Elvis is Coming!

I wish that every single human being on this planet could have been at the Imagination Workshop rehearsal this evening. To say that it was exciting and hilarious and absolutely brilliant and wonderful is keeping it simple.

Our brand new Ravenswood program has been off and running since the middle of July, and next week is our last class. This was a pilot program- we were testing the waters to see how successful an in-house Imagination Workshop would be, and I have to say, I think it's going really well. It's different from the other Imagination Workshop classes because we recruited the clients and they are coming to our facilities, instead of having our facilitators go to other agencies. Thankfully, Ravenswood Presbyterian has been very supportive in our efforts to get this program off the ground, and the clients are having such a great time.

The amount of growth I've witnessed in the past 6 weeks is astounding. On the first day of class, Judith spent the final 30 minutes of the workshop with her head buried in her arms. Last week we had to use all sorts of tactics to get her to stay on stage, and this week, after a firm heads up, not only did she gladly join the rest of the group as we practiced screaming and fainting, she made one of the best stage entrances I think I've probably ever seen as she slid in on her belly, yelling all the way.

I've noticed developments in eye contact, motor skills, confidence, and all those obvious physical things, but what has been so exciting to me is their growth as actors and artists. Their energy and enthusiasm is through the roof, and their ability to listen to each other, be patient, and exhibit superior comedic timing has created a fascinating show.

"Elvis is Coming!" will be performed on Wednesday, September 12 at 7:00 pm at Ravenswood Presbyterian Church- 4300 N. Hermitage, Chicago. Admission is free and open to the public. Please call Still Point at 773-868-1700 for more information.


Seriously though. Come see this show. You will never see anything like it again. Not only that, but they are very proud of their work- and it's work that is worthy of a supportive audience.

tory.

Put Your Whole Self In

El Valor – Spanish for courage – is the name of a social services agency in Chicago's Pilsen neighborhood that serves adults with disabilities.  As part of Still Point's “Imagination Workshop,” my brother Gerry, my sister-in-law Rosalie, and I facilitate what El Valor clients call “Music Class” on Thursday afternoons.  (As you'll see, the words “music class” don't really capture the nature of this weekly event.)  Gerry and Rosalie are professional rock 'n' rollers, who volunteer for this gig; I'm a paid Still Point facilitator; and we've been doing this together for two years.

Here's how it goes:  We arrive at El Valor and unload Gerry's amplifier, speakers and guitar onto a small cart, and wheel through the front doors and into the lobby.  We greet the folks there, then roll onto the elevator and ride up to the third floor.  On the ride up, I look at the elevator door, and think of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz — about to open her front door, to pass from black-and-white Kansas into the technicolor world of Oz.  Arriving at El Valor is like that — you never know what you're going to see on the other side of that door.

That is partly because El Valor maintains a year-round schedule of parties and celebrations, and in the weeks before these events, the staff and clients take their decorating seriously.  Depending on the season, when you step off that elevator, you might step into a winter wonderland, or a fantasia of Halloween ghouls, or a sea of red hearts and valentines.  These efforts transform the venue so completely that you just never know what you're going to see when that door opens.

As we arrive, the clients have arranged a circle of twenty-or-so chairs in the middle of the room.  They have brought out the big box overflowing with the coffee cans we use as drums — and a drum-beat has already started.  As the clients see us, some shout greetings; others come over to shake hands or bump fists, or embrace us in welcome.

Gerry and Rosalie unpack the amplifier and speakers, and crank up the electric guitar, while I go to the box to help distribute our funky drums.  By the time the equipment is set up, some clients and I have a pretty good beat going on our coffee cans.  Then Gerry drops a baseline onto what we're doing, or adds a blues or rock progression, and our drumming settles into a groove.  A communal musical event — a drum circle and more — unfolds pretty much by itself in these first few minutes.

Next, we pass the microphone among the participants and sing our “Hello Song,” in which we greet each client individually, by name, and pay individual attention:

Hello Rosa, how are you?

How are you today?

Then, for eight musical bars, each client responds musically in his or her own way — usually, with some version of:

I am fine, yes I am

I am fine today

Each client succeeds, in his or her own way, in singing a solo to the world, microphone in hand, being paid attention to, listened to, heard and appreciated.

At this point, the class begins to run itself.  Gerry chords the introduction to the '50s hit that many of the clients know — “Last Kiss,” the signature song of one of our regulars, Mary.  (By the way, in this class, we have our own names for songs, and we call that one, “Daddy's Car.”  We call “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” “Lion Tonight”; and “The Star Spangled Banner” is “Oh Say Can You See.”)

Gerry begins the introduction to “Daddy's Car,” and Mary steps confidently to the center of the circle, takes the microphone, and waits, smiling, for her musical entrance.  She owns this song.  I announce: “Daddy's Car?” Who wants to sing “Daddy's Car?” Other clients rush into the the circle; then Mary sings the whole song, with gestures and choreography, and we all join the chorus:

Oh, where, oh, where can my baby be?

The Lord took her away from me

She's gone to Heaven, so I've got to be good

So I can see my baby when I leave......this world

Another client, Gary, is a real rock 'n' roller, and after just the right amount of coaxing, takes his star turn.  He strides into the circle like Chuck Berry himself, gathers his best backup singers — Vincent and Javier — puts together a groovin' ad hoc rhythm section, and launches into a stage-worthy production of “Johnny B.  Goode” that really and truly rocks.

Another client, Angel, likes to sing in his own style of rock 'n' roll, that features complicated text-and-rhythm juxtapositions like:

Go go Johnny go Johnny go go

Johnny go go Johnny go go Johnny

Gunny sack go go Johnny go go

Go go Johnny go Johnny go go

Something like that, but much better.

Esperanza loves to sing “Donna,” a Richie Valens love song from the '50s.  Other clients assemble around her, and they look like a '50s “Girl Group.”  She takes the microphone: “Oh, Donna” she croons to her boyfriend, Javier, sitting beside her.  He makes goo-goo eyes back, and the rest of us sing:  “Oh, Donna, Oh, Donna, Ohoooooooo.”

“Take Me Out to the Ball Game” is another favorite — Almost everybody knows it.  At the end, we throw our fists in the air and gesture with our fingers: “One, two, three strikes you're out!”  Some of the less verbal folks request “A, B, C” and “Twinkle, Twinkle.”  Then we shout, “One more time!” and sing them again.

Rosalie provides a change of pace from the rock 'n' roll and pop scene, as she facilitates singing and dancing with songs that most of the clients know, including “B.I.N.G.O.” and “If You're Happy And You Know It.”

Arlene, an elder client, usually in a wheelchair (but who occasionally and unpredictably stands and dances) likes to sing, “This Old Man” or “You Are My Sunshine.” That latter is also a favorite of Karen's, a sweet lady without much short-term memory — she sings the song, then immediately requests it again.  I say, “Karen, you just sang it.” “No, I didn't,” she says.

Vincent steps into the circle and picks up the mic like a pro.  Gerry plays a few bars of blues, and Vincent improvises: “I got the blues, baby.  I got the blues.  I feel good . . I feel good.”  In a few minutes, his improvisation morphs into “God Bless America,” and we all join in.

Toward the end, Rosalie gets the whole floor involved in a nicely rowdy “Hokey Pokey,” and gets 20 or 30 clients to stand up and “put your whole self in, put your whole self out.”

Then, it's over.  A few clients are disappointed we didn't get to their favorite songs, and we smooth some feathers.  I distribute printouts of lyrics, because some clients like to copy them into notebooks, to practice reading and writing, and of course, to learn the words for performance on Thursdays — because that's what these are:  Performances.

The clients prepare for snacks, as Rosalie, Gerry and I say good-bye and make our way to the elevator, down to the lobby and out onto Chicago's sunbaked summer streets.

We look at one another and say:  And that's what it's all about.

-Steve.

Master of the Universe / Master of the Stage.

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. 

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.

Feeling Beautiful All Over

The performers of Sisters Rising are formerly incarcerated Chicago-area women who meet weekly in facilitated workshops focused on developing performance and writing skills.

Still Point employs the artists of Sisters Rising to write, rehearse and perform original theatre performances based on their lived experiences and their aspirations for their new lives. Still Point facilitators lead participants through public speaking, writing and acting exercises.

Their writing — poetry, character-driven scenes, and monologues based on issues related to their incarceration — is edited into a script, then blocked, memorized, and rehearsed.

Sisters Rising is now in its fifth year of inspiring and successful performances in the Chicago area, performing in schools, churches and women’s shelters. This year, Sisters Rising will continue these performances, as well as add two new high-profile original productions.

Still Point seeks lasting change in the lives of individual women, and in society’s attitudes toward the incarcerated. The programs of Sisters Rising can challenge stereotypes of incarcerated people, and help formally incarcerated women gain self-confidence and better communication skills, and learn to be more productive members of society.

Sisters Rising serves as a valuable societal entry point for formerly incarcerated women because, in many cases, it provides these women with their first paychecks, while teaching valuable knowledge and skills for long-term employment.

Don't miss these performances!

Madison Street Theatre
1010 Madison Street
Oak Park, IL 60302

Dates: Friday, March 9 at 7:30, and
Saturday, March 10 at 4:00pm and 7:30pm.

There is a suggested a $10.00 donation at the door.

Reservations: RSVP info@stillpointtheatrecollective.org (first come, first seated)

Uncensored Intimacy

This is an excerpt from my journal. Something written immediately after class, uncensored. I find I edit too much if I just try to sit down at the computer and try to blog. Sometimes honesty trumps good writing and grammar.

It's from December:

Most amazing Imagination Workshop today. So much chaos and emotion to experience- or witness, actually. Esperanza is a family, a home away from home. So much intimacy. Tony did a mediation on ghosts and spirits today. After, Steve asked us if we'd ever seen any ghosts and Tony spoke of the Fairyman across the street- a mortician with a top hat- and when Tony saw him, the Fairyman said, "Don't worry, this coffin isn't for you, it's just for luggage."

Steve asked Jose if he'd even seen a ghost. Jose described touching this father's cold hands at his funeral. He broke down. We hugged for a long time. Layla came in 57 minutes late today, saw Jose and I embracing and immediately ran to him. She bent down in front of him and they spoke in whispers, bits of Spanglish further garbled by Down's Syndrome. She kissed his face, she hugged him. She touched her forehead softly to his. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and grazed her cheek with his stubby fingers. She made him smile. Like lovers.

I sat no further than 6 inches away, in awe. How gracious of them to let me watch this.

I wouldn't go so far to say that the Imagination Workshop taught me how to love- I would say that it taught me how to embrace and accept it fully and give it without hesitation. Love each other. Care about each other. Do it without questioning and it will heal you. We can't save everyone but we can let them know how much we want to.

The love here is physical, and immediate. It heals me every week.

And yet it's not entirely unconditional. We're all human, anyway.

tory.

A cartoonish heart is doodled in the dead space of the page.

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