Learning to Walk in the Slippers of a High-Wire Artist By Emily B. Hager August 12, 2010 Amye Walters tried not to look down. Her feet gripped a cable less than an inch thick that stretched 21 feet in front of her. Sweat dampened her long dark hair, black tank-top and spandex pants. The potential seven-foot fall to the ground did not scare her, but if she did not advance, she could imagine her father saying, You should have gone all the way. I know you could have finished it. Back in early July, still in her pajamas, Ms. Walters, 34, checked her e-mail before going to work. Her father had sent her a message highlighting an article about a workshop to be taught by Philippe Petit, who famously walked on a wire between the World Trade Center towers in 1974, an event chronicled in the Oscar-winning 2008 documentary Man on Wire. You should apply for this. Once in a lifetime opportunity, her father wrote. On Monday, Ms. Walters and five other students gathered in the lobby of the Streb Lab for Action Mechanics (SLAM) in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The three men and three women, two from New York, three from California and Ms. Walters from Atlanta were among 18 people selected to take part in one of three, two-day workshops. Ms. Walters, a paralegal working in a malpractice law office, was the youngest. The others, most self-employed or retired, stretched middle-age muscles and adjusted black-rimmed glasses. You don t meet wire walkers much, and it s very difficult to meet people who teach, said Tim Guinee, an actor, who reluctantly confessed to having some experience on the wire. I felt that something could rub off on me, said Howard Nelson, a physical therapist. We re starting in 10 minutes, Mr. Petit said as he shook hands with each of his new students. Mr. Petit, who turns 61 on Friday, has taught individuals, but this was his first group class. An empty manila folder covered in a rainbow of ink detailed his syllabus. He had timed everything out in his barn in upstate New York, but still he worried he might go off track. I don t understand time; time has always been my enemy, Mr. Petit said. He had invited the students into his world of wire walking, but had told them little about what to expect. Hopefully there s going to be something soft to land on, Mr. Nelson said. (The students would wear harnesses, but there were no mats.) The first morning moved quickly: warming up; doing one-armed somersaults and headstands; walking a straight white line taped to the floor; traversing a seven-eighth-inch-thick pipe fixed on the floor. Each time Mr. Petit approved of a movement he encouraged the student to ring a small bell hanging below the wire. Then the next person would step up, and to help with balance, he would extend a sassafras walking stick to the student s fingertips. Ms. Walters found walking the line on the floor easy. During college in Georgia, she and her friends practiced walking a straight line all the time, just in case. But the pipe was more humbling. That bar just feels cold and mean and hard and unforgiving, she said. When I step down on it, I just feel like it s fighting me. It just kind of wants to push me off. The course fee was $1,200. By the end of the first day the students were convinced it was worth it.
Over the two days, the class jumped quickly from the floor to several heights. Students walked or tried to walk across a slack hemp rope a few feet off the ground, and did the same on a wire. I ve never walked a slack wire, Mr. Guinee said. I was almost crying with that one. They struggled with long metal poles intended to add balance, but that mostly threw them off kilter. I got none of the logic with the balancing pole, said Elizabeth Streb, who paid full price for the class even though she owns SLAM. When they received their baptism with the seven-foot-high wire, safety harnesses supporting them, they braced their hands on Mr. Petit s shoulders and followed him out onto the wire. From the ground, Mr. Petit s movements appeared so sturdy it was easy to forget he had no safety line himself. Mr. Petit practices three hours a day, but has not been hired to do a major wire crossing in years. He s insane that he hasn t been on a wire in New York City since 2002, said Kathy O Donnell, his partner and producer, expressing how much Mr. Petit misses his stage. Mr. Petit makes most of his money lecturing, but the workshops at SLAM may become more regular next year. To make them more affordable, SLAM is trying to get grant money. As Mr. Petit baptized each student, he whispered guidance, saying not to look at his or her feet, but at the wall in the distance. First of all he fosters noncompetitiveness, said Mr. Nelson, the physical therapist, who by lunchtime on the second day was sitting outside nauseous. He thought he might have tweaked something in his neck, but blamed only himself. This guy is a teacher like no other, he said while bracing his head between his knees. He acknowledges when you do something well and he is encouraging when you don t do something well. And he empathizes. He seems to empathize with us, which I think is pretty hard considering this guy is probably the best in the world at what he does. On Tuesday afternoon, as Ms. Walters prepared for her final crossing, Mr. Petit handed her a pair of his own slippers. (For most of the two-day class, she had been wearing black dress socks.) She strapped them on, secured her harness and climbed up to perch on the wire s landing. Ms. Walters had made it across the wire during her baptism on the first day with Mr. Petit, and earlier that morning on her own, but now she would have the added burden of a balancing pole. She centered her strong foot on the wire, her pied équilibre as Mr. Petit calls it, but her knees sunk under the 22-pound pole. Her hips began to shake, and if she had not been harnessed, she might have lost her balance. Perched on the landing behind her, Mr. Petit helped her back to safety. It was very wobbly when I added the bar into the mix, she said. Ms. Walters describes herself as the kind of person who regrets the risks she has skipped in life, more than ones she has taken and failed, and as being happy when she can look back on her week, her month, or year and recall something exciting. So, when Mr. Petit asked, Do you want to try again, her answer was yes. His instruction was, Take a couple of steps and come back, she recalled. But as she started across the wire, she could not stop. Mr. Petit jumped down to the ground and reached up from below to brace the wire with his hands. When she reached the other side, she said, I m really sorry; I just didn t want to go back. The bell, exclaimed Mr. Petit. Ring it hard!
Amye Walters, 34, takes a turn on a wire, guided by Philippe Petit, the famous high wire artist, in a training workshop he began offering this summer. Mr. Petit showing his students a group of "regular" people a slide show of his past wire acts and plans for future performances.
The price of his 12-hour class, taught over two days at the Streb Lab for Action Mechanics (SLAM) in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, was $1,200 per student. Mr. Petit stabilizing the wire during a student's turn.
As the students progressed, they graduated to traversing a pipe that is 15 inches off the ground. The workshop included instruction on how to tie knots appropriate for rigging a high wire.
Mr. Petit making a list of luminaries who have inspired his work, including Johann Sebastian Bach and Mikhail Baryshnikov. Scrutinizing a student's foot posture.
Tim Guinee, with encouragement from the master, demonstrating how to walk blindfolded on a pipe. After this initial class, Mr. Petit is planning a series of workshops for next year that will be geared toward art students and performers.