Lara Campbell
It is hard to write about who I am because I am so many different things, and then somedays I wonder if I am anything at all. Time can do that to you. I struggle knowing if I am just existing, surviving, or barely hanging on.
I think I am a student above all else. I love to learn, and not just basic everyday things, but learn about things that most people don't even notice. I have used so many years to make sure that I live outside my comfort zone and know how to relate to anyone I have contact with.
I like to learn from others who have overcome their circumstances and done it with grace and humbleness. I have learned about history, and even become somewhat of a historian, opened to struggles so heart-breaking yet victorious that it moves me to want to make my own history. Realizing that you can relate to others from over a hundred years ago can really change the direction your thoughts take…
Excerpted from “More” by Lara Campbell.
Music by Lara Campbell
I’m Not
Lara is an accomplished composer and a beautiful singer. Her composition, I’m Not, won a 2022 Voices of Hope national competition. We think it should be the anthem for incarcerated and formerly incarcerated women! Here it is performed by the University of Minnesota choirs.
Open Up My Heart
At the Indiana Women’s Prison, Lara sang in the prison choir and led the prison’s sacred dance team, Lifted, before being sent to Madison Correctional Facility during the pandemic where, much to Lara’s sorrow, there is no choir nor even a chapel. Here is an all-too-rare video of Lara singing “Open Up My Heart.”
The Body of the State
In 2017, Lara and six other women from the prison worked with Eliza Brown, professor of music at DePauw University, to write the libretto for the opera, The Body of the State, about the imprisonment of Juana of Castile in 16th century Spain.
Through the Eye(s)
Two years later, Lara and nine other women at the prison once again worked with Eliza Brown. This time, they co-authored and co-composed Through The Eye(s), a nine-movement cycle for a speaking percussionist. Here it is performed in 2022 by Bonnie Whiting, Chair of Percussion Studies at University of Washington.
Silent Night
Lara sings “Silent Night” on Christmas Day, 2019 in the chapel at Indiana Women’s Prison.
Scholarship
Lara is also, of course, a scholar. She has presented her work on Indiana’s House of the Good Shepherd (a.k.a., Indiana’s first prison for women) at numerous state, regional, and national academic conferences. Her papers were early versions of what was to become her chapter, “Minnie and Mamie,” in Who Would Believe a Prisoner? For example, here are the papers that Lara presented to the Hoosier Women at Work conference about Minnie in 2016, and the paper she presented to the American Historical Association in 2018 about Mamie.
Unfortunately, we don’t have copies of the videos from these conferences, but we do have video of Lara presenting at the 2019 Indiana Association of Historians.
Service Dog Trainer
Photo by Nita Anggraeni Goenawan
For ten years at the Indiana Women’s Prison, Lara trained service dogs for adults and children with disabilities. Lara describes it as “the most life-changing opportunity I have ever had.”
The dogs taught me way more than I could ever teach them….Witnessing dogs break down barriers and obstacles my clients faced every day changed my perspective of my way of thinking. lt makes you re-evaluate every single time you complained about menial and trivial things that didn't matter. Being allowed to teach the kids how to handle their new companions gave me such joy and sense of purpose.
Poetry
“Enough”
We never end with "Goodbye."
Tastes like sour copper on my tongue
Won't get passed the clenching of my ground down teeth.
Never even “See you Later."
Cannot find its way through the knot in my throat
Too many syllables before my voice catches.
After the initial ten years, the bravery has melted from my face
Make up has gone stale.
Ran out of ways to wear my hair.
But l could never grow tired of your face.
Senses could never dull to your gentle voice.
Rhythmic cadence of your healing words never gets old.
I am a volcano.
Years of pent-up frustration, pressure and turmoil suppressed under the surface.
Stuffed down the blood-curdling screams I can't release because I can't let any of you see my pain.
It hurts even worse to walk away knowing you feel the same way.
Helpless
Sometimes a little hopeless.
So, we always end with "Love You."
Two syllables that graciously spill from our hearts.
But I have these two words from you.
It's enough.