The impossible becomes possible and the possible becomes impossible.

Burkhard Augustin Hase has presented his art in the cabaret and in the theater, at social and private functions, at business events, exhibitions, receptions, on cruiseliners and even on the famous "Orient Express".
With a combination of magic classics and his personal creations, he invents an individual programme for every occasion. The shows can be presented in German and in English.

ON STAGE

Reffering to the grand masters of classic illusion, Hase conjures in front of your eyes a magic that you have never seen before.

„Then the magician drew from his little suitcase a length of soft, pearl-white cord. He showed it to us: it was about a meter long, and quite limp. He stepped back against the wall, and without a word began to do things with the cord that are simply not possible unless one believes in magic. It had a life and a will of its own: he was its servant, its guardian. It broke in two, in three in four. It tied itself in and out of knots which glided this way and that.
It grew long, it grew short. It disintegrated completely, frightening us with destruction, and then comforted us by turning back into a perfect white O that hung from his hands. We could not clap loud enough to fill the high Victorian room.
On a tide of joy he surfed out of the room, waving. The door clicked shut behind him. It was unbearable that he had left us.“
(Helen Garner, „The Spare Room“)

CLOSE-UP MAGIC

More direct than in this close-up performance, magic can not be experienced. The audience is at point blank with Hase. In his vicinity, right in front of the eyes of the audience, the reality changes into a magic illusion, disregarding all rules and scientific laws.

In this intimate setting, Burkhard Augustin Hase interacts with his audience, giving his shows a very individual, a unique touch. The audience is right there with him. Through this up close and personal approach, you will have the ability to sense and feel his touch of magic.

“He pushed back his cuffs and picked up between his fingertips the spongy, ridged white ball. His grandmother, he said, had knitted it for him. “There are many ways to make a ball disappear. Do you want me to show you the fast way or the slowly way?”
He made free with the weeny thing, smiling at us genially. It flew up one of his sleaves and down the other, romping invisibily and reappearing in his palm. He tapped the inverted cup with his wand and made a magic twirl: the white ball vanished into the ether. Next time he raised the cup, there it was again-but it had become a tiny red ball.
He clapped the cup down over it: “Red or white?” Shy silence. “White?” He raised the cup. The ball had quadrupled in size and turned into a lemon.
We were his. Long before he had sprayed a deck of cards in a watery arc, made coins change denomination in mid-air, fluttered antiquities in and out silk squares and caused two “genetically-modified Dutch tomatoes”, round which I obediently squeezed my fist, to become three dutch tomatoes when I opened it, his enchanted audience was floating inches above the ground, in a swoon of laughter and dumb-strucked silence.
 (Helen Garner: “The Monthly”, Melbourne)