Emboldened by the power of the drum, they move together. Polished and poised, shoulder-to-shoulder, deliberate, and determined. Chins up, shoulders down, and stomachs in. Smart and sassy, they shimmy with attitude until, with slow and tentative steps, they begin to search with vacant eyes and vulnerable hearts.
Destined, they alternate between despair and frustration. Angry and afraid, they punch forward. Fatigued, they cross their chest, then cover their eyes. They agonize and apologize. Rejected, they back down. Bolstered with confidence, they object. Twisted and tight and with gut-wrenching intensity, they grab for peace, and justice, and forgiveness.
There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole; there is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin sick soul. Soothing words from an African-American spiritual blanket the room and sustain the imperfect but connective tissue emerging from these dancers. There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole; there is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin sick soul.
Frozen, they listen. Listened to, they expound. Not far from chimes in the wind, they cradle, unfold, and embrace. They share their hurts with one another, pouring them-like a refrain-from one hand to the next, and then into the earth. Gently pushed and pulled, they release their hearts-at first reluctant to forgive, they nod, pull back and try, try again. Finally, they reach with extended arms and open hands, and the audience, astounded by the abundance of their intimate energy, reaches with them.
These dancers' penetrating gestures-sharp and smooth and smart-are deeply personal. Their emotionally textured tales of painful life experiences translate into swoops and sculptures, transcending the time and place of their confinement. And, when they present their showcase of introspective vignettes to an audience humming with anticipation, it is a solid performance rooted in their souls.
This unprecedented dance performance, by invitation only, followed an intense week of on-site workshops at the Delores J. Baylor Women's Correction Institution (BWCI) in New Castle, Delaware. The residency for "The Forgiveness Project" was provided by the New York City-based Avodah Dance Ensemble and sponsored by Pacem in Terris.
Susan Shaw, Teacher/Supervisor for Prison Education at BWCI who oversees all aspects of the education department, sat in the audience and felt the stage presence of her students-women who are residents at BWCI and volunteered to participate in the weeklong project. She watched as they danced their message-that forgiving can be, and often is, both painful and beautiful-with serious and genuine emotion. And although she said she expected these students to use this week of dance workshops to delve into their feelings, that for other students-who sat in the audience with her-it was an experience that presented a reality that stirred fond memories, sadness, and questions. And as she reflected during this interview, from her office, she spoke about finding the value in learning from her students, that education is a relationship that takes place out from behind the desk, and about a gift-intuitive words scribed in simple calligraphy on a plaque from a former colleague: I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.
Kelli Carter, an Adult Basic Education teacher at BWCI, participated in both the workshops and performance and was a steadfast source of support. With understanding and sensitivity, she said the power of dance would challenge her students to express themselves. She helped turn her classroom- where seductively affirming messages are posted on pink walls and where students prepare for their GED-into a dance studio where these willing students would study each step and sequence, and then into a stage where they would, in the company of the professionals, perform for an audience of their peers.
Unlike the desolate and littered road beneath a landscape of concrete tunnels that leads to this place, the entrance to this classroom-turned-studio-turned stage is framed with encouragement, and a banner crafted in a rainbow of colors that reads: Welcome Avodah Dance Ensemble.
Dr. JoAnne Tucker is artistic director of the Avodah Dance Ensemble and worked in residence at BWCI from March 17-21, 2003, integrating five days of dance into its education program. Dr. Tuckerıs forgiveness-themed project is persuasive evidence of educational progress in the arts for women in prison. Last spring and again this year, "The Forgiveness Project" completed a successful residency at York Correction Institute in Connecticut, another prison for women.
When she asked the women at BWCI, early in the first workshop, about ideas for a theme, freedom and the caged bird cries were pitched to Dr. Tucker. As she painted the floor-with pain and anger, strife and hate, guilt and pride, counting and snapping to these blocks to forgiveness, and transitioning to reflect, stretching every artistic muscle into a conversation, peeling away the hurts and bound for accomplishment-she taught, with firmness and fortitude, her class of dancers to feel it, to do it, to stay with it. The women moved with force and nobility from the recesses of their hearts and minds as they learned modern dance techniques, rhythmic explorations, and improvisional movements. And at the end of this week of workshops and rehearsals, her students-women from all walks of life, dressed in their D-O-C's, who could not step out of this place-continued, for the moment, to dance.
Sitting still, with all the dancers in a circle on the floor after a day of workshops, Kelli listened to her students offer their appreciation with affection. There were no disruptive discussions. First-time dancers thanked Avodah for taking the time to bring "The Forgiveness Project" to them, and they thanked each other for their patience and endurance. For others in the circle, this week took them back to a time and place when music and dance helped them escape. Now, trapped behind these walls, they were able to escape again, they said.
I figured I'd give it a try. When I was a girl, I was doing creative dance, modern dance, and ballet, until I was 17. And even when I got older I would play music and dance to it. It helped me forget about some of those things I shouldn't have been thinking about.
I was able to share my emotions-my anger and fear and low self-esteem. I was able to share with other women who may have been feeling the same. We all ended up smiling, once we worked as a team. I felt a lot of peace inside, and in my mind, and didn't feel bottled up.
It really was okay to express my feelings-of what I had inside-and it let me know, that no matter what, we can always forgive each other, and we can forgive ourselves. I truly believe that. When we opened our hands and then slowly put our hands to our chest, a peace and calmness came upon me. Those things I felt were gone, like I never had them.
I found that I had a lot more confidence than I thought I had. Even after sometimes losing my focal point, I was able to jump back into what I was doing and nobody was mad about it, nobody was laughing at me. This strengthened me. No matter how old I am, I can still do it, whatever it might be. The challenge is just a challenge for me.
When I leave here, I hope, if I can, to work with some teenagers or younger children. I would like to work with them on some of this dance, to teach them to express their emotions, to know who they really are, and to be strong and confident, to where they will be able to stand out. That's a plus for everybody. No matter who you are or what you've done, that's still a plus. Forgiveness. That's what it is all about. Catherine, 43.
If the dancers lost their balance-which they did-they learned to continue with confidence. Vindicated, they made it through a week of private protest. It was a community connected-a fantastic unfolding, flawless, and integrated-and they performed with the very essence of their being.
"This is soul work," Kerrie Anne Thoma had told her group of dancers during final rehearsal on Thursday afternoon. "Think about what this means."
I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.
AVODAH DANCE ENSEMBLE
The BWCI residents danced with Sidra Leigh Bell, a 2001 graduate of Yale University and artistic director of Sidra Bell Dance New York; Natrea Blake, who received her BFA from The Juilliard School; Andrea Eisenstein, who received her BFA from Sam Houston State University; and Kerrie Anne Thoma, who received her BFA in Theatre Arts with an emphasis in Dance Performance from Northern Illinois University.
Music composed and performed by percussionist and music educator, Newman Baker, who has collaborated with Avodah since 1989.
Project director, choreographer, and dance educator, JoAnne Tucker's background includes modern dance training at The Juilliard School and The Martha Graham Studio. She received her Ph.D. in Theatre from the University of Wisconsin.
Avodah is a modern dance company rooted in the Jewish tradition that uses ancient sacred texts to connect and reconnect our spiritual selves to God and community. "The Forgiveness Project" looks at forgiveness with oneself, between people, between communities, and between oneself and the Divine. The inspiration for its work comes from many points of view and is drawn from the writings of Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Holocaust sources, Biblical texts, and contemporary novelists such as Wally Lamb and Buddhist writer Thich Nhat Hanh. Visit them at www.avodahdance.org.
"The Forgiveness Project" was sponsored by Pacem in Terris-a community-based peace education organization-and made possible, in part, by the following organizations: Marshall-Reynolds Foundation, Faith in Action Committee of Hanover Presbyterian Church, Delaware Division of the Arts, National Endowment for the Arts, Apostles in Mission Fund of the Episcopal Church of Saints Andrew and Matthew, St. Josephıs Catholic Church, The Franciscan Center, and the Newark Monthly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends.