Artistic Statement
I wrote my first play, Fine, because I wanted to bring awareness to not otherwise specified mental health issues. It stemmed out of a one-act play that I wrote during my sophomore year, in “Introduction to Playwriting", taught by Catherine Filloux. I actually signed up to take this class in place of an acting class, on a completely whim, seeking a new adventure.
I started my next full-length play, Inches from the Headboard, because I was shocked and bewildered that many of my friends didn’t understand why I was so angry about what I perceive to be the gray area of the Me Too movement. “Bad dates” and “he said she said” journalism was being swept under the rug. I had a lot to say, and once again, needed the right medium to speak through.
One of my most recent plays, The Flower and The Fury, is the first play I’ve written in response to a playwriting competition. The audience follows a three pregnant women, contemplating abortion. I wrote it because I’m baffled by the paradox between how much agency the world wants to have over women’s bodies, and how little support women are often given once the babies that the world demands they have come out.
But if I’m being really honest, I also wrote The Flower and The Fury because I was stuck in my apartment during the spring of 2020, and desperately wanted to create something new, even if it was just for me.
That’s kind of what it comes down to. Why I write what I write. Because I’m inspired, or in shock, or up in arms about something. Because I’m curious about something. Because I want others to be. Because I want to create a community for those of us who already are. My plays obviously aren’t all about me, or simply for me. Yet the community that I hope to build through my work does start with me, and my voice.
I see my plays as maps that lead readers and audiences on a journey to the heart of the issues that I care about most. Maps without clear cut destinations and arrival points, where travelers are more often than not left in the woods at the end, forced to wrestle with the ideas they began the journey with, in order to find their way forward. Not out, but forward. As a writer, I have a propensity for leaving my audience a bit disoriented. Lost in a new perspective, or even a familiar one that that they haven’t explored from every angle yet. I like to make my audiences and readers feel lost because it’s an experience that I deeply value and crave myself- being pushed into new territory – strategically and purposefully – and left to investigate the terrain, long after the final curtain drops.
To put it simply, I’m an actress who had a lot to say, and chose playwriting as my medium, because I’m used to telling stories on stage. I never really set out with the intention to become a playwright. I like telling stories that people have to listen to at the same time, in the same place, together. It’s difficult to get lost in the woods – sometimes excruciatingly so - but comforting to know you’re not alone on the journey. At the heart of it, I write in the hopes of making people – including myself – feel less alone. (And hopefully, there are sometimes brief respites from the wilderness where you get to laugh a little too.)
I started my next full-length play, Inches from the Headboard, because I was shocked and bewildered that many of my friends didn’t understand why I was so angry about what I perceive to be the gray area of the Me Too movement. “Bad dates” and “he said she said” journalism was being swept under the rug. I had a lot to say, and once again, needed the right medium to speak through.
One of my most recent plays, The Flower and The Fury, is the first play I’ve written in response to a playwriting competition. The audience follows a three pregnant women, contemplating abortion. I wrote it because I’m baffled by the paradox between how much agency the world wants to have over women’s bodies, and how little support women are often given once the babies that the world demands they have come out.
But if I’m being really honest, I also wrote The Flower and The Fury because I was stuck in my apartment during the spring of 2020, and desperately wanted to create something new, even if it was just for me.
That’s kind of what it comes down to. Why I write what I write. Because I’m inspired, or in shock, or up in arms about something. Because I’m curious about something. Because I want others to be. Because I want to create a community for those of us who already are. My plays obviously aren’t all about me, or simply for me. Yet the community that I hope to build through my work does start with me, and my voice.
I see my plays as maps that lead readers and audiences on a journey to the heart of the issues that I care about most. Maps without clear cut destinations and arrival points, where travelers are more often than not left in the woods at the end, forced to wrestle with the ideas they began the journey with, in order to find their way forward. Not out, but forward. As a writer, I have a propensity for leaving my audience a bit disoriented. Lost in a new perspective, or even a familiar one that that they haven’t explored from every angle yet. I like to make my audiences and readers feel lost because it’s an experience that I deeply value and crave myself- being pushed into new territory – strategically and purposefully – and left to investigate the terrain, long after the final curtain drops.
To put it simply, I’m an actress who had a lot to say, and chose playwriting as my medium, because I’m used to telling stories on stage. I never really set out with the intention to become a playwright. I like telling stories that people have to listen to at the same time, in the same place, together. It’s difficult to get lost in the woods – sometimes excruciatingly so - but comforting to know you’re not alone on the journey. At the heart of it, I write in the hopes of making people – including myself – feel less alone. (And hopefully, there are sometimes brief respites from the wilderness where you get to laugh a little too.)
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Alexa Juanita Jordan
Artistic Statement
I wrote my first play, Fine, because I wanted to bring awareness to not otherwise specified mental health issues. It stemmed out of a one-act play that I wrote during my sophomore year, in “Introduction to Playwriting", taught by Catherine Filloux. I actually signed up to take this class in place of an acting class, on a completely whim, seeking a new adventure.
I started my next full-length play, Inches from the Headboard, because I was shocked and bewildered that many of my friends didn’t understand why I was so angry about what I perceive to be the gray area of the Me Too movement. “Bad dates” and “he said she said” journalism was being swept under the rug. I had a lot to say, and once again, needed the right medium to speak through.
One of my most recent plays, The Flower and The Fury, is the first play I’ve written in response to a playwriting competition. The audience follows a three pregnant women, contemplating abortion. I wrote it because I’m baffled by the paradox between how much agency the world wants to have over women’s bodies, and how little support women are often given once the babies that the world demands they have come out.
But if I’m being really honest, I also wrote The Flower and The Fury because I was stuck in my apartment during the spring of 2020, and desperately wanted to create something new, even if it was just for me.
That’s kind of what it comes down to. Why I write what I write. Because I’m inspired, or in shock, or up in arms about something. Because I’m curious about something. Because I want others to be. Because I want to create a community for those of us who already are. My plays obviously aren’t all about me, or simply for me. Yet the community that I hope to build through my work does start with me, and my voice.
I see my plays as maps that lead readers and audiences on a journey to the heart of the issues that I care about most. Maps without clear cut destinations and arrival points, where travelers are more often than not left in the woods at the end, forced to wrestle with the ideas they began the journey with, in order to find their way forward. Not out, but forward. As a writer, I have a propensity for leaving my audience a bit disoriented. Lost in a new perspective, or even a familiar one that that they haven’t explored from every angle yet. I like to make my audiences and readers feel lost because it’s an experience that I deeply value and crave myself- being pushed into new territory – strategically and purposefully – and left to investigate the terrain, long after the final curtain drops.
To put it simply, I’m an actress who had a lot to say, and chose playwriting as my medium, because I’m used to telling stories on stage. I never really set out with the intention to become a playwright. I like telling stories that people have to listen to at the same time, in the same place, together. It’s difficult to get lost in the woods – sometimes excruciatingly so - but comforting to know you’re not alone on the journey. At the heart of it, I write in the hopes of making people – including myself – feel less alone. (And hopefully, there are sometimes brief respites from the wilderness where you get to laugh a little too.)
I started my next full-length play, Inches from the Headboard, because I was shocked and bewildered that many of my friends didn’t understand why I was so angry about what I perceive to be the gray area of the Me Too movement. “Bad dates” and “he said she said” journalism was being swept under the rug. I had a lot to say, and once again, needed the right medium to speak through.
One of my most recent plays, The Flower and The Fury, is the first play I’ve written in response to a playwriting competition. The audience follows a three pregnant women, contemplating abortion. I wrote it because I’m baffled by the paradox between how much agency the world wants to have over women’s bodies, and how little support women are often given once the babies that the world demands they have come out.
But if I’m being really honest, I also wrote The Flower and The Fury because I was stuck in my apartment during the spring of 2020, and desperately wanted to create something new, even if it was just for me.
That’s kind of what it comes down to. Why I write what I write. Because I’m inspired, or in shock, or up in arms about something. Because I’m curious about something. Because I want others to be. Because I want to create a community for those of us who already are. My plays obviously aren’t all about me, or simply for me. Yet the community that I hope to build through my work does start with me, and my voice.
I see my plays as maps that lead readers and audiences on a journey to the heart of the issues that I care about most. Maps without clear cut destinations and arrival points, where travelers are more often than not left in the woods at the end, forced to wrestle with the ideas they began the journey with, in order to find their way forward. Not out, but forward. As a writer, I have a propensity for leaving my audience a bit disoriented. Lost in a new perspective, or even a familiar one that that they haven’t explored from every angle yet. I like to make my audiences and readers feel lost because it’s an experience that I deeply value and crave myself- being pushed into new territory – strategically and purposefully – and left to investigate the terrain, long after the final curtain drops.
To put it simply, I’m an actress who had a lot to say, and chose playwriting as my medium, because I’m used to telling stories on stage. I never really set out with the intention to become a playwright. I like telling stories that people have to listen to at the same time, in the same place, together. It’s difficult to get lost in the woods – sometimes excruciatingly so - but comforting to know you’re not alone on the journey. At the heart of it, I write in the hopes of making people – including myself – feel less alone. (And hopefully, there are sometimes brief respites from the wilderness where you get to laugh a little too.)