Let's say a stranger came up to me about a week ago, and asked me to describe a puppet shop in Prague. In my mind, it'd be modest in size, and completely lined with puppets of all kinds. And through collecting bits and pieces for this project, I've had confirmation over and over that there's a certain magic to puppets: they're objects, sure, but put into someone's hands it almost quite literally comes to life. So of course the shop would have that potential for magic with all those puppets, a potential increased by the fact that many of the denizens are fantastic characters of all sorts: angels, wizards, dragons, bandits, fairytale royalty, witches, animals, and who knows what else.
I've been to the shop three times: the first time I showed up there because I wasn't sure where the workshop at which I made Hero was; the shop itself was closed up. The second time was last week while my family was visiting, and it was my first time actually in the shop. I hadn't really thought about my "ideal" puppet shop, but walking in essentially confirmed that this was it.
Yesterday was my third time in there, and I ended up staying for about two hours talking with Františka, a lovely lady with twenty-plus years of puppet experience. I came in during a bit of a lull in the afternoon: a couple people drifting in and out, but even these were a bit few and far between. I looked around a bit, we chatted a touch about my coat, and I asked if I could ask her a couple questions about puppets. She said of course, and offered to make up some tea (and who am I to turn down a cup of tea?). She gave me a little history of Czech puppetry, and said small traveling productions were not only entertainment, but they were a vehicle to spread and preserve Czech language, culture, and history under the increasingly-Germanized rule of the Habsburgs; and they were a way to poke fun under their oppressive rule without much fear for repercussion. I had seen this elsewhere in my reading over the summer as well: puppets had a sort of jester's license to say what needed to be said, things that, said by anyone else, might not go over so well with management. Somewhere in there our discussion was interrupted by a Mexican couple looking to buy a couple puppets, but going back and forth as to which to get, trying to negotiate a better price, one taking a couple phone calls in between, and essentially amounting to a cliental whirlwind. Františka had to call the artist a few times to get the price negotiations for their various options, then there were some issues with the amount because the couple didn't have appropriate cash, but they couldn't charge the order, and they hadn't really decided on what they were getting in the first place. Finally they settled on two large marionettes that were completely different than what they had originally considered. They paid for the puppets, but had to leave quickly because they were going to the opera, so they gave the address of their hotel around the corner and whirled out almost as quickly as they had come. I personally found the whole exchange rather amusing and fascinating: The couple spoke Spanish between themselves, but were decidedly "American" in their conduct: very animated in their deliberations, and very assertive in their negotiations. This juxtaposed wonderfully with Františka's end. She kept up with their vacillating and negotiating, but she was decidedly more European in her level of tone. Then after they left she had to call the artist again to let him know how things ended up, and he was apparently very pleased with the result. And somewhere in there a girl about my age came in, and she was utterly taken with the shop. Then she wanted to take my picture. I was a little surprised, but I let her. Františka informed her that I was their biggest puppet, but I was regrettably not for sale; of course shrugged in confirmation, though probably not as well as I could have, had I actually had my strings. I leave you with a few more shots of the shop.
