The Power of Art in Action: WCCW Residency by Eva Abram

Freehold facilitates an annual residency at three separate Washington Corrections facilities including the Washington Corrections Center for Women (WCCW), in which we enable the participants to write, direct, rehearse, and perform their own show in a five-month period. Residencies guide participants through the creation of an original performance based on an exploration of the archetypal hero’s journey. Participants invite their peers, friends and family to watch their performance at the culmination of the residency. The residency performance at WCCW is held in the spring.

When I was invited to participate in the Engaged Theatre WCCW Residency, learning that a theater-oriented group of people would guide participants through a series of writing exercises that would then be used to create a play, I was, well, curious.  As a storyteller and actor I’m quite familiar with story structure so I wondered how random writings would be used to create a cohesive, thematic play. 

I didn’t have to wonder long.  The ‘Group of Five (or so)’ Teaching Artists held meetings long before entering the WCCW.  We held several planning meetings to discuss ways to approach our task, asking questions such as: What classic stories might we use to start the creative juices flowing that might lead to possible themes?  We explored well-known stories that helped guide us in gathering ideas about how to approach the writing workshops. 

Still we had lots of questions to answer:  How do we create prompts that will encourage writing and not intimidate participants?  How do we convince those who have never written to write from a place of truth?  What kind of physical exercises could we do within WCCW rules to help mentally free the group?  These questions and many more had to be addressed before setting foot into the workspace.

In thinking about these tough questions, I had one of my own, “Are you sure I’m the one you need for this work?”  I sat in the meetings with a talented playwright, (a newbie like myself) and three veterans of the program.  As the playwright and I struggled to get up to speed, my concern vanished; I simply had no time to worry over that.  We listened, learned and discovered ways to contribute. Another question was, “How do you convince the new participants that ‘Yes, we can and will use your writings to create an awesome play?’"

I found that if we, the ‘Group of Five or so’, were willing to open up and share writings about ourselves, participants were more than willing to do the same.  We presented writing prompts that were developed with sensitivity for our participants.  Through thoughtful self-exploration, the women created heart-felt stories; they wrote of love, loss, death, forgiveness, standing up against injustice and transformations.  Through this program, lives were changed. 

The participants’ stories were beautifully astonishing and the truth in their messages was well received by those privileged enough to experience the play Cape-able Women, Journey through the Maze.

Throughout the creative writing process I was inspired, renewed and honored to have been a small part of this program with its audacious ideas and huge goals, all of which were met in the end.

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For more information about Freehold's Engaged Theatre program, go here.

My Story of My Work by Taryn Collis

“What do you do?”
“I teach theater at the women’s prison.”
“Oh. That must be… interesting.”
“Yeah.”

When you tell people you volunteer at a prison, they instantly know what you do. Or, they know what they think you do. Last year was my first year volunteering at WCCW, and I too thought I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.

Since graduating from college I’ve spent the majority of my artistic life making art with people who didn’t spend outrageous amounts of money on an arts education, didn’t have any semblance of ‘advanced training,’ or who straight up thought theater was for rich white people wearing pearls. I’ve sung and danced with underprivileged teens, I’ve paraded through the streets with farmers and homeless populations, I’ve even moved to the West Bank of Palestine to make puppets with refugee children.
“Prison?” I thought. “I got this.”

I love being proved wrong.

My favorite thing about working with the women at WCCW is their ability to surprise me each and every week. More so than most ‘trained artists,’ they are willing to jump right in and risk and try new things and be messy. They are brave, they are generous, and I don’t think they have any idea that they are some of the most talented artists I have ever had the pleasure of working with. It’s easy to title someone as a “prisoner,” an “offender,” a “criminal” and think you know everything about them. But when you walk into a room full of “women” and give them the space and the freedom to tell their stories, you never know what might come up. You look around the room at a sea of grey sweatpants; everyone equal, everyone the same. But within a few hours you begin to notice that, in fact, this one is a poet, and this one a master at improv. This one can tug your heart strings, and this one can make you laugh till you cry. Within moments everything you knew flies right out the window and over the sparkling barbed wire fence.

When I talk someone through a typical Sunday afternoon out at WCCW they usually prep themselves for a story filled with crying women lamenting over their crimes and the ordeals of incarceration. It’s not that those things don’t happen, it’s just that within the same three hours you’ll also see a room full of grown women throwing a “ball” of gibberish at each other, transforming into a dog or an elf or a surfer, or harmonizing in a haunting wordless song. As we kick off the residency this week, my only goal is to remain ever present and open. We head in with a book full of exercises and writing prompts, but there’s no telling what they’ll bring to the table each week. More so than getting up in front of the women to teach, we’re there to listen. Each and every one of these women has been through things I can’t even imagine, and I feel blessed that they’re willing to share even some part of themselves with me and with us.

We all have stories. We’re just waiting around for someone to listen.