added more cost and more headaches. I can’t believe you can’t provide more support to the victims,” he said. Further complicating matters, the new build was assessed with a much higher tax bill than the older home. According to Mathews, this increased their property taxes by about $2,000 per month — roughly $24,000 annually — that the couple wasn’t ready to take on after the catastrophe. “We got a new house, but the question is, when you get through the process, can you still afford that new house?” Mathews said. He also said that policy changes specific to fire and natural disaster victims could help ease the burden after a rebuild. Mathews suggested a phased approach for natural disaster survivors when facing new building codes and property tax increases. This action would have made rebuilding their lives easier and less expensive at a time of crisis. Instead, they were left to navigate the financial and bureaucratic hurdles as well as insurance and construction struggles. This month, a trial is scheduled to determine if Xcel Energy has a financial responsibility to survivors. Sparks from a disconnected power line may have caused part of the fire. The couple is part of the suit and hopes to get a settlement. But according to Mathews, at this point, they aren’t counting on anything. Instead, they have dedicated any settlement to rebuild the barn and rehearsal space. Even with the setbacks, Mathews said they’ve been lucky in ways that others haven’t. They had flexible work, no children to care for, and a contractor who became a trusted friend. They were able to make it work, not because the system helped, but because they had just enough personal resources and support to push through. He knows not everyone in the community had the same advantages, and that reality weighs on him. Looking back, he doesn’t downplay how hard it was, but he also doesn’t take for granted that they have nearly made it. ANOTHER BLOW In April 2023, just as they were settling into the new home, Voorheis-Mathews was diagnosed with breast cancer. “I had a double mastectomy and 33 rounds of radiation,” she said. She’s still on hormone therapy and has another surgery scheduled just days after her upcoming show. It was another blow in a long stretch of survival mode. “We just jumped to, ‘Let’s fix it,’ but no one tells you how.” Her friend Ashley Eaves Sonnier, an aerialist and dancer who is performing in Voorheis-Mathews’ “Embers, Petals and Stars,” was one of many who helped her stay afloat. “After everything she’s been through, she still shows up,” Sonnier said. “She still creates. It’s incredible.” AERIAL AS HEALING “Embers, Petals, and Stars” tells the story of the fire and its aftermath. The first act, “Fire.Ashes.Rebirth,” traces the chaos of that day of the Marshall Fire and uses audio recordings, news broadcasts, voicemails, and spoken word of Voorheis-Mathews’ personal experience during and after the fire. Later scenes use dance and aerial performance to explore loss, grief, rebuilding, and the uneasy return home. Voorheis-Mathews performs on a silk sent to her by a friend she met during the COVID pandemic. A silk is a piece of fabric that hangs from an anchor, and aerialists wrap it around their bodies to hang, spin, and move through the air. “It’s red, orange, and yellow. I call it my fire silk.” Before the show starts, Voorheis-Mathews will ask the audience to join her in lighting candles. “We’ll have a moment of silence for the people who died, and for the first responders who risked their lives to save our homes.” Voorheis-Mathews knows the show won’t fix anything. But it’s part of the healing process. “I believe art heals,” she said. “It’s healed me through different things in my life. And I think it will heal others.” Sonnier feels the same way. For her, aerial dance is both expression and therapy. “The apparatus becomes a partner,” she said. “You can use it to show something soft or strong. You can touch it and say, ‘This was my house. I’m letting it go.’” NO CLEAN ENDING Voorheis-Mathews resists being called resilient. “I guess I just don’t want to live in a dark room. I’ve seen what happens to people who do,” she said. “There’s still so much beauty in the world, and I don’t want to miss it.” She paused. “But there are days I am in the dark room. I feel my feelings. That’s what makes the rest of it beautiful, too.” When the curtain rises, Voorheis-Mathews will climb into the air, not to escape the fire, but to face it, share the rebuilding, and move forward. “You can’t have light without the dark.” FALLON VOORHEIS-MATHEWS FLIES THROUGH THE AIR ON HER “FIRE SILK.” | PHOTO BY GILES CLASEN 12 DENVER VOICE September 2025
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