High above a sea of faces, cocooned in swathes of silken material, I live my passion as an aerial dancer. The air is my domain, and the rigging my partner. The world views me as a 55-year-old Korean who doesn't fit neatly into society's boxes, yet up here, none of that matters. I am not bound by age, by binary constraints, or by gravity itself. I am simply an artist, twirling in the vast, open canvas of the sky, interpreting the world through my movements. Each performance is an intimate exploration.
As I ascend onto my lofty stage, there is always a moment of slow build. My heart throbs in its cage, a wild bird fluttering against the bars. I extend my legs, peeling away from the ground, and suddenly, I am embraced by the air. My body snaps into a rhythm of its own. My limbs coil around the silk, muscles burning with anticipation; it's like the tempting pause before plunging into a good book, a click to explore, but no page has yet been turned.
The arcs and spirals are like a conversation between me and my art. Sometimes I lead, commanding my body into forms and movements, shaping the narrative of the performance with the steel core of my experience and the wisps of my creativity. In other instances, the fluidity and the flight take over, the dance itself guiding my movements, sweeping me into a wild yet gracious waltz in the sky. This power exchange, the synergy between the body's control and the letting go to the whims of the wind, the dance, forms the heart of my performance.
The spotlight's glare illuminates the painted streaks on my face – an abstraction of a mask, a rebellion against age, a dismissal of gender norms. The audience watches in hushed silence, eyes wide and gleaming in the dim light, hungry for every twist, every plunge. The falling, the soaring, it's a breathless dance of trust, a titanic tussle of strength and vulnerability. I defy, I submit, I taunt, I yield - I chart a mesmerising choreography of power exchange that leaves the audience enthralled, on the precipice of their seats, captivated by the unfolding drama wrought by my body spiralling in the air.
In the quiet aftermath, as the reverberating echo of applause fades, I find myself suspended from the rafters, swathed in silent reflection. Each dance is a journey embarked upon, a story told, a secret shared. Its intimacy is its power, the raw energy of being laid bare in front of a crowd, of presenting oneself without veneer or pretence. I am not a 55-year-old Korean who refuses to fit in a box. I am an aerial dancer – an artist who uses their body as a paintbrush, the air as their canvas, their passion as the colour. As I descend, I leave a part of myself up there, intertwined with the rigging and the silk, a testament to another tale spun, another dialogue danced in the sky. |
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