Walker doesn’t hear the girl, but after a nod from her professor her face brightens and she skips to retrieve her hoop. He said later that before her presentation, they had discussed using fire, but both decided it was probably better not to, “to make sure there weren’t any catastrophes.” According to the professor, there have been dramatical and musical presentations in previous Philosophy of the Arts courses, but fire dancing was a first.

At the front of the room with the hoop over her body, she starts swinging her hips in a hula-hoop motion and her hands rhythmically lift the circling hoop over her head and then let it fall back down all while still spinning. The hoop is too large to keep spinning just on her hips, so she must keep it turning with the help of her rotating wrists. Her dance is fluid and beautiful to watch; the genuine ease and enjoyment she feels from her dance radiates from her unpretentious smile. After awhile, she sets down the hoop to a big applause from her classmates and an “Oh, I loved it,” from her professor and takes out two strings with balls attached from her backpack.

Many fire dancers are also knowledgeable in this form of fire dancing called Poi. According to her presentation, “Poi” is the Maori word for “ball” on a cord. The indigenous Maori men of New Zealand used Poi to improve coordination needed for battle, and the women to increase flexibility necessary for weaving. Aside from its capacity to strengthen, Poi was also used as a weapon. During her demonstration she tells us to focus on her wrists, which are spinning the balls in large circles, to see how the motion of one hand essentially follows the other. The balls look like an extension of her arms, and impressively, never hit each other. “I feel foolish,” she says a couple of times, breaking the silence. But there’s no response – everyone’s eyes stay glued to her dance. Lisa Walker has had similar responses from audiences all over the world. This adventurous trait of hers fits the stereotype she describes of fire dancers; she is world-traveled, well-educated, ‘hippie-esque’, and between the ages of 20 and 40. Walker embodies the fire dancing spirit of self-expression. While many dancers join fire troupes, she dances most often by herself and doesn’t associate with one troupe in particular. For example, when she was backpacking through Romania, she had opportunities to join and perform with six different fire troupes on the road, but instead chose to meet up with random street performers for a couple days at a time.

It all started for Walker when she was 15 going to underground raves or “trance parties” where “tall people” played with glow sticks on strings. Then at her first music festival at age 16, she fell in love with the motion of the dancers she saw and with the way they expressed themselves. She had an interest in music to begin with, but a Jewish summer camp in upstate New York introduced her to the folk rock music of the Indigo Girls and the psychedelic rock music of the Grateful Dead, which they were playing all the time. She liked both group’s music and started following them to festivals where they performed.

“I was uncoordinated when I was young,” she laughs. After only a year of practicing with glow sticks, Walker began practicing with fire. The motions for each are the same, so the transition wasn’t too difficult, apart from the added risk of managing fire. She never had any formal instruction in fire dancing; she learned the art from watching other people, a common experience for fire dancers. Her cloth-covered hoop is only her practice hoop, but she has another one that can be lit with fire. On the fire hoop, wicks are attached to spines that protrude from the hoop and once white gas is poured over the wicks, they can be lit with a lighter (this way she doesn’t burn her hands holding the hoop). When spun fast enough the resulting effect is a ring of fire, but when spun slowly the five individually lit spines are distinguishable from each other. The equipment isn’t cheap either; the cost of a fire hoop ranges from $150 to $300, and the wicks must be replaced periodically.

“Don’t you burn yourself?” someone asks. “A couple of weeks ago, I lit my hair on fire,” she confesses. “And I had to cut out a chunk of it.” But the white gas fuel in the hoop burns slowly and doesn’t catch fire easily. According to the teachings of the Temple of Poi, “the premier Poi school in the world,” respect the fire and you most likely will not get burned. As their website puts it, “Playing with fire can be dangerous. So can crossing the street.”

Walker explains how she can hear the fire right before it will touch her and can therefore lower it from her head to her waist to keep her hair from catching on fire. There is a market for fire-proof clothing, but she normally wears jeans or tighter clothing. She couldn’t describe the noise the fire made whirling around on the hoop, but the sound is distinct and powerful. For Walker, using fire takes the role of music by providing its own beat.

“It feels so damn good,” she beams. “So natural.” Other fire dancers share similar experiences. “Sage,” the director, producer, and choreographer of Sangre Del Sol, a unique troupe of fire dancers, raves about the passion and willpower of fire and “just feel[s] high on life every time” she performs.

One of the most memorable experiences for Walker came when she was on an island off
the coast of Tuscany with her twin brother. They had been listening to some men playing the saxophone and the next day followed them to a boardwalk where they were to perform. The group let her and her brother fire dance and even shared 50 euros with them for their contribution to the performance.

“We went out and got wasted that night,” she confessed, showing her laid-back nature. But what especially stuck with her from Elba Island was the audience’s reaction. “I’m not a person to perform,” she says while mentioning how nervous she felt performing for our class. “But when I dance I forget the people are there.” That night she didn’t forget the children in the audience; they were dancing. It was invigorating for Walker to see their reaction and the extent to which she affected them. Fire dancing is very rewarding according to Walker – she equates the feeling to kicking a soccer ball into the net and scoring.

Walker stays true to herself in her self-expression. After only a couple of weeks studying abroad in Italy with a program independent of Boston University (CEA Global Education Solutions), she decided she didn’t like the program and left it to backpack around Europe by herself. She performed along the way while bouncing from one youth hostel to another. She was fortunate to befriend some jazz musicians from Switzerland along the way who introduced her to people she could stay with. One wandering took her to the mountains of Romania, where she spent a week and a half camping at a fire festival. She still keeps in touch with the friends she made in Europe.

“I love the culture of fire dancing,” she says, noting another time she participated in ‘Burning Man,’ a nine-day festival two hours north of Reno, Nevada. According to The Burning Man Project Home Site, it’s an “annual experiment in temporary community dedicated to radical self-expression and radical self-reliance.” Walker clearly has little trouble finding new ways to express her carefree, wild nature in her life. She said that everyone participates – there are no spectators – and all week people choose from a number of activities, including building art installations and a huge man in the center of the community. The Saturday night before Labor Day, everyone burns the giant man, along with any important personal items that people bring with them to burn.

Fire dancing is very popular in Thailand, Hawaii, and New Zealand, but is limited in the United States, just one more reason this Boston University junior stands out. She is one of a small number of American fire dancers. Kids in New Zealand fire dance in the streets, and as Walker confesses, “They are way better than I am.”

Walker has still been able to find troupes in Boston though and has run into people at parties who fire dance. There is a club not affiliated with Boston University that meet Monday nights at the College of Fine Arts (CFA) for a couple of hours. A sign posted on the CFA doors states where the meeting will be held that night since it’s held in a different room every time – “Just ask for Chad,” she says. On average, there are about 30 people in attendance from BU and the surrounding area.

“Whenever you get a bunch of fire dancers together, you can always learn from each other,” says Walker. They share techniques and practice through informal fire dancing. Depending on what the weather will allow, they practice inside or outside. For Walker, fire dancing has introduced her to new people. She feels the people who dance are a community of people without a need for spoken language. “When I see someone dancing I have an instant connection with them,” she says. “The bond is all-consuming.” It can’t be coincidence that fire has that same quality.