It’s a typical Wednesday afternoon, which means I’m hanging from a trapeze at the Philadelphia School for Circus Arts in Germantown.
Today’s trapeze class is with seven other women, and our coach is Rachel Lancaster who, even though she recently had a baby, is back to demoing all the moves for us with the ease of a mermaid swimming through her natural habitat. We’re working on a move called “Madame X.” It’s a trick where — through a series of moves — the trapeze ropes form an X behind your back, the bar hugs your middle, and you can open your arms to fly in the air.
If you were to zoom out and see me, I would look like a stringed puppet hanging from the rafters. I love this shape. I feel like a kid again. I get that irresistible, “look, no hands” kind of thrill. I wave my arms and cycle my legs in the air high above the earth feeling strong, graceful, playful, free.
So you’re not the performer-type? You’re shy? You’re not flexible? Too busy? I’m a stressed-out, 40-year-old mom with three kids. But I’m also someone — maybe like you? — who loves to be in my body, be creative, try hard things.
I started training at the Philadelphia School of Circus Arts (PSCA) about three years ago to learn to do handstands, to “get stronger,” to “accomplish goals.” But I stayed because of the storytelling. I stayed to perform the dance inside me. I stayed because my classmates and teachers became like a family to me. I was able, through act creation, through poetry in motion, to show a side of myself I struggled to show the world for many years. A vulnerable side of me that is full of pain and resilience, longing and joy.
Turns out, these feelings are pretty universal. I just needed to join the circus to find out. And in the process, developing some sweet upper body strength and a lean, flexible body has been nice.
PSCA is located inside a 26,000-square-foot gothic church in Germantown. It’s a massive, stone church on the outside, a bustling epicenter for circus performers at different stages in their careers on the inside. Forty-foot ceilings, beams and arches, wooden floors, stained-glass windows, natural light streaming in, an altar (now stage) and every kind of circus equipment imaginable inside it: a trampoline, unicycles, juggling pins, mats for acrobatics and all the aerial equipment you can imagine rigged at once: lyra, silks, rope, trapeze.
At any given time, you’ll see performers of all ages on various apparati training their acts. You’ll see Shana Kennedy and Kitsie O’Neill, the school’s female owners who built the school from outdoor classes in Kennedy’s backyard in the early 2000s to what you see today. You’ll see professional coaches with their students in Circadium, an intensive, accredited, three-year college program for pre-professional circus performers. Afternoons, you’ll see a gaggle of kids in after-school circus classes. Mornings and evenings, you’ll see adults like me taking classes for recreation.
That’s right, you heard me. Recreation. Fun. Remember fun?
Adults, listen up. Have you ever wondered what it’s like to swing from a trapeze high above the floor? Sound terrifying? Well, if you lower the bar a few feet off the ground with a mat underneath it, suddenly it doesn’t seem that scary. You can practically just sit on it like a playground swing, maybe lean back and make a shape … imagine you’re a kid again … open, curious, heart beating fast in your chest, alive. Lean sideways, legs in a V- that’s a “star.” Hang from your knees, that’s a “knee hang.” Stand on the bar and bend one knee … that’s “stag.”
Now imagine you’re performing something with your moves. You’re expressing something deep inside. For example: the star, the stag, the kid hanging from her knees, what does she have to say? What do you have to say? Maybe you’re breaking free from something, you’re opening up, you’re falling, you’re flying. Point your toes, flick your hair back. Tell me a story.
Circustown, USA
Philadelphia has a rich circus history. In fact, just 17 years after the Declaration of Independence was signed, Philly hosted the very first American Circus. On April 3, 1793, British performer John Bill Ricketts gave America’s first full circus performance at 12th and Market streets, setting the stage for future circuses nationwide. You can still see a plaque for “Rickett’s Circus” at that location today.
Philadelphia’s circus legacy continues to flourish today, more than 200 years later, hosting traveling shows such as UniverSoul Circus, Cirque du Soleil and a variety of circus shows at FringeArts festival in the fall.
PSCA had its beginnings in the early 2000s, when performer and founder Shana Kennedy started teaching aerial classes (rope, trapeze, silks) in her backyard in Germantown. Her husband Greg, a renowned juggler and trained engineer, soon knocked out a ceiling in their home to make space for an indoor juggling and aerial training space for year-round training. Curious students found out about Shana and Greg’s school (then called “AirPlay”) through word of mouth or from classified ads in the Philadelphia City Paper.
Soon Kennedy and her loyal, adult aerial students were hosting showcases to local audiences and everyone wanted more circus. Boom, the school was off and growing. In 2006 PSCA started offering kids classes. In 2008, “AirPlay” became the Philadelphia School of Circus Arts and took over an old bowling alley. In 2017 they finally found their forever home at 6452 Greene Street, where they are today.
This practice … has started to inform my life outside of the circus school. I’m happier. I’m a more patient parent. I give myself more grace. I get the household chores done faster, work smarter, so I can prioritize wellness and self-care.
From the very beginning, the Kennedys have been passionate about making circus accessible for all, opening it up from a niche pastime of the alternative to an art, a discipline, worthy of being taken seriously. Even when they toured internationally with Cirque du Soleil as a family of five in 2009, they came back in 2014 to finish their “real work” — running a successful circus school here in Philly. Kitsie O’Neill, quickly promoted to co-director, held down the fort while they were gone.
O’Neill is now primarily responsible for managing the recreational classes at PSCA. A graphic designer by trade, O’Neill was working for a high-end design firm in New Jersey when she started taking a backyard aerials class with Shana in the early aughts. It was just a hobby at first. Then, in 2008, her sister passed away and her whole world crumbled. Devastated by the loss, O’Neill could no longer work her 60-hours-a-week job. Circus was the only outlet that made her feel understood.
“I knew I needed a change in my life,” says O’Neill. “I just never imagined it would be stepping into circus, quitting a job that was no longer serving me and taking a huge risk, working with Shana to build a circus school. But I learned that sometimes you have to stop licking your wounds and take a leap of faith. You have to surround yourself with the people you want to work with. Shana never wanted me to be a copy of her. She wanted me to step into myself. I’m so glad I did.”
Kennedy founded Circadium, the college program, along with her trusted board of directors in 2017. A rigorous, three-year vocational program, Circadium currently has 20 students, each of whom declare a major, like straps or contortion. Until recent years, circus arts was not given the same accreditation as other arts, like dance, and there was no such thing as a degree — at least not in the United States. Licensed by the Pennsylvania Department of Education and accredited by the Accrediting Commission of Career School and Colleges, the degree from Circadium is much like a vocational training certificate. Unlike a Masters of Fine Arts, which can cost upwards of $60,000 a year, Circadium (being a “vocational” program) costs a fraction of that — about $14,000 a year. This allows students to afford to become artists without going into debt. “Artists deserve that,” Shana says.
Circadium graduates have gone on to audition for professional circus troupes, write and choreograph their own shows, win gold medals and hold world records in International Juggling, perform on cruise ships, in clubs, theaters, Fabrika (that’s in Philly — have you been yet?) and Cirque du Soleil.
PSCA has classes for kids who, starting at age five, can learn to juggle, stand on giant balls and balance, wire walk, cartwheel, unicycle. There’s a youth troupe for older kids who are really passionate about performing together as a group. (Their annual Halloween show is amazing.) PCSA also boasts a kids summer camp that sells out every year.
But I’m here to talk to the adults who need to have some fun. So you’re not the performer-type? You’re shy? You’re not flexible? Too busy? I’m a stressed-out, 40-year-old mom with three kids. But I’m also someone — maybe like you? — who loves to be in my body, be creative, try hard things. I’m someone who knows deep inside that having fun is truly healthy. I know that I’m a better parent when I take care of my own needs, when I don’t completely lose sight of who I am and what makes me laugh. I refuse to age out of fun and self-discovery. I know that flexibility is something I can train, a skill acquired over time, a transferable skill that builds resilience within me.
I also love wrapping myself up in metaphorical knots on the trapeze, the twisting and reaching and binding, then learning the tools and tricks to untangle myself, to come free, to “escape” from the apparatus. This practice of untangling myself has started to inform my life outside of the circus school. I’m happier. I’m a more patient parent. I give myself more grace. I get the household chores done faster, work smarter, so I can prioritize wellness and self-care and keep showing up at the circus school, the friends who have come to count on me and vice versa. Friends who when I say, “I think this year I want to do an act where I’m an insect” don’t say “What the hell are you talking about?” They say, “Great, which bug?”
So who are my circus classmates? True that some of my friends at PSCA are professional performers, but many are not. They own companies, they work at Starbucks, they’re nurses, they’re dads, they’re churchgoers, they’re queer, they’re from Philly, they’re from Oklahoma, they’re 25, they’re 56, they’re the woman next to you at Whole Foods, they’re me, they’re you.
Trust the move
Ok, so Madame X. I’m back in class now. Coach Rachel asks, How do you escape from Madame X, from this tangle you’ve gotten yourself into on trapeze? Turns out the answer is simple, you become a “Dragonfly.” You trust the move. You trust the apparatus, the art, the coach, experience, yourself. More specifically, you keep the right rope in your armpit, reach your left hand across your body to the bar, and whoosh, automatically the ropes uncross like a knot coming loose. Holding tightly with the bar at waist height, voilà — I’m in Dragonfly. I cycle my legs, dip my head back. I hold myself up with my upper body strength then, phew, fold over to a hip hang and roll off the bar. Ta da. My classmates cheer. I’ve got that “I just did the monkey bars” feeling again and it’s a pure rush of joy.
“Ordinary people should do extraordinary things.” That’s one of the mantras at PSCA, O’Neill reminds me. So is “come run away with the circus and be home for dinner,” she adds. I laugh. Pursuing circus arts, “doesn’t mean cutting ties with your regular life, it doesn’t actually require running away, does it? There’s no trading. You can have both. The wild thrill of circus and a regular life.”
On March 21, I’ll be performing a solo act on trapeze that I’ve been training for months. Dozens of my fellow talented adult circus friends will be performing too in what’s shaping up to be a fantastic show in a packed house. Of course my kids will be in the audience — to roll their eyes and cheer on their crazy, flying mom. My husband will be taking videos. And I’ll be Madame X.
Maybe I’ll see you there too?
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