It's just past 11 on a crisp spring morning and deep within the walls of the Dame Phyllis Frost Centre, Melbourne's maximum security women's prison, an escape is underway.

But this jail break doesn't involve the usual scaling of barbed wire fences or tunnelling under prison perimeters; today's getaway is much more creative.

It also won't result in anyone being punished, because the 15 or so women involved are only leaving prison in their imaginations — during a rehearsal for a play they've written and will perform in a makeshift theatre being constructed in the jail's gym.

After a quick warm-up, the women find their places in a semi-circle — some in bare feet, some in sneakers with mismatched pink and blue laces, some in socks and black rubber slides — and singing and laughter fills the hallway outside as they run through scenes and songs about drug trafficking, deportation, "demented" Legal Aid lawyers and domestic violence: experiences common to many women behind bars.

Somebody's Daughter's arts program is about 'women telling their story' and 'audiences seeing the women as humans, not prisoners,' said artistic director Maud Clark. ( ABC News: Gemma Hall )

One ditty tells the story of a woman who was "scammed" by her romantic partner; she foolishly trusted "the wrong man", the women sing, and got stung. Now, instead of hopeful love ballads, she quotes her Criminal Reference Number.

Another song, set to a gentle waltz being tapped out on a keyboard in the corner, was written by a woman who was released a couple of weeks back. It's a melancholy reflection on what it was like to be trapped for seven years in an abusive relationship:

Once upon a time I fell in love

I didn't know he was a thug

With his foot he crushed my self-esteem.

Miss, It Appears We've Hit Some Turbulence

For months the women have been trading the brouhaha of prison life for this very different kind of drama and, this week, they'll finally get to share it with an audience of friends, family and big-wigs from the Department of Justice.

The production, called Miss, It Appears We've Hit Some Turbulence, is being put on by Somebody's Daughter Theatre Company, an organisation which for almost four decades has run an arts and drama program for women inside, culminating each year in a visual art exhibition and play that explores themes from their lives: abuse, trauma, displacement, disconnection — the highs, lows and learning curves of sometimes years spent locked up, in limbo.

Somebody's Daughter is a team of 'very experienced artists' who care deeply about the community we work with, said Kharen Harper. ( ABC News: Gemma Hall )

Much has changed since Somebody's Daughter's first prison performance in 1981, when there were only about 60 women incarcerated in Victoria.

In the decades since, artistic directors Maud Clark and Kharen Harper have watched with growing alarm as more and more women have poured through the gates: at the end of last month there were 551 women behind bars, with the state government last week announcing a $14.5 million package aimed at shrinking that figure.

But to this day the arts program's purpose has remained the same: to create a tiny oasis in an otherwise grim environment, to give participants a sense of belonging — a feeling of freedom, even if it's only for a few hours a week — in the hope they might not return when they eventually get out.

Not that its success can necessarily be measured or quantified: how do you put a price on helping a woman who's hit rock bottom find her voice, and put back together parts of herself she may have lost, or had stripped away?

Counting dead women

Somebody's Daughter began when Ms Clark, then a student at the Victorian College of the Arts, arranged for a theatre group to perform a play for women incarcerated in Fairlea women's prison, a repurposed former asylum.

"We took the show in ... and one of the women asked for us to do drama, which I think is really important," Ms Clark told ABC News. "At the time I knew nothing about why women were in prison, I had no idea I even had prejudice ... it's very interesting the stereotypes we have in our heads, the notion of what a 'bad' woman is."

From there the program grew, and by the early '90s the company was putting on shows in Fairlea as well as in the community. Today it's delivered by a close-knit team of experienced artists who care deeply about the community they work with.

"The whole thing was about women telling their story," Ms Clark said, "and about audiences seeing the women as humans, not prisoners."

It also became about supporting women after they were released.

Being amongst beauty can be restorative, said Maud Clark, and can help the women 'reclaim bits of themselves they may have lost'. ( ABC News: Gemma Hall )

A show in 1996, called Tell Someone Who Cares, included a dedication to 63 women Somebody's Daughter had identified as having died not long after getting out — a problem to which the wider community had been oblivious (and largely still is).

But what was meant to be a quiet tribute quickly sparked a large-scale academic investigation: In the audience that night were Susanne Davies and Sandy Cook, two researchers from La Trobe University, whose jaws dropped on hearing the dead women's names being called.

Cook and Davies ended up analysing the cases of 62 women who'd died shortly after their release between 1987 and 1997.

The most common cause of death, they found, was drug-related, with 45 dying as a direct result of an overdose, the majority of whom less than three months after their release and six within just 48 hours.

A further six died by suicide, five in motor vehicle accidents (including one while she was fleeing a violent partner) and four as a result of "overt violence": one from stab wounds received during a fight, with the other three murdered or killed in undetermined circumstances. Only two died from natural causes.

Disturbingly, the majority died in temporary accommodation or in a public space: carparks, train stations, on the streets. Few women, Cook and Davies wrote, "leave prison with the financial resources necessary to re-establish themselves in the community ... Employment is hard to come by. So too is adequate and affordable accommodation."

Domestic violence survivors sing out

For Ms Harper, Victoria's acute lack of affordable accommodation — frequently highlighted as a key contributor to recidivism — remains one of the biggest challenges for women in prison. "It's so hard to find a stable place outside," she said.

"They might be in a violent situation they can't get out of ... they're living below the poverty line or their circumstances don't change and so many [think], 'Why bother?' and get stuck in the cycle of drug addiction and offending."

It's a "sad indictment" she added, that for many, life in prison is easier than life outside.

"You've got a bed, three meals a day, you've got structure ... Some women will say, 'I'm not sitting with that constant gut-wrenching fear of what's going to happen tomorrow'. They know that in prison, they'll get up, get counted, go to a program ... that if they're in a violent relationship, they won't be beaten to a pulp."

To that end, Somebody's Daughter recently filmed a performance by current and former prisoners called No More Hiding In Silence, to allow women to tell their own stories of abuse.

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Evidence suggests as many as 90 per cent of women behind bars have been victims of domestic violence or childhood sexual abuse — an experience experts say frequently leads to their offending and criminalisation.

"I think it's important to highlight the links between having a history of violence and trauma in your life and being incarcerated," Ms Harper said. "And not only that, to highlight the precarious situations they may be released into ... How are they finding support, who can they go to?"

The message of the clip, she said, is that women experiencing violence shouldn't allow shame to silence them: "Don't feel that you can't tell a neighbour, ask someone for help."

For the stars of this year's show, the feeling of connectedness that comes from sharing with others has been transformative.

The title, Miss, It Appears We've Hit Some Turbulence, is a play on the way people in prison address those in authority — "Miss!" — but Ms Harper said it's also a nod to the hits and misses in the women's lives ("mainly misses"), the collective experiences of having been misled, mistrusted, misplaced, misrepresented and misunderstood.

'It's about building my confidence'

"Every time I'm locked up I come to this group, but I always get out before the actual [performance]," said Emily*, a young Maori woman with long dark hair and heavy eye liner. "This time I'll be here, though, and I'm glad."

Prison, she explained, can "obviously" be a depressing place, so it helps to do something fun and active. It has also been rewarding to write the story of her character, who discovers her Maori heritage after learning she was adopted. Sharing that journey with the group through traditional song and dance, she said, had been a special process.

"It's given me a sense of belonging. But mostly for me it's about building my confidence and self-esteem ... I'll be playing a piece on the piano in front of hundreds of people."

But how do you even measure progress like that? Many "correctional" programs are designed to rehabilitate and treat specific behaviours and serious mental health diagnoses — providing women can get access to them (and many can't).

Arts workshops, though, are sometimes dismissed by critics as "airy-fairy", unimportant or ineffective.

Being part of the Somebody's Daughter theatre production has given participant Emily 'a sense of belonging'. ( ABC News: Gemma Hall )

"The art program gives the woman time to express herself," said Tracy Jones, the general manager of Dame Phyllis Frost, who has been a fierce advocate of Somebody's Daughter since she began working in the prison 20 years ago.

"It's not structured, so women have the freedom to paint how they feel and I think this allows them to 'release some of their demons'," — as one woman in last year's show put it.

It may also be a valuable experience for prison staff to see a different, more creative side to those over which they have authority.

One woman who performed in a play a few years back, Ms Jones recalled, "was so funny I was laughing out loud at her antics on stage".

"To see her in this way made me look at her in a different light. I didn't know she had such talent as a comedian, as all we had seen was her mental health [problems] and medical condition ... I told her afterwards how proud I was of her and that I thought her getting up on stage was gutsy, and that I could never do it. She was so chuffed and just beamed at me."

(The woman, Ms Jones said, unfortunately died of a drug overdose after she was released: "It was such a sad day when I heard that.")

'Once your soul is singing, anything is possible'

While there have been no formal evaluations of Somebody's Daughter's work, research from around the world suggests arts and theatre programs in general have positive impacts on prisoner behaviour and attitudes.

Some studies have found programs boost inmates' self-confidence and motivation to take part in other correctional programs, while others claim to reduce incidents of violence and even rates of recidivism by helping participants learn important "life skills".

"There are very tangible, practical benefits that can happen through the drama process, because you're working in a group ... meeting as equals," Ms Clark said.

Somebody's Daughter Theatre Company has been running its program in women's prisons since 1981. ( ABC News: Gemma Hall )

"For people who have suffered abuse, what happens is a whole lot of energy will get trapped — you'll notice their lips or bodies are frozen. So even when you're just doing voice work, you're loosening up all that stored trauma, getting used to being touched in a safe way."

Ultimately, though, it all boils down to hope: the opportunity for women to see a new path forward, to rediscover who they are.

"I think it helps you get a bit of your soul back," Ms Clark said. "I often come back to that Shamanic [principle] that says in times of trauma, bits of the soul split off and leave, and that a good shaman can bring them back. I think the arts can do that."

For most women in prison, she said, "their lives are not that beautiful, and just being amongst beauty can be restorative, can help them reclaim bits of themselves they may have lost. Once your soul is singing, anything is possible."

*Names have been changed for privacy reasons.