I experienced the aftermath of bullying today, and what it does to our clients.
Jose came in a few minutes late, absolutely shaken. "Hit the Road, Jack" was blasting from Steve's computer, so most of us were caught up with dancing and singing when he entered the gym. He was carrying a golden gift bag filled with tablecloths, tissue paper, and a framed certificate of achievement, yet to be penned in. I knew immediately that he had brought this in preparation for the 20th anniversary party and performance we will be having for Imagination Workshop, which is tentatively scheduled for the fall. Talk about excitement, he's about 4 months ahead of the rest of us. He stared at me with wide eyes and I knew something was wrong, but I assumed it was because he noticed Lisa wasn't there today. Last week she had the chance to attend class for the first time in a while, which was a great joy for everyone.
It is hard to understand Jose, because of both the language barrier and a speech impediment, but what I understood from him was that "two tall brothers" had grabbed him by the wrists, pushed him down and stuck their tongues out at him. Steve stopped the music and we convened in a circle so that Jose could share the story with the rest of the class. Tony knew exactly who he was talking about. Apparently there are two clients at the school who have been very aggressive for awhile now. I was relieved to find out that they were fellow students, and not just people off the street, but completely distressed as Jose (with help from Tony), explained how he was scared to come to school- and once had to get a shot to calm him down after an encounter. Steve tried to take him to the administrator so he could talk about the problem, but Jose said it would be no help.
My big sister instinct kicked in. What could I do to make this better? Obviously I didn't have the whole story, and other than talking to an Esperanza staff member, Steve and I have no control over that situation. So we did what we know how to do- have a good time. We've been working on one person shows. In the morning class, the actors pick out one costume piece and use it to create a character. This gives them a chance to stand alone on stage and really focus on using their imagination. Basically, we're giving them the chance to "own it." In the afternoon class, the actors are simply themselves, and we use the exercise as a check-in at the top of the class and a chance to work vocally.
When it was Jose's turn, he marched up to the stage. "ME, JOSE," he declared. And he pounded his chest. "MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE." And for the next 30 seconds or so, every single person in the audience chanted and cheered as we watched him flex his muscles, strike his best wrestling poses, and grunt and yell. Completely releasing.
Jose took a bow when he was finished. Brave and powerful, chest puffed, chin lifted, he left the stage and took a seat with the rest of us. I doubt he completely forgot the vulnerability of his experience with the bullies earlier that day, but in those brief moments on stage, he owned it. And believe me, standing on stage with no script and no specific action is a very hard thing to do.
tory.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Lesson Plans
Sometimes it's hard to treat the Imagination Workshop as a "class." Steve and I make an effort to communicate every Tuesday to create a lesson plan for the following day at Esperanza. Often times it seems our ideas end in "I don't know... We'll see what happens." Most of the time, working with such an unpredictable group of folks is wildly entertaining, but not being able to stick to a plan is frustrating.
Our afternoon class is going really well. We have developed a new show around the theme of laughter, which will be ready to tour in July. It is a delightful series of short sketches and musical pieces derived from the simple idea of laughing, featuring completely original, hilariously dressed characters such as "The Sheik of Snickering," "Layla the Lady of Laughing," and "Mack Daddy." (Mack Daddy may or may not tote a too-short cane and parade a swagger that even the most bombastic of gangsters could envy). My biggest worry with this new work is the risk of hyperventilation on account of too much laughing.
It appears we have taken a step back in the morning class, however. After a successful performance of "Little Red Riding Hood," which we performed back in May, we can't seem to find a way to engage everyone in the development of something new. Lately Steve and I have found ourselves spending a lot of time keeping people from wandering off and spacing off, which creates a lack of focus on our part. By the end of the hour long workshop, we are exhausted. When I spoke with Lisa about it last week she summed it up for me nicely: "Ah, the well is dry."
Let's call it a hiccup, and assume that the nice weather is distracting. That seems fair. Steve and I will continue to create our lesson plans, and add in that extra 15 minutes to run to Dunkin' Donuts before class starts, and we'll have a new show in no time.
I'll leave you with an anecdote.
Musical numbers are the easiest things for us to stage as it doesn't require much vocal work from anyone except a visually impaired client who loves to sing and has a wonderful voice for it. Two weeks ago, in the morning class, we began to stage a piece around "What a Wonderful World," which I think we can all agree is a song that is only interpreted as joyous. By the third time we played the song, we had worked to a point where we could incorporate the beginnings of a story into the piece. We just needed Ray to enter from stage right, pick a flower from a bouquet held by another actor, and hand it to Sara, who was entering from stage left. I had spent most of the time sprinting back and forth behind the curtains on the stage to give the actors a nudge when it was their turn to enter, and after giving Ray the go ahead, rushed around to stage left only to find that Sara had disappeared. As Ray stood alone with his flowers, waiting for Sara, I finally found her hidden on a stool behind a flat backstage. "Sara!? Are you going to go?" No response. "Do you want to be in the play?" No response. As the last bit of my energy dissolved, I ran onstage in a fury and said to Ray, "Sara doesn't want to be in the play. Give the flowers to Jean!" And hopped off the stage to take a breath.
At the end of the song, the actors form a line across the stage with hands and faces raised to the sky, which creates a powerful picture to end with. As everyone slowly raised their arms upwards during Louis Armstrong's final "ohhhh yeahhhhh," Sara trudged on stage, arms crossed and brows furrowed, raised her middle finger, and complimented everyone with her newest interjection, which is simply: "BOY."
I can only imagine that it was her way of teaching US a lesson.
tory.
Our afternoon class is going really well. We have developed a new show around the theme of laughter, which will be ready to tour in July. It is a delightful series of short sketches and musical pieces derived from the simple idea of laughing, featuring completely original, hilariously dressed characters such as "The Sheik of Snickering," "Layla the Lady of Laughing," and "Mack Daddy." (Mack Daddy may or may not tote a too-short cane and parade a swagger that even the most bombastic of gangsters could envy). My biggest worry with this new work is the risk of hyperventilation on account of too much laughing.
It appears we have taken a step back in the morning class, however. After a successful performance of "Little Red Riding Hood," which we performed back in May, we can't seem to find a way to engage everyone in the development of something new. Lately Steve and I have found ourselves spending a lot of time keeping people from wandering off and spacing off, which creates a lack of focus on our part. By the end of the hour long workshop, we are exhausted. When I spoke with Lisa about it last week she summed it up for me nicely: "Ah, the well is dry."
Let's call it a hiccup, and assume that the nice weather is distracting. That seems fair. Steve and I will continue to create our lesson plans, and add in that extra 15 minutes to run to Dunkin' Donuts before class starts, and we'll have a new show in no time.
I'll leave you with an anecdote.
Musical numbers are the easiest things for us to stage as it doesn't require much vocal work from anyone except a visually impaired client who loves to sing and has a wonderful voice for it. Two weeks ago, in the morning class, we began to stage a piece around "What a Wonderful World," which I think we can all agree is a song that is only interpreted as joyous. By the third time we played the song, we had worked to a point where we could incorporate the beginnings of a story into the piece. We just needed Ray to enter from stage right, pick a flower from a bouquet held by another actor, and hand it to Sara, who was entering from stage left. I had spent most of the time sprinting back and forth behind the curtains on the stage to give the actors a nudge when it was their turn to enter, and after giving Ray the go ahead, rushed around to stage left only to find that Sara had disappeared. As Ray stood alone with his flowers, waiting for Sara, I finally found her hidden on a stool behind a flat backstage. "Sara!? Are you going to go?" No response. "Do you want to be in the play?" No response. As the last bit of my energy dissolved, I ran onstage in a fury and said to Ray, "Sara doesn't want to be in the play. Give the flowers to Jean!" And hopped off the stage to take a breath.
At the end of the song, the actors form a line across the stage with hands and faces raised to the sky, which creates a powerful picture to end with. As everyone slowly raised their arms upwards during Louis Armstrong's final "ohhhh yeahhhhh," Sara trudged on stage, arms crossed and brows furrowed, raised her middle finger, and complimented everyone with her newest interjection, which is simply: "BOY."
I can only imagine that it was her way of teaching US a lesson.
tory.
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