Flight Risk
A reporter learns that the beauty and artistry of trapeze performance belie the strength and dedication it takes to master the skills
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At 18, Swanson saw an aerial show in Portland and took a few trapeze classes, which were “too easy” for the already-buff athlete. Swanson started practicing on a homemade trapeze hung from a tree in her backyard: a potentially back-breaking contraption of jump ropes, a Home Depot dowel and duct tape. She decided she had what it takes to perform and started asking around in bars to see if she could show off her new trapezing skills. She was happy to perform twice a week for the now unheard fee of $30 per show.
“Now I would smack anyone who worked for so little (money),” says Swanson, who joined the Circus Maniacs school in England after finishing a degree in sociology at Portland State University.
Although she works full time, Swanson says she can barely pay the rent sometimes. Classes run from $25 to $35 per 90-minute session, and there are about 25 regular students at the loft. Group classes are weekly and more expensive private classes are by appointment. Besides running Aloft, Swanson stays afloat financially by performing trapeze, silks, or acrobatics across the country at various nightclubs, casinos and churches, mostly with principal Aloft dancers Beth Stare and Elena Kenney.
“I had a gig with the Lyric Opera, an underwater scene. I was above the stage hanging by bungee cords, lip-synching to a German singer. It was a cool job,” says Stare, 37, referring to her role as Flosshilde in Wagner’s Das Rheingold. “But creative things don’t pay.”
Stare funds her aerial arts obsession with a job as director of risk assessment at Guggenheim Partners. Swanson, however, depends on teaching and performing gigs to pay the bills. She shows me a video of her and her friends’ performances. In one performance, she is connected to bungee cords and dressed in fishnets, a tutu and red Bozo wig, dancing on and bouncing off the walls of Crobar. Another shows her in a mesmerizing, sensual, silks performance 15 feet above the bartenders at the same bar on a different night; Kenney dressed in a white, hooded body suit, twirling around above Abbey Pub patrons in a Spanish web performance.
“It’s really fun. But it sucks being up in the smoke.”
“I tell people I do trapeze…and no, not with the greatest of ease at all. It’s extremely hard,” laughs Leigh Hoekstra, 38, a beginner student who became hooked on static trapeze after taking a free trial class. “But it’s just a hoot. I feel pretty up there. I absolutely love it.”
After all that hanging, balancing, swinging, and muscle building, I practically fling myself onto the springy floor waiting for a rubdown. I feel good. I just learned the trapeze. I tell everyone. My triceps, lats and abs are sore for a week. A few days after class, as I jog through the park by my house, I stop and size up the playground. Swings, sand, slides…and monkey bars. Kicking
