember most of my life before magic. My oldest cherished memories contain a deck of playing cards. I was never alone. My playing cards went with me everywhere. I spent my weekends at the local magic shop, a garage of a local house that was converted into a magic shop and performing venue. Ben Seidman was the shop attendant, and he exemplified being a magician. Character development. Mystifying illusions. Over a decade later, I’d stumble across Ben performing on various television shows. From an appearance on Criss Angel’s Mindfreak to devastating Penn & Teller with his comedic timing on Penn & Teller: Fool Us!, my earliest cornerstone magical impressions set the stage quickly.
When I wasn’t at the magic shop, I could be found at the public library searching through magic books. 793.8 was the reference number associated with magic books. Theophilus Magic Shop on St. Paul Avenue doesn’t exist in Milwaukee anymore, but the beginnings of many magical careers are still on the shelves of local libraries. That’s where innocent magic books represent everything possible in the world. The dark and light arts, side by side. Close-up magic, street busking, stage magic, and everything in-between. It’s all there.
I don’t think anybody could’ve imagined how far 793.8 would take me. A boy interested in magic with hope for a future. The stars aligned perfectly. David Copperfield brought his magic tour to the Riverside Theatre in Milwaukee around the same time I was slowly learning the importance of 793.8. Since then, I’ve studied nearly every major magic show in the United States. Watching John deal with drunk hecklers while performing as Piff the Magic Dragon at The Flamingo in Vegas is an invaluable course on audience management. Mac King’s likeable persona while performing at The Excalibur can’t be studied enough. Criss Angel’s over-the-top live magic productions teaches a lot about marketing magic. I’ve dissected most magic productions in-person to advance the craft.
Being a card mechanic is a rite of passage. A privilege. Anyone vaguely familiar with magic can probably tell you the importance of places such as Abbott’s, Tannen’s, and IMS. This was only the beginning for me. I wanted to go to places that can’t afford to be popular. I wanted to learn sleights that don’t seem humanly possible to perform. I wanted to build a career doing magic in places that most people don’t visit. My life before magic made being a professional cardician possible.
Life Before a Magician’s Fame
What fame?
I’m not a famous magician. No sane person would do magic for fortune and fame. A card mechanic’s goal is quite the opposite: blend within mediocrity until an opportune time arises to strike. Derek Delgaudio’s AMORALMAN: A True Story and Other Lies gives insight about how this works. The natural progression of a mechanic’s career is a profession in magic.
In the documentary Deceptive Practice (2012), the late Ricky Jay, a sleight of hand master, claimed magic is a lonely man’s sport. There’s a lot of truth to that. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. That’s how long it can take to master a single sleight. A bit of loneliness must accompany the practice. But then, loneliness can become an addiction. Perhaps loneliness isn’t desired. But the skills you advance while in isolation are undeniable, and the pursuit of more ways to finesse playing cards becomes an obsession.
Joshua Jay is another prolific magician and philosopher of magic. He stays on the light side. He’s also one of the few magicians, deeply rooted within the magic community, that has a traditional book deal with a publishing company. One of his latest books, How Magician’s Think: Misdirection, Deception, and Why Magic Matters, can be found in many places. Outside his mainstream commercial products, he’s been heard expressing his disdain for young magicians that learn magic for fame and fortune. As the owner of a major magic company that also offers scholarships to young aspiring magicians, his thoughts have merit. Learning magic for fame and fortune is an abomination to the craft. The only respectable desire for a magician is to spread magic in a way that withholds the art as a respectable performing art.
A Day in the Life of a Card Mechanic
There’s a mysterious aura surrounding magicians that reality can’t always fulfill.
My job is to enthrall clients with a magical performance, mystery, and entertainment. That’s what I do. A card mechanic that does magic with a deck of cards. It’s a blessed life. But that’s not the end of the story.
A magician’s aura doesn’t always account for many realities. The venue conditions should be understood. Transportation and lodging must be arranged. Contracts must be signed. Non-magical things that makes the magic happen.
Also…
A lot of practice.
An insanely gross and manic amount of practice.
The amount of time a magician practices depends on what they’re practicing. Rehearsals for a formal performance. Patter for a trick that needs more context. Finer details to improve an advanced sleight of hand move.
I’m not alone.
Many performing artists live in a world consumed by their art. They’re practicing when they’re not performing. If I’m not doing neither, I’m thinking about both. Magic effects can always be improved. Performances can be enhanced. There’s nothing traditional about a professional magician’s lifestyle. Our daily routine is consumed with all things magic. Cardicians don’t consider perfection a possibility.
Most magicians think about magic more than an accountant thinks about numbers. A card mechanic thinks about a deck of playing cards more than a teacher thinks about students. It’s a switch that never goes off. A magician’s mindset always opens a new door for trickery, deception, and sorcery to occur.
Every card mechanic commits a different amount of time to practice, but nearly all of us practice more than we perform. Defining the blurry lines between trickery and magic is no easy task. Intense practice, study, and apprenticeships help distinguish the differences. From a magician’s perspective, it’s not always possible to interpret our spectator’s reaction. At the same time, magic is an art. Many of us perceive our audience’s reaction as an extension of the art we’re creating. The acceptance of our art being considered magic or trickery is far less important than the intended experience we practice to share. Understanding the perception of the magic we share is our reason for the dedication to the art.
A documentary that gives unprecedented access to a card mechanic’s life is Dealt (2017). It chronicles the life of Richard Turner, a remarkable card mechanic, on his path to overcoming adversity while pursuing excellence in cardistry. Richard was well-known to the magic community before the documentary was released. His notoriety hasn’t changed much since the documentary was released. His credibility and respect had already been earned.
It’s worth noting the amount of time Richard can be seen practicing throughout the documentary. It wasn’t staged. Richard Turner is always practicing with a deck of cards. Shuffles. Palms. Cuts. Stacking a deck. False Deals. He goes to sleep and wakes up with a deck of playing cards in his hands.
But Richard Turner doesn’t set the standard for how magicians and card mechanics practice.
Nobody does.
Some card mechanics spend every waking hour holding a deck of playing cards. Other cardicians are rarely seen holding a deck of cards in public, but are always mentally rehearsing adjustments for their next magical public spectacle. William Kalush is one example. You probably haven’t heard of him unless you’re a magician. Kalush is a master of the craft and historian of magic, but he’s only known to the general public as the author of The Secret Life of Houdini. You may have also seen him lurking in the shadows if you attended any shows when the David Blaine’s tour hit the road in 2017. Kalush wasn’t in the spotlight, but it’s people like him, lurking in the shadows, that pave the way for card mechanics like myself to present magic.
Final Thoughts about Being a Card Mechanic
Does being a card mechanic suffice?
A weird question that doesn’t have a clear answer.
To me, yes.
I’m a card mechanic. A magician. An illusionist.
I’ve sacrificed everything to share my magic. My seemingly nomadic adventures as a magician supports a lifestyle that allows me to reinvest my efforts into future performances, effects, and illusions. But I’m a cardician that’s a part of the anomaly.
For most performing artists, performing the art isn’t enough. This is particularly true for magicians. Magic was once a respected art that shamans performed for royalty. Today, aspiring young magicians must browse the games & hobbies sections of bookstores to find magic books.
Ease of access to information has permanently changed the expectations of a magician’s performance. Like all things magical, this isn’t good or bad. It’s a new reality that practitioners of magic must confront during their performances. There’s not a shortage of deeply profound performers.
Trust me.
I spend my days studying the art of magic, inside and out.
There’s a handful of card mechanics, usually found lurking in the shadows, that always boggle my mind when they perform. As I aim to accomplish with every performance, their effects baffle audiences, leave people speechless, and make the uninitiated question every ounce of reality. They don’t perform tricks; they perform magic that makes people question their sanity.
The mystical aura surrounding legendary magicians stands strong, but the general population has rightfully associated legendary performers with the dilution of bad performers. Rituals, apprenticeships, and mentorships have been replaced with young magicians being given unprepared premature access to the public.
This dilution of quality performers does more than disrespect the art of magic. It lowers the general public’s perception of magic, and it forces the qualified elite to practice the dark arts and exaggerate their presence in the light arts.
Steve Forte is one of the best card mechanics in the world, but you’ve probably never seen him perform. You’ve probably never heard his name unless you’re a card mechanic or saw him on The World’s Greatest Magic television special. Much of his career has been spent consulting casinos to protect gaming tables from dirty dealers and card mechanics. Jason Ladanye was trained under Darwin Ortiz, and neither of those names probably mean much to you either. Ladanye had a career in music before he became a full time card mechanic, and Ortiz dropped out of law school to follow a similar path as Steve Forte. Both are accomplished authors, lecturers, and teachers in the magic community.
That’s enough name dropping.
Yes, the magic community has been diluted with bad performers, non-meaningful magic effects, and irky cliches; so much so, that legendary magicians must do more than perform magic to make a living. We devote our lives to blowing minds with mystifying tricks, but many of us must use the same creativity to sustain a meaningful lifestyle.
Card magic has always been a part of my life. But my magic wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for my life before magic. The exclusivity of my performances is intentional. It exists to support an art that extends far beyond my own interests.
Let’s keep magic alive everywhere. If you want to support the advancement of a performer, support the artist’s dedication to the art instead of their decision to be a performer.
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