What is it like?
You enter the darkened theater. You smell beeswax. A musician is playing. The center of the stage is filled with a large, illuminated piece of clear glass. As the show begins, you are handed a book. You read a page aloud — a line, a quote, perhaps a short paragraph — turn the page and hand the book to the next person to do the same. You might hear sentiments you wouldn't say aloud but have thought to yourself. The artist illustrates them, painting on the glass with melted wax. Each image changes your understanding of the one before. Together, you create a portrait of a community — your community.
It starts with a single line. The image is simple. The language is simple. The stories get more complex, describing truths you know and truths you don't. Before you know it, you are immersed. Different perspectives are juxtaposed, and the painting builds — story upon story, image upon image, perspective upon perspective. You see every brushstroke. See everything created in front of you. Yet at the end, the artist turns the painting around, and you discover yet another perspective you hadn't even realized existed.
“At some point, I started wondering if everyone else in the room was seeing the same thing I was seeing. And then Charlie turned the painting around, and I realized that I knew nothing. Every one of us has our own perspective with no idea what things look like for someone else.”
After a brief intermission, you have the opportunity to meet the other people in the room face to face with new eyes. Everyone in the room has experienced this together. You compare notes, ask questions, share your thoughts and stories, and listen. Your thoughts and stories help shape the next cycle of the show.
“I felt comfortable enough to share that when I am the only person of my race in a room, I wonder if they are as uncomfortable having me there as I am being there.”
