Flying in the face of fear. (Starting Here).

SOME YEARS AGO a feminist writer authored a book called Fear of Flying. The title was catchy and resonated with prospective readers, and the book became a best seller. Although it was fraught with Freudian interpretations of flying, still the book had something to say about feelings of power and freedom and some risks implicit in reaching for those qualities.

Images of flying have challenged and intrigued humankind as long ago as--well, certainly no one remembers that long. There's the ancient Greek legend of Icarus and the wings of wax that melted when brought too close to the sun, thereby dropping the de-winged human into the sea. And there are Leonardo da Vinci's familiar drawings of a flying machine that enabled man to levitate and move above the ground. Both angels and demons were said to float free of the earth's physical limitations and be able to appear at a distance without setting foot on the ground. There's the pulled-up ballet posture striving for ever-increased elevation. Clearly, the act of flying incorporates unusual powers, freedom from obedience to ordinary rules of gravity required of earthlings, and a corresponding risk of falling.

Human infants are born with an innate fear of falling; they wail piteously when their heads or bodies are suddenly unsupported--even for a moment. Fear of flying, or rather of crashing, is so common that it is the subject of comedy sketches and high drama on daily soap operas; no one questions the existence of such a pervasive fear. Commercial airline spokespersons tell us that ticket sales decline sharply after every highly reported crash, and they speculate that the reasons are 1) passengers' reluctance to leave their loved ones behind on the ground, and 2) increased anxiety over the risk of falling from the sky.

More than just falling, there's also the fear of failing as defined by a sometimes-cutthroat capitalist standard and measured by financial wealth and independence. "How can I afford tuition for my children?" worries the single parent. "Will they make my job obsolete before I qualify for retirement and continued health benefits?" the worker contemplates. "Can I support a company of paid dancers?" asks the artistic director.

So why, then, do we have such an upwelling of what we generically call aerial dance? Are these people pioneers, as in Star Trek, who genuinely believe in exploring "space, the final frontier"? Are these spiritual seekers who challenge the laws of physics and devise ways to defy gravity's weight? Are they athletes who climb breathtakingly vertical ropes and then rappel down or outward, or are they artists creating images and making meaning in another dimension for themselves and their companies? Are they just trendy background wire work for films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon or Madonna and Britney Spears videos? Why, we wonder, is it no longer sufficient for dancers to go up on pointe, to launch themselves for split leaps or tours en l'air, to walk on stilts, or to bounce on a trampoline?

We look for some answers to these questions in this issue of Dance Magazine as we talk to some modern-day high flyers. These are not foolhardy folk; they work very hard to be physically and psychologically fit. They investigate and learn to understand their environment, bringing all their senses into play more thoroughly and carefully than most any dancer or producer. They invent remarkable rigging and procedures to reduce the risk of injury or disaster. Is there danger? Yes indeed, by anyone's estimation. Is there risk and fear? Yes, they tell us, but there is also the empowerment of overcoming it, or just getting past it and forgetting about it.

I think the courage required to go into the unknown is not significantly different for the young dancer just finding her way, or for those choreographers and dancers exploring their abilities and disabilities, or those metaphorical mountaineers who dance on air. Perhaps these artists are models for those of us--or perhaps reflections of us--who as a nation are just beginning again to get over our fear of flying.

Editor in Chief K. C. Patrick has worked for Dance Magazine, both in New York and California, since 1998. She was editor of Dance Teacher Now, a position she held for ten years, and was managing editor of Stage Directions.