In Defense of Flow
This image shows Corina Roche Baron practicing lyra in Studio B at Momentum Aerial.
Written by Momentum Aerial Lyra Student Corina Roche - Baron
On the first day of the semester, I’ve started telling my classroom full of college freshman that I am an aerialist. It’s the “fun fact” about myself. I show them a picture of myself doing something like a gazelle split, typically met with nods of begrudging approval. I hope this shows the students that I am, in fact, a three-dimensional being. I am someone who does more than grade their papers and feebly attempt to bond with them over the etymological origins of the word “rizz.”
Just last week, now that we are at the end of our semester, while my students attempted to outline their final paper, I showed them two videos. One video consisted of my very first open gym ever when I could barely vine climb into the lyra, and one was taken over a year later where I do a Delilah mount, then a top bar double knee hang, then a clock split. I framed it as a “how it started vs. how it’s going” sort of thing in my attempts to normalize the idea of gradual effort. Of actually working towards a goal in increments. Of not immediately quitting because something is hard.
My memories of my first semester of lyra mostly consist of the bruises I would discover after class. The second semester’s memories have been completely conquered by our showcase dance – “Fame” by David Bowie. I did a pasta angel at the end, and we all wore blazers. 1C, however, was frustrating at times – I felt like I was never strong enough. I couldn’t do real pullover, nor hold a straddle-up without cheating a little. I was convinced front beats were a bedtime story that teachers told to baby aerialists. My classmates were practicing their egg rolls while I could barely hover my butt off the hoop. So, selfishly, I was relieved when our stalwart Joanie suggested a flow semester: “This summer semester was so rushed, and you hardly got to really work with the new curriculum. A flow semester would give you more time with it. What do you all think?”
I shrugged and made a big show of being completely unbothered by either option, but the relief I felt was palpable when my classmates all voted for a flow semester. My reasoning was that I could kick the skills check “can” down the road a few months. I could train. Which I did – I started lifting weights, I religiously went to open gym. I was so focused on checking off the “hard” skills on the skills checklist that I started having stress dreams about straddle-ups. But one day, I sent Joanie an email of songs that struck me as possible performance songs when I was bored at a meeting, and somehow my muse spoke to her muse.
Artistry. I had forgotten artistry, but my flow class, Joanie, and the moody blues song we selected would remind me of it.
I’ve noticed something: any sport that involves artistry is often sniffed at as “not a real sport” by the sexists and the gatekeepers. Olympic Ice Skating, competitive cheerleading, ballet, women’s gymnastics – all have been seen by some as “girly” or even frivolous, and all are evaluated (at least to some degree) on the level of artistry that the performer is able to achieve. However, artistry is also erroneously viewed as some sort of innate ability that the lucky are born with and the unlucky are doomed to live without. My students certainly don’t think that artistry in their writing is something they can achieve with practice. “I’m just not good at English,” they moan. What they mean is I’m not immediately good at it, so I don’t want to try. “Look,” I cry, gesturing to my clumsy climbing from my “before” video. “You just have to work on it.”
I had forgotten to take my own advice. Perhaps the Puritan work ethic got me, but I realized that I had been entirely focused on learning as many poses as possible with no thoughts about weaving those poses together. It’s called aerial dance because it’s a form of dance. Why had I stopped dancing?
Participating in Lyra 1C flow this past semester has developed my artistry in a way that it hasn’t been cultivated before – I’m not just learning new movements, or learning how to do them better, but I’m also learning new movement pathways. The musicality of the movements. Moving from just “doing” a pose to making it beautiful, making it my own. I remember texting a classmate back when the decision to take a flow semester was made – she was frustrated that we wouldn’t be spending a semester learning new poses. I bet we’ll learn a few was my response, and I would end up being right – but we didn’t just learn some new poses, we learned how to paint them in the air.
Our performance is getting closer. I’ve joked with my freshman that I have “finals,” too. The showcase and the skills check still await me, but thanks to this semester, I’ve now done proper pullovers. I can now hold a straddle-up without cheating. I’m pleased to report that my front beats have a 90% success rate. I’m also beyond pleased to hear that my silks cohort will be taking 1B flow in the spring. I wonder what will I be able to do, beautifully, then?