Last night at the EJC in Slovenia I finally saw Wes Peden’s Rollercoaster.

It had been touring for a couple of years, and somehow this was my first opportunity. I was lucky enough to be sitting in the front row.

When the show finished, I found myself almost speechless.

What struck me wasn’t simply Wes’s technical ability. Of course he’s one of the finest jugglers in the world. But that isn’t what stayed with me.

What stayed with me was his generosity.

It felt as though he wasn’t saying, “Look what I can do.” Instead, he was saying, “Look at all these wonderful possibilities.”

The stage became a playground.

Every sequence felt like an exploration rather than a demonstration. He kept surprising us—not with difficulty for its own sake, but with unexpected ideas, strange pathways, delightful images and playful discoveries. You could feel him genuinely playing.

To me, that’s what great juggling performance is about.

Technique isn’t the destination. It’s the language.

The purpose of years spent mastering technique is to become free enough to create moments that couldn’t exist otherwise. To surprise. To delight. To reveal something beautiful.

Watching the show, I couldn’t help smiling because so much of what I saw echoed ideas I’ve spent years thinking and writing about in Pearls of Juggling: variation, curiosity, playfulness, unexpected combinations, allowing your body to develop its own vocabulary instead of chasing someone else’s.

Creativity isn’t the opposite of technique.

Technique becomes meaningful when it serves creativity.

For years I’ve heard people dismiss “technical jugglers,” as though technical skill and artistry somehow sit at opposite ends of a spectrum. I don’t think that’s true.

The question isn’t whether you’re technical.

The question is: what do you do with your technique?

Do you use it to impress?

Or do you use it to create experiences that no one has seen before?

Watching Rollercoaster, I felt I was watching someone who had chosen the second path.

And that’s why the show stayed with me.

Not because I witnessed impossible tricks.

But because, for an hour, I was invited into someone else’s imaginary world and I loved it.