The women of Lake County Jail had a performance on 12/16/11 and it was a joy. Millie, the aforementioned actress from my blog entry on 12/13, was superb and has taken a shine to the stage.
I asked her for permission to share some of her ideas with you. She obliged my request and I couldn't be happier.
Her sass and wit are things one cannot teach, and her writing is revelatory. It is at all times sarcastic, sincere and heartbreaking.
She was asked to talk about what she believed. An exercise we do frequently. She writes:
1. That there's something truly evil in Waukegan's water.
2. That most people want/need just enough information about you to categorize you.
3. Sometimes a fake wedding ceremony can/should be pulled off.
4. Jail is the worst experience of my life but I've never laughed so hard.
5. Cats can be used as dust mops. She underlines and makes bold strokes in her writing.
She scrawls her name at the bottom of the page in block letters.
Millie has probably been my biggest source of humor in what has been a stressful few months preparing for the show. But one writing in particular stood out to me, and it didn't make me laugh. She wrote:
Be like the air in thew ay that I hold you. And in the way you see through me. Pass through the walls, through these locked doors and I'm free again. Free to keep forgetting the part of me that I've lost. The air of me. The air that is you. We wander as we please but not too far form each other. No. Not far from home or our youth. The air is fine and sweet over here. Here with you, dear. I keep it close and pretend it's not just a dream... A cartoonish heart is doodled in the dead space of the page. She continues...
Be like the water and take me under. Take me down deep and drown me in forgetting, forgetting the part of me that I've lost. I'm like a current now and so are you We keep moving together and not too far apart. Nothing stays the same this time. So much here but I wish I was there...
Be like the earth in the way you grow me up. Keep your worms and roots a secret. I dig at you, wonder what's beneath. There's tunnels and so much inside you. I want to leave so much but you keep me inside of you...
When she reads this aloud to the class we are silently stunned. It's the type of moment people like me live for. Shock and awe.
Jacob Kaufman
Senior Facilitator
December 21, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
You know her. Part of her is you; part of her story is your story.
The women of Lake County jail are in rehearsals for their new show, ‘Portraits of Women: From Memory.’ As always I continue to be impressed with their dedication, their insight into the work, their willingness to jump feet first into what can be a harrowing experience for even the most seasoned actor: the rehearsal process. More then ever, however, I am drawn into ‘Portraits’ in a way that I’ve never been before.
My initial inspiration to work with Still Point came after a brief encounter working as the production assistant for Angela Shelton when she took a week residency at Simpson College in April of 2008. Angela’s story and what she did with it (which can be found at http://angelashelton.com/) profoundly changed my life and my perspective. In Angela’s work I saw the power of telling stories and, equally important, the power of hearing them.
In ‘Portraits’ the actresses frequently tell the stories of other women. They read the words of their colleagues, most of whom have written in the third person about their experiences with drug use, depression, incarceration, and healing.
Standing ‘on stage,’ an actress, we’ll call her Millie, tells me, “I don’t get what you want me to do here.”
“Tell her story,” I retort. Millie is tasked with a difficult monologue: a woman has written about herself from the perspective of the air vent in her cell. She has given a bird’s eye view into the existence of a woman learning to look at herself in the mirror again.
“But I…”
“You know her. Part of her is you; part of her story is your story.”
The room is filled with heavy air and silence. I glance over to Christine to see if she has any words of wisdom to impart to this struggling, but talented, actress.
Millie starts again at the top of the piece, and the heavy air filling the room is sucked out. She is radiant and something immovable is moved, some indelible line dividing her from the words is washed away. She has connected.
She has connected not only to the words, but to a real woman. This writer is a woman who she may have met in passing, who she may have sat in workshop with, or maybe she has never met and maybe never will. Regardless, they know each other. They have memorized each others stories by heart.
Class ends, but we continue to remember the advice that stumbled out of my mouth half on accident, “You know her. Part of her is you; part of her story is your story.”
We all leave feeling more connected, less alone, filled with hope.
Jacob Kaufman
Senior Facilitator
December 13, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Be like Water. Be like the Air. Be like the Earth.
Teaching theatre and writing in a prison is the epitome of working under the watchful eye of Big Brother: no spiraled notebooks, no sharp objects, candy, gum, stickers, and no writing about escaping from jail. Absolutely not. It's against the rules, and what good would it do them anyway?
Christine and I, however, make an escape each week. We walk out of Lake County Jail to fresh relatively small town air and the view of the beautiful lake. We stop at Fong's for our weekly treat, breaking our diets with Chinese food. A train ride seeing countryside, scenic little villages, clean cut Evanston, and the sometimes dirty vacant lots of the city. Sometimes we nap, sometimes we stare out the window taking in the view.
Our senses are delighted.
We've had the women write so much this year, and as we draw close to a culminating experience we reflect back on and reread almost every word written. So much of it is prison break writing in disguise: to be like the water flowing freely to all the parts of the world. To be like the air, everywhere, omnipresent. To be like the earth, a stable place for the weary to rest their heads. The women write about the touch, the taste, the smells, and the sights of memories, of freedom, holding their children again.
They hope that their senses will be delighted again soon. I think of them often when I see something beautiful that resonates with me, when I smell dinner being cooked in the next room, when I see the smiles of children on the street. I wish that they could feel what I feel, that their senses could be bombarded with joy like mine are. I hope that the writing we do can bring them to those places, that even behind bars they have escaped a little.
I have faith that I'm not the only one who hopes for these things. If you hope too, don't be afraid to give generously for the Persephone Project so that we can continue to bring joy to women who need it, just like us.
Jacob Kaufman
Senior Facilitator
November 30, 2011
Christine and I, however, make an escape each week. We walk out of Lake County Jail to fresh relatively small town air and the view of the beautiful lake. We stop at Fong's for our weekly treat, breaking our diets with Chinese food. A train ride seeing countryside, scenic little villages, clean cut Evanston, and the sometimes dirty vacant lots of the city. Sometimes we nap, sometimes we stare out the window taking in the view.
Our senses are delighted.
We've had the women write so much this year, and as we draw close to a culminating experience we reflect back on and reread almost every word written. So much of it is prison break writing in disguise: to be like the water flowing freely to all the parts of the world. To be like the air, everywhere, omnipresent. To be like the earth, a stable place for the weary to rest their heads. The women write about the touch, the taste, the smells, and the sights of memories, of freedom, holding their children again.
They hope that their senses will be delighted again soon. I think of them often when I see something beautiful that resonates with me, when I smell dinner being cooked in the next room, when I see the smiles of children on the street. I wish that they could feel what I feel, that their senses could be bombarded with joy like mine are. I hope that the writing we do can bring them to those places, that even behind bars they have escaped a little.
I have faith that I'm not the only one who hopes for these things. If you hope too, don't be afraid to give generously for the Persephone Project so that we can continue to bring joy to women who need it, just like us.
Jacob Kaufman
Senior Facilitator
November 30, 2011
Dance Dance Revelation
A couple of weeks ago I attended a show at the Experimental Sound Studio called Collision_Theory, an improvised performance between a dancer and a musician who had never met before the day of their one and only collaboration. (Our Grants Coordinator, Ben Gray, is also the Development Director at ESS, so many thanks to him for the recommendation)! The performance space at ESS is basically a tiny room with about 20 total chairs lining two opposing walls, leaving a small area in the middle for the artists. The coziness of the space created an intimacy that allowed the audience and the performers to bond, establishing a sense of community that I feel is necessary in a theatrical space. I mean, we're all at the show for basically the same reason, why not see it together?
It was a fantastic performance, and after the show my friend and I discussed how we had never quite seen anything like it before. We talked about how the dancer and the musician worked off of one another, how they listened or didn't listen to each other, the moments when one of them completely stopped what they were doing to just watch the other person, and how if you closed your eyes you could feel and hear the rhythm of the dancer by listening to his breathing, and the sound his body made when it connected with the ground. I was envious of their ability to improvise so beautifully, and made a mental note to check out some dance classes so I could move around that like too. It didn't hit me until this afternoon that I get to live that experience every single week with the Imagination Workshop. I had one of those moments where I had to stop everyone in the room from what they were doing to trumpet my revelation.
In the gym where the Imagination Workshop gathers, we are fortunate enough to have a piano, and a facilitator who is a musical improviser. Gail Gallagher, a former SPTC intern, just can't keep her hands off the piano, and most of the clients in IW can't contain themselves from dancing everywhere they go at the first sound of a musical instrument- no matter if it's Stevie Wonder, a djembe, or a couple of fingers snapping. Especially *Maria, one of our actors with Downs. She dances so liberally that we actually developed part of our last show around her ability to share her uninhibited moves. Since Maria is always about 15 minutes early to class, and Gail wouldn't mind being cemented to a piano for a day, they just go for it. Today Gail asked her if she wanted something fast and fun, or slow and flowy, and Maria nodded to both of course. So Gail played an uplifting little tune as Maria stomped and fluttered around the stage, spinning and clapping her hands, mirrored by facilitator Steve Grossman (who never misses a chance to dance either). Pretty soon Maria had a whole crew of dancers trying to keep up with her.
As the music came to an end, I had a flashback to the first day I attended the Imagination Workshop, back in January, as a volunteer. Winter felt like it was just beginning, and along with that I had all those stereotypical little things in life keeping me down (I hate my job, I'm broke, who am I, what is my purpose, blah blah blah...). My first experiences of being at Esperanza are too much to add to this rapidly growing blog post, so I'll just summarize by saying that I've never felt so completely liberated and inspired and loved than in the four hours that I spent there on my first day. It goes back to creating that sense of community that I love so much. We're all just human, right?
Other than the fact that the professionals at the Experimental Sound Studio are really, really good at what they do, there is no reason for me to be envious of them. Actually, before the show started I began to get anxious and antsy from watching the dancer warm up and I didn't know why. I now realize that it's probably because when I watch people dancing and moving and stretching, I'm used to joining them, and as an audience member I have to follow certain rules. Just like at the Collision_Theory performance, here at Esperanza you can close your eyes and listen, or watch people listening- and you're a fool if you don't join in! To me, the Imagination Workshop is the safest place in the world, a creative utopia, and nobody there is just part of the audience.
tory.
* Name has been changed
It was a fantastic performance, and after the show my friend and I discussed how we had never quite seen anything like it before. We talked about how the dancer and the musician worked off of one another, how they listened or didn't listen to each other, the moments when one of them completely stopped what they were doing to just watch the other person, and how if you closed your eyes you could feel and hear the rhythm of the dancer by listening to his breathing, and the sound his body made when it connected with the ground. I was envious of their ability to improvise so beautifully, and made a mental note to check out some dance classes so I could move around that like too. It didn't hit me until this afternoon that I get to live that experience every single week with the Imagination Workshop. I had one of those moments where I had to stop everyone in the room from what they were doing to trumpet my revelation.
In the gym where the Imagination Workshop gathers, we are fortunate enough to have a piano, and a facilitator who is a musical improviser. Gail Gallagher, a former SPTC intern, just can't keep her hands off the piano, and most of the clients in IW can't contain themselves from dancing everywhere they go at the first sound of a musical instrument- no matter if it's Stevie Wonder, a djembe, or a couple of fingers snapping. Especially *Maria, one of our actors with Downs. She dances so liberally that we actually developed part of our last show around her ability to share her uninhibited moves. Since Maria is always about 15 minutes early to class, and Gail wouldn't mind being cemented to a piano for a day, they just go for it. Today Gail asked her if she wanted something fast and fun, or slow and flowy, and Maria nodded to both of course. So Gail played an uplifting little tune as Maria stomped and fluttered around the stage, spinning and clapping her hands, mirrored by facilitator Steve Grossman (who never misses a chance to dance either). Pretty soon Maria had a whole crew of dancers trying to keep up with her.
As the music came to an end, I had a flashback to the first day I attended the Imagination Workshop, back in January, as a volunteer. Winter felt like it was just beginning, and along with that I had all those stereotypical little things in life keeping me down (I hate my job, I'm broke, who am I, what is my purpose, blah blah blah...). My first experiences of being at Esperanza are too much to add to this rapidly growing blog post, so I'll just summarize by saying that I've never felt so completely liberated and inspired and loved than in the four hours that I spent there on my first day. It goes back to creating that sense of community that I love so much. We're all just human, right?
Other than the fact that the professionals at the Experimental Sound Studio are really, really good at what they do, there is no reason for me to be envious of them. Actually, before the show started I began to get anxious and antsy from watching the dancer warm up and I didn't know why. I now realize that it's probably because when I watch people dancing and moving and stretching, I'm used to joining them, and as an audience member I have to follow certain rules. Just like at the Collision_Theory performance, here at Esperanza you can close your eyes and listen, or watch people listening- and you're a fool if you don't join in! To me, the Imagination Workshop is the safest place in the world, a creative utopia, and nobody there is just part of the audience.
tory.
* Name has been changed
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Transformation
The theatre is a place of transformation. That's a pretty general statement, but it's an appropriate one, as it is just one of many words you could use to describe Still Point right now. The Company has been transforming over the last 18 years from a simple idea about a play and strong desire to tell a story, to multiple programs, touring shows and a small collective of people eager to continue spreading the seed that Lisa Wagner-Carollo planted so many years ago. With Dena Hawes stepping in as our new Executive Director, it was time for Lisa to "send her baby off to college," and a new website is just one of many things we are in the process of transforming. We've spent many, many hours working with our amazing designer, Noah, in Washington D.C. to revamp the site in order to show you how much Still Point has grown up in the last few years. We've updated and added some pretty cool new things for you to check out- links to our Facebook and Twitter, staff bios, event schedules, this way neat blog that I'm hoping to update weekly, and best of all THE ABILITY TO GIVE US YOUR MONEY ELECTRONICALLY!! Well, that's always been a feature, but I just wanted to take the opportunity to point out its importance... So, please poke (or click) around and take the time to get to know our new site. We have a lot of work to do- gathering photos and getting permission to use them has a been quite a task, but in the end will be worth it. We want you to be able to see what we're doing and who we're working with, and hopefully be able to enjoy videos and photos of the people in our programs so you can see how our work is affecting people. And please, don't be shy around that "donate" button. Technology is certainly advancing, but we haven't found a way to use it to hypnotize anyone yet.
tory.
tory.
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