I’m excited to share some big news with you! Over the coming months, the Prison Arts Coalition will undergo a transformation to incorporate as the Justice Arts Coalition (JAC), a 501c3 nonprofit organization. In the spirit of the vision that drove PAC’s founders, the JAC will become an organizing body for institutions and individuals across the globe that believe in the power of the arts to ignite change. The JAC will unite people at the intersection of the arts and justice, cultivating community among system-involved artists, their loved ones, educators, scholars, activists, and advocates.
Through hosting in-person trainings, workshops, and conferences, in addition to serving as an online network and archive for resources such as curricula, grant listings, and program evaluation materials, the JAC will foster a collective voice and increase visibility and advocacy for artists working in and around justice systems.
You can look forward to changes here on the website. All of the current content will remain intact, but there will be new pages, resources, announcements about ways to get involved with and support the JAC through membership opportunities, donations, and events. We’ll be sharing updates via social media, and plan to roll out a crowdsourcing campaign in the near future, so be sure to follow PAC (soon to become the JAC!) on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram to stay in the know. And, we’ll be introducing the JAC in June at Arts in Corrections: Reframing the Landscape of Justice. We hope to see you there!
I’m thankful to everyone who has helped to grow and shape PAC over the years. I’ve met so many inspiring people through my work behind the scenes here. These relationships have fueled me, and they serve as reminders that while all of the information, stories, and artwork that PAC has been able to share is incredibly important, it’s the human connection sparked by the sharing of these resources that matters most of all. I’m honored to be a part of the JAC’s efforts to expand and strengthen this web of community.
If you have questions about the JAC, or ideas for the founders to consider as we take our next steps, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me at email@example.com
Wendy Jason, PAC Manager
If you would like to contribute to the development of the JAC, please follow this link to make a tax-deductible donation through our fiscal sponsor. We need and value your support!
This post is written in installments exploring what is understood as kindness in prison.In writing this post, I asked prisoners across the United States to share their experiences of kindness in prison.
Kindness makes you idle, worse, unnatural.
Richie is a student in my art class where I had been volunteering at a high security prison. Walking with other prisoners through the prison yard to the building that houses the class, he pushes a metal walker upon which he is dependent. Richie’s legs are unable to stand on their own. I do not know the cause of his disability. The fact that we are in prison makes me assume this disability is the result of violence rather than a congenital problem such as cerebral palsy. Other than location, I don’t know why I make this assumption. When Richie reaches the stairs, he cannot maneuver up on his own. One prisoner takes Richie’s walker while another prisoner lends him an arm to lean upon while he ascends the stairs. This is not the first time I’ve seen prisoners helping another prisoner; particularly prisoners with handicaps attempting to traverse the landscape of prison. There are few efforts to make this landscape friendly to anyone. I am struck with the automatic help given to Richie. There is no hesitation in the prisoners’ help to Richie and Richie does not hesitate in accepting.
As a volunteer art teacher in prisons of several states, I’ve witnessed a number of these acts of kindness between prisoners – perhaps, acts that could be seen as random personal acts of kindness. However, the more I observe, not only does kindness seem less random, it seems less the domain of a single person. This confuses me. I had always thought of kindness as an attribute of an individual, clumping kindness with anything that can be said about a person, “…. tall, lanky, and very kind.”
Prison changed that understanding for me. Instead, kindness seems to be dependent upon an underlying structure or system. Moreover, it seems necessary for that community to interpret kindness: if someone is kind to me for no clear reason, I might question whether it is kindness or not; whereas if someone punches me in the nose, the violence of that punch is clear, regardless of the why. Not knowing the dynamics of the kindness shown to me, I must look to the context.
Of course, I am but a volunteer observer. How do prisoners understand kindness in prison? I asked this question of prisoners participating in a through-the-mail program in which I create art curriculums for prisoners across the United States. The prisoners in receiving the newsletters and course offerings represent every state and approximately 1000 prisons. I have greater freedom asking questions in the newsletter than I do while teaching in prison workshops where my conversation is restricted.
In a newsletter sent to 2500 prisoner participants (this number has more recently grown to 6500), I asked the prisoners to share four different situations of kindness they might have experienced or observed:
Kindness that felt sincere;
Kindness that seemed to be masquerading for something else;
Kindness that began with sincere intention, but got misinterpreted and misdirected into another action (often violence);
Kindness between a prisoner and staff or volunteer; what I refer to as “across the border” kindness.
Just to be clear – all my questions were informal inquiries and not a research project!
While I don’t want to undermine the prisoners’ answers – about 50 prisoners answered the questions – I have to consider their answers in the context of prison where anything written or said can be used against the prisoner in a parole hearing. I often encounter posed-for-parole answers while teaching in prisons. When prisoners answer my question as to why they want to take the art class, they frequently answer; “I want to better myself;” “I want to express myself,” and so on. Sometimes when I challenge these answers, by asking “Yeah, but why really?” I get different answers: “I want to make money,” “I want to hang with the tattoo artists in class,” and other less than ideal-ridden answers.
In some cases, prisoners in answering the questions described themselves as the person being kind. Most letters are screened by the administration and it is probably good to sound like a kind person to the administration. Later, when I asked prisoners similar questions but substituted violence for kindness, no one had any violent experiences to contribute. Of course, the prisoner Logan suggested I was insane to even asked such a question, saying. “ No one wants to write about witnessing or participating in violence”.
The prisoners’ answers to the first question of “sincere acts of kindness” described prison kindness in two ways: kindness as giving something tangible and kindness that was intangible. It seems understandable in prison where prisoners are required to live with so little personal belongings, kindness is experienced as sharing material goods. They shared clothes, toiletries, food, coffee, and so on. On the other hand, intangible kindness included empathy, concern, respect, encouragement, and other acts of goodwill.
The prisoner John writes about being without any material goods and another prisoner offering him things with which to get by: “I had a bad run-in with one of the ranking officers and was locked up and had all my property taken from me. I didn’t even have a toothbrush or toilet paper. Another inmate in lock-up saw how bad a shape I was in and just gave me a toothbrush, toilet paper, and other items I needed. He did not want anything in return. He just said, “Man, I’ve been there.”
Likewise, Davell describes the kindness he received after being released from a week in solitary confinement:“After a week in Ad seg, I was released to general population and in serious need for some deodorant. Fortunately, I had a book of postal stamps that at half price sells for five dollars. All my personal property was in receiving and release. If I was lucky, I’d be getting it the next day but for the time being I needed to barter a book of stamps for a deodorant. I was escorted from Ad seg and housed in a 8-man cell. I made the 7th man. There was only one man in the cell as I entered. My first thought of him was he is a lame. So I sat on my bunk and waited to meet the other guys when they got in. The second guy I met gave off a scent of a guy who has been through the prison sentence and knew what time it was. After we introduced ourselves, I showed him my paperwork and ran down to him why I was in Ad seg (a misunderstanding). I told him I needed a deodorant, that I had a book of stamps. He provided me with a deodorant and let me sport his brand new tennis shoes until I got some from inmate laundry. I was moved by his kindness…. when I was issued my property I returned to the cell with all my stuff and I replaced what I got. It was my birthday and I was planning to cook a prison feast, so once I got situated, I cooked enough for the both of us. As I’m writing this, my allergies have been acting up and this same guy gave me a bottle of eye drops and a bottle of allergy tablets. That was kind.”
Bradley tells me (Bradley is a prisoner in one of my classes): “I have a lot of money, so I try to give something to others.”I don’t know where Bradley gets his money and to what extent this makes his life less stressful, but I see how he helps younger prisoners in my class.
Sometimes the exchange of money is not directly given to the needy prisoner but to a third person acting as intermediary. David writes: “I had a celly who was “riding” or paying protection by sex acts or washing clothes, etc. to a gang. One of my friends gave me the money, $100, to “buy” my celly’s freedom from the gang under the condition that he remain anonymous to all.” (I’m not sure why an intermediary was needed in this situation and David doesn’t explain.)
Many of the prisoners who answered these questions are/were in solitary confinement, and Brian writes: “I am housed in a maximum security federal prison. Acts of kindness are very very rare to say the least. Most kindness is perceived as a weakness and taken advantage of immediately. You walk into a housing unit and you stick out…you’re the only one in the room with bright orange deck shoes. You are being sized up and odds layed on if you’ll make it a week or not. Then a few guys will pool together and put a care package/starter kit bag together for you. It’s a one time shot and usually only if they think you might make it. It’s a no strings attached bag containing soap, shampoo, razors, clothes matching the colors of everyone else, and maybe coffee, soup, crackers, enough for a snack if you miss a meal your first couple days….. stuff until you’re situated and figure out a schedule.” When Brian describes the pooling together of a care package, there seems to be a structure for this empathy. Of course, living in this situation of being without basic things could just as easily create – and does create – a community of stealing. I wondered what enables a group to be givers instead of a group of takers?
In describing intangible kindness – empathy, listening and so on – the prisoner Armando writes:“I was in isolation. We couldn’t see each other. Only hear each other. There was a skinhead and a Black homosexual next door to him. The Black homosexual was very depressed and on the verge of suicide. So the skinhead shared some of his smuggled-in coffee with him. Told him, he don’t like the gay stuff but would talk to him the days he was there. He’d encourage him (the Black prisoner) to stay strong. The reason was obvious. He did it outta of kindness. That skinhead did it often in a respectful way without making it seem like charity conversation. He’d listen.”
In reading Armando’s description, I wonder, “What makes listening charity? And what stigma is placed on this?”.
As in the general culture, kindness in prison appears to be made of similar elements – respect, giving, helping, listening, the feeling of goodwill towards another, compassion. That kindness can happen in prison is not the question – it does. Instead, in the next few posts I want to figure out not if but how kindness functions; understanding kindness not based upon the idiosyncratic virtues of an individual but how the community and structure of prison enables or hinders kindness. It seems to me that kindness in prison is most likely hindered not because prisoners are a bunch of unkind people. Instead, it seems that kindness is hindered because prison creates a single identity for the prisoners and then institutionalizes hate for that single identity of inmate. How does this institutionalized hate make kindness suspect between individuals, thus making kindness/lack of kindness not a function of an individual, but of a system? This is a question I explore along with the prisoners’ answers to the second question – describe experiences in which a prisoner was pretending to be kind to others for their own alternative gains – in the next installment.
About the guest contributor:
Treacy Ziegler is a regular contributor to the PAC blog, and has been an exhibiting artist for the past 23 years. She studied painting and printmaking for four years at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. As a student she was awarded a J. Henry Scheidt Traveling Scholarship. Before studying art at PAFA, Ziegler received a Master in Social Work from the University of Pennsylvania working in the area of family therapy. Ziegler has been awarded two New York State Community Art Partnership Grants in painting and in printmaking. In 2009, Ziegler began exhibiting her work in prisons and created An Open Window, a project within the project of Prisoner Express in the Center For Transformative Action affiliated with Cornell University. In this project she donates her artwork to prisons, develops in-prison art workshops, and creates through-the-mail-art curricula with a network of 6,500 prisoners throughout the United States, many who are in solitary confinement. Ziegler lives with her husband, Gary Weisman, a sculptor, in Newfield, New York.
After attending an East Hill Singers concert in January 2002 in Overland Park Kansas, my curiosity for Prison Choirs began. In graduate school at the University of Kansas, I spent a lot of time in Prisons, literally and figuratively—learning from Elvera Voth, the Inside and Outside Choir members of the East Hill Singers, and creating a theoretical framework for a Pedagogy for Prison Choirs.
Now, at the University of Iowa, we’ve developed a unique Community of Caring with the Oakdale Prison Choir. It’s provided a space for outside singers to heal, connect, and express, and spaces for inside singers to reconnect with family, create new social connections, and develop new educational programming. Some of these programs include a Writers’ Workshop, Parenting Class, Yoga Classes, and a series of credit-bearing classes called the Liberal Arts Beyond Bars University project.
The Oakdale Prison Community Choir began in 2009 with 22 inside (incarcerated) singers and 22 outside (women and men from the community and the University of Iowa) singers. We have completed our 21st season (two per year), and here is a brief summary of 2018:
A new Greetings from Iowa 8 minute documentary from Iowa Public Television is out. This video is a great introduction to the choir.
The folks from Iowa Public Television heard about the Oakdale Choir because of our participation in Heartbeat Opera’s New York May 2018 production of Beethoven’s Fidelio. Their revision of this opera had a Black Lives Activist wrongfully arrested. In their stage production, they wove voices from 6 different prison choirs who each audio recorded a section of the “Prisoner’s Chorus.” They also had showed video footage from four of the choirs during the “Prisoner’s Chorus” portion of the opera. See the Oakdale Choir website for links to this story.
On November 12, we hosted a Learning Exchange at the Oakdale prison with the Soweto Gospel Choir, Maggie Wheeler (TV actress from “Friends” and also a singer/songwriter from LA), and Sara Thomsen (another singer/songwriter from Duluth, MN). It was THE musical highlight of my career, so far. A research team and I collected data to study this model of a “Learning Exchange,” rather than a traditional concert.
This fall I led a Listening Session with a group of survivors of violent crime to hear what they think about music education in prisons. As a result of that session, we hosted a survivor of sexual abuse to come into a choir rehearsal and share his story. We had the director of victims’ services and restorative justice from Iowa Department of Corrections there who coordinated both the listening session and this event.
The choir sang and I spoke at the inaugural Negative to Positive Graduation on December 4. This new program was created by inside singer/songwriter and lifer, Michael Blackwell. Its goal is to promote positivity. Michael is featured in the documentary from Iowa Public TV.
We have a songwriting and reflective writing component to the choir. As of Fall 2018, we have created 143 original songs, and the choir has performed 76 of these songs. Many original songs are available on the choir website, and we have choir newsletters comprised of writing reflection pieces also on the choir website.
Last: the prison administration allowed outside singers to bring homemade treats to our last rehearsal of the season this past Tuesday. The men decorated the gym with a fake fireplace, made cards for all the outside singers, and I have never seen such a feast inside a prison!
I first met Charlie on a humid, London summer’s day in June 2016. A true mountain of a man he was tall, broad, and covered from shaven head-to-toe in elaborate tattoos. We were meeting for the very first time to begin our Mentor/Mentee relationship at a crowded museum café, amidst crowds of people chatting over their designer coffees and overpriced baked goods. I remember being nervous; not because I was meeting someone who had been to prison, but for more common and rational reasons such as: Would he like me? Did I have enough experience to help him? Who was I to think I was in any position to mentor someone else, someone older than me, especially someone who had been in, and then out of prison?
As soon as we started talking, we hit it off. Charlie is smart, charismatic and confident. He presents himself very professionally and is well-spoken. He is a talented artist. He proceeded to show me some of the work in his portfolio as well as the many tattoos that cover his legs, arms and hands that he designed himself. The ultimate goal is to graduate, earning a BA degree in Contemporary Art and Professional Studies, and to also be an exhibited and selling commercial artist. Anyone who has spent time working in the lucrative art world knows, this is no easy feat for anyone in the industry regardless of background, connections, means, etc.
Over the next year we would meet once a month, usually somewhere in London. We would traverse the city, visit museum and gallery exhibitions, discussing our findings over lunch at Pret-A-Manger. We would work on his Artist Statement, Biography and CV, research the launch and use of a website, as well as integrating social media to try and get his name and profile out into the art world. We would canvas, critique his work, and usually end up discussing rugby or American football at least once every session – he’s a big fan.
I think I was always most impressed by Charlie’s drive and entrepreneurial spirit. He has sold spray-painted shoes, tote bags, T-shirts and canvases locally and at Camden market stalls. He was always the first to strike up a conversation with gallery owners or fellow artists. He had cards and stickers made, which he designed. He entered (and was often selected for) countless exhibitions and art contests. He bought an old VW caravan and restored it for use as a traveling studio space. He is, and always was motivated and keen to succeed.
The next few years were not always easy for Charlie. He faced criticism, had trouble finding steady employment because he legally has to disclose his past, and put himself through school which was a financial strain. All the while he persisted and maintained this intense, but also very assertive positivity. He was always incredibly grateful for my time, but in all honesty I think I probably learned more from him than the other way around.
There are moments in Charlie’s past that he is not proud of… events that occurred that if given the chance to do over, he would behave differently. But don’t we all have those moments in life? I realized that we were more or less the same, he and I, one life-altering difference being that I have never had my mistakes made public, my dirty laundry hung out for everyone to see. I made the decision then that it was not within my rights to judge him. As part of the mentoring program’s privacy and security, the details of their participants’ offenses, and their legal names, were never disclosed.
My time working with Charlie through the Koestler Trust program came to an end after about a year of meetings, and a couple of years later my husband and I moved back to the US. We keep in touch though, via email, and I try and check in on his website from time to time to see what he’s been creating. Recently we were in touch and he had some great news to share: he recently graduated and completed his degree with First Class Honors (the highest level of achievement in the UK’s degree system); his artwork was recently shortlisted, making it through to the final round of the juried Royal Academy’s 250th Summer Exhibition in London; he is employed full-time at a local Tattoo Studio, some of his recent work can be viewed on his Instagram feed; and he has been selected as one of Posca Pens/Uniball’s sponsored artists for their upcoming marketing campaign.
I wanted to write this post and tell his story because I believe his efforts, and his artwork deserve recognition. To this day, I do not know what Charlie was convicted of or why he served time, but it doesn’t matter. What does matter is his unwavering determination to use his love for art, and his talent and skill to create a fulfilling life for himself and his family moving forward. I hope by sharing this, it will inspire and encourage others. I am immensely proud of his accomplishments and to know him, and wish him every ongoing success in future.
Charlie resides in the United Kingdom and goes by his artist’s pseudonym Charlie Ghost, his mural tag is Ghost13 Murals. You can see further artwork on his website, http://charlieghost.wixsite.com/cghost and his Instagram handle is @charlieghost1886.
About the guest contributor:
Chelsea Garner-Ferris resides in Florida after spending nearly a decade in London, UK. She holds a BS degree in Interior Design from The Florida State University and an MA in Art History and Visual Culture from Richmond, The American International University in London. Chelsea has experience in the contemporary art market, artist liaison and mentoring experience through the UK-based Koestler Trust. She is also a freelance writer, editor and published author. Chelsea can be contacted via email at firstname.lastname@example.org.
About the guest contributor: “Though I don’t like being labeled, or “summed up” by definitions, there are two tags I must live with. First, I am an artist… I have been my entire life. I dabble in different mediums and play with many forms of expression. I call myself an illustrator because the intent of all my work is to share a story. Places I’ve been. Things I’ve seen. Feelings I’ve dealt with. Second, I am a felon… I will be one for the rest of my life. I was released from the Wisconsin Department of Corrections custody in April, 2018. I was allowed to concentrate on my work, watch it mature, and see other’s talents grow. Through creative competition we became a collective.”
Hi! My name is Todd or, for the past 3 years, Wisconsin Department of Corrections #632011. I will have my numeric “nickname” for the next 6 years in Community Custody. For those unfamiliar with the term, I will be on “paper” and continuously monitored. I was incarcerated 2/13/2015 for violating the terms of my bond and in July 2015 was handed a 4-year sentence, mandatory release date of February 10, 2019… my 51st birthday. Fortunately, I’m a non-violent offender. I integrated smoothly into the prison lifestyle and routine. For this I was eligible for an Earned Release Program and cut 10 months off my ‘bid’. Unfortunately, the time I saved on my time ‘in’ was tacked on to my early release.
Let me tell you a little about where I come from! I grew up in an upper middle-class suburb of Milwaukee, WI. My family isn’t what I would call wealthy but we definitely were raised “privileged”. We were never denied anything and rarely heard the word ‘no’. I believed I was invincible… my family would get me out of every situation I got into. If I was broke, they’d give me money. If my bills were late, they would catch them up. When I got arrested, they covered my bail and got me the best possible legal representation. I was a well-adjusted kid who never got into any trouble… well, except getting suspended for smoking on school grounds and skipping gym class. I have 7 DUIs under my belt now and never was in prison. This time there was no getting out of it! The Judge told me clearly, “… you’ve gotten away with this too many times and haven’t received enough punishment…”. He handed down the sentence of 4 years in, 6 years out for a grand total of 10 years, the maximum punishment he could legally impose.
So, here I am at 47 years old on my way to the prison Intake facility! I’m in handcuffs and shackles, locked in the back of a bus, with a bunch of ‘real’ criminals. Most of these guys are murderers, rapists and abusers (they’d done things I couldn’t even fathom). My offense didn’t hurt anyone… I’d had no accidents or damaged any property. I’m thinking, “OMG”, what are these people going to do to someone like me? Am I going to have to live with these men or be housed with ‘lesser’ offenders? What are the living conditions going to be? We’ve all seen the movies… is it really like that?
I wasn’t so much scared of my situation, it was more anxiety that dominated my mind. The more I was around these soon-to-be “roommates” the more I decided I wasn’t going to be around them. I withdrew into reading novels. I found it a way to transport myself to other places, different stories and a better class of people. In Intake we weren’t allowed to have much. I read about 5 books a week, all day and night long, to take me away and avoid speaking to the characters I was forced to room with. I was so thankful when I got moved out of intake into a regular medium-security location where I could finally purchase my own clothes, shoes, TV and hobby supplies!!
I found television to be a very temporary, mindless escape… maybe solely a distraction from the world I was residing in. Books are great but reading became more of a tedium than a diversion. I had ordered a sketchpad and some drawing pencils, colored pencils and pastels but I hadn’t actually created anything in a long time. As we all get older, responsibilities and obligations often force us to put our passions to the side. While I’d created art on the outside, and I was devoted to it, I didn’t have the time to express myself the way I truly desired to. Now, on a forced break from reality, I didn’t have to worry about anything. I had no bills to pay. I had no commitments to family or work. Even though it was barely edible, I didn’t have to think about what I was going to eat, go grocery shopping or cook. I could go to bed and get up whenever I felt like it… except for count times and the occasional fire drill! It seemed to be the perfect time to return to my first love, drawing.
My first attempts were primitive, at least in my eyes, but they impressed others. I didn’t care about, or need, the approval of others but it was flattering. These drawings were/are a part of me! I could transport myself to new worlds, make them tangible and be however I wanted them to be. My fellow inmates would sometimes question my images. They didn’t understand artistic vision doesn’t have to be representational… it doesn’t have to consist of recognizable imagery. My work wasn’t for them though, it was for me! I refused to draw portraits for them. I absolutely wouldn’t make greeting cards! My work is art… not crafts! Later on, I did start to do portraits but there were a few conditions. I didn’t set a “price” for my work but they had no input into the finished project and I would accept tokens of gratitude. They couldn’t view the piece until it was complete. And don’t bother me, it’ll be done when it’s done.
I must explain that I’m not an anti-social kind of guy! I’d made a conscious decision to separate myself from the environment to which I was subjected. I didn’t want to get to know anybody. I knew I’d do my time for me, get it over with, and never have to see any of these people ever again. The chances of myself, and most of the others, being in the same social circles and spaces on the outside was slim. In this context, my art became my downfall. The more I created the more others wanted to talk to me. They wanted to see my work. They wanted to talk about my projects. They wanted to show me their talents… with words, visual images, crochet, needlepoint, leathercraft, beading, some dance and the list goes on within the perimeters of the prison’s restrictions. For many this was their first exposure to expressing themselves in ways that weren’t destructive to themselves or others. And they were proud of their work. They valued my opinions and asked for my suggestions as to how to improve their visions. Even though I was keeping my distance and not letting down my “walls” (I thought), I developed superficial (again, I thought) relationships… more than acquaintances but not quite friends.
To elaborate on the ‘I thought’ statements. I believed I was hiding behind “walls” to protect myself from getting to know the other convicts in my personal space 24/7/365. What I failed to recognize was that my work, and my input into theirs’, slowly exposed pieces of myself. I gained insight into their lives because, when asked to view or make suggestions on their works, I could see into their minds. I could read their emotions about where they’ve been, are currently and where they want to be in the future. We developed an unspoken form of communication. A way to maintain our masculinity while “discussing” our feelings of fear, on relationships, about caring for one another. All the things men don’t usually talk about with each other.
One of my favorite statements, I heard it all the time, was “I can’t draw.” Or “I can’t do that”. There is no right or wrong in art. There is no good or bad in creation. I’d tell people, “Yes, you can!”. It doesn’t matter if it’s a stick figure or a colorful “scribble” with colored pencils. “I’ll help inspire you!”. “Are you having fun?”, “Relaxing?”, “Releasing the frustration of another taxing day?”. The point being, are you feeling anything?!! Art is about reaction. If you have an opinion or elicit a reaction you’re alive. You’re expressing a view, a viewpoint and that’s creation. I was able to introduce technique but had to remind guys not to try to do what I do… one of me is enough. Be your own person! See through your own eyes! Interpret according to your own beliefs and values! Of course, one of the toughest principles is always OBSERVE, OBSERVE, OBSERVE! Shut your mouth and listen… don’t just hear, LISTEN. Open your eyes but don’t just look, SEE! Absorb the good and the bad around you. Visualize what makes you happy. Express the things that piss you off. Whatever it is, get it out!!
The arts are one of the few positive things about prison. For me, it allowed the opportunity to see my craft mature. Looking at my early works with only #2 pencil on typing paper to what I’m accomplishing, and still growing, now is amazing. I saw others experiment successfully in a variety of mediums. One of my co-artist inmates, who claimed he’d never been creative, composed a spectacular “collage” (all hand drawn and cut out) representing his favorite football team, the San Francisco 49ers. Others did brilliant portraits from photographs of their loved ones using a grid technique. Patterns were available for purchase to those who preferred to work in brightly colored yarns. Some got their friends and family to send them adult coloring book pages to enjoy and release tension. It wasn’t unusual to see groups of guys sitting around the same table conversing and immersed in their activities of choice!
Sometimes, however, our efforts were stifled by the subjective rules of the DOC. For example; I drew a New Orleans Mardi Gras scene in which there was a woman flashing her breasts to get beads that were thrown from the balconies. Another inmate drew a very artistic topless woman with large boobs. He got cited for “inappropriate material” where, when the correctional officers were questioned about it, my drawing was considered acceptable because of the context. We had to be very careful about anything depicting violence but not all was seen as unacceptable. Subjects construed as racist could land one in the “hole” but, again, it depended on context. I illustrated my frustrations about the happenings in Ferguson, Missouri (I forget what year that was) depicting a racially diverse group defending themselves against the police while stores were being looted and cars were on fire. It wasn’t considered unacceptable since the violence was implied more than vivid. It was tricky to sometimes push the line as serious disciplinary action could be imposed upon you. But really, who wants to concentrate on drawing bunnies and pretty flowers in a place where it is difficult to wake up in the morning and smile at your cellie!
It’s really fascinating to look back on the whole experience now… even though it hasn’t been that long. To think about the conversations that started over a drawing, a poem, or a song. The feelings that were communicated without speaking. The bonds created by my knowing, somewhere, someone may be thinking about the positive aspects of being incarcerated because my work is hanging on their wall or framed on their desk. Even if it’s just held by a magnet on a refrigerator, I’ve impacted somebody else’s life in any number of ways. A reminder of where we’ve been, where we’re going and to be thankful in the moment that we’ve survived (hopefully overcome) our shortcomings. I like to believe some of the men I inspired, and who inspired me, have continued to pursue their newly found freedom of expression. A constructive outlet for their emotions. A diversion from returning to where they’ve been. A way to create a future they can visualize. In some way everyone is in a prison of their own creation….