- a San Francisco firedancing troupe -
Fire is a primal thing to us; it’s older than language, and it may be able to communicate things that won’t come across clearly in words. I like words; I write a lot. But fire is good for things that aren’t easy to say or write.
I tend to think of myself as a ‘fire artist’ or ‘firespinner’ rather than ‘fire dancer’. I have this squick about dance, namely that I think I can’t dance. Intellectually I know that anyone can dance, especially if they let go of preconceived notions like that one. But apparently I’m not over those painful ballet classes yet. Martial arts, theatrical movement, and gymnastics are an easier reference point for me.
I wanted to play with fire from the first time I saw someone with lit poi - possibly from the first time I lit a match. (I was a disobedient four-year-old. Even then I had fire safety instincts; I lit that match - in the end, most of the matchbook - in a half-full bathtub where I knew nothing would catch fire. Burned my fingers though.)
In a way the ’performance’ aspects are secondary to me. I’m an introvert at heart; all my years of theater experience were backstage, building sets and props and giant singing plants and costumes. But with fire, I don’t have to talk, which helps. And I don’t get stagefright with fire. During an actual performance, I can’t see the crowd much past the flames; I’m focused on what I’m doing, not the audience. And I’d still play with fire even without anyone watching. I do this for myself, first and foremost, and if I can share, that’s wonderful.
I can’t pass the physical requirements, but if I could and I chose to, I’d be a third-generation San Francisco firefighter. I think the desire for fire and danger runs in the family a little. We chose the firebird-phoenix on our logo partly as a tribute to the phoenix which is on the City of San Francsico’s flag. (Which, interestingly, was chosen just before the quake and fire of 1906; no wonder the city rose from the ashes.) This is a city that doesn’t just live on a fault line; it dances. Small wonder it’s always attracted freaks and fringe elements, artists and risk-takers.
Fire is passionate, gutsy, ardent, uncivilized, emotional and defiant. There’s no logical, rational reason to dance with it, and yet it calls to us anyway. Fire itself, and the many benefits it symbolizes, is a crucial element in many cultures’ mythology of human development. On some very deep level we know fire is important. We are mesmerized by fire; we stare into it and see much more than the flames. I guess I was a little more enchanted by it than most.