Thanks for checking out the LAFPI “tag team” blog, below, handed off each week from one interesting female playwright to another.
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Katherine Vondy’s “City in the Sky” staged reading
This past weekend, I had the pleasure of attending a professionally staged reading of City in the Sky by Katherine Vondy as part of the MadLAB new play development reading series at Moving Arts Theater. This play is as much a historical imagining as it is one of place and the enduring cycles of material and figurative fire that burns the intimate lives of those who call Southern California home.
The play begins with the sibling duo, Rowan and Sage, hiking arduously up a trail on Echo Mountain in Altadena. Both fully grown adults, Sage is purposeful in dragging her younger brother up this particular trail—she wants to show him the remnants of the White City in the Sky. This “city”was once a true-life resort that was built atop Echo Mountain at the turn of the 20th century. It was complete with a hotel, bowling alley, zoo, and observatory. In order to reach the resort, visitors would ride in a funicular, a cable rail system (Yes, I had to look that up!), that climbed up the steep mountainside. Sage, who has always been protective of her brother ever since the two lost their parents to a tragic car accident when he was a teenager, brings Rowan to the mountaintop in the hopes that she can pull him out of his deep depression. A self-described nerd and professional editor, Sage has discovered that their own great-great-grandfather, Jasper Turner, was one of the engineers who designed the funicular of the gleaming White City. As Sage attempts to share this fun fact of lineage, the audience is taken back to 1899 to see for themselves Jasper and his new wife, Florence, visiting the White City for the first time.
Newlyweds Florence and Jasper are in awe of the spectacular resort, named the White City for its gleaming white buildings against a backdrop of luminous night stars. Florence is full of hope for the future, while a more measured Jasper lives in the shadow of his father’s melancholy and ultimate suicide. When Florence reveals that she is pregnant, the news weighs heavily on Jasper as he ponders whether he and his future children will ever be able to escape the curse of depression.
The piece moves between dual timelines with Dr. Larkin, the real-life astronomer and curator of Echo Mountain observatory, lecturing at the podium directly through the fourth wall. His monologuing, much like that of a museum tour guide, serves as the interstitial muscle that frames and connects both timelines as well as allows for them to collapse when Sage and Rowan come face to face with their ancestral ghosts, Florence and Jasper. Katherine describes Dr. Larkin as “the node that connects us to magical ideas”. For me, Dr. Larkin is the poet that reveals both the beauty and mystery that underlies human fear and fragility. There is, after all, so much metaphor in the stars and their constellations. Within our reading of the night sky, there exists all kinds of mythology and a navigable map to literally point us in the right direction. Simultaneously, the stars represent so much of what is unknowable, unfathomable, or out of reach for the stargazers down below. In one instance, Dr. Larkin tells the audience about the constellation Lupus, which came to be known first as a Beast, then eventually a Wolf. The wolf becomes a motif throughout the play, a metaphor for the depression that continually chases Rowan and Jasper.
In this way, Katherine addresses mental illness from an epigenetic lens—I’m not sure why we even call it an illness as depression seem to me to be plaguing every person that I know in my orbit in some muted way along a grayscale that refuses to draw clean clinical lines between okay and not okay. But I digress. For many, Lupus, the wolf, is indeed always around the corner threatening to bite at one’s heels. At one point, after disclosing his own recent suicide attempt, Rowan describes a sense of kinship with the wolf. He confides to Jasper “sometimes, when it’s not around, I miss it. I don’t know who I’d be without the wolf” and Jasper replies, “But if it catches you, you will be nothing.” Rowan then quips “That’s the paradox, isn’t it?”
In another vivid scene, when all the characters have suspended their disbelief and allowed themselves to commune together in the dance hall of the White City’s hotel, rave like dance moves take over their bodies as modern-day trance melds with a Victorian string quartet. This scene exemplifies the active alchemy of two worlds and the mirrors that cycle through generations. Katherine shares that she is fond of dual timelines as a device because it offers the ability “to talk about the past in a way that also talks about the present.” Rowan and Jasper both agree, through simultaneous incantation, not conversation, “As long as we dance, we keep the wolf at bay.” This is quite a juxtaposition–the dialectic of hope and despair embodied in a dance.
While Rowan and Jasper suffer from their mental illness, Sage and Florence bear the weight of responsibility in carrying them. They too suffer as women who stoically care for their male counterparts without the luxury of giving in to their own despair. It is ironic that women are so often cast as overly emotional or hysterical in media representations when in fact so many women in familial caretaker roles exhibit quiet strength and indomitable survival skills. In one conversation, Sage says self-referentially “Whatever tries to chase them, older sisters have to refuse to be hunted.” It hasn’t escaped me that even as I have written most of this post, I am only now speaking seriously of the importance of Sage and Florence as women characters in the piece. This is how women are unnoticed (in life and in plays), by doing exactly what they need to do, for the sake of whatever or whomever is centered. As a woman who has taken on a lot of family responsibility, Katherine is intentional in her portrayal of these women as unwavering in their will to help and nurture their family.
Finally, just as the depression cycles through generations, so too, do the natural calamities that devastate the land. While I would not characterize this as a climate play, the atmosphere of Southern California is its own kind of wolf. While the White City was ravaged by fire shortly after it was first built, at play’s end, Rowan and Sage find themselves in their Altadena home watching the Eaton fire. In this scene, after having read the full story of his great-great-grandfather, Rowan worries that his own reveals about the future to Jasper may have somehow upset or altered history. How could it? But also, how could it not? Isn’t that the biggest danger of time travel? Looking out the window at the hungry fire encroaching, the question mark that lingers is whether or not Rowan will choose the same path as Jasper.
This play came out of a nine month-long process that involved several rounds of cold reads with professional actors before culminating into the professionally staged reading. The Madlab new play development program is run by the Moving Arts Theatre Company in Atwater Village. It is a Los Angeles theater mainstay when it comes to supporting local playwrights in developing a play from pitch to a near production-ready manuscript. Katherine praises Moving Arts’ Program Director, Dana Schwartz, and Artistic Director, Darin Anthony, as “genuinely supportive.” She says, “Especially now when all the arts programs are stripping down programming for new work, it’s amazing that Madlab is continuing to do this intensive of process.”
But Katherine is no stranger to new play development, and she has built an arsenal of plays over the last decade through similar writers’ groups and playwriting communities. After going to USC film school and traversing the tenuous Hollywood screenwriter’s life, she returned to her theater roots. In 2015, she wrote her first play with none other than LAFPI’s Jennie Webb. Early recognition for her playwriting eventually led her to The Vagrancy, where she eventually became the moderator for their own new play development program. Of the organization, Katherine says, “I owe a huge amount of writing success to the Vagrancy; almost all the plays that I’ve written have been through working alongside the Vagrancy playwrights.” Now she mostly works with the Vagrancy as a dramaturg, which albeit not lucrative, is a role that she enjoys. She quips, “If your plays are your babies, then the plays that you dramaturg are your nieces and nephews.” Personally, I trust the dramaturgs who are writers themselves the most, and it is clear from this reading that Katherine is first and foremost a writer.
City in the Sky sent me straight to the internet to learn more about the history of Echo Mountain at the turn of the century. If relics of the past in our natural environment are not examined, it seems impossible to protect it from a dangerous future. I’d say that goes the same for examining the ghosts of our past. As Dr. Larkin says, “The universe is so vast, and we are so small. Would it not make more sense to point the telescope in the other direction?”
Decisions, decisions…
by Analyn Revilla
Today, September 25th of 2026 is the mid-Autumn Mooncake festival. I rushed to get to Wonder Bakery before it closed at 9 PM from South LA to DTLA Chinatown after a late mass. When I got there the only employee left was mopping the floor under the tables. I bought mooncakes of two varieties: lotus seed with duck egg yolk and red bean paste with duck egg yolk. It has been my tradition in the past three years to buy mooncakes here as it’s the only place open late that sells them. The more famous Phoenix Bakery was a block away but closed at 6:00 PM.
My day started at 7:00 AM and sandwiched between the mooncake trip were the litany of constant caring for pets (a dog, four cats and five chickens), a hike at Kenneth Hahn, grocery shopping, teaching a Pilates Reformer class at 9:00 AM. Though I was fatigued and squeezed for time, I was determined to get my mooncakes today. I asked myself “Why is this so important to you?” It could wait till tomorrow or even another week to get the mooncakes.
The short answer is I’m a traditional kind of person. Practicing traditions has a deep meaning for me and I don’t know exactly what it is for the mid-Autumn Mooncake festival. I am Filipino, and as a Catholic this isn’t even a regular practice. But, I have picked up certain practices in my exposure to different cultures. A couple of weeks ago was the Ethiopian New Year, and I went to see my friends in Little Ethiopia, and sent greetings to Ethiopian friends in far away places. More recently was Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. I also acknowledged the solemnity of these events to friends who practice the rituals of the High Holy Days.
All this had me wondering as to whether my choices and actions are based on belief, opinions or preferences. There is a spectrum of consequences to what I choose and do. To begin with there are short-term and/or long-term consequences. Also it could be serious or not-so-serious consequences; negative or positive in terms of how it all plays out.
This reminds me of the terrible, terrible time I had when deciding upon my specialty in Computer Science. The options were: Business Systems, Microcomputer Systems, Artificial Intelligence and Decision Systems. I chose Decision Systems with the hope I could learn to make decisions easily with some intelligence applied in the process. It was a miserable and the wrong choice for me, because it was heavy on mathematics with a lot of linear programming. But I got through it (and I bet with a lot of Divine intervention).
I noticed that I have made a lot of major choices that were life-changing based on a hunch, a deep knowing of what is right for me, because I trust I am being guided by a divine force. I pray a lot. I’ve learned to be cool, to trust this inner knowing, and to act with the long-term effect in mind. I suppose I bias more towards making decisions that are based on belief rather than opinion, with the understanding that opinions can change when circumstances or evidence changes. But it’s not often that all the facts are available at the moment when the decision has to be made. Belief is deeper in the marrow of my being.
I bought my round-trip airfare ticket to fly back to Vancouver for Canadian Thanksgiving in mid-October. Whenever a big outlay of money is involved then I give the decision making process serious consideration. So many what-if’s come into play, even down to buying insurance for the flight, and whether to pay for extra leg-room or to pay for two check-in baggages. The apps for these airline tickets always ask “Are you sure?” with the purpose of creating more anxiety on an already trepidation-laden transaction. Yes, I’m sure! I want to scream at an inanimate screen that pretends to be human.
I daresay that as I get closer to my “golden years”, I am practicing to be more self-aware of what’s driving my choices. I consciously think of time as a precious commodity. I don’t hesitate to hang up on telemarketers, especially the automated variety. My radar goes up for situations when the players aren’t serious about the gravity of choices to be made.
Tonight I can enjoy my mooncake with a cup of tea and gaze up at the moon, knowing I am ready. I made the journey and I have arrived again. As a Catholic, this is preparing me for the ritual of getting ready for the Advent season as candles are lit to bring the light into the world.
Everybody Loves a Birthday Party
By Kitty Felde
Last month, I threw a birthday party for one of my characters.
In my latest Fina Mendoza mystery “Home of the Brave,” my young detective celebrates her 11th birthday. But her party gets hijacked by her matchmaking aunts, trying to fix up Fina’s congressman father with his former chief-of-staff. Fina barely gets to blow out the candles.
So I invited all the neighborhood kids and threw Fina the birthday party she should have had.
I posted about the party on my neighborhood Facebook group, trying to explain the odd concept of a party (no presents please!) for someone who wouldn’t be there in person. Would anyone come?
What happened surprised me. First, my 11-year-old neighbor knocked on my door. “I have some ideas,” she said and pulled out a handwritten list. Kids her age liked to win prizes, she said, so we’d need competitions. And a piñata. “We have to have a piñata,” she said. “And junk food. And I’ll help.”
Word spread. More kids volunteered. On Saturday, half a dozen young helpers dragged every chair they could find out to the front yard. “Adults like to sit,” said my young expert. Adults! Would grownups come to a fictitious 11-year-old’s party? Just in case, I added bottles of beer and cans of coffee drinks to a “grownup” ice chest.
People did come. More than two dozen neighbors of all ages came to celebrate Fina’s birthday.
Center stage was a table covered with my books. “Oh, I’ve read this one,” said one girl. “I’ve read them ALL!” bragged another. Two of the parents were librarians who were determined to take home the entire series. It was a subtle, not too pushy way to call attention to my work.
So if you’re looking for a creative way to celebrate your characters without the need for lights and costumes and a director, consider throwing them a party. Invite every director and artistic director you can (and encourage them to bring their kids/grandkids). If it’s a period or absurdist piece, suggest your guests come in costume. Include a short reading of your play as part of the celebration. Who knows? It may inspire a full production!
PS: The next day, one of my young helpers knocked on my door and told me, “That was the best party I ever went to!” I had to agree.
Kitty Felde writes The Fina Mendoza Mysteries series of middle grade novels. She also writes a series of civics quiz books under the pen name of PJ Jaeger called “Are You Smarter Than Your Parents About…Civics?”
A free staged reading of her one-woman play (with a ghost) “ALICE: an evening with the tart-tongued daughter of Theodore Roosevelt” will be presented Monday, October 12th at Theater 40 at 7PM.
On the Shortness of Life: Revised
by Constance Jaquay
Since I left my hotel in Tokyo, I keep seeing the face of Jason Arday, where late into the night I’d watch the BBC conduct interview after interview; one person then the next giving their opinion on how and why we lost another human life.
My body jerks, tightens; it clenches for it knows the unpredictable nature of isolation.
I’ve heard the vocal vibrations of my shadow gently welcome death:
suicide dances on beat, familiar // an old friend who visits many on cold nights as the smell of gas lingers in the air.
On my knees I pray that every tortured soul finds peace in ways that rewire and heal their nervous system.
On the train I look left and right only to find every face looking down into a phone, it reminds me of a cult // so I close my eyes to remember Sarah in Vermont, fresh kale, homegrown blueberries, strawberries grown in generations old soil, our weekly trips into town for espresso and fresh fish.
There was a time when people made eye contact and strangers were actually friends you ran into during your work week routes as each of you lived your individual lives.
Now___we make way for corporations disguised as community organizations to profit off grief and heartbreak, as we witness them prey on the downfall of humans deemed deserving, turn their stories into top ten movies on Netflix as swiftly as falcons catching another bird in midair.
In our naivety, we dreamed shame and anger would morph themselves with time.
As I dance and float through space, thankful fear has not taken hold of me. For I still believe scarcity brings abundance, yet | this leaves a feeling deep within the bones: cruelty quietly hides in a multitude of hellos. I’m reminded that fear is reactive, contagious; it breeds followers.
You can’t teach resentment; it resembles fungus and grows__simmers; some carry it close as it lives beneath the surface of the eyes when one realizes that old age is nigh.
Walking down Oakwood, I see raccoons as huge as pigs eating canned food my neighbors leave out for stray cats. Another dose of reality: we are in hard times & hunger sneaks up on you right when one feels full.
Arriving home, I sit down on my Senfu stool, trying to stay focused.
I admire my pretty stationary collection (beautiful things still matter) before I pen an old-fashioned, handwritten letter to Lady Paige, whom I met during a hot summer in a small fishing town over an aperitivo in Genoa. (The quiet actions still matter).
Rooted.
Finding Calm….I stand still |
I trust my body.
An unbiased guide to what lies within the hidden body.
The FPI Files: A Conversation Between Friends Dives into “Realm of the River”
On September 2, 2026, playwright Sigrid Gilmer sat down with Jesse Bliss – writer, performer, educator, founder of the The Roots and Wings Project and the writer/director of Realm of the River, which opens September 18th at the Rosenthal Theatre at Inner-City Arts – to talk about Jesse’s new play.
Here is an edited excerpt of their conversation:
Sigrid Gilmer: I wanted to frame this interview around friendship, because we’re friends and I love you. You are one of the most special people in the world to me.
Jesse Bliss: Likewise, Sigrid, I love you so much. You’re one of my favorite humans.
Sigrid: Oh, that’s nice! I want to talk about female friendship, joy, resistance, because your play Realm of the River starts with two friends on their way to pick up their other homie, so they can go wild out and dance. But the night takes a dark turn and they find themselves at the edge of a river trying to come together to make life or death decision. I don’t want to give to much away. People should go and see it.
Jesse: Right!
Sigrid: For me the heart of the play is the friendship between the three main women and how it saves them from a very tough night. Thinking about the importances of women holding each other, a question that came up for me was, was there a woman, when you were starting out, who was an inspiration for you?
Jesse: My acting teacher, Linda. Linda Lowry, who I met in San Francisco, was definitely somebody who really invested in me and pulled me up. She was a single mother, an actress and a prodigy of Bobby Lewis from the original Actor’s Studio. He studied with Stanislavski, so Linda came from that very strict old school lineage. I had so much respect for her because she was so talented and so hardworking, and she really was a person who had pulled herself through life. I respected that, you know?
Sigrid: Yeah, yeah. Tell me, even though I know – this is for the interview – tell me where you started?
Jesse: On my path with this work?
Sigrid: Yeah?
Jesse: I definitely started with Linda. I moved to San Francisco when I was 20 with nothing. I moved with my friend and we lived in the Tenderloin where we used to drop sacks of flour down to the crackheads so we could make a run for it. I mean, we were in the Tenderloin. It’s the worst part of San Francisco. We moved there, and three weeks after we got there I was walking up Geary Street and I saw this theater, the Phoenix Theatre, and there was Linda. And so I asked her, what is this place? And she said, “Come inside. It’s cold out there.”
I think Linda was the first woman I ever became close with in this profession. I was always searching for material to work on in her acting class because the work for women was nothing I could relate to, and so she would tell me, “You’re a writer. You should write your own material.” And that was…
I’d always written my whole life, but I just did it because it was in my heart to do it. She gave me the suggestion that I could create work that would speak truthfully to our experiences, and that appealed to me only because it wasn’t already in the landscape.
Sigrid: Hmm. Okay. I’m not even going to try to think of a clever way to transition this. I was thinking of your writing and your new play. I think most of all the stuff I’ve read of yours is very poetic. It’s like everyday language, everyday speech flipped and heightened. You use a lot of repetition. It’s the language mounted in a way that evokes slam poetry, liturgical ritual language. Talk about how you use language as a tool of resistance.
Jesse: You know what? You made me think of my friend Gustavo, who just passed away. I was reading something he wrote just the other day: “You can use language to build or burn bridges.”
Words have power. You know in our culture, in this country, we’ve been conditioned into silence and taught that it will protect us. And so words, when used in certain contexts, can help us to liberate. Whether it’s using your words to advocate for something that you need or advocating for something that somebody else needs, or if it’s like a play for instance – offering it as a reflection of what is.
Sigrid: In Realm, especially around Esme and Oshun’s relationship, there is this question of what are we honestly reflecting back.
Jesse: Brandon Ramon Williams, one of the actors in the play, said that nobody in this play can hide from themselves. Everybody’s taking accountability. They all face off with themselves, which is very metaphoric.
Brandon’s character is named Emir – a mirror. So there is that strong undertone of taking a look, you know. But I think women, especially, are conditioned from so early on to make our relationship to our reflection shallow and harmful. And we’re taught to detect flaws and detect in our faces and our bodies things that are in line with the preference of patriarchy, rather than things that are in line with nature and what makes us feel whole.
Sigrid: Yeah, yeah: I’m not seeing myself like it’s a one-way relationship, I’m looking at myself as I would think a man would look at me. So what do I really look like?
Jesse: Yes.
Sigrid: And how can I even evaluate because what we deem attractive is so narrow and framed by patriarchy and white supremacy!
Jesse: It’s a big industry. A lot of profit, right? Financial gain off making us feel that way.
Sigrid: Truly.
Jesse: Buy this to look like that. Get this surgery to achieve that, right? To give us something that we inherently have. It’s not even beauty, because what is that? It’s such a subjective thing. We’re made to feel so bad about ourselves because that’s profitable.
And this whole craze of media makes it all worse. All the filters that people are using on top of all of the surgeries that are happening… just combine all of that and people are made to feel bad about themselves, comparing themselves to some some weird, poisonous non-existent aesthetic.
Sigrid: That’s a crazy thing.
Jesse: It doesn’t exist, It’s not a true thing, but we act as if it is.
Sigrid: Speaking of belief in things that cannot be seen, there’s so much praying in in Realm of the River. So much just like straight up, I’m gonna drop to my knees here at this river. I’m gonna get on this dance floor and I’m gonna pray.
Jesse: Because prayer is resistance. I think prayer is that place that arrests all of these false notions that push along our society. It is to me. Prayer automatically stills that because when you’re praying, you’re acknowledging that there’s something beyond all of this that is beautiful, that’s a force of love, that is nurturing. And so yeah: I’m a big believer that prayer, no matter what you’re praying to. Or even meditation or anything that puts you in that state, it automatically is gonna disarm the false thoughts and the voices and all the buy-in that happens – buying into these ideas that I’m not what I should be.
Like in the play, there’s a reference to the flower could just enjoy being a flower. Just be fragrant all on your own. Yeah, just enjoy your rightness. But we’re taught that what we are is wrong. So the prayer, I think, is a reminder that we’re in relationship to something really beautiful, and we’re a part of that.
Sigrid: For me that’s what the play is about.
Jesse: Also, that the women just want to ride out and have fun! Like, could they just for one night not think something’s wrong with them? Couldn’t they just go dancing and enjoy themselves and just be free, just be a human being? Enjoy being alive and escape all of these weighing notions that something’s wrong all the time with who they are?
Sigrid: We’re so conditioned.
Jesse: Right. And if you try to walk around not buying in and just being free, it’s like offensive to people. Why is she having fun? Why is she laughing at the grocery store?
Sigrid: Like, stop it!
Jesse: It’s always with women about how we behave and how we’re expected to behave; it’s such a sham.
Sigrid: What do you think it is about joy – like female joy – that rattles people?
Jesse: Because you can’t make money off of it. It’s like it’s outside the realm of ownership.
Sigrid: Talk more… Oh wait. We’ve been talking for an hour!
Jesse: You started this conversation with the idea of friendship, and so just to speak to that as we close, I think there’s…
I was just writing about this the other day. I don’t think anything saves a woman like a friend, another woman friend. You know, because it’s like we call back each other’s souls. When I laugh with you, oh my God! I I mean, I laugh myself in oblivion, and it’s the best. I’m like, “Oh, there I am!”
Sigrid: To have somebody who… and I feel like with us. I feel like this with you. I feel 1000% seen and loved, and that is… I mean-I’m crying now. There’s nothing like that.
Jesse: It’s a lifeline. It’s like it’s breath itself. It’s not like a relationship to nature, but it’s the only thing that could even get slightly close to that feeling. You know when you’re someplace really really beautiful and you can’t help but feel alive? The air is so fresh, and you’re just like, “Oh, nothing’s bothering me right now. I’m so happy.” Right? It’s that beautiful.
“Realm of the River,” written and directed by Jesse Bliss, runs from September 18th thru September 27th. Fridays & Saturdays at 8pm, Sundays at 2pm at the Rosenthal Theatre at Inner-City Arts.
Visit www.therootsandwingsproject.com/realm-of-the-river for tickets and more information.
Know a female or FPI-friendly theater, company or artist? Contact us at lafpi.updates@gmail.com & check out The FPI Files for more stories.
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The Point is to become a stranger
I was recently in Virginia at James Madison University’s Theatre Department for the Madison New Works Lab. We were working on a play of mine for a reading series — a play that is very dear to me, that feels like one of my go-to calling card plays, so making sure it works has been especially important to me.
What I did, almost accidentally, was put a lot of distance between myself and the script; the last I heard this version was over a zoom with actors reading it cold in spring 2025. So it had be over a year by the time I heard it again in August 2026. I’d done bigger rewrites in that draft but had not revisited.
So when I first heard this draft out loud, I had an almost out-of-body experience; there were whole sections of the play I didn’t remember writing but I remember trying to solve the problems the new sections took care of. During the first reading of it I genuinely didn’t know what was going to happen next.
But of course I KNEW. Because I wrote it. Even though I couldn’t remember it.
I think I might know when a play is getting close to being “done.” At least for me. And it lies in this sensation — the feeling of watching a thing running around that both IS you and is absolutely NOT you. I saw the play, knew it was mine, knew almost immediately what I needed to do once I started looking at it with an editor’s eye — but it somehow no longer felt like mine. It felt alive, I suppose, in a way that made me feel like a stranger intruding on something important.
But I think that is the point. To get your work to a point where you can let it go, that you couldn’t hold onto it even if you tried. The point is to become a bit of a stranger to the work. Give each other space. Write so that the play solves its own problems and no longer needs you.
I supposed I just needed to be reminded of the joy of a rehearsal room, of revisiting a play after a time away, to learn how to look at something you know so intimately with new curosity.
And curiosity glues that whole universe together.
we are our mothers…
by Robin Byrd
we are our mothers
embodied and portioned
lost and aware
wisps of memory
captives to genographic fates
the black potted bread still soaking in butter on the stove’s eye
sizzling hot and blisteringly dangerous
“misery lives in the bones”
blood bleeds on dresses repurposed each generation for war
braided and rolled coifs frame faces too old to love hard again
ruint too young to know full abandon
“survival is a verb, is an action”
deep as conversation between matrilineal and patrilineal Xs
“we was runnin’ /
/ we was walkin’
we was birthin’ babies at a young age
/ an’ at a old age
we was locked up
/ inside ourselves
an’ in asylums /
for this can be the work of men
but he loved me /
/ he loved me
til’ his dyin’ day /
/ til’ my dyin’ day
we was young /
/ then we was old
then we was old /
i survived the asylum /
/ i did not survive my body reekin’ of alcohol
/ nor could i forget the huntin’ days
/ of wild meat simmerin’ or the smell
of afterbirth” /
give me cabbage and potatoes with the “e”
give me corned beef or meatloaf with gravy
and some of that bread
press my hair straight
don’t burn my ears or my kitchen
let me speak of shadows in dark rooms
and how much blood can be scrubbed from the soul or barren-ed womb
years of flesh falling like crabapples on the medicinal lawn so pretty you forget the apples need washing
unbefitting – this landscape
a lovely blanket to hide the oath breakers lair
life slips
expels itself
for grief is a murderer cloaked in silence
forgive me if i remember Dothan’s road as a desert route to hades
“we went north…east /
/ we went north…west
then we backtracked south…west /
we met in the middle in the southernmost northern city
we met in the middle /
/ we met in the middle
your son/my daughter /
/ your daughter/my son
we met in the middle
left nothing to chance”
the bones ache of revisiting crime scenes
sometimes i want to run when i need to walk
other times i just want to straddle this fence
teetering
invisible is not the end of a thing
written off is not the same as a black woman weathering
misery lives
in the bones
i am my mother
i am all my mothers
in ways too familiar to ignore
still scratching at scabs
still burying the dead
still weathering the pretty lawns
7/16/26
#FringeFemmes 2026: Meet Kathy Westfield
By Constance Jaquay Strickland
Conversations with some of #HFF26’s compelling “Women on the Fringe”
Ten years ago, I did my first Fringe Femme interview out of a desperate need to hear and uplift the voices of women of color during Fringe. I also selfishly wanted to bear witness and, in some small way, archive the multiplicity of voices and conversations women of color were having.
The reality was, I was having a hard time discovering and seeing the work of women of color. I knew I had a small network, no connections, and yet I still found a way. I knew that the hardest part of manifesting a new work was finding a way to let people know you have a show happening.
The 2026 Hollywood Fringe Femme Interview series is an ode to the women who find a way to tell stories by any means necessary. And this Fringe Femme is truly a miracle – I do not say that frivolously. In the United States, nearly 1 in 3 women have experienced a form of physical violence by an intimate partner. Nearly 75% of all domestic homicide and severe violent crime victims of domestic abuse are women.
Currently here in California, the Hope Transitional Shelter houses more than three dozen women and children who are facing a high risk of losing services that support families experiencing domestic violence. As a child who witnessed my mother escape domestic violence, I know how urgent and vital services are for families to get back on their feet but also how it transforms an entire family when women have the ability, support and forums to share their stories of survival.
This is why it is not only emotional, but truly a blessing to introduce Fringe Femme Kathy Westfield and “He Put His Hands On Me.” May each time she shares her story, it saves another woman’s life. May each time she shares her story, it transforms the lens via how women are viewed. May each time she shares her story, it opens a portal of courage and healing for all the women who are on the brink of leaving a violent partner.
Constance Jaquay Strickland: How long have you been sitting with this work and what led you to the Hollywood Fringe?
Kathy Westfield: I initially wrote “He Put His Hands On Me” in 2018. In searching for a platform for my show, I came across the Hollywood Fringe Festival. It immediately caught my attention because it provided an opportunity without creative limits, was part of the performing arts community and it also gave me the freedom to produce my own show. So, in October 2019 and then in January 2020, I produced my show in preparation for the June 2020 Hollywood Fringe Festival. However, in February 2020, COVID hit. [And the 2020 Hollywood Fringe was cancelled.]
Constance: So why now?
Kathy: Because it was time to just do it! I could not forget how the audience at my last show came onstage, surrounded me and asked, “When is your next show?” They maintained a strong position stating, “You have to do it again. People need to hear your story.”
Constance: Were there joy and surprises that you discovered when creating your show?
Kathy: There was joy in realizing my show could possibly help someone who is currently being abused. It then was no longer just about writing my story. It now had a much bigger purpose. True joy came in knowing that I am fortunate to be alive. I can now share my journey to enlighten, inform and to encourage others.
Constance: What was your biggest challenge in terms of the Fringe and your development process?
Kathy: As the artist as well as the producer, it was challenging handling all the duties, i.e., securing the venue, production and promotions, as well as other performance related duties. I stayed busy from the inception, through the rewrites and all the way through managing the tech rehearsals. One had to be organized in order to be successful.
Constance: What did you enjoy most about doing your show during the Fringe?
Kathy: I enjoyed being able to touch the hearts of the audience by using my sense of humor in an effort to lighten up some of the pretty dark times in my story. There were tears by those embracing my pain as well as tears of joy brought forth through my humor. The audience didn’t leave the show depressed and sad, but rather empowered and uplifted.
Constance: So is the show a love letter to survivors or a plea to the community and women still stuck in violent relationships?
Kathy: My show is to all of the above. For survivors, it’s a reminder about just how far they have come. It’s also an opportunity for the community to better understand the challenges facing most victims. And it is definitely an opportunity to provide information to victims presently in a violent relationship so they know help is available 24 hours a day at (800)799-7233(SAFE).
Constance: Do you believe theatre is a bridge to healing and rebuilding?
Kathy: I most definitely believe theatre is a bridge to both healing and rebuilding. Experiencing the performance of someone who has overcome a hurdle can give another individual the hope and insight needed in overcoming their similar situation. It can also become a shared emotional journey for the audience as well as a pathway towards healing for the performer.
In fact, acting out my domestic violence experiences in my performances has allowed me the opportunity to process the pain, verbalize my emotions and release the shame many times felt by both victims and survivors. It has helped me tremendously in my healing process.
Constance: Silence often plays a huge part in how domestic violence continues. To stay silent is to hide the shame that may exist; it may also cost a woman her life. How did you navigate this when choosing to put your story onstage?
Kathy: Balancing the discovery of my voice and saving my own life had to be approached carefully. I had to come to the realization if I remained silent I could potentially die. Secondly, I had to make the decision not to embrace the shame because shame keeps us shackled.
In my first abusive relationship, I carefully planned an escape. I say carefully because this is the most dangerous time for a victim. Statistics show 75% of deaths occur when the victim tries to leave their abuser.
Lastly, I learned to listen to my inner voice. One night during my abusive marriage my husband knocked me to the floor and started choking me. I couldn’t breathe but then I heard a voice say, “Bite him.” When I bit him, he released my neck. I then escaped by running down our apartment hallway screaming for help and a complete stranger opened her door, pulled me inside and then slammed the door behind me. I learned not to ignore that inner voice. It’s there for a reason.
Constance: Are you planning to continue performing “He Put His Hands On Me?” How do you see it living beyond Fringe?
Kathy: I definitely believe there is a need to continue. Audience members’ responses and reviews demonstrate it has a purpose. With all the feedback I have received, I envision the show has the potential to be successfully produced at theatrical venues as well as through women’s organizations, churches, advocacy groups and universities for fundraisers, community awareness and educational purposes.
Constance: I love the double-entendre title of your solo show. It is very powerful. May I ask you to describe how your faith saw you through this painful season?
Kathy: My faith evolved while I was deep into my abusive marriage. I was at my wit’s end. I finally got on my knees one night and turned my life over to God. I then began building a closer relationship with Him. As I grew in my spiritual walk, so did my faith. On more than one occasion strangers were placed in my path and saved me from harm’s way. I do not believe their placement was coincidental but rather it was God’s divine intervention. Without faith, I’m convinced I would not be alive today. Men put their hands on me but God had his hands on me all along.
Constance: How are you doing now? How are you allowing love and laughter to stay active and alive?
Kathy: Currently, I continue to perform my clean, stand-up comedy. I share love through my humor in an effort to bring joy to my audiences. I am a firm believer that it may not be funny at the time, but eventually, we can find humor in just about any situation. Laughter has been a major source of my healing.
I am also actively researching plans to take my solo show on the road!
For info on “He Put His Hands On Me” at the 2026 Hollywood Fringe, visit https://www.hollywoodfringe.org/projects/13495
Interludes for the mid-summer season
by Ayesha Siddiqui
Burdens
Sometimes the small burdens of life press on you over and over, are we out of coffee, I forgot to get the paper towels that I left the house to get what have I even been doing for two hours, the air conditioning is broken, I said something stupid in that meeting didn’t I, and then my god what a joy it is when something small but magnificent bursts through, like birdsong in the morning or you look up to stare at a friend you love and they are there, you call a parent and you’re fortunate enough to have their voice on the other end, and the fragility of it all, knowing that it might be a long time before another moment like this comes to pass, but my god the joy of having it ever so briefly now. I have glanced out my window to see the stucco walls of the adjacent apartment building, sun filtered through leaves making a painting on the wall, the grandmother who lives across from me always rotating her plants inside and out and I get to bask in the warm light of her fiddle leaf ferns today and I want to knock on her door and say thank you, thank you, you do not know this but I soak in every color of the flowers and leaves you place out, I do not miss these things, please may I trade places with your fiddle leaf fern. I long to be turned towards the sun.
Prescriptive
Have you tried the following:
Listening for birds when you wake
Looking into a dog’s eyes
Hot coffee and a morning to drink it
Letting an elder go first
Reminding you to slow down
Have you tried the following:
This one is prescriptive but
Cocteau Twins and driving
Touching trees as you pass
I like to think they enjoy it
Some days when I’m
Having a hard time
I try to remember this list.
#FringeFemmes Check-Ins: Inside the Box
Quick peeks at #HFF26’s “Women on the Fringe” by Fringe Femmes who are behind the scenes this year. Click Here for all Check-Ins
WHO: Clara Rodriguez
WHAT: Inside the Box
WHERE: The Broadwater (Studio), 1078 Lillian Way
WHY: Because there comes a point where each of us questions our life choices. What do a mouse, a mature woman named Alice (Clara Rodriguez), an aged mother-in-law (Seemah Wilder Idelson) and a clueless husband (John Combs) have in common? A release-seeking a road trip. Writer/director/performer Clara Rodriguez has crafted a hilarious feel-bad comedy that pokes at the soft, sensitive underbelly of aging and the human desire for purpose. Alice feels trapped after attending her high school reunion and running into her former best-friend-turned-meteorologist. She questions her 50-year career as “just a receptionist” and 43-year marriage. This three-hander is expertly crafted and performed. Find out if Alice finds the freedom she craves.
HOW: https://www.hollywoodfringe.org/projects/13481
