THRIVE 10-11 | VETERANS’ VOICE 26 | STATE OF ART 30 | EVENTS 36-39
Vol. 4 No. 3
MARCH 14, 2025
• DIG DEEPER •
| COMMUNITY | ACCOUNTABILITY | CURIOSITY | CONNECTION |
Southern Colorado-born impresario brings magic of Hollywood home with ‘Jim Henson’s Labyrinth in Concert’
RETURN TO THE GOBLIN CITY
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By Jayson Peters
hen you grow up in a place like Florence, Colorado, even a routine visit to a bigger city can feel like stepping into a wondrous fantasy world—especially if it’s Pueblo. John Kinsner hopes to keep that magic dance rolling. As the CEO and founder of Black Ink Presents, Kinsner is bringing his latest show, Jim Henson’s Labyrinth: In Concert, to Pueblo’s Memorial Hall for a one-night-only performance at 8 p.m. on April 5. A Florence High School graduate, Kinsner recalls that his hometown didn’t have its own theater. Instead, he and his classmates often traveled to Pueblo for sports, Knowledge Bowl, and debate competitions. Now, after years of grinding his way to success as a producer in the entertainment industry, he’s “Labyrinth in Concert” will be performed April 5 at Memorial Hall. finally bringing one of his productions close to home. LABYRINTH continued on page 13 Photo courtesy of Jim Henson Productions/Black Ink Presents
Gimme Shelter: A Survivor’s Fight for Justice Surviving abuse, confronting power, and fighting for those the system leaves behind
Photos courtesy of Chantal Woodyard.
Main: Wyoming State Hospital campus in Evanston. Inset: Tunnels, corridors and the steel surgery table.
Photos courtesy of Chantal Woodyard.
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By Molly Cotner
ust days before the 2019 Thanksgiving holiday, Chantal Woodyard found herself standing in the shadows of a now abandoned building situated on the Wyoming State Hospital campus in Evanston. It had been almost 40 years since she had set foot on these grounds. The air was crisp with a bitter bite, and the dead grass speckled with snow. She wasn’t supposed to be there—not officially anyway—but a friend had arranged to get her in. The building loomed in front of her, its reddish stone and brick exterior as imposing as she remembered. Its rounded arches, meant to project dignity and care, had always felt like cruel irony—one that masked the rot of age, and the rot of ter-
ror encapsulated inside. It was a visit that would open new wounds and uncover old ones, long festered and waiting to burst. Chantal scrolled through the photos on her phone, her fingers swiping through each image. The pictures were like a scene from a horror movie. A dark-paneled office—her stepfather’s. A weathered table in the canteen, where she sat hunched over schoolwork. A recreation room, where she befriended other children—children institutionalized for the societal crime of being disabled, a common practice in America until the mid20th century. The familiar tunnel—its walls peeling with time, light casting long, skeletal shadows. A place she learned, far too young, was home to suffering. And the steel surgery table. The moment she understood her story— GIMME SHELTER continued on page 8