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Since most of the time we read only glowing reports of great accomplishments made by our peers and ourselves in the Art of Belly Dance, I decided to reveal some of those less than stellar moments of my (then) 23 year career as a performer.\u00a0 Yes, some of those absolutely stupid\u00a0 things that I have done in order to stand out in a crowd–or because I was restless.
\nI hope that by writing this article, it will help you to\u00a0 be aware, at least, of some of the things you may face when you dance with:<\/p>\n
Not once, but twice I caught myself on fire and the second time was serious enough for me to have to enter the Denver Burn Center, but let\u2019s go to the first time, which was sort of funny–and ridiculous!<\/p>\n
In the late \u201870s early \u201880s, burning candles started to became a popular prop with Belly Dancers.\u00a0 So, needless to say, I taught and performed with them all the time, but candles dripped, went out,\u00a0 and generally produced a very tiny flame; so I began to use cotton, soaked in lamp oil, along with \u201cflash papers\u201d for dramatic effect.\u00a0 I must say that drama<\/strong> was definitely something for which we all strove\u00a0 in that endless quest for standing out in a crowd.<\/p>\n The first incident was in a hotel and my prop was a hand-made, home-made candelabra, along with my new (just got it that day) Afro-looking permanent wave.\u00a0 Looking back, I think I resembled Shirley Temple<\/span>\u2019s older sister, but I felt ravishing and exotic. The room darkened during a slow, sensuous song from Babylon Mood. (Oh, the drama of it all!) My seven flames were shooting a good 10\u201d from each receptacle of that candelabra.\u00a0 <\/p>\n Yes, the audience was eating out of my hand when someone from the back of the room yelled \u201cHey lady! Your hair is on fire!\u201d<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe fool!\u201d I thought, \u201cHair doesn\u2019t burn.\u201d\u00a0 Well, my hair did burn, and though the hotel sprinklers never went on, the fire department showed up, complete with extinguishers, ladders, hoses, and outfits that made the place look more like an outer space masquerade ball. A fireman actually patted my hair to make sure the fire was out.\u00a0 Believe me! You cannot make this stuff up. As a humiliated, but a true professional, I took my bow with the fireman in hand and left the dance floor.<\/p>\n Needless to say, I no longer looked like Shirley\u2019s big sister, but more like \u201cThe Shaggy Dog\u201d.\u00a0 The manager even offered me extra money to get my hair cut at the hotel beauty salon because I had a second show to do later that night.\u00a0 It was certainly less eventful, but I had learned my lesson–or so I thought…<\/p>\n The second time I caught myself on fire was at the renaissance faire in Larkspur, Colorado, where Randolph<\/span> \u201cThe Chain-mail Maker\u201d built a fantastic pharaonic style head piece, a chain-mail bra, and hip band that was to be worn over a beautiful chiffon polyester Beledi-style costume.<\/p>\n When Randolph began to design my headdress, it consisted of an elephant bell built into the headpiece which would hold cotton soaked in lamp oil (just like I used in my candelabra and other flame adorned props).<\/p>\n At any rate, when he was working with my props, I quickly related the story of the fire on my head, and thus, claimed, \u201cNo one ever handles my props but me!\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n He laughed and then reassured me that The Fire Eater would be the only one who touched my headpiece, and that if anyone knew about fire and props, he did.\u00a0 Since I couldn\u2019t argue with that logic, I agreed.<\/p>\n Armed with the fire eater\u2019s knowledge and my trust, Randolph took great care of the headdress and even reinforced it with a leather base because when the metal chain male got hot it could burn my head.\u00a0 In addition, he used a similar method of creating a great flame, which was steel-wool soaked in kerosene–a method still used today by many fire eaters. Therefore, I was prepared for a spectacular show, performing with my burning pharaoh headpiece.<\/p>\n The crowd gathered with more and more people and as the excitement built, and the flames went higher and higher, I felt my head getting hotter in the sun and under the leather base built into the chain male. So I turned gracefully to Randolph in a very slow spin and said in my most sensuous quiet whisper, \u201cGet this damned thing off my head; it\u2019s beginning to get hot!\u201d <\/strong>\u00a0<\/p>\n Since I was (and still am) very aware of the audience, I had my back to them, doing a lovely submissive bow as I was making my exclamation.\u00a0 Then, Randolph, with Renaissance grandeur, began gently to lift the headpiece off of my head.\u00a0 –Did I mention that he was wearing leather gloves?\u00a0 As he lifted the headpiece off, the steel-wool that had been soaked in kerosene spilled and one sleeve of my beautiful dress burst into flames that were instantly (and completely) higher than my head and (Oh, no!) my hair. The flames shot incredibly high and people were screaming as I continued to turn, realizing that I was locked in that chain-mail. <\/p>\n While looking for an escape, I actually thought of 3 things: I continued to spin slowly as I thought \u201cOh God, I am going to burn to death in front of these children?\u201d when Randolph (by the grace of a higher power) tugged at the burning sleeve of my dress and managed to pull most of the burning fabric away from me.\u00a0 <\/p>\n Literally, I still shake when I think about what could have happened that day and that just the fact that I am alive, with only a few scars on my arm, is nothing short of a personal miracle. <\/p>\n Anyway, I finished the show, not because of professionalism, but because people were so scared, and I believe I must have been in shock.\u00a0 They actually relaxed, maybe convincing themselves it was an act, and we made a lot of well-earned tip money.\u00a0 (I should mention that burning skin does not begin to hurt until about 5 minutes later, so completing the show was not that great a feat.)<\/p>\n From the stage, I went to the back where a vendor grabbed me and threw my arm into a tub of ice.\u00a0 By that time, the pain really began to set in, and huge blisters were forming where the fabric melted to my arm.\u00a0 Immediately, I was taken to the Denver Burn Center, still in costume, and more or less, I\u00a0 drifted drama for more than six weeks, on Demerol and burn treatments consisting of many applications of \u201cNew Skin\u201d a type of dissolving bandage used for serious burn victims.\u00a0 By the way, I never danced with fire again–ever!<\/p>\n Moral: Don\u2019t light up your life!<\/strong><\/p>\n
\n1.\u00a0Flammable and inflammable mean the same thing.\u00a0 Material is not immune to flames, so ignore the instructions on inflammable items.\u00a0 You will <\/em><\/strong>burn.
\n2.\u00a0With cotton balls and lamp oil, you must wring out the excess oil.\u00a0 With steel-wool and kerosene, that does not happen.
\n3.\u00a0Oh, yes!–Renaissance Faire stages were surrounded with hay (lots of fire-burning hay), and there were no fire extinguishers, firemen, or fire anything (as if that could prevent a burning Belly dancer from \u201cgoing up in smoke\u201d).\u00a0 I have heard since that fire is not permitted at Renaissance Faires anymore.<\/p>\n
\n(Next Chapter:\u00a0 SWORDS)<\/em><\/p>\n![\"use](\"http:\/\/www.gildedserpent.com\/graphics\/acommentbox.jpg\")
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