As formerly incarcerated people, we had to explore profound truths about prison that we still carry in our bodies: The gravity of being removed from society for over a decade. Our tattoos, injuries, memories, unprocessed traumas, survivor guilt.
I find myself torn between perspectives. One perspective tells me that I am living out my God-given right to free- dom, will and agency. Simultaneously, I am thinking about how lucky I am to have been given a second chance at life. Freedom has been packaged and purchased by most peo- ple in America as a divine right, something of the highest value. Currently and formerly incarcerated people know it to be a luxury, a privilege. What does that say about the mindset of those impacted by the carceral system? One of my mentors, long-time teacher, and friend, Amie Dowling, presented me and three other people—Reyna Brown, Tiersa Nureyev and Maurice Reed—with an opportunity to collaborate on work that is meaningful
and true to who we are as artists. With no hesitation, I agreed. We had no clear vision or idea about what we wanted to create, but we each trusted the process. With time and space, art develops and challenges your thoughts, your understanding of self, and your lived experience. The one thing we were clear on is that this project was going to be centered around our close friend Maurice Reed who was released from San Quentin State Prison a few months earlier after also serving 13 years. Maurice and I decided to find a place to start filming and talking through our experiences of being thrown back into a world that we had become strangers to. And in that moment of uncertainty, we drove to Mare Island in Vallejo, California, where there is open parking,
land and trails. We noticed that where we parked fit the aes- thetics of a prison. Tall build- ings that look unattended, fences, locked gates, thick yel- low lines that out-line unautho- rized areas, police cars, secu-
rity guards making rounds like clockwork, dirt, dust, and silence that could either be eerie or peaceful depending on places you have been. In prison yards there are “Mac Shacks,” shacks where you can check out recreational gear: basketballs, hand- balls, footballs, soccer balls, jump ropes, horseshoes, and even chess boards. It’s also where correctional officers are
concrete slabs we would walk day and night. We started reliving moments of our incarceration where we fantasized about being in the exact moment we were actually in— marveling at the journey, mourning the parts of ourselves still behind those walls, yellow lines, locked gates, and caged cells monitored by officers and security like clock- work. Time, freedom, new life, a fresh start. These were some of the concepts we decided to explore. We presented our ideas to our other team members, Tiersa Nureyev and Reyna Brown, and knew their input would help guide the project and sculpt the vision. We explored cities, places, spaces, styles of dance, types of movements, poetry, music, wardrobe, props, and self. As formerly incarcerated people, we had to explore pro- found truths about prison that we still carry in our bod- ies: The gravity of being removed from society for over a decade. Our tattoos, injuries, memories, unprocessed trau- mas, survivor guilt. In the height of the COVID-19 pandemic Maurice recalls like clockwork voices near and far screaming and plead- ing for assistance when another incarcerated person fell ill, “MAN DOWN, MAN DOWN, MAN DOWN! Some peo- ple came back to the cells, and some didn’t. You would get word that someone else passed away.” The goal of this piece is to both express and challenge. Express truth from our perspective and challenge those
sometimes posted. For people for- tunate enough never to have experi- enced that, imagine a big brown toll booth only to fit one or two people. Directly in front of where Maurice and I parked, there stood a “Mac Shack.” This is where the project must begin. Maurice sat in front of the Mac Shack. There lay a long empty road between him and me, and it felt like he was awaiting someone’s arrival. Fingers interlaced, elbows on knees, sun settling behind him, and time continuing to pass. Sitting side by side with someone with whom I served almost eight years felt so natural and surreal. This long strip of empty road reminiscent of the
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In Dance | May 2014 | dancersgroup.org
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