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?