Professor Rem had a rule. And I broke it. A lot.
Jim Reminicky, known to most as Professor Rem, was a magician, well-known in many magic circles, not so much for his performance skills, but as a scholar of magic. He read every book on magic he could get his hands on. Early in my career, I could always count on him for a consult when I needed a reference, or just to bounce ideas off of. A nice guy, always in character, and always full of opinions. He saw me perform close-up magic at the diner for local magician meetups, and sometimes larger stuff at monthly club meetings. As I worked on integrating more balloons into my magic shows, he encouraged me to keep going but would sometimes scoff at the complexity of the balloon figures he saw me making.
One day, he saw me make a motorcycle out of five balloons. He frowned. Not the kind of frown that meant I’d done something wrong, just the kind that meant, “Oh, you poor, misguided soul.” Then I made a birdcage out of a dozen balloons. That’s when the advice turned into a Rule, with a capital R.
“Larry,” he said, “never use more than one balloon per figure.”
According to Professor Rem, and honestly, most of the children’s magicians I knew at the time, the point of a balloon animal was simple: give the kids a little souvenir at the end of the party, pack up your magic props, and get out of there before someone asks if you can stay for cake. Using more than one balloon was wasteful. Slow. Inefficient. Expensive. And it meant fewer kids got something before the clock ran out.
I understood his logic. I just knew in my heart he was wrong.
The first time I twisted something with two balloons, I wasn’t thinking about rules. I was just chasing an idea. Then two became three. Three became twelve. And before long, I was designing the massive installations I became known for. Rooms. Characters. Environments. I didn’t want to hand out a souvenir. I wanted to build something people had never seen before.
Rem didn’t get it. Not in a mean way. He just came from a different world. One where magicians stuck to their set list and balloons were a polite way to say “the show’s over.” I was bringing balloons into focus. I wanted balloons to be the show.
Fast forward a few years, and I’m standing in the middle of an indoor soccer field in Belgium, surrounded by a team of artists from around the world. We’re finishing up what would become the world’s largest non-round balloon sculpture, a massive soccer scene made entirely out of twisting balloons. No framing. Just air and latex. Forty thousand balloons.
When the last balloon was in place, I took a photo. I made a poster containing the sculpture and the names of the 40 or so artists needed to accomplish the task. And I knew exactly who I wanted to send it to. I signed it with a simple message:
“Professor Rem, you were right. One balloon.”