Kind (of) Violation

The New York Times reported a story today I like:

"Sturtevant, Wis., April 27--Plastic Toys 'R' Us swords were mixed for fear the guards might misconstrue them as real weapons. Gloucester's pouch was filled with metal washers, rather than pennies, because money is barred inside the barbed wire.

The two-and-a-half-hour production of Shakespeare's 'King Lear' ran without intermission so that the audience of 100 inmates would not be idle in a big room. And shortly after their curtain call on Tuesday night to a standing ovation, the actors lined up again, this time against the gymnasium wall for one of the six daily head counts here at the Racine Correctional Institution.

'It's an opportunity for us to see something in ourselves that others don't see,' Megale Taylor said of the play, adding that his role as the Fool had shown him 'how much of a fool I've been in my life.'

'I've always been an actor' said Mr. Taylor, who is 35 and serving five years for cocaine possession and battery. 'We always have on our masks--life is a stage, really.'

Here, there was no actual stage--just a set made of blue cloths draped over chin-up bars--for this week's performances of the first full play ever put on at this medium-security prison and one of a handful of Shakespearean works produced behind bars nationwide.

For prison officials, the nine-month Shakespeare Project was a rare opportunity to provide post-secondary education in a budget-crunched system that emphasizes remedial reading. For the director, Jonathan G. Shailor, a professor of communication at the nearby University of Wisconsin-Parkside, it was an experiment in the theater of empowerment.

For the 17 actor-inmates--doing time for drunken driving, sexual offenses, drug sales, kidnapping, battery, burglary and homicide--it was an escape from prison's mundane marathon of cigarettes and cribbage, an emotional catharsis, a passport to the sophistication symbolized by the bard. They call themselves the Muddy Flower Theater Troupe, a nod to the idea that beautiful things can grow from depressed areas.

'There are no walls now,' Matthew Dickinson, 22, who is halfway through a six-year sentence for bail-jumping and possession of a firearm, explained during a recent rehearsal. 'I'm in medieval England; I'm not in prison,' added Mr. Dickinson, who plays Kent, Lear's loyal counselor. 'I can get away from what I've done by being someone else.'

After 10 years of using theater techniques in personal development classes at the prison, Mr. Shailor, 48, won a $2,500 grant from the Wisconsin Department of Corrections in November 2003 to put on 'King Lear.' A similar project at the Luther Luckett Correctional Complex in Kentucky, has staged Shakespeare's plays since 1995, and a group at the Eastern Correctional Complex in Missouri produced 'Hamlet' over two years.

Jean Trounstine, a community college professor in Lowell, Mass., said, 'The lives of Shakespearean characters are very similar to the lives of people who end up incarcerated--they're dramatic, they're over the top.' Ms. Trounstine's 2001 book, 'Shakespeare Behind Bars,' chronicles her work at a women's prison.

'The language is often the barrier, but the stories are totally universal,' she said. 'They've got sex, violence, passion, relationships, betrayal, loss, just every possible intense human experience.'

Here at Racine Correctional, 80 of the 1,800 inmates showed up to see Mr. Shailor recite a few monologues last July. Of the 17 in 'King Lear,' five had never read any Shakespear. As for acting experience, one man had played Simon Legree in a Milwaukee prison production of 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,'while another was in 'Three Billy Goats Gruff' back in kindergarten. William White who is halfway through a 32-year stretch for burglary, wrote on his application that for 15 years he had 'acted like I didn't have a drug problem.'

They studied the script and watched videotaped versions. They wrote journal entries on how their family dysfunctions related to Lear's and on how their characters might function in today's society. They cast the function collectively, conducting an hourlong 'Lear-off' in which two men vied for the lead.

Steven Miller, 33 who said he has spent half his life behind bars, starting at age 7, sought the role of Cordelia, figuring few others would want to play a woman. But soon he connected her alienation from Lear with his own struggle to communicate with estranged relatives. Now Mr. Miller proudly wears a tiara despite the razzing from guys on the unit, and even shaved his legs--at least the parts that show under his tunic--for the final performance.

The tears Cordelia sheds upon reconciliation with Lear are his own, the first time he has ever cried in front of other people.

"I can use putting the costume on as an excuse to show emotion," said Mr. Miller, explaining that Lear's abandonment of Cordelia reminds him of his own mother saying she should have had an abortion. "This lets me vent out my frustration. It lets me vent out my sadness. I've never actually done that."

Underneath the medieval vests and robes, most of the actors wore their drab-green pants, and tatoos like the H-A-T-E on Mr. Miller's knuckles remained visible. The gymnasium's flourescent lights stayed on throughout the show, and Cordelia and lear had to improvise handcuffs by entwinning their fingers.

"Compromises," shrugged Mr. Shailor, the director, who stepped into the starring role after the original Lear was approved for early release (the original Fool and Kent also left the cast, because of behavior issues). "There's something about bringing the highest of high culture to the lowest of low; kind of violating the boundary is what I wanted to do."

Like the groundlings, the audience guffawed at the Fool's rhymes and two-stepping atop a table. But the prisoners also giggled when Edgar appeared shirtless in tattered shorts, whenever two men touched, and when there was violence. "They're whooping him!" one whispered as Gloucester's eyes were gouged.

Through months of twice-weekly rehearsals, where they recited Kenyan warrior chants and elocution exercises along with Shakespeare's scenes, the cast became a brotherhood. They inscribed each other's scripts, yearbook style. They call each other Cornwall and Oswald and Goneril out on the yard. At next week's cast party, they plan to watch "The Manchurian Candidate" with Denzel Washington, now appearing in Julius Caesar on Broadway.

Kenneth Spears, 52, who killed a woman and a 5-year-old girl with his car, already has 18 years inside, with "34 months, 23 days and a wake-up" left to go. But when a guard informed him last week that he was headed to a minimum-security facility, Mr. Spears asked if the move could wait until after the show.

"I said,'Please don't let them transfer me,'" recalled Mr. Spears, adding that only the play has enabled him to overcome his rage and grief since his conviction. "My legacy is not going to be a crazy Vietnm veteran or a killer of women and children or a convict. My legacy is what I do with this from now on."

Born Into Brothels

It could easily have been me. I could easily be one fearing for my safety every minute of the day. I could easily have been a 10 year old sold to prostitution by an aunt. I could easily be among those who starve 80% of the time. I could easily be a child born into a brothel in Calcutta...if I was, I wonder how I would fare.

Born Into Brothels, a film by Ross Kauffman and Zana Briski, chronicles the life in the bordellos of Calcutta through the perspective of the children of prostitutes. Zana Briski, a New York-based photographer who lived in India for two years, initially intended to document the prostitutes but diverted her interest towards the children instead, advocating for their education as a way to escape the peril of becoming prostitutes themselves. By teaching photography, Briski enables the children to speak of their experiences through the photographic lens with pictures acting as entry points in a dialogue about their lives.

Apart from its significance as an anthropological document, the piece further delves into the exigence of art as a primary need. Judging by the children's response, it is clear that the act of photography was not only an expansive exercise but a way of self-discovery. Amidst the poverty and violence, their striving to capture and create images hearkens Artaud's ironic anti-pragmatic sentiment about art: despite the fact that art has never fed a hungry man, it is the essence of hunger in him; that is to say, that although one must respond to one's digestive want, one's energies cannot be spent solely on its satisfaction. The human being ultimately must address the abstract points of his existence through his creative powers; his ability to experience the world and synthesize those experiences through art foments his development as a full human being. In my mind, it illuminates how the fundament in our perception of the future, our grand possibilities, lie in our ability to seek the underlying truth and beauty in the present. Only through this recognition can hope be preserved and dreams realized. Therefore, for these children, the ability to pick up a camera, shoot it, produce stunning images is their entry into the rest of their lives. They begin to see the present as a different reality. The pictures, although outwardly depicting hardships, don a kind of beauty that only those that betray truth can claim. The recognition of life's manifold parts, its charm, color, vibrancy, vis-a-vis its pain, as visually reflected on the photographs, illustrate the other side of their experience. In producing these pictures, they can begin to see and feel their own lives differently. Therein lies a new surge of hope. In re-imaging the present, they can start to re-imagine the future.

Degustation

Despite its corn-dog title, Epicure-An-ISMs, the short gathering (which ended up being larger than expected), went famously, as they say. So. Here is the crowning dessert whose creation killed the spatula to a burnt crisp...the guest culprit shall hereby remain nameless...

I christen you, oh yum yum food, hmm...let's see... "Rum-Berried Chocollision."

AHEM.

RUM-BERRIED CHOCOLLISION

Ingredients:
Strawberries
Rum
Dark Chocolate
Sliced Almonds
Mint leaf

Marinade strawberries in rum for at least two hours. Melt dark chocolate. (Note: I just learned this the hard way--do not put the chunks of dark chocolate in direct heat as it will foam up and transform into a mousse-like, bubbling mess which it won't recover from for, as I was told repeatedly, chocolate is very delicate. If you have one, use a double-broiler (or, if nothing else, put it in the microwave with some oil. Do this in short intervals--say, every 10 seconds--and mix continually to check for lumps.) Drizzle chocolate generously over strawberries sitting in rum. Sprinkle sliced almonds and accent with a mint leaf.

This, I guarantee, is a show-stealer. After slaving over the stove for all kinds of dishes, this stuff eclipsed everything on the table upon presentation.

Well, a spoonful of rum, I tell you, makes any medicine go down. So. Drizzle it in, for an epic-cure.

Love,
Rocelyn

The scent of a rose

Coming down down down down from Wellman is like cascading water batting the rocks at the bottom of a fall. BAM! says the child.

So. The Humanities Symposium this weekend went well with Wellman's language as my weapon amidst the stunning intellectual discourses ranging from the privatization of God to Modernity in Michalangelo Antonioni's L'aventura. It was an diverse panel that took up my whole Saturday.

On the subject of Wellman, a question was posed. How does an actress work on a piece that has lines like these for a monologue:

"For which was up and done be done did am...
For the wheel turns and turns up a mythic rutabaga."

I warned you on an earlier post about the chaos and absurdity of Wellman's language and in some ways, doubted its viability to communicate what I believe to be the essence of poetry above rational words. How do you engage strangers who watch you utter a string of irrationality, and hold them long enough to begin communication on a different level, in this case, different plane. (Incidentally, it's meet, I think, that the conversation is mapped through the concept of Sierpinski's carpet, where the iterations allude to expansion in various planes. What is it? Infinite space with zero mass? The expansion of universes, thoughts, within the confines a finite language?) The most salient response I could give to that question and to Professor Steier who calls my rendition "Method" and thus suggests a brand of hypocrisy on the part of Wellman who claims an attempt at a re-invention of theater, intending to veer away from one that takes itself too seriously, is this: in 'playing' with the script, I had to use the words as the launching pad, understanding the emotional character ingrained within words, by virtue of its elemental parts, i.e. vowel sounds, etc.. True, that unlike Tenessee Williams' plays or any number of contemporary realistic writers, Wellman defies the logic of a straight, logical narrative and therefore makes it nearly impossible to track psychology via a 'plot' or character development. Nonetheless, the power of the word-play, even at the height of its irrationality, carries within it sounds that have visceral impact upon utterance. This resonance taps into a kind of psychic/emotional response. In a way similar to poetry that aims at the essence of things, as opposed to its detail (was it Dickinson who said, a poem is the essence of a rose,...or am I imagining that she actually said that?) Wellman, in my opinion, is not trashing language, but trying to illustrate the ephemeralness of words, of their distinct power upon utterance, that we don't hold them in a strict meaning, in the permanence of a singular idea based on their sequence; but rather, each phrase alludes to the essence of a moment delivered upon release. These moments are distinct and the shifts, drastic or subtle support the collage-like character of existence where no one idea encapsulates a life or a structure with its complex of contradictions. This, however, does not preclude emotions or logic. On the contrary, savoring the sounds and the unusual sequential ties give way to an alternative avenue in deciphering meaning, much in the same way that poetry communicates the inexplicable.

As for the process of memorization, it came in tandem with the psychological tracking of the words' emotional resonance, so that a logic comes to the fore based on sounding out the phrases. Eventually, through a series of experimentation, a "logical" character emerged. The drive for her speech, the impetus for expression--in short, the "why's"--were chiseled out of this amorphous text and in an unexpected way, a "character's" full emotional, interior life surfaced, one that provokes observations like those of Professor Steier who was surprised to find a kind of "Methody" rendition to a text that may elicit a dry declamation of words. Well, that's one way to do it, I guess. But to dry out the words, in my opinion, is to cheat them of their deeper, fuller character. Each abstraction of sound intimates a soulful meaning. In my mind, there lies the beauty of language that continually attempts to touch on something more than its logical vesture.

Medea Project: Theater for Incarcerated Women

A series of unfortunate events which culminated in my losing my left contact lens on the bathroom sink-- a.k.a resident Black Hole-- rendered me unsettled until 1AM last night; this was the second trial pair I have botched in a week, owing to the flesh colored tiles. Fighting the onslaught of a cold, I had planned on alleviating my sleep deprivation with an earlier bedtime schedule, but alas, to no avail. Instead, I was panning for lenses on the floor for 45 minutes. Thank God, I had one positive experience yesterday! I am back in touch with Ms. Rho--Rhodessa Jones to you.

Four years ago, prior to my entry to graduate school, I had the occasion of meeting the originator and director of Medea Project. This unique professional theater company works with women in prison, collaborating with inmates to create theatre, based on their lives, stories that have yet to find a 'legitimate' avenue for expression. Their heartfelt narratives serve as the core of what turns out to be stunning theatrical events, orchestrated by Ms. Jones. With her eye on conveying the genuine spirit of these stories and her accuity for theatrical devices her productions deliver the punch of hard reality. Despite knowing the unsettling reservoir of experiences from whence these stories come, I, as an audience member find myself still surprised by the way she is able to pull the rug from under me with her unpredictable irony. Ms. Rho has a hearty sense of the ridiculous, echoed even in her boisterous laugh, and the work makes that evident. "This is not PRECIOUS theater. We are not en route to Broadway! The most we can do is open people's hearts," she declaims as she took the stage during the rehearsal last night. That's no mean feat, considering how often I've seen shows that have left me cold, despite being awed by the acrobatics of staging, costume and acting.

It's not a confessional box. It's more than that. It has to in order to qualify as art, in my book. This co-mingling of the social/personal/artistic commentary via the stage is gritty and tricky at the same time. To disrobe oneself, to understand and to communicate that the intimate touches on the universal is a truism I happen to subscribe to. The trick is in the how. The devil is in the germ of each execution and that demands adept artistry. This, in my mind, separates art from philosophy. Theater is not a paper you write on stage; ideas alone, after all, a theatrical experience do not make. Beyond the words, beyond the epiphany of an idea is...what? Infinity? Isn't it the ultimate dream of unreality?

Playing with the universe...a Rosenthalism

To you, my reader who chance upon this mostly untrafficked blog, I extend an invitation, commemorating a serendipity.

If you live in San Francisco and:

(a) drink wine
(b) do not object to unusual cuisine
(c) willing to offer a word or two of conversation
(d) able to decode the following anagram that betrays the name of the street where I live:

EROS' AVID ID,

then, you may be my guest at a private gathering among friends next Saturday, April 23.

All respondents should email playingwiththeuniverse@yahoo.com

**Copain (French): friend
etymological root: pain (French)= bread.
a friend=one you break bread with

Wellman's universe: infinitely sparse, infinitely many

And so it begins. About a year now since yours truly has worked on something of substance, theatrically speaking. I must confess that I have been out of the loop, disinterested, pulled away by other life concerns that artistic endeavors have taken the back seat. Now my poison of choice comes in the poetic, chaotic absurdity of Mac Wellman's Three Americanisms. For those unfamiliar with his work, (as am I-- really-- for how could you truly familiarize or "understand" the scope of a script that teeters on gibberish while recognizing, in bits and pieces, the poetic resonance of his language in spite, --or rather because--of it's irrationality?) he attempts to map concepts of Sierpinski's carpet as he formulates his text. The notion of infinity in space and time, the text mirrors in its repetition and play with homonyms that iterates sounds to allude to a multiplicity in meaning, thus jettisoning "logical" expression, one that demands a kind of textual linearity in thought. Therefore, working on his text preliminarily, one must play with sounds as they impel one to react, feel, think, based on the rhythm of the language. Tracking the impetus to speak, having to find the urgency to express the character's thoughts, as one who must deliver herself through a monologue came through several points in the experimentation. In short, I am surprised to find myself truly 'lost' and must savor the state of the unknown. It's been so long since I've encountered a text that demands enormous trust and genuine daring from a performer. Since there are no 'right' or traditional renderings of this piece it requires full investment from the performer to make sense of the material, using one's power to invent a reality that one can grasp and believe, in order to plunge into Wellman's world, as is written.

This is a humble endeavor for now, as I baby-step my way back into acting. As is always the case, I find myself cautious as far as what projects with which I wish to be involved. It's been a pleasure thus far and I am glad that Kevin (Humbert) has asked that I accompany his paper with a rendition of Wellman's piece for a symposium next weekend. (For those interested, some of Kevin's academic work is linked to this site. It's an interesting read on Hungarian art as it relates to modernism and notions of nostalgia and memory.)

So. We'll just have to see...

Suzuki thoughts

Hi - finally getting my butt to post on here.
In my MFA program (Naropa Univ) we're working now with Ellen Lauren and J.ed Araiza of SITI, creating a new work. J.ed is alright, but Ellen rocks my world. Rocelyn and I had talked in the past about Suzuki, and I have to now say that I really appreciate the work with it - now that I've been taught it by Ellen. She makes all other Suzuki teachers I've had look like they're just going through the motions. We get our asses totally kicked in class, but there are some real results happening.

(Part of me also thinks that a master teacher such as Ellen will find a way to really improve her students no matter what the modality - but I'm glad to be really learning, nonetheless.)