A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Punchline
The “model” is one of twelve of us participating in Gemma’s eight-week, A Funny Workshop at Kimball Jenkins. We were instructed to bring a costume we felt ridiculous wearing. One by one we strut our stuff while the rest of the groups serve as the audience, delighting in the absurdity of it all.
A note from Yasamin Safarzadeh, Program and Curatorial Director at Kimball Jenkins:
I want to take a moment to share my continued support and excitement for this YYA writing Inkubator facilitated by the efforts of Manchester InkLink. This partnership is lifting up the voices of our community’s youth and young adult population no matter what their background. These educational opportunities are integral in hearing the voices which are so important and so often overlooked in the state. Please continue to tune in and look for us on socials for more articles! LinkedIn here. Instagram here.
By James Jennings
In the carriage house at Kimball Jenkins a fashion model sporting an eye patch, disheveled wig and a plastic crown, struts their thigh-highs down the runway with practiced purpose. But the crown is too big, and the strutting knocks it loose. While they fumble to catch it, their efforts to regain composure are complicated by a malfunctioning crotch button. They squat to repair the malfunction, but in a desperate attempt to maintain grace, their strut turns waddly and the crown falls again. The audience is beside themselves with laughter. “Beautiful!”
Gemma Soldati applauds.
The “model” is one of twelve of us participating in Gemma’s eight-week, A Funny Workshop at Kimball Jenkins. We were instructed to bring a costume we felt ridiculous wearing. One by one we strut our stuff while the rest of the groups serve as the audience, delighting in the absurdity of it all.
The workshop is full of immersive games and activities; fashion shows, lip-syncing competitions, double dutch; freeze tag just to name a few. The workshop felt like a well-organized slumber party at Gemma’s house, but with rich discussions springing from her observations and from moments of vulnerability from us.
As one participant reflected, “[I was]…shockingly and quickly pleasantly surprised at the therapeutic and sometimes uncomfortable intimate nature of bearing yourself to enjoy the pure and simple act of play and being silly.”
Gemma helped us find the beauty in failures, explore the difference between playing a character and finding character, while confronting the necessity of letting go of our “masks” to truly connect with and amuse our friends – the audience.
As adults we practice a great amount of caution in choosing how we invest our time and who we trust to bear us out in states of vulnerability. We have priorities, responsibilities, and fears developed from past traumas. This is why classes like A Funny Workshop are of great value as they provide an experimental safe zone where participants can strip back layers and work from a place of truth, of vulnerability.
As one Funny participant said, “I’m really appreciative of this experience. It allowed me to tap in and play. It’s been a hard couple of years, so to play again was really an incredible experience.”
One of the simplest exercises of the workshop ended up being the most challenging, as one by one we realize that with all our practice putting on “masks” to face the challenges of daily life, the most difficult character to play is ourselves.
“Go center stage, say hi, and say a little bit about yourself,” Gemma instructs. There is general panic as one by one we stand before the audience without the safety net of a character or “bit.” There is both resistance: This is stupid; panicked silence; and desperate outbursts.
“Should I talk about death or something?” someone laments, asking Gemma if they should unburden their souls. “No,” Gemma replies, “Just tell us your name and move with the music.”
We are in good hands with Gemma. She reminds us that there is music playing “if you can’t think of anything to say just move to the music.” And this becomes quite funny as we watch our new friends try to be serious, then in moments of uncomfortable silence, start shimmying their hips.
We were so caught up in facing our internal turmoil that we forgot we were performing for an audience. “I’ll let you all in on a secret,” Gemma answered. “Plot doesn’t matter…If the audience laughs at something, that’s what they want, give it to them until it doesn’t work any more, then find something else.” In these moments we are emboldened by Gemma’s puckish compassion.
“Gemma is brilliant! She has such a comforting way to help you get through your own struggles to achieve. She shared golden nuggets of wisdom to inspire confidence in yourself…”. This confidence then spread throughout the group, “I really loved watching a new friend overcoming an obstacle. The joy and pride on their faces was shared amongst the group. It was very comfortable and encouraging.”
Inevitably, sharing such fun and challenging experiences created a bond within the group’s dynamic which held us together well beyond the parameters of the class’ three hours. During that last class
We lingered well past closing to give our goodbyes and promises of attending the next workshop in April. Finally, we take a photo with Gemma hoping to capture her soul, so that we might carry her voice of confidence into an immense and indifferent universe.
Sign up for classes here!
Scholarships available!
About the Ink Link Inkubator
This Inkubator program is aimed at nurturing and growing New Hampshire’s local journalism ecosystem – support for educators, opportunities for students and creating pathways for future journalists. And beyond that, we want to engage our community in this process because together, we rise. The program is administered by Local Media Foundation, tax ID #36‐4427750, a Section 501(c)(3) charitable trust affiliated with Local Media Association. Make a tax-deductible contribution here.
