Illustration by James Flames

"Stay away from the fire — you'll get burned!"

We've all had that admonition drilled into us from childhood. Yet, like Prometheus, humans somehow long to capture fire. We are called to its power and its beauty, beckoned by its untamed allure. We're mesmerized by it, or terrified by it, but some primal instinct simply will not allow us to ignore it.

"Fire is an amazing element — it keeps us warm, it nurtures, but it destroys too. It's something that requires respect," offers Lulu with an earnest expression. She should know. She's a fire dancer — a member of the Asheville-based troupe Unifire. Pyro-theatrics are their medium and the yearn to burn is their claim to flame.

Their shows are flamboyant affairs — eclectic blends of theater, athleticism, storytelling, choreography and, of course, many of flavors of fire manipulation. Fire spinning...fire-juggling...fire breathing...fire eating. These performers are adept at befriending, almost seducing, that brilliant and dangerous rascal.

In keeping with the otherworldly character of their art, the troupe's costuming has a gothic-bohemian-mystical edge — lots of black leather, makeup and masks (the latter often accessorized with torches). The effect is formidable and fantastic.

Unifire performs their feats for crowds at festivals, street fairs and fundraisers. They entertain at corporate functions, weddings and most recently at a Monster Truck Rally. Always with the same response. Awe and wonder. Oohs and aahs. Enthusiastic applause. "It pretty much brings a 'flare' to any event," Lulu says with a grin.

The troupe's dozen members are a diverse lot, with daytime professions ranging from librarian to architect to special education teacher. Some have been professionally trained in the circus arts, some come with a background in dance, gymnastics or martial arts, while others are completely self-taught.

Allie Goolrick

Blonde dancer Ilsa found her way to the flame by way of Zippo's Festival Circus in England where she found refuge as a fugitive from an unsatisfying corporate job. "I literally ran away to join the circus," she says with a smile.

"I went to learn trapeze and to become an aerialist. Instead, I became Ring Mistress and learned the hula-hoops. I didn't actually light up in England, but as soon as I got back to the states I did, and began doing fire hoops."

"I didn't study any of it formally," says Lotus, a slender guy with long ebony hair who spins fire staves and swords. "It's all kind of natural to me. Most people pick a job because that's how they were trained. Basically, I had a lot of dreams and I was trained by my dreams."

Fire dancing seems a fitting venue for dreams. It is, by nature, somewhat surreal, as are the props or 'toys' that the performers utilize in their art: hula-hoops fitted with torches, flaming roller blades, sombreros, umbrellas and fans, blazing Double-Dutch jump ropes and the ubiquitous poi — kevlar balls on chains that are set ablaze and spun at high speeds.

Great visual excitement is created by the trails that are perceived when fire is in motion, weaving patterns such as a complete, closed circle created by the spinning poi. "Your eye can't keep up with the light, so you're seeing the motion that occurred several seconds ago," explains Ilsa. "It's not just playing with fire; it's playing with time!"

In reality, it isn't play at all. Learning to manipulate the aesthetics of the fire — the comet tails of the staves and poi or the ten-foot pillar from the fire breather's blaze — is the result of dedication, not illusion. "The essence of a trick is that you're skilled enough at something that is seemingly impossible so as to make it look easy...so it must be magic," Ilsa explains.

To accomplish the magic, fire dancers work on their routines for countless hours, establishing muscle memory and familiarity with their props before they actually "light up."

"I lit up for the first time a year and three months ago," says Lulu, "but I practiced with the staff for three or four months, a good season, before I ever put fuel to it. I just wanted to keep it in a sacred and honorable space."

The sense of reverence for their elemental ally informs the fire dancers' approach to the craft and the concerns that are inherent in it. Unifire maintains an ongoing, cooperative relationship with the local fire marshal and takes extensive measures to ensure the safety of both the performers and the audience. All props are carefully inspected prior to the show and the artists don't use gasoline or kerosene — the flash point is too low, it's too volatile and the fumes are too toxic. Lamp oil, or paraffin is preferred, with other substances added to enhance the color of the flame.

Being present and intuitive during the performance is also key. "Fire has a personality," Lotus observes. "It knows when you're messing up and you know when it's being temperamental. Sometimes it's just out to get you and you'll know to be more cautious." To dispel any pre-show jitters, the troupe gathers in a circle to intone a Sanskrit protection chant that helps to center them and focus their energies on the task at hand.

Then there's the backup. "The water people are a crucial part of the crew for all conscientious fire performers," Ilsa notes. "They stand by with water buckets, wet towels and a fire extinguisher — whatever the proper safety equipment is for the trick that we're doing." The diligence has paid off. The troupe hasn't had a mishap in many years of performing.

Being part of the water crew serves a dual function, offering newcomers to the fire arts an opportunity to observe and apprentice. "It's not really an audition situation. It's more like, come, be with us, make your presence known and see how we work together," says Ilsa. "Eventually, you may be invited to perform. If someone is very experienced and has skills they might be invited right away, but most start out as water people."

Those with experience usually come to Unifire through word of mouth, spread by an informal, international network of fire performers. "It's not like your normal business where we hire people and provide them with their tools," Lotus explains. "They come with their own instruments, their own training and their own sense of responsibility. Then we marry them to the moment — where they'd be placed in a performance — based on their skills, their costuming and how much effort they're willing to put into it. It's really a sliding scale."

Allie Goolrick

Despite their love of the art and enthusiasm to share it with the public, the performers advise caution to those who might be tempted to try it at home. "The worst thing that we could imagine would be hearing of a child who saw our show, experimented on their own and got really hurt," says Ilsa. "We'd rather educate people on the proper way to do it if they are really interested."

Lotus agrees. "It doesn't make sense to keep it a closed genre. If people are going to do something, they're going to do it. We can show them how to do it responsibly." To that end, Unifire will be performing and teaching a Fire Safety workshop at the Americana, Burlesque and Sideshow Festival at Asheville's Orange Peel Social Aid and Pleasure Club, July 13-15.

But most of us are content to stand back and allow these brave souls to delight us with their talents, boldly going where we don't dare to tread. Dancing with the divine. But it doesn't come easy for them either. It's a conscious decision to step beyond the boundaries.

"It depends on where you come from," Lulu observes. "Am I going to be scared, or am I going to accept that this is a beautiful world despite all its suffering and horrors? It's about choosing whether to walk with or without fear.

"People have a fear of getting hurt that makes them cautious, so they tend to stay away from extremely beautiful experiences because they are dangerous," Ilsa adds. "There are a lot of things out there that are dangerous, but are well worth facing your fear down and doing. There's a real growth opportunity in that."