Archive | incarcerated artist RSS feed for this section

Images from Behind Prison Walls offers a rare opportunity to see artwork from incarcerated men and women

18 Jun

Contributed by Rehabilitation Through The Arts

 

Ossining, NY, June 13 2018 – Images from Behind Prison Walls is an exhibit of more than 60 pieces of artwork from men and women incarcerated in five maximum and medium security prisons, including Bedford Hills Correctional Facility, the only maximum-security prison for women in New York State, that will be on display at the Ossining Public Library Art Gallery throughout the month of July.

All the artwork has been created by prisoner members of RTA – Rehabilitation Through The Arts, a non-profit organization operating in the prison system over twenty-two years. Because of their long-standing and positive relationship with NYS Department of Corrections and Community Supervision, RTA received approval to exhibit and sell the artwork.

A public Gallery Reception will be held in the Ossining Public Library Art Gallery on Saturday, July 14 from 3:00 to 5:00 pm and will feature refreshments and the opportunity to talk with formerly incarcerated RTA artists including Jeffrey Clemente and Amaury Bonilla.

Jeffrey Clemente, who was a member of RTA while serving seven years at Sing Sing Correctional Facility, said, “When I got involved with RTA it expanded my imaginative mind about art and took me to another creative space. It was like I was able to express myself in this creative environment without any judgment…art is really the platform that allowed me to express myself.”

Amaury Bonilla served 10 years at Sing Sing. About the Ossining exhibit, he comments, “Society only looks at people convicted of a crime as criminals and that’s all they know, when it’s not reality – prisoners are still human beings who have different talents and skills, and through this exhibit, visitors will gain awareness that we’re not just a number; we’re human beings able to express ourselves in numerous ways.”

RTA is partnering with the Ossining Public Library (OPL), the Ossining Arts Council (OAC) and the Sing Sing Prison Museum (SSPM) to make this important exhibit available to the public. These three Ossining-based nonprofits share RTA’s belief in the transformative power of the arts to change lives and build communities. By providing the space, expertise and historical context for the artwork, the OPL, OAC, and SSPM aim to enhance RTA’s work in telling the stories of incarcerated people and how they benefit through the healing power of art in all its forms.

Rehabilitation Through The Arts uses the creative arts of theatre, dance, visual art, creative writing, and music to transform lives. Its curriculum develops and expands critical life skills for the more than 200 incarcerated men and women they serve. Two evidenced-based and published studies have proven the arts curriculum RTA delivers is effective in changing discipline records and is a catalyst for learning. RTA prisoner members do not return to prison.  While the national recidivism (return to prison) rate is more than 50%, RTA’s recidivism is less than 7%.

The Ossining Public Library (OPL) is located at 53 Croton Avenue. For more information visit www.ossininglibrary.org, or call 914-941-2416.  For information on RTA, visit www.rta-arts.org, email to info@rta-arts.org or call 914-232-7566.

All I see is freedom

All I See is Freedom by John McKeever

 

Magical Garden

Magical Garden by Hector Rodriguez Green Haven CF

 

All Color Matter #1

All Color Matter #1 by George Tucker Sing Sing CF

 

Contacts: Barbara Branagan-Mitchell 860-210-0149; Jackie Kunhardt 860-271-1694

About the Ossining Public Library

The Ossining Public Library is a School District Public Library chartered by the State of New York to serve all residents of the Ossining School District. As a member of the Westchester Library System, it also provides services to a larger community. The Ossining Public Library enriches, connects, and inspires our community. For more information, visit www.ossininglibrary.org.

About the Ossining Arts Council

The Ossining Arts Council (OAC) is a not-for-profit volunteer organization devoted to demonstrating that art, in all its forms, is an important, vital and affirming force—both in the life of a community and in the life of each individual it touches. OAC helpsits artist members and promotes their work through OAC hosted events, use of its physical Gallery Space in the OAC Steamer Firehouse, a dedicated artist profile and showcase through its Online Galleries and various other channels. OAC offers a social and creative hub, where like-minded people can meet, share ideas and foster new projects and collaborations. For more information, visit www.ossiningartscouncil.org.

About The Sing Sing Prison Museum

Sing Sing Correctional Facility is a working maximum-security prison where the theories and realities of criminal punishment and rehabilitation have played out for almost 200 years. It’s a place with many stories to tell from many sides. Housed just outside the prison walls, the new Sing Sing Prison Museum will unlock the history of this world-famous institution through exhibits, artifacts and experiences. At the same time, the museum aims to take center stage in the urgent national conversation about social justice and incarceration. In illuminating these issues, in telling these stories, Sing Sing Prison Museum will tell us much about ourselves. For more information, visit www.singsingprisonmuseum.org.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sketches from Inside

8 Jun

insideoutINSIDE | OUT

Sketches from Inside

In January of this year, we started a Prison Arts Pilot Program here at Avery Mitchell Correctional Institution (AMCI) in Spruce Pine, North Carolina. We set out to do a series of 9 drawing classes with 15 incarcerated men each of whom are serving sentences from a few years to life. Our original intention was to solely focus on drawing exercises as many of the men were most interested in learning skills and art terms that others are able to learn in school. Over the weeks though, our drawing exercises turned into communal teaching opportunities in which all participants taught each other and we all learned to grow together as artists.

Our classes are now comprised of technique sharing, looking at work of artists both inside and outside the prison walls, and talking about the purpose and benefit of making art. We meet weekly to laugh, talk, and draw together and our sessions last just an hour and a half. In May, we will begin round two of our program and we are excited to bring in guest artists, look at more artwork, and to keep sharing the talents of these men.

More than anything, the men at AMCI would like you to know that they have talent, heart, and soul and do not want to be forgotten.

This program is generously funded and supported by the Penland School of Crafts Community Collaboration Program. Special thanks to Stacey Lane for her tireless work.

Thank you to Angela Lamm, Dawn McMahan, and Jason Penland at the Avery Mitchell Correctional Institution, and Aaron Buchanan at Fox & the Fig.

With sincere thanks to the 12 artists in this show, we are so happy to be working with you.

Daniel T Beck, Sarah Rose Lejeune, and Rachel Meginnes

About AMCI:

The Avery Mitchell Correctional Institution currently has 846 occupied beds, and has a capacity for 856. They have 95 men incarcerated there with life sentences, and 53 that have been “promoted” to minimum custody, who will soon be sent to a lower security facility that has more opportunity for work release and transitional programming. The men incarcerated at AMCI are between the ages of 22 and 73. This facility is classified as medium custody, although many of the men would describe it as run closer to that of a maximum unit, with rules enforced tightly across the board. The men currently participating in this prison arts program are predominantly active artists, most of whom hold long sentences. Very few of these men were practicing artists on the outside, their interest in making predominantly began as therapy and hobby once incarcerated. They take their craft very seriously, although only two of the program participants have had minimal formal training. These men teach and share knowledge and skills with great compassion, their artwork a common thread that builds community and commonality.

reception (11 of 20)

Angela Lamm is a Correctional Case Manager and Volunteer Coordinator at the Avery Mitchell Correctional Institution. She has worked tirelessly with us to make this program a reality.

Inside Out opening reception

The Inside Out exhibition included written statements by many of the artists, and a notebook for viewers to record their thoughts and feelings about the work. We were able to share these responses with the artists, opening up dialogue between those inside and outside the prison walls.

The artists:

Ted Brason

Slide10

frederick brason045 - Copy (2)

 

 

Nick Tucci-Caselli

Slide12

nick tucci-caselli (2).jpg

 

Robert Reid

Slide14

robert reid043 (2)

 

Bobby Autry

Slide16

bobby autry (2)

 

David Jones

Slide18

david jones047 - Copy (2)

 

Antonio Trejo

Slide20

 

David Bauguess

Slide21

david bauguess (2)

Eric Hughes

Slide22

 

Juan Santiago

Slide23

 

Michael Lewis

Slide24

 

Michael Sheets

Slide25

river bird046 (2)

 

Tyvon Gabriel

Slide26

tyvon gabriel (2).jpg

As instructors we continue to grow alongside the students, always challenged by and learning from class conversations. This initial pilot program is continuing. Moving into summer we are expanding the structure of the course to include a mixture of slide lectures, open studio time, prompts and exercises, and a series of guest instructors. The Inside Out exhibition currently on display at Fox and Fig in Spruce Pine, NC has plans to travel to Boone, NC, and potentially additional venues, with additional exhibitions slated to culminate future course segments.

 

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

23 Mar
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

~~~

From the back cover of Hands Down – a story of incarceration:

As my thoughts and notes developed, I noticed themes cropping up; the struggle of co-dependency, the abuse of power, synchronicities and belief systems falling apart.  I was writing extensively about boundary lines being crossed; moral betrayals, and the places between waking and dream states, and the borders of life and death.

Hands Down: A Story of Incarceration, by Logan Crannell
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:

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.