I want to end this series on lighting with a story about something that is not, strictly speaking, about lighting at all. It is about color. But it turns out that color and lighting are so deeply intertwined that you cannot really talk about one without the other, and the person who made this click for me was not a lighting designer or a theatre technician. It was a comedy magician named Michael Finney.
I came across Finney’s approach through Scott Alexander’s lecture notes. Alexander discusses production value — the overall quality and polish of a show’s visual presentation — and makes a point that stopped me cold when I first read it. He says that production value does not require expensive equipment. It does not require a lighting rig or a fog machine or a high-end sound system. It can come from something as simple as color coordinating your costume with your props and your table cloth.
And the example he cites is Michael Finney.
Finney, from what I could learn, was known for having a show that looked polished, professional, and cohesive. Not because he had the biggest budget or the most elaborate production. Because everything matched. His costume coordinated with his props. His props coordinated with his table dressing. His table dressing coordinated with the overall color scheme of his stage setup. The result was a visual experience that felt intentional, considered, and complete — even though the individual elements were not expensive or elaborate.
When I read this, I had one of those moments where a principle you have been circling around for months suddenly crystallizes into something you can act on. I had been thinking about lighting as a separate concern, sound as a separate concern, costume as a separate concern, props as a separate concern. Finney’s approach — or rather, Alexander’s description of it — made me realize they are not separate concerns at all. They are all part of the same visual experience, and the audience’s perception of quality depends not on any one element in isolation but on how all the elements work together.
My Own Wake-Up Call
Before I encountered the Finney principle, here is what a typical show of mine looked like, visually:
I would wear whatever suit I happened to have packed for the consulting work that preceded the performance. Usually charcoal gray or navy blue. I would set up my props on a table covered with whatever cloth I had — a black polyester throw I had picked up at a fabric store. My props were a mixture of finishes and colors: a silver ring, a deck of cards with blue backs, a brown leather wallet, a white envelope, a black marker. The lighting was whatever the venue provided.
Each element, individually, was fine. Professional enough. Not embarrassing. But when I looked at a video of myself performing, something felt off. The overall visual impression was scattered. Random. Like a collection of unrelated objects happening to be on the same stage at the same time. There was no visual coherence. No sense that someone had thought about how all of this looked as a unified whole.
The audience probably did not think consciously about any of this. They were not sitting there thinking “his marker does not match his table cloth.” But I believe — and my experience since then has confirmed — that they felt it at a subconscious level. The scattered visual presentation communicated something about the show before I even opened my mouth: this is informal. This is casual. This is something someone threw together.
That is the opposite of what you want the audience to feel at the start of a show. You want them to feel: this person is prepared. This is going to be good. I am in capable hands.
The Experiment
After reading about Finney’s approach, I decided to run an experiment. I did not overhaul everything at once. I started with one change: I picked a color palette and made everything conform to it.
The palette I chose was simple: black, deep charcoal, and silver. These are colors that work under virtually any lighting condition, project professionalism and sophistication, and are easy to find across multiple categories of items.
I bought a black velvet table cloth to replace the polyester one. I sourced props in black and silver where possible — a matte black card case, a silver prediction device, a black and silver pen. I already owned dark suits, so the costume was covered. For the few props that could not easily be replaced with color-coordinated versions — a deck of cards, for instance — I chose designs with dark, understated backs rather than the bright primary colors that many decks feature.
The first time I set everything up with the new color coordination, the difference was immediately visible. Not dramatic — I had not built an elaborate themed set. But the overall visual impression had shifted from “random collection of stuff” to “considered, intentional, this person thought about this.” The table looked like it belonged with the performer. The props looked like they belonged with the table. The whole stage area had a visual coherence that it had never had before.
I performed with the new setup at a corporate event in Vienna, and the feedback included something I had never heard before: someone told me the show “looked really polished.” Not that the magic was good. Not that I was funny or engaging. That the show looked polished. They were responding to the visual presentation as a whole, and what they were seeing — without being able to articulate the specific cause — was color coordination.
How Color Coordination Interacts with Lighting
Here is where this connects back to lighting. The color of your props, your costume, and your stage setup does not exist in isolation. It exists under light. And light changes how color looks. A deep navy suit that looks rich under warm amber light can look dull and flat under cool white fluorescent. A silver prop that catches warm light beautifully might look washed out under blue-toned lighting.
This means color coordination is not just about the colors of the objects. It is about the colors of the objects under the lighting conditions you will actually be performing in. When I set up at a venue now, I check how my props and table look under the actual lighting from the audience’s perspective. Sometimes a prop that looked great in my practice room looks wrong under the venue’s lights. These issues are easy to fix during a walkthrough — reposition a prop, angle the table, ask for a lighting adjustment — but impossible to fix once the show has started.
Dan Harlan’s framework in Tarbell Lesson 83 groups set, props, costumes, and lighting together as “inanimate” elements — the physical environment the audience sees. As Harlan puts it, if you do not customize and coordinate your props, “you look like every other magician buying off the shelf.” The same applies to the entire visual field. The audience does not see your costume, then separately your table, then separately your props. They see one integrated image. And that image either looks intentional or it looks accidental.
The Practical System I Use Now
Let me walk through the practical system I have developed, because I think the specifics are more useful than the theory.
My base color palette remains black, charcoal, and silver. This has proven to be the most versatile choice for the kinds of venues I perform at — corporate events, conference stages, private functions. It reads as sophisticated without being flashy. It works under warm light and cool light. It does not compete with venue decorations or event themes.
For my costume, I wear dark suits — charcoal or black. The shirt is usually a deep, rich color rather than white, because white shirts under stage lighting can bloom and become distractingly bright. A dark gray or deep blue shirt under a dark jacket gives me a more cohesive, controlled look under lighting. The tie, if I wear one, picks up one of the accent colors from my props.
For props, I have gradually replaced or selected items that fit the palette. Where a prop must be a specific color for functional reasons — certain cards, certain types of envelopes — I choose the most subdued version available. A navy deck rather than a bright red deck. A cream envelope rather than a stark white envelope. A brushed metal pen rather than a shiny plastic one.
For the table and stage setup, the black velvet cloth is the foundation. It absorbs light rather than reflecting it, which prevents unwanted glare and creates a clean, dark surface that makes props stand out by contrast. Any additional items on the table — a glass of water, a phone stand, a small case for props — are black, dark gray, or silver.
And for lighting, I request warm tones. This is the final piece of the system. Warm light — particularly the bastard amber tone that Harlan recommends — ties everything together. Under warm light, the dark palette looks rich and sophisticated. The silver accents glow. The performer looks healthy and present. The overall visual impression is one of intentionality and quality.
Under cool light, the same palette would look stark and cold. Under warm light, it looks elegant and inviting. The lighting is not a separate consideration from the color coordination. It is the finishing layer that makes the coordination work.
Why This Is the Capstone
I am ending the lighting section with this topic because it represents the integration point where lighting stops being an isolated technical concern and becomes part of a holistic visual design. Lighting is the medium through which the audience sees everything. And everything they see — your face, your hands, your costume, your props, your table — is either working together to create a cohesive visual experience or working at cross-purposes to create a scattered one.
Michael Finney understood this. A show does not look professional because of any single element. It looks professional because every element has been considered as part of a whole.
The Adult Learner’s Advantage
When I started performing, I did not think about visual design because I did not know to think about it. I was focused on the effects, the sleights, the scripting, the enormous challenge of simply getting through a performance without dropping something.
But as a strategy consultant, I know something about systems thinking. The individual components of a system matter less than how they interact. Optimizing any single element in isolation often produces worse results than making modest improvements across all elements simultaneously. The audience’s experience is always holistic — they experience the whole, not the parts.
Color coordination, integrated with intentional lighting, is systems thinking applied to performance. It costs almost nothing. It requires no special skill. It just requires the awareness that these visual elements exist, that they interact, and that managing their interaction is part of the performer’s job.
That awareness started with reading about Michael Finney in Scott Alexander’s lecture notes and thinking: of course. Of course the audience sees one picture, not a collection of independent parts.
It is obvious once someone points it out. But nobody pointed it out to me for the first two years of performing. The day I color-coordinated my show and matched it to warm lighting was the day it stopped looking like a guy doing tricks and started looking like a show.
That is the difference. And it is where this lighting series ends: not with a technical tip, but with a design principle. Make it all one picture. Make the picture intentional. And light it warm.