Artist Spotlight: Cedar Mortenson

This month, we’ll be putting our Artist Spotlight on Cedar Mortenson. JAC asked Cedar some questions, and below you’ll find Cedar’s response. But first, an introduction in Cedar’s own words:

 CM: Thank you for contacting me, for your correspondence and notifications. I hope this letter finds you well, in good spirits and warm. There is quite a lot of snow outside here, from what I can see on the weather channel anyhow. I haven’t been outside for over 6 months. I dream about the sun on my face, rain, wind, snow, dirt under my feet. I usually chef at one of the local ski resorts in Northern New Mexico near where I live at so I can get my free lift pass that goes along with the job, then all my extra time is spent upon the mountain with my snowboard or playing with the dogs and the horses in the snow. Sometimes I get snowed in where I live way up in the mountains so it’s just us til the snow melts enough to get out or my SUV can get through the snow pack. I miss home a lot. It’s hard to be incarcerated so far away from home.

untitled
Untitled, Cedar Mortenson

 JAC: What inspires your artwork?

 CM: Life in general, mostly the impact that life occurrences have on my heart as the pencil and paper is a channel to that. It’s a form of therapy in here. I exercise, I shower, I sleep, read, write, draw. I miss the people I love so much that it’s hard to write them or call, plus phone calls are expensive and I don’t want them to have to come out of their pockets for my bad choices, so I write but it hurts a lot; drawing is a better way to convey my love and thoughts. I draw them portraits and dreams. My dogs and horses inspire my artwork. I am a naturalist, activist, chef, poet, freestyle cage fighter, and outdoorsperson among being an armed robber apparently. I go to sleep every night looking at photos of my dogs. We have a pack. I’m the leader. We need to be together. My brother is looking out for them but he doesn’t love them like I do. He doesn’t embrace them and squeeze their fuzzy faces against his own and kiss the top of their heads, and sing them their songs. They each have their own song, and they get so happy when you sing to them. “There was a sailor dog named Blue… She sailed across the whole Atlantic Ocean…” So begins Blue’s song. Blue and Pepper are sisters. Rocco, Doodle, Midnight and Amos are Pepper’s sons. Midnight has gone missing since I’ve been incarcerated,

 I also have horses. This is my family. I am responsible for taking care of them. I enter art competitions with hopes of placing to win cash awards to send to my mom to buy dog food and hay for them, and my motives are accelerated now with winter here.

The Eye of the Joshua Tree
The Eye of the Joshua Tree, Cedar Mortenson

 This is my main challenge as an incarcerated artist, is trying to find ways to support my furry family and my family too. When I’m free I’ll always help my mom with wood for the winter and hay and bring her groceries. She lives on a rural reservation with her husband and is elderly. Giving time to the elderly is really important. 

It’s a challenge finding a continuum to remain proactive about environmental issues. The jail gives us our food in styrofoam containers. I retail biodegradable compostable products and packaging for 5 FDA approved U.S. companies and can offer them a more cost efficient and completely biodegradable alternative but of course as an inmate they won’t use the resources I offer. 

 Persistence can crack an egg though it’s a challenge to find the most direct outlets for writing and drawing proactive issue work materials that I feel may have the most influential impact. How do I reach people with my art and writing from here? I’m grateful to JAC for the opportunities they provide to do so, and I believe this coalition will grow and prosper in its ability to reach more and more people over the course of time. It’s a challenge as an artist/muralist to be limited to 8” by 12” paper with colored pencils, pen, ink that are 3 inches long and grow shorter with use because apparently they can be used as weapons if they are longer than 3 inches. I’ve recently discovered the white paper lunch sacks. When carefully deconstructed from about an 18 by 24 inch platform to create on and can easily fold back up to fit in a regular business size envelope. This discovery came after continuous write ups from ripping up the facility’s linen sheets to use as canvasses to draw on. So far they haven’t confiscated any of my paper sack artwork yet.

 I could go on to list more challenges but in all honesty the blessings are as great, thank God I have an imagination, a sense of humor, the ability to create and the tools that are accessible and approved to create what I can. God is good to me. I am humble and grateful. Where I’m at is no one’s fault but my own.

Genjis Horse Murasaki
Genji’s Horse, Cedar Mortenson

It is enough that our time with loved ones is taken from us in penalty. Our voices and hearts. Expression should have a continuum always, this is the essence of life and no one should be allowed to take that from any individual under any circumstances. So thank you so much for providing an outlet for this; it’s rewarding to me to have this form of expression, correspondence, communication. I sincerely hope this is reciprocated to you and the members of the Coalition committee who work to make this possible that they can continually feel their efforts are making a difference and receive a beneficial impact in their own lives as well. And of course I hope that people will buy my artwork through this experience as I constantly stress about my animals everyday.

 

 

Please consider joining our pARTner Project to connect directly with an artist in prison. Find more information and sign up by clicking here.

 

Who is Mark Andreason?

by Mark Andreason*

I'm Tired
I’m Tired, Mark Andreason. From Mark’s friend: “Mark tells the story of being tired of feeling like he is in a fish bowl where others ogle at him while in his cell.”

The question has been coming up a lot lately. I enjoy creating art, but I know that I am more than my work. I create the art to escape from this life I have been leading behind bars. It has been a horrible experience, and I would not wish it upon anyone, but I take responsibility for the bad things I have done. So, when I ask myself, “Who is Mark Andreason?”, I recognize that I am on a path of self-discovery since taking this leap of faith that my art will take me anywhere but here.

I find myself smiling more as a result of feeling like a kid again. I am becoming more aware of what is simple beauty. The other day, I noticed a squirrel that ran to me for food. It was awesome to see this creature in my surroundings that usually does not sustain anything attributed to nature. Prison life has been hard and hardened my outlook on life. Yet, the squirrel’s lack of fear toward me made me feel like I am approachable. It put me at ease in my own space.

My Ol' Lady
My Ol’ Lady, Mark Andreason. Described by Mark as, “the woman who has been behind [me] in the shadows, supporting [me] while incarcerated.”
I wonder sometimes if my negative outlook blocked me from openings because now that I am moving in a direction where I allow myself to be free, opportunities continue to come my way. I found out this month that “I’m Tired” is being published in Average Art, an art industry magazine based in London. Wow! I still can’t seem to wrap my head around the good feeling that has come over me, but I am excited because my artwork is out in the world—at least internationally—for everyone to see it. 

If that is not enough, I have also received a Special Merit Award from LightSpaceTime.art, which is featuring “Beginnings” on YouTube for their 8th Annual Animals Online Exhibition. My mind races with how many people will be exposed to my work. It is amazing to me that I am experiencing such good fortune. The way I see it is that if my work is in the world, then I am in the world.

So you know, I don’t know if I am the same Mark Andreason anymore, but I do know that I like this guy. I can look at him in the mirror even with all of his faults and past transgressions. What I know about this guy is that he is talented based on the recent public opinions of others. He’s also a man who appreciates the natural unfolding of a new chapter in his life. Mark Andreason is growing every day. In some ways, he is a kid again with a fresh pair of eyes and a grateful heart. Wouldn’t you know it? That guy is me!

The Markabo Swell
The Markabo Swell, Mark Andreason. “My transgressions have cost me more than 30 years of my life behind bars. Once upon a time, the thought of being released seemed overwhelmingly out of reach. No more. The love of one good woman has shown me how to believe in my talent and not fall to temptation. And we go forward together.” 

 

More about Mark:

Since 1986, California-based Mark Andreason has been honing self-taught skills. Mark was heavily influenced by the painters Julie Bell, Boris Vallejo, and artist Luis Royo. He uses only pen and eraser to develop urban Gothic drawings. “Someone asked me, ‘When do you create for yourself?’ I thought it was an odd question since I enjoyed drawing for other people and assumed that it was understood that I was drawing for me. Duh? But then I realized that what I was really being asked was to look to my art for what motivated me. It took on a different meaning and had a different purpose, especially dealing with my disappointment about not being free. I am now working from the inside by freeing myself instead of expecting those from the outside to determine my fate.”

 

*This post was originally published on the baddkarMA.net Blog, May 27, 2018, and used with permission from the artist/writer. Please visit the site to experience more of Mark’s artwork and writing.

 

The Becomings of a Master, Part 3: Hiatus

by R. Zumar

I’ve been pondering this in my mind over and over and over again. Trying to find a way to be able to keep creating work to send out for you to see without compromising the things I need in here. I find it to be nearly impossible to do from my position and I’ve failed to find that balance, and let things get to out of control.

So! Should this failure stop me from studying and creating artwork. No, I don’t think so. Even though I don’t have the money to continue to send my work out doesn’t mean that I should stop creating. So I’ll keep at my studies and work to be better, my becomings are far from over.

You may not see any work from me for a while cause I need to get my affairs in order in here. But once I do get things back on track you will see my progress, you will see how far I’ve come. You will see how I see beauty in all things though once upon a time all I saw was ugliness.

Like I said before, I’m fairly new to this art world and I’m learning as I go and there needs to be balance in art no matter how chaotic some of us may make a piece of artwork seem. There is still balance in it and we should also find this balance in our lives. We can only be made better for it. Trust, this experience has made me see things more clearly and can only hope it has done the same for you.

This is the becomings of a master! 

Bolgora
Bolgora, R. Zumar

About the guest contributor:

“I’m Rayfel Zumar Bell known as R. Zumar and discovered my passion for art while incarcerated. I’m a self taught artist who strives to break into the art world even from a cell. I spend the lions share of my time thinking about and creating art, the rest working out and my favorite pass time, snacking :)! Through art I want to help others and contribute to various charities I care about; cancer, autism, sponsoring kids in need around the globe, and preserving wildlife.”

View the first two installments in the artist’s blog series here and here

The Becomings of a Master, Part 2: Bohemia

by R. Zumar

Really, I don’t know where to start. How can I explain this to you so that you may understand what I’m going through. I’ve written and erased, written and erased again trying to find the right words to say, but really there are none. The only thing to do is explain what is going on and how I’m feeling about it all. I can only hope that you understand.

Art is my path to freedom, mentally and maybe one day physically. It’s my escape from these walls and the minds around me that would rather me to immerse myself into prison life than to d something productive. I’ve decided not to do tat and to keep going down the path of becoming a master artists. 

The becomings of a master isn’t a becoming of small cost and I would assume you to understand. Now in this environment the challenge is tenfold. I pay more for materials that I have access to than they cost out that and that doesn’t make sense to me. Essentially I pay double the price than you would pay out there and I don’t get money like that. I have family but don’t have family, have friends but don’t have friends. So really do I have family and friends? I scrap and scramble to survive in here and that’s doing it the right way. They take whatever I gain to buy art materials to further my studies. It’s like I have an apartment that  must pay rent for and a care note due. Food is slim and I have utilities to pay off. Do I pay my bills or do I risk to create. Well I’ve risked to create.

I’ve neglected a lot over the last few years and it’s catching up and I’m losing control of the time. Here when you lose control of your time it controls you. And I’ve sacrificed that control. Art was a hobby to keep myself out of trouble, then it became a challenge and a love. I can’t see myself not creating and trying to become better at this craft. I’ve never sold art and don’t know how it’s priced. I just got a formula from a book I read and will soon begin to apply it. I’ve tried an experiment with earlier works of mine to see how that goes. I can envision how to be successful with my work if I could do it myself. But I can’t do it myself because I don’t have the access. So the question I ask myself is, “Why keep sacrificing when there seems to be no hope in it and it has pushed me into a bohemia lifestyle? Why should I keep creating? How can I give to others when I have nothing to give?”. I don’t know. And something inside me overrides my doubts and I still pick up a pencil and start sketching for my next work. 

Bohemia
by R. Zumar

This is my first self-portrait, “Bohemia.” It’s of a sickly me working on a healthier version of myself. 

These are the things I struggle with in my becomings of a master. 

 

About the guest contributor:

“I’m Rayfel Zumar Bell known as R. Zumar and discovered my passion for art while incarcerated. I’m a self taught who strives to break into the art world even from a cell. I spend the lions share of my time thinking about and creating art, the rest working out and my favorite pass time, snacking :)! Through art I want to help others and contribute to various charities I care about; cancer, autism, sponsoring kids in need around the globe, and preserving wildlife.”

 

Making Meaning: a caged bird sings

by Page Dukes

I was released from prison last May, after serving ten years for a crime I committed as a heroin-addicted teenager. I have spoken publicly many times since, about the decisions and circumstances that led me to the criminal justice system. However, at the Art for Justice Forum held at Emory University Law School, I was asked to talk about the role music has played in my life, how it both kept me free on the inside and has helped me to have confidence and livelihood in my newfound freedom.

I was around music my entire life. The daughter of musicians, I toured the country and sang on stage with my mother from as early as 3 years old. I played the cello in elementary school, switching to the guitar when I discovered punk rock. My best friend and I formed a band when we were 13 and played on stages (with big black X’s on our hands) all over Atlanta. It was around that time that I began to “experiment” with drugs— my ambition to use matched and eventually surpassed my ambition to play music. By 18 I was shooting a deadly mix of heroin and cocaine daily, and by my 21st birthday I’d committed armed robbery.

In the jail, I got clean for the first time in many years. I realized all I had given up, all I had to lose and to live for. At the Art for Justice forum, I remembered the time a volunteer let me play her guitar after a jailhouse church service—how grateful I had been to her, how I probably scared her with my weeping, and how that moment was the first time I had felt anything in a long, long time. That was perhaps the first in a series of releases—in which I opened up a little at a time, and began to grow, in the darkest, dankest of places: the basement of the Fulton County Jail at 901 Rice Street.

There were long years when I didn’t get to play at all. I sang a lot when it was all I had. I remember finding spaces where the acoustics carried and amplified my voice— in the dungeon below the courthouse, where we sat shackled, anxiously awaiting an uncertain fate, or to be sent back without any answers at all; or in the visitation room, where we waited to be “shaken down,” having watched our families leave crying, trying to reassure them that we were okay.

It was in that room that I last saw Kelly Gissendanner, who was killed after 18 years on death row, having turned her life around and become a pillar of hope and encouragement in the prison community. She’d been visiting with her children in the room where they kept her quarantined from the rest of us. After her death warrant was issued, they had stopped letting her attend church and classes with us. I knew it may be the last time I would see her, so I sang for her. I cried, and she cried, and she thanked me. In Kelly’s last hours, she sang “Amazing Grace.”

Music is something that could not be taken from us. In a place designed to dehumanize you, where you’re told you are worthless—a uniform, a number, a discarded sub-citizen—you must make your own meaning. The system is not designed to rehabilitate, but to “correct–” to punish. I knew where my meaning was—music was my first religion—and I also believed that I would survive and thrive no matter how large the obstacles I had placed in my way.

How many others bought the view that their lives were worthless? That they were defined by their crimes, that they will never be anything more than a number, a statistic, an “offender.” The system will strip you of everything, even your humanity, if you let it. And once that happens what do you have left to lose?

The first panelist, Rachel May, a co-founder of Synchronicity Theatre, hosts theater workshops, where they give young girls in juvie the platform to tell their own stories. I remembered young girls who were in solitary confinement until their eighteenth birthdays. I remembered the ones who felt they had nothing to lose, facing long sentences, longer even than the one I had faced in my youth. And I hope that they find the freedom I did in music and in art and in words, that they will inspire others inside, and one day speak to an audience who wants to know how they made it through.

Another panelist had been making art since a childhood teacher had encouraged him to do so. In prison, he honed his portraiture skills, capturing the character of each person who lived in his unit, in graphite on paper. Like music, it was more than just a talent. It helped him to know who he was, and how he could serve a purpose in a void of meaning. It also helped him to develop his skill—one that would sustain him when he faced the task of finding work with a record.

I sang and played in the chapel services for my last three years at Lee Arrendale State Prison. I’ve since met women who tell me they remember hearing me sing in church— and they thanked me. It humbled me, that my voice and my music could have such an effect, could be a conductor for the same peace, beauty and transcendence that it brought me.

I talked and talked and talked at the Forum, until I realized I had taken up all the time. It was strange and wonderful to be asked about my experience with music in prison. The transformative power of art is no new idea—everyone has felt it, and yet we forget that the people who have been condemned, hidden out of sight and out of mind, need it too. The artist in a world without color, the musician in a room with only her voice bouncing off cement walls, the writer stripped down to the basics of pen and paper and his words—they are bound and confined, but their inner lives are rich, and they matter.

About the guest contributor:

Page Dukes is a formerly incarcerated writer, musician and college student. She grew up in Atlanta, the daughter of a touring singer/ songwriter who brought her along on the road during school breaks. She experienced life on the road with her mom and played in her own band back home, but started using drugs in her early teens, and by the age of 18 was hopelessly addicted to heroin. She committed armed robbery at 20 and served the mandatory minimum sentence of ten years in prison. While incarcerated she taught writing classes in the GED program, studied theology with the Atlanta Theological Association, trained and re-homed shelter dogs with the Forever Friends Canine Rescue, and performed with the Voices of Hope Choir. She was released last May and since has studied journalism and philosophy, worked as a reporting intern at the Marshall Project in New York this summer and the publications chief at the Roar, Piedmont College’s student media. As a founding member of the Athens Reentry Collaborative, she and several post-incarcerated peers work with academics and advocates to provide resources and support to reentering citizens in Athens, Georgia. She recently celebrated 11 and a half years clean.

About the Art for Justice Forums:

California Lawyers for the Arts was awarded one of 30 grants from the new Art for Justice Fund to facilitate six Art for Justice Forums in Michigan, Texas, Alabama, Georgia, New York and California during 2018. These one-day forums are designed to engage the arts in justice reform efforts and increase support for arts in corrections programs, as well as delinquency prevention and re-entry services. More than 200 persons, including elected legislators, artists, returned citizens, educators, arts and justice reform organizations, and others participated in the first two forums at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor on April 3 and at the Houston Museum of African American Culture on July 14 . A short video of the Michigan Art for Justice Forum is linked here. Videos of the plenary panel sessions are also available here. The Defender Network.com published photographs from the Texas Art for Justice Forum, while the Texas Criminal Justice Coalition summarized the day’s discussions in a blog report.