An important message from PAC’s manager — please read on!

Dear PAC Community,

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.

Woan Crocheting - Part 2 of Bars Triptych
by Carole Alden

The JAC’s development is the culmination of the efforts of a Steering Committee comprised of teaching artists and arts advocates that formed at the 2015 Arts in Corrections: Opportunities for Justice and Rehabilitation conference. It is being made possible with seed funding generously contributed by California Lawyers for the Arts and the Warhol Foundation, and fiscal sponsorship provided by The William James Association

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!

White Tiger
White Tiger by Daniel Owens

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 pacoalitionadmin@gmail.com

With gratitude,

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!

Conference Announcement: Reframing the Landscape of Justice

California Lawyers for the Arts and the William James Association

in collaboration with

Santa Clara University and the Justice Arts Coalition

presents

Arts in Corrections: Reframing the Landscape of Justice

June 24 – 28, 2019

Santa Clara University

500 El Camino Real, Santa Clara, CA 95053

This national conference will provide professional development opportunities for artists who work in correctional institutions at all levels and best practices for arts administrators who would like to learn how to implement and manage these programs.

Participants in this conference will have opportunities to

  • Share best practices in program development and curriculum design
  • Learn about current research models, including evaluation and documentation
  • Develop opportunities to collaborate with justice reform advocates in different states and nationally
  • Participate in workshops showcasing exemplary programs for juveniles and adults, as well as restorative justice and re-entry models
  • Learn how to build public awareness and enhance programmatic sustainability
  • Continue to build the Justice Arts Coalition as a national support organization for artists who teach in correctional institutions and artists coming home
  • Participate in art classes in various disciplines taught by master artists

* Monday, June 24th is reserved as a pre-conference training day for arts providers   and contractors teaching in the CA State Prison System

* Friday’s schedule features Future IDs Workshops at Alcatraz

Confirmed speakers include:

Jimmy Santiago Baca, Conference Artist-in-Residence, as well as Beth Bienvenu, National Endowment for the Arts; Anne Bown-Crawford, California Arts Council; Larry Brewster, University of San Francisco; Dameion Brown and Lesley Currier, Marin Shakespeare Company; Annie Buckley, California State University – San Bernardino; Laura Caulfield, University of Wolverhampton, UK; Mary Cohen, University of Iowa; Mandy Gardner, Southwest Correctional Arts Network (SCAN); Allia Griffin, Santa Clara University; Jane Golden, Philadelphia Mural Arts; Beverly Iseghohi, Urban League of Greater Atlanta; Ashley Lucas, University of Michigan; Dorsey Nunn, Legal Services for Prisoners with Children / All of Us or None; Meade Palidofsky, Story Catchers Theatre; Gregory Sale, Arizona State University; Kyes Stevens, Auburn University; Curt L. Tofteland, Shakespeare Behind Bars; Ella Turenne, Occidental College / Inside Out Prison Exchange Program

Contractors in the California Arts Council state prison arts program should contact their providers to register. 

Artists and staff affiliated with local and state arts agencies throughout the United States should contact CLA conference staff for special discounts available through NEA funding. 

Download Registration Form PDF HERE 

For more information, please contact conference staff at:

aic@calawyersforthearts.org or (415) 775-7200 x 101

As the End Comes (a tribute to Alice Walker)

by Mardie Swartz

Mardie Swartz has spent 29 years behind bars in Texas. This poem is about the time approaching when she will finally be beyond bars.

I remember beginnings –

The first time I was molested

Sold, abandoned, raped

The first drink, snort, shot of

Whatever would numb some

of the pain. The first time I

ran, and the first time I

just stayed and closed my eyes.

The first time I tried to hang.

 

I recall pissing on myself

In fear when I entered jail

at sixteen. The smell of

vomit, stale bodies, and

broken lives seeping into my

skin and hair as

I huddled in a corner

trying to be invisible again.

 

I can still feel the smooth

slice and burn of steel parting

flesh. The pulse of my lifeblood

racing forth when I tried to

Give the state back my seventy-five years –

The easy way…….

A cascading red necklace

made of anguish and despair.

 

As days became months,

became years

then decades which melded into

monotonous monologues with different

faces but familiar themes,

hope became dust motes in a sunbeam –

briefly glimpsed, but intangible,

Weightless

Subjective

Meaningless

 

And yet.

With the changing of the

calendars, the changes in

the mirror, came the

changes in my soul –

Emerging from the shattered

mess of degradation and shame

arose a survivor, a warrior

an unconquerable heart

who dared to look up,

lift my head,

and piece together a life amid the dross and dregs

of the irredeemable.

 

As the end comes,

I realize

everything I’ve heard

about it

is false.

 

Betrayal no longer matters

Hatreds are forgotten,

forgiven. Abrupt

Partings for weird reasons

are resolved, and love

comes crashing against

my heart’s door.

 

There is no longer fear

of the unknown

but a gripping, relentless

excitement

as months become days,

become hours,

minutes,

seconds –

 

And I walk out the gates

to a new beginning

toward my own

until now unimaginable

destiny

without fences and bars

“Art kept us sane”: An interview with memoir author Logan Crannell

About the writer, Logan Crannell: I’m a visual artist from Provo, UT who opted to move into my truck with my dog Jack, after I got divorced.  We travelled together and ended up in Boise, ID to visit a friend. Things spiraled out of control, and I got imprisoned for 4 months, facing a ten year sentence. I got released on Oct. 5th, 2016.
From Wendy, PAC Administrator: Logan Crannell wrote to PAC seeking some support in promoting his memoir, Hands Down – a story of incarceration, which hits Amazon today. I asked him if he’d like to contribute a blog post about it, and he eagerly agreed, requesting that I provide him with a few questions to get his thoughts flowing. I did so, and the following is what he offered in return. I’m sure you’ll be as moved by his words as I am, and I ask that you share this interview, and Logan’s book, with anyone who might find them meaningful — WJ

~~~

Hands Down Cover with 0.125 bleeds-1

WJ: How did the process/act of writing help you to cope with being incarcerated?

LC:  Writing grounded me and kept my mind from circling in on itself.  Being locked in a concrete cell for twenty-one hours a day, you get consumed by repetitive and irrational thoughts.  It’s important to get them out of your system, otherwise they eat you alive.

Excerpt from Hands Down:

I rested there, despondent.  Zach, walking laps along the yellow line, stopped and approached.  He took a seat and put his elbows on the table.

“You’re not overthinking, are you?” he asked, leaning in.

“Yes, I am.  I can’t help it.”

“Listen, bro,” he said, “You can’t think about the past and the future in here because they’re not ours.  They don’t belong to us, anymore.  All we get is today.  You have to focus on the things you can control.  It’s the little things that save you.”

It was wisdom, what he told me.

WJ:   You mentioned that you have a background in filmmaking.  What similarities and differences did you discover between the way you told a story in writing versus in film?

LC:  Yes, I grew up in a family of professional filmmakers and photographers, so I naturally told stories that way, but I was never comfortable with words.  They felt foreign to me; my interest lay with capturing images and feelings visually. When it came to dialogue, I’d bring in writers to deal with it. I didn’t care to be involved.

Then, in jail, in court, listening to my life and reputation get dismantled, I realized that words would ultimately set me free; they were my only tool of defense.  They became invaluable to me. No one seemed interested in my version of events, or claims of innocence, so documenting my words was a form of retaliation. Then, it turned  into something far more personal, as I examined my life and choices leading up to my arrest, which comprises the first section of the book.

WJ:  How did your surroundings influence your voice? Your perspective?

LC:  It got raw.  I came face-to-face with my fears, insecurities and failures, and I absolutely could not progress until I challenged them directly.  I couldn’t hide behind the distractions of the outside world. I felt bare, with nothing left to lose by writing my honest observations.  

As I got closer with my cellmates, my own story took a backseat, and I focused on their lives and outlooks.  The book transformed into our story.  Not just mine.  

Excerpt:

“How many mattresses are out there?”

“One.”

It was our nightly ritual; the counting of the mats. At 10:30 pm, the deputies placed mattresses on the table by the control desk, the number of which signaled to us how many new inmates were on their way to cell block. On our Walk, we had the only cell with a vacancy. The lights went out. I waited for my eyes to adjust, then continued reading The Screwtape Letters, by C.S Lewis; a rare find from the jail library.

“Did anybody come in?” Zach asked

“Not yet,” Zeek replied

“Well, I’m going to bed.  God bless, you guys!” Zach said, pulling down his headband

I’d fallen asleep when Rick Kellner made his entrance, and he came in with a bang.  Frankly, I wasn’t sure if I’d like Rick – he bragged of his charges with such enthusiasm, though I gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking that underneath his thunder, there might be a man that grew up too damn fast.

  
WJ:  How has your experience within the criminal justice system changed the way you perceive art and/or the creative process?

LC:  Art has a vital role in lockdown. It’s not disposable. I noticed inmate reactions to watching television; so many societal issues were irrelevant to them, and advertising commercials had no effect. We couldn’t have any of those things, so the broadcast registered as noise to us. I was relieved – I’d finally found a place where marketing didn’t work. I thought to myself, ‘These people are picking up on completely different signals.  That’s awesome.’

It’s funny, because I got housed with inmates who lamented over how much better the conditions were in prison, as opposed to county, because they had access to art supplies. My cellmate Rick did incredible drawings, but blank, white sheets of paper were a scarce commodity. We had to be resourceful and work with our limitations. It didn’t stop us. I kept a 2-inch pen, wrapped in paper and adhesive labels to make it less pliable, safely in my sock since the jail considered it contraband.

Excerpt:

Rick produced a work of art, while free, at a stable point in his life, on a canvas measuring roughly four-foot-by-six. He did the drawing in pencil; the image of an Elk, beside a river, on a cold morning.

He lost track of how long he spent perfecting it; each blade of grass, drop of moisture and dew, the hair of the Elk’s coat, its breath, all of it in vivid detail.  He spoke of its majesty, regarding it as his finest achievement, creatively. I believe Rick thought of that drawing often, in the darkest moments, pulling strength from it, when he felt at a loss.  I think it helped him see the goodness of his capabilities.

WJ:  What inspired you to keep writing? Were there times you lost the motivation? If so, how did you find it again?

LC:  I don’t recall losing motivation.  On the contrary; my cellmates would have to pry me off my journal, bring me down to earth, and encourage me to exercise and joke around. I formed tight bonds with my cellies. We fueled one another with ideas and inspiring stories. Art kept us sane. We balanced it with spiritual practices and kept each other laughing.  

Excerpt:

Zach didn’t waiver from his routine, and his daily yoga session piqued Rick’s interest. By that point, I joined Zach a few times a week, and it improved my flexibility. The floor got cramped with three of us, so I let Rick take a lesson. Zach gradually taught him the steps and proper breathing techniques.

Rick’s body trembled, as he labored to maintain a stance.

“Zach, I can’t hold it. I’m losing balance,” Rick pleaded

“You gotta breath deep with the motion, bro. You can do it.”

Rick’s feet slid on the smooth concrete, “This is way harder than I thought.”

“Yoga ain’t no punk, Rick.”

WJ:  What gave you hope? Who/what inspired you?

LC:  Seeing my dog Jack again. He means the world to me. On the day of my arrest, I got far more concerned for his well-being than my own. When the cops allowed me ‘my one phone call’ it wasn’t to a lawyer. I wanted to verify that Jack was safe and cared for. My friends and family came through in a big way.

WJ:  What advice would you give to other creative thinkers who are locked up? Or to artists and writers who teach in prisons/jails?

LC:  Keep it unfiltered. Don’t get influenced by history. The art you do doesn’t have to be monumental. That’s not the point. Your goal shouldn’t be to impress others. Real art isn’t about your ego; it’s the release of ego that makes it sincere. If it doesn’t heal you, don’t expect it to help others.  

While finishing the final draft of my book, page by page, I’d follow one instruction:  Did I keep it real and from the heart? Then, I’d ask two questions: What am I bringing awareness to?  And, am I ready to put this into the world?

To be a teacher in that environment, well, I think you have to create a circle of trust and safety, or the results won’t happen. Everyone involved has to be comfortable and meet at eye level before they open up. My cell mates were hesitant when they saw me keeping a journal, but once they trusted my intentions, they wanted to be involved and contribute to it. I’d quote ’em all day long.

Excerpt:

July 20th – Through the windshield of the transport bus, I witnessed sidewalks busy with people, wandering, arms full of shopping bags, wanting things. I saw advertisements for phone plans, menu options at fast food restaurants, and bands wearing the latest fashion. I wasn’t missing anything; Cell 846 was my comfort zone; I’d power through the day, and go to my bunk and rest.

My gaze shifted from the windshield to a black man seated in front of me, in the maximum security section; an iron gate divided us.  He reminded me of Tupac Shakur – maybe it was the nose ring. How did he get to keep his nose ring? How strange, that you can sit next to a person on a bus, and say nothing to them – and a month later, that person changes your life forever.

WJ:  What gave you the confidence to publish your story? What impact do you hope it will have?

Well, I felt a sense of obligation to publish since it wasn’t simply my story.  I promised those men I’d see it through.  

I have a dear friend, on the outside, that read the book. Unfortunately, his long term relationship with his girlfriend had hit a rough patch, and they decided to take a break. She moved out of state. Unbeknownst to me, he would read the book to her over the phone at night, and it helped them to rediscover and be grateful for what they had built. That touched me deeply. It made my struggles worthwhile. That’s what I want for the book; to have the reader find a negative in their life and convert it into something positive. That’s the victory.

WJ:  What are your goals for the future? How has the transition coming home been for you? Have you continued to write? If so, has it served a purpose during the transition?

LC:  Actually, I’m studying for my degree in floral design. I’d practiced Ikebana, Japanese flower arrangement, throughout my adult life. It brought me peace. I committed to making it my new career when I got out, so I’m really concentrated on that now. The transition was rough. By the time they kicked me to the streets I’d lost my home, my car, my camera and computer equipment, both of my jobs, etc. On top of that I now had a criminal record to contend with. At least I had my dog, and solid friends. I think that’s ultimately what the book is about; true friendship.  

Logan and Jack
Logan and Jack

If you’d like to connect with Logan (or Jack), email films.by.logan@gmail.com.

Hands Down: A Story of Incarceration, by Logan Crannell