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Personal Gift
Jill Jackson’s A Long Drink of Silence invites us into
one woman’s life—to meet ourselves. By Patrice Parks
Most people just want to tell their stories. It is a precious
thing and it’s all we have to give—our lives in a story.
So we listen to each other’s stories, and in them discover
our own. A Long Drink of Silence, Jill Jackson’s impressive
one-woman show currently playing at The Cherry Center for
the Arts, is her story. Through anecdotes, music, and contemplation
Jackson takes us on a journey through her life of “delinquency,”
or more accurately as she puts it, “curiosity.” From childhood
hijinks to an ashram in Connecticut to singing in a biker
bar in Sedona, Arizona, Jackson’s tale is clear and meaningful.
And it is all Jackson: raw, warm, manic, vulnerable and
open. She is especially charming as her younger self yearning
for spaghetti at Shoney’s, or expressing her devastation
upon realizing at the tender age of seven that she “would
never be allowed to be a nun,” according to Sister Mary
Elizabeth. “But Sister Mary Elizabeth,” young Jill replies,
“I’m not bad—just curious.”
The whole production is quite impressive, beginning with
the set by director/designer Marlie Avant—a southwestern
motif straight out of a Carlos Casteneda vision. Deep ochre
walls, wood plank floors, cactus plants, Native American
prints, sheepskin rugs, a needlepoint stool and a hay bale
all configured to flow to a point of convergence on an alcove
or altar on the upstage wall. Inside the altar is a painting
of a snake rising like a Phoenix out of, and attached by
an umbilical cord to, a rose. It is both free and connected
at the same time. Put together, the set is a visual manifestation
of the perspective the sto- ries will bring—freedom and
faith through connection and convergence.
As a director, Avant has contributed a fine aesthetic
sense and organization to Jackson’s stories, creating a
thread that, much like the coiled snake printed on Jackson’s
T-shirt, turns back upon itself in full circle.
Jackson sings songs throughout the evening that illuminate
and punctuate he stories. Some of my favorites were Waterfall”
(which opens and closes the show and seems to best encapsulate
Jackson’s own philosophy), “Georgia on My Mind,” and “The
Beetle Song.” She has a clear bell-like voice and sings
with a pas- sionate abandon that serves the music nd the
meaning well. The music is an rganic part of the show and
we never feel like “Oh no, time for another song,” Cecause
the music really belongs there. —While always an act of
courage, autobiographical pieces are often about the performance
itself—a chance to vent anger or self-pity about a fractured
child hood or victimization by a patriarchal culture. They
create more boundaries than they erase. The performer articulates
a “self” that is separate and distinct from the audience-the
other, out there. It is all about me, me, me.
However, in A Long Drink of Silence, Jackson presents
her life as something that belongs both to her own experience
and is also part of a cosmic whole that ultimately connects
us all. And while there is a lot of laughter in her tale,
she relates even the tragic moments with a matter-of-fact
tone that invites compas- sion but never pity. She knows
we have all “been there.”
Through the specific and unique experiences of her own
life, Jackson touches upon the universal vulnerabilites
we all share. It is, as she says, “as though God is writing
a cosmic comedy and you are the main character.”
Jackson’s Long Drink seems less an attempt to explain
herself—to define a boundary where she ends and we, the
other, begin—than a generous invitation to let us in, to
break down the self-protective barriers which separate us.
It is not an act of ego, but of love and accept- ance. And
by that shift in perspective her show is not so much a performance
as it is a gift. Take a moment and listen.
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