“People are so wrapped up in being people that they forget they can be so many other things. Being human doesn’t mean anything. Think of how much more interesting it would be if people sometimes saw themselves as unicorns.”

— Fleeky Flanco

Fleeky Flanco, Contortionist, 2009

Story and photos by Cat Cutillo

 

“People are so wrapped up in being people that they forget they can be so many other things. Being human doesn’t mean anything. Think of how much more interesting it would be if people sometimes saw themselves as unicorns,” Fleeky Flanco said, who makes a living transforming into other shapes. 

Flanco is a professional contortionist who first fell in love with the art of contorting at age 16, when Flance was living near D.C. Flanco saw a picture of a contortionist on a friend’s wall.

“It was love at first sight,” Flanco said, “I just thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. You could change yourself so much. You could look so much not like a human anymore.”

For the next year Flanco trained independently in contortion and adopted the name Fleeky after a musician commented that Flanco sounded like a Fleeky.

“It took me by surprise because no one had ever said I sounded like something. It really stuck with me. Basically, it’s an anamanapia name,” Flanco said.

Flanco’s self-taught training included practicing yoga to learn more about stretching. Flanco admits that trying to learn contortion without professional guidance was risky.

“I had no idea what I was doing,” Flanco said. “It’s dangerous if you do it wrong. If you do it right, you can still get hurt.”

Flanco eventually enrolled in contortion classes at the San Francisco Circus Center, although building strength was difficult at the beginning.

“They called me ‘noodle boy’ for the first five years because I was just so disconnected in my body, and I would just flop around like a noodle,” Flanco said.

Flanco said some people are naturally built for contortion, but Flanco said they are not one of them.

“A body with looser connected tissue is good. I wasn’t particularly flexible. I really had to work for what I have,” Flanco said, who presently trains five days a week for four to five hours per day.

Despite professional instruction, Flanco has sustained many injuries in the 12 years of training, including busting a knee and dislodging the Adam’s apple to the point where Flanco couldn’t swallow for two minutes. But Flanco’s most severe injury was breaking the back after Flanco twisted 180 degrees and snapped a vertebra. Flanco had to stop practicing for a year.

“I definitely enjoy pain, but at the same time, you have to really listen to your pain because there’s all different types of pain. And you have to be able to relax while you’re in pain,” Flanco explains.

Flanco currently performs in Germany, Canada, and America. Flanco also works with the San Francisco-based group Circus Flim Flam.

“We’re trying to create our own thing. We want to do rated R circus shows. We want to make something we haven’t seen before–something a little more dark,” Flanco said.

The 29-year-old, said they plan to practice until their body gives out.  Flanco admires contortionists like Natalia Vasylyuk who has tested the limits of physical transformation.

“In a lot of ways you get very addicted to performing. It’s something you’ll just keep dong compulsively until you can’t. My act is always as hard as possible because I want the audience to feel something really intense. If I’m not sweating after my act, I’ve done something wrong,” Flanco said.

Flanco believes staying alive in contortion takes a lot more than physical strength.

“There’s so many days that I’m like, ‘What am I doing with my life?’,” Flanco said. “Basically, in the circus, if you can just survive, you’ll do great.”

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Bev Bender, Laughing for the health of it, 2009

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Peter Renzo, (S.A.B.R.E.) Siberians are Becoming Rapidly Extinct, 2008