Air Apparent: Aerialists work hard to combine fitness with the arts 

Maggie Kingsley is wrapped in silk, suspended 20 feet in the air, when suddenly her body hurtles toward the ground. She spins, twists and tumbles as the silk unravels around her. In the blink of an eye, the silk tightens and she is again suspended in mid-air.

This isn't someone being hanged for a movie. It's the act of an aerial artist combining fitness with art.

As a single spotlight shines on Kingsley from below, the 23-year-old former Florida State gymnast makes her way back up the two dangling strips of silk stretching to the ceiling. She wraps her feet and bends forward until she is upside down, the silk draping from her arms like wings. After a brief pause, she unravels herself and slides safely to the ground.

While she continues near the stage at Chop Shop in NoDa, bands perform for the October Pup Crawl benefit. Kingsley's drops, poses and performance add an extra visual element to the music.

Circus or Cirque du Soleil-like performances have made their way into local gyms and clubs over the last decade. As a member of the Queen City Aerial Artists, Kingsley is just one of several performers introducing the aerial arts to Charlotte. Tara Riley, who founded the QCAA last year, is a weekly performer at Mez at the EpiCentre, where her fit, 5-foot-4-inch tattooed frame dangles from silks even higher in the air — a full 50 feet.

Riley has done her research on aerial arts. "It started in Asia more than 2,500 years ago — it's always been a performance thing," she says. "I think it should be viewed as a sport — just like dance is a sport. Circus performers are definitely athletes, too. In the last 10 years, it has become a form of fitness. Charlotte is just a little late to the game."

Riley began practicing aerial arts about two-and-a-half years ago and formed the QCAA in 2010 with the support of her husband and mother-in-law. Riley was working at an Apple store when a co-worker showed her some photos of his daughter at an Asheville aerialist workshop. While aerialists intrigued her, it wasn't something she pursued. But when her co-worker became ill, Riley realized life is too short to put off any dreams or goals.

"I always did the 'if onlys' — if only I was younger, if only I was thinner, if only I had more time," Riley, who is 37, says. "I really just wanted a challenge, but didn't think the opportunity was there until I went searching for it." She found opportunities to become an aerialist through Asheville Aerial Arts and Charlotte's Caroline Calouche & Co.

While searching for a place where she could hang silks to practice, Riley found NoDa's Ultimate Gym, where the ceilings are 20 feet high. The owner suggested that she teach classes in aerials. Queen City Aerial Arts — a name under which she could teach and perform — was born.

Riley, already a certified pilates instructor, now focuses on aerialists. Her students practice in a corner of the 30,000-square-foot cement-and-brick gym, which she calls "raw" because of its proximity to a practice ring where boxers spar and bells are ringing every three minutes. The smell of sweat hangs in the air as petite women work their acrobatics in the same room as MMA fighters throwing punches and kicks and jumping rope.

Riley's QCAA classes are affiliated with the gym and its membership requirements. Students can take walk-ins for $20, while monthly memberships average out to roughly $12 per session.

Another aerialist group in town, Caroline Calouche & Co., is a dance-based organization that incorporates aerials into plays such as The Nutcracker. It offers single classes for $15 in addition to monthly and semester packages.

"Most of the people in the company have dancing backgrounds, which makes it easier to blend our aerial and contemporary style," Calouche, who has been teaching aerials since 2008, says. "We learn the skills just like a circus artist, but we really try and blend it into dance or the theme of a show so it's not trick after trick."

Where Caroline Calouche & Co. performances center on dance and storytelling, QCAA takes more of a fringe approach -- performing in bars and at events around town.

While Riley was getting started at the Ultimate Gym, Jay Tilyard was working on opening the music venue Chop Shop next door. The two joked that the Chop Shop would be the first place she would perform. It wasn't a joke for long. QCAA has now been a part of various events there since it opened in July.

Riley never thought much about taking the act to larger venues with much taller ceilings. But when one of her former students, Jessica Baroth, sought out a performing gig at Mez, it peaked Riley's interest. When Baroth moved to Las Vegas to do aerials full time, Riley took over the Mez gig. "Every time I go up, there's someone waiting when I come down to tell me how amazing it was," she says. "You can make drops look really big and scare the heck out of the crowd, which is fun."

A crane at Mez holds the silks on a chain, which can be lowered to the ground, making it easier for the aerialist to hold on and be lifted into the air instead of having to climb 50 feet. During her first performance there, Riley clung to the silks for dear life, the fabric shaking along with her apprehension.

"I didn't know I had a fear of heights until then," Riley says. "With repetition, I've gotten more comfortable." There isn't an easy way to practice for a 50-foot ceiling, but Riley says she adds wraps and layering with the extra fabric in order to make a drop more dramatic or add more tumbles and twirls.

Aerial artists don't work with silks alone. Performances on the lyra, a steel hoop, focuses on flexibility and grace through poses. And then there's the static trapeze and the aerial rope. While QCAA performances are usually solo, Riley and Baroth did a number of tandem shows before Baroth moved away. With Kingsley and some of the other students becoming stronger performers, Riley hopes to have more tandem performances in the future.

"Not everyone wants to be a performer, but for some people, it's just in our blood," Riley says. "The stage is a drug to me. I was an actor/singer/dancer in high school. It's so much fun to pull out pictures and say, 'This is what I do for a living.' We're a special breed of performance junkies. Once you get a taste of it, you never want to let it go."

When you're tumbling 20 feet through the air with only two strips of fabric to save you, fear can easily take over. Riley never asks students to try something out in full effect until they've first mastered it closer to the padded floor.

Riley has one of her students lie down and slowly wrap her legs in the silks to get a feel and vision for what will happen when she is later suspended in the air. After walking through the trick, the student tries it out just a few feet from the ground, rolling out onto the mats to feel how her body will twist and turn. After all, it's easier to fall two feet than fall 15 feet and have the wind knocked out of you.

Practice and precautions ensure that the worst injuries are bruises and fabric burns. Students have their hair pulled back, are free of jewelry and wear long sleeves and leggings to prevent burns on legs or armpits. "You want fitted clothing since you're going upside down and don't want to flash anyone," Riley says.

Liability falls on the performer. While the QCAA is covered for practices by the gym's insurance, Riley asks her out-of-gym performers to get their own entertainer's insurance, which costs about $200 per year.

The idea of wrapping your legs and body in silks doesn't seem difficult, until you think about doing it with nothing but your feet -- 20 feet in the air. It takes a lot of grip strength as well as a strong core and upper body. While the muscles on Riley's back and arms are evident, even though masked by her ink, her grip is only noticed when you shake her hand. "My ring size went from a 4.5 to 6.5," she says.

Kingsley, the former gymnast, started aerialist classes in March as a fun way to work out that wouldn't hurt her already ACL-damaged knee. "I see it as a combination of fitness and art," Kingsley, who is an EMT and waitperson, says. "It's art in the way that it takes grace in order to look nice doing it. And it's definitely a sport because you can't just hang there and look pretty."

Most of Riley's students are either in or just out of college, though some are in their early teens and late 30s. "It all comes down to dedication and practice," she says. Riley spends six days a week in the gym and teaches 15 to 20 students. Calouche and Riley agree that a good portion of learning is mental — how a student handles frustration.

Once they get the hang of it, though, most become addicted. One of Riley's younger students runs up to her at the gym, a Cirque du Soleil video playing on her iPhone, and asks if she can learn how to do what she's watching. Riley offers her support.

Abbey Elliott, who joined QCAA four months ago, is on the road to becoming a performer. "I've seen such a difference in my body and muscles," she says. "I also love the artistic side. Learning a drop takes lots of muscle and skill, and then making it look pretty is something that we all struggle with. You have to keep your legs straight and toes pointed and don't want a crazy look on your face."

Elliott, a 21-year-old theater major, has the performance gene. "I feel like I've come leaps and bounds in the last four months," she says. "The first time I dropped, I squealed so loud. I love the attention when the lights are on you and the sound of the music is going. I love that thrill."