This article originally appeared in the Arts & Leisure section of the New York Times on December 18, 2005.
THE boy on the platform faces a pair of curlicued bronze candelabra bearing scarlet candles. He removes the central taper from one of them, inserts the index finger of his right hand into the metal hollow, upends himself and balances, his svelte, perfectly proportioned body taut and unwavering, supported only by the one finger.
He is Christian Atayde Stoinev, who turned 14 last week. He’s a star in the Big Apple Circus, the one-ring, zero-lions-and-tigers entertainment that has pitched its tent in Damrosch Park at Lincoln Center for its annual New York season, which continues through Jan. 8.
Some children dream of running away to join the circus. Christian was born into it. His parents, who hold administrative jobs with the Big Apple Circus and serve as his coaches, are former circus artists. Maritza Atayde, a fourth-generation member of her family’s Circo Atayde Hermanos, the oldest and biggest circus in Mexico, performed as an aerialist and with a pack of Dobermans she had trained. Ivan Stoinev, from Bulgaria, was a versatile equilibrist. Christian made his debut at 5, standing bravely on the shoulders of his father, who was mounted on an unsupported ladder.
Like many circus artists, Christian has multiple skills. Pressed to describe his line of work specifically, he calls himself an acrobat. His specialty is hand-balancing, which he embarked on when he was 10. One of his routine maneuvers is to perch upside down on two slender poles, each topped with a stack of four blocks, then, maintaining his equilibrium, remove the blocks one by one. “It takes about a year to learn to balance on two hands.” he said. “From there you just play with it.” The one-finger feat, he admits, is a rare accomplishment.
Tumbling combines with balancing in Christian’s most charming number, performed with his minuscule pet dog, Scooby, a Russian toy terrier. As Christian does rollovers, Scooby scampers over his body in the opposite direction, as if on a treadmill. Then Scooby stands poised on a small, precarious platform made by his master’s raised, flexed feet. For the finale, Christian lies horizontal on his belly atop a single pole, legs stretched wide, with Scooby poised on top of him like a toy out of a Crackerjack box.
But Christian is singular – and poignant – not so much for what he does as for the manner in which he does it. He works with precision and alacrity, maintaining a demeanor that is all modesty and grace. Where you might expect show-biz panache, even a tawdry hard sell, he is guileless and radiant.
His combination of skill and unaffected charm (enhanced by dark good looks) has already won him prizes. At Monaco’s prestigious annual competition for circus youth last February, he won not only the bronze medal but also the cup awarded by Prince Rainier to his personal favorite in the show.
The limelight and its rewards are balanced by a demanding schedule of practice (several hours a day) and performance (some 10 shows a week). Academic instruction and homework are fitted around the circus schedule but never stinted. Christian is in the ninth grade at the circus’s One-Ring School House, where the student body of six is accommodated in a specially outfitted trailer. There he receives a weekly 15 hours of classroom instruction and eight hours of one-on-one tutoring, including advanced work in math, his favorite subject. He applies himself to his books just as he does to his unusual vocation, with the matter-of-fact aplomb of a professional.
Christian’s life is at once exotic and surprisingly normal. Even for a stage kid, his trade is unusual. What’s more, his existence is entirely peripatetic. He lives in the Orlando, Fla., house he calls home only three weeks a year; the rest of the time he’s on the road, housed with his family in one of the 60 trailers that constitute the Big Apple community. Yet he spends his spare time in pursuits that are regulation young-teen stuff: playing soccer with his local pals; shopping for the latest look in clothes and sneakers; playing video games; watching too much television; letting girls pursue him.
Despite his commitment to the circus, he also dreams about college. “I could play on the football or basketball teams there,” he said, “and – maybe I’m better than I think I am – even become a professional.”
Adolescence is a complex process with an unpredictable outcome. Christian may well outgrow his present grace. But right now, he’s magical.
Copyright © 2005 by The New York Times Co. Reprinted with permission.