Dance Review
Dance gets personal for Graney, prison inmates

By Brangien Davis
Special to The Seattle Times

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"You can't miss it," the directions to the prison performance said. "It's large and surrounded by barbed wire." It seemed funny, until the woodsy, middle-of-nowhere road turned and revealed the imposing structure of the Washington State Corrections Center for Women in Purdy, Pierce County. A chain-link fence enclosed the cluster of low buildings, and endless spirals of razor wire glinted in the rain.

Local choreographer Pat Graney has spent a lot of time inside these foreboding walls. For 10 years, she has worked with female inmates as part of Keeping the Faith: The Prison Project.

Under Graney's guidance, prisoners spend two months putting together a performance that features dance, but more important, showcases their personal stories, struggles and triumphs.

This year's performance drew a crowd of nearly 100. We had been instructed not to bring anything ("That means nothing!") into the prison beyond two forms of identification, but noting lockers provided for visitors, a few of us considered running out to get our purses. It was pointless, yet something about being inside the facility made us long for our possessions.

After each of us passed through the metal detector, a guard led our chatty (nervous?) group through gate after gate, waiting while each closed fully behind us before opening the next.

We crossed a wide courtyard populated by several groups of inmates, who are required to wear white or light-colored clothing. It was suddenly obvious that everyone in our group was wearing outfits denoting the season: black, brown and gray.

Finally, we arrived at the gym, which like most of the other rooms we passed, was bathed in a harsh and unforgiving light. The treadmills had been pushed to the side, creating a makeshift stage in the center of the court.

Emerging from behind life-size cardboard cutouts of recognizable figures (James Dean, Glinda the Good Witch, John Wayne), the performers began to share their stories.

The 11 women took turns reading pieces they had written, with the help of visiting Irish writer Barbara Bergin. The readings were interspersed with short, simple dance numbers to well-known songs.
 
None claimed they were innocent. None raged against incarceration. All spoke of mistakes made — of wrong crowds, wrong choices, wrong paths. All mentioned their families. All spoke of hope.

In fact, as the women stomped, clapped, lip-synched and used sign language, they were quite visibly filled with happiness. They were giggly and shy, yet proud of their artistic accomplishment, and in this way resembled a group of young girls performing a school play. Since many of them may not have had a childhood in the traditional sense, this was especially touching.

"Working in prison has grounded me," said Graney, "and given me the gift of a more complete vision of my community."

And indeed there was something profoundly grounding — certainly humbling — about hearing these women, many of whom are serving lengthy sentences (including one lifer), express their excitement about being in the prison project again next year.

As for the audience, we drove off into the night, thoughtful, but free.

Brangien Davis: brangiendavis@yahoo.com