Outside the A-WOL warehouse at NE 9th and Flanders,
Franz trucks idle and rumble, waiting to load up bread from the nearby
factory. The sound of the trucks and the night’s chilly temperature
only add to the dissolute bohemian scrappiness of the scene inside the
warehouse, where 20-odd members of Circus Artemis have gathered to
prepare for their upcoming show. A girl on stilts teeters across the
concrete floor, clutching an accordion; a woman walks a wooden snail
toy back and forth across the stage, testing its wheels on different
surfaces; and in the corner, the band Pie for Breakfast practices,
strings warming an otherwise frigid space.
The high-ceilinged warehouse is the full-time home of the A-WOL
aerial dance company—above the stage, an assortment of ropes,
straps, and swaths of fabric hang from the ceiling, like a bondage
dungeon as envisioned by Barnum and Bailey. For three performances this
weekend, Circus Artemis will overrun the warehouse with an all-women
assemblage of contemporary circus acts, including trapeze artists,
stilt walkers, and clowns. The kicker, though? Not only are all of the
performers women, but the crew is as well, from the lighting technician
to the graphic designer to the photographers who will document the
show.
Circus Artemis’ three founders conceived the idea for an all-girl
circus at the Oregon Country Fair, where for years they’ve participated
in a similar event called the Girl Circus. Portland has a sizeable
community of performers who could be considered circus acts, thanks in
part to the presence of Southeast Portland’s Do Jump!, a performance
space and school that teaches physical theater, juggling, trapeze, and
more. But while there’s no shortage of performers, performance
opportunities are often limited to bars and 21+ venues—venues
that come with certain expectations for female circus performers, in a
town where both stripping and burlesque are omnipresent.
“Although I had been performing my whole life, all I was seeing in
Portland was ‘dark circus,'” says Artemis co-founder Kari Jones, who
hula-hoops under the name Revolva. “Sexy circus. Circus that
formed in a city with a strong history of stripping. I don’t have a
problem with people performing topless or being sexual onstage; there’s
room for everything in the world. But my numbers are comedic, funny,
and clothed, and I want there to be room for me, too. Yet I was
surprised to show up here and feel—noticeably more so than in
other cities—that I was being treated like a sex object. I’d come
on stage to do technical, gymnastic moves with multiple hoops, and I’d
be introduced by the emcee with comments about my body.”
“I’m a fan of sexy, but there’s so much more that we can do,”
concurs trapeze artist Daniela Steiner. “There’s a real range of stuff
you’ll see in the show.”
Shireen Press, another of Artemis’ co-founders says that role
modeling for younger girls is one of the most rewarding aspects of
performing. As she puts it, “It’s great watching the young girls go
from ‘I’m so cute’ to ‘I have actual skills.'” To that end, Circus
Artemis’ show is resolutely kid friendly—elephant ears, cotton
candy, and popcorn have all been promised. As far as what to expect
from the show? “We’re not Cirque du Soleil,” Press says emphatically.
Translation: Expect a rowdy, homegrown night of performance from a
circus community you didn’t know we had.