In Alabaster, a noted photographer sets out to explore the topography of “scars.” Her journey lands her in the mysterious realm of an undiscovered folk artist hiding away in North Alabama.
The play is about an artist who lost her entire family (and nearly died herself) in an Alabama tornado. Three years since the devastation, June has isolated herself, along with her goats Weezy and Bib, on what remains of her family farm. June is covered, from head to toe... with scars. She suffers from agoraphobia and crippling PTSD. She gets up every day and she feeds the goats, weeds the garden, and picks up her paintbrush. Alice, a world-renowned photographer, has come to take pictures of June for a series on women with scars. But Alice is carrying scars of her own and is desperately trying to outrun her own pain.
The sexual tension between June and Alice is immediate and ever-present. But what they need from each other transcends the physical. What does it mean to be truly "seen?" How do we pick up the pieces? How do we move forward?
In Alabaster, a noted photographer sets out to explore the topography of “scars.” Her journey lands her in the mysterious realm of an undiscovered folk artist hiding away in North Alabama.
The play is about an artist who lost her entire family (and nearly died herself) in an Alabama tornado. Three years since the devastation, June has isolated herself, along with her goats Weezy and Bib, on what remains of her family farm. June is covered, from head to toe... with scars. She suffers from agoraphobia and crippling PTSD. She gets up every day and she feeds the goats, weeds the garden, and picks up her paintbrush. Alice, a world-renowned photographer, has come to take pictures of June for a series on women with scars. But Alice is carrying scars of her own and is desperately trying to outrun her own pain.
The sexual tension between June and Alice is immediate and ever-present. But what they need from each other transcends the physical. What does it mean to be truly "seen?" How do we pick up the pieces? How do we move forward?
In Alabaster, a noted photographer sets out to explore the topography of “scars.” Her journey lands her in the mysterious realm of an undiscovered folk artist hiding away in North Alabama.
The play is about an artist who lost her entire family (and nearly died herself) in an Alabama tornado. Three years since the devastation, June has isolated herself, along with her goats Weezy and Bib, on what remains of her family farm. June is covered, from head to toe... with scars. She suffers from agoraphobia and crippling PTSD. She gets up every day and she feeds the goats, weeds the garden, and picks up her paintbrush. Alice, a world-renowned photographer, has come to take pictures of June for a series on women with scars. But Alice is carrying scars of her own and is desperately trying to outrun her own pain.
The sexual tension between June and Alice is immediate and ever-present. But what they need from each other transcends the physical. What does it mean to be truly "seen?" How do we pick up the pieces? How do we move forward?
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