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“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.

Events Calendar for the 23rd Annual Exhibition of Art by Michigan Prisoners

23 Feb
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“Crying Inside” by G. Allen

“Prison does not define who we are as people, but instead reflects poor decisions we have made. I would ask that those who judge us to perhaps look past the blue and orange state clothes we wear, and to try to practice empathy. Please try to understand us. Please try to look past our imperfections and most importantly, try to forgive us. I believe that many inmates struggle with, yet desperately desire to express who they truly are, and the reasons are numerous. Creating art is one avenue I personally use to express myself. All of my paintings reflect either my sadness, my happiness, my dreams, my desires, my passions, or I just find them beautiful. Whatever painting of mine you may be looking at right now, please know that while you are certainly seeing a part of me, there is far more to understand and discover about me beyond the blue and orange I wear.” G. Allen, 2018

23rd Annual Exhibition of Art by Michigan Prisoners

March 21 – April 4, 2018
Duderstadt Center Gallery
University of Michigan North Campus
2281 Bonisteel Blvd., Ann Arbor, MI 48109

The Annual Exhibition of Art by Michigan Prisoners is one of the largest exhibitions of art by incarcerated artists in the country. Each year, faculty, staff and students from the University of Michigan travel to correctional facilities across Michigan and select work for the exhibition while providing feedback and critique that strengthens artist’s work and builds community around making art inside prisons.

The 23rd Annual Exhibition of Art by Michigan Prisoners is supported by the Michigan Council for the Arts and Cultural Affairs, University of Michigan Office of the Provost; College of Literature, Science, and the Arts; School of Music, Theatre & Dance; Stamps School of Art and Design; Residential College.

Events Calendar

Exhibition hours are 12pm-6pm Sunday and Monday; 10am-7pm Tuesday through Saturday. The gallery will be closed April 1.

Opening Events, 23rd Annual Exhibition of Art by Michigan Prisoners

Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Duderstadt Center Gallery
Celebrate the opening day of the 23rd Annual Exhibition of Art by Michigan Prisoners. Gallery opens at 10am. Sales begin at 6 pm. Opening Reception will begin at 7 pm, with guest speakers from the University of Michigan, the Michigan Department of Corrections, and artists from previous exhibitions.

Keene Theatre Performance with Friends from Brazil

Friday, March 23, 2018 from 7 to 8 pm
Keene Theatre, Residential College, East Quad
Join PCAP as we welcome visitors from the theatre departments of two universities in Brazil, UDESC in Florianópolis and UniRio in Rio de Janeiro. Students and faculty from both universities host a group of PCAP students and Prof. Ashley Lucas each summer as part of our ongoing exchange program. Our friends from Brazil will perform various short pieces of theatre, dance, and music in the Keene Theatre as a way to share some of their phenomenal performance work with us.

Artists’ Panel, 23rd Annual Exhibition of Art by Michigan Prisoners

Sunday, March 25, 2018, 11am – 12:30pm
Duderstadt Center Gallery
Artists from previous Prison Creative Arts Project exhibitions share their stories and answer questions about life as a prison artist in this informal panel discussion, moderated by Professor Emerita Janie Paul.

The 10th Anniversary Edition, Michigan Review of Prisoner Creative Writing Volume 10, Ann Arbor Reading

Sunday, March 25, 2018, 4pm – 6pm
East Room, near the Duderstadt Gallery – North Campus
Hear selections from this year’s 10th anniversary special edition, read by family and friends of contributing authors. Books will be for sale. Cosponsored by LSA Residential College, LSA Department of English Language and Literature, and the Jackson Social Justice Fund of Unitarian Universalist Congregation, Ann Arbor
PCAP’s Michigan Review of Prisoner Creative Writing seeks to showcase the talent and diversity of Michigan’s incarcerated writers. The review features writing from both beginning and experienced writers – writing that comes from the heart, and that is unique, well-crafted, and lively.

Maine Inside Out Performance

Wednesday, March 28, 2018, 6:30-8pm
Keene Theatre, Residential College, East Quad, Room B-141
Maine Inside Out (MIO) artists facilitate the creation of original theatre to engage the community in dialogue about issues related to incarceration. Chiara Libertore, one of Professor Emeritus William “Buzz” Alexander’s first students (LSA English Language and Literature) in what would become the Prison Creative Arts Project (PCAP), co-founded the MIO non-profit in 2007. MIO provides year round voluntary theatre workshops for more than half of the young people at Long Creek Youth Development Center in South Portland, Maine. Its reintegration program for newly-released Maine Inside Out participants includes weekly community groups, mentoring, and transitional employment opportunities for youth in three Maine communities that incarcerate the highest number of young people.
MIO’s transformative justice curriculum includes a new original production created by young adult artists debuting in 2017. Join us for a public performance and dialogue in the Residential College’s Keene Theatre.

Keynote: “Voices from the Abyss: Twenty Years of Journalism with the Angolite Magazine,” Kerry Myers

Thursday, March 29, 2018, 7pm-9pm
Duderstadt Center Gallery
Kerry Myers grew up in a small town suburb of New Orleans. He holds a B.A. in Communications and Journalism. In 1990, he was sentenced to life without parole. Kerry served his time in the Louisiana State
Penitentiary, know famously as Angola. In 1996, Wilbert Rideau, the incarcerated editor of the prison’s news magazine The Angolite, recruited Myers to write for the publication. In June 2001, when Rideau left prison, Myers became only the second editor of The Angolite in the previous 25 years. Under his guidance, the magazine reported on the death penalty with a depth and clarity that was recognized with the Thurgood Marshall Journalism Award in 2007, the first of many honors and awards.
Taking on subjects like human trafficking, juvenile life without parole, aging, Alzheimer’s and dementia in prison, sentencing, pardons and parole policy and more, Myers guided the magazine as it became a resource for many top criminal justice and law programs in the US. In 2011 and 2012, Myers wrote a critically acclaimed series on the history of women in the Louisiana penal system, from Pre-Civil War to the present. In December 2016, Governor John Bel Edwards signed Myer’s second unanimous commutation of sentence, recommended by the Board of Pardons and Parole. Since that time, Myers has been working as a free-lance journalist and photographer, and is active in criminal justice reform in Louisiana, leading a wave of change in the state.

Michigan Art for Justice Forum

Tuesday, April 3, 2018, 9am-5pm in the Rogel Ballrom, Michigan Union
Reception 5:30-7pm in Duderstadt Center Gallery
In partnership with the California Lawyers for the Arts, Shakespeare Behind Bars, Creative Many, and the Art for Justice Fund, we are hosting the Michigan Art for Justice Forum. This all-day symposium will bring together lawmakers, artists, scholars, and formerly incarcerated people to discuss the necessity of arts programming in the criminal justice system. This forum is part of series of six forums happening in six states: Michigan, Texas, Alabama, Georgia, New York, and California. For more information, please send an inquiry to aic@calawyersforthearts.org. Reception to follow, featuring a performance by Wayne Kramer.

Artwork Pickup, 23rd Annual Exhibition of Art by Michigan Prisoners

Wednesday, April 4, 2018, 6pm-8pm
Thursday, April 5, 2018, 10am-4pm
Duderstadt Center Gallery
Please bring your proof of purchase or your letter from PCAP if the work was not for sale. Volunteers will be available to help locate and package your artwork. Artwork selected for the Award Winners and Selected Work exhibit will be available in July. Art is not available for sale during artwork pickup times.

All events are free. No ticket required.

PAC’s online gallery leads to a big opportunity for artist Conor Broderick

22 Jan

About the contributor: Rebecca Kelly is Conor Broderick’s aunt. She is a New York City choreographer, founder of the Rebecca Kelly Ballet, and Artistic Director of the Tahawus Cultural Center, in Au Sable Forks, NY. 

For my nephew Conor, an artist whose work is featured in PAC’s online gallery, 2017 topped off with an invitation (and rush deadline) to design a menu cover for EDWINS Restaurant of Cleveland, OH, which was being highlighted for a significant awards dinner at the James Beard Foundation in NYC.

The James Beard Foundation’s mission is to celebrate, nurture, and honor chefs and other leaders making America’s food culture more delicious, diverse, and sustainable for everyone.

The EDWINS Restaurant website describes EDWINS’ Founder and CEO, Brandon Edwin Chrostowski, as being “on a mission to change the face of re-entry in the United States. In 2007, he founded EDWINS Leadership & Restaurant Institute. His belief that ‘every human being regardless of their past has the right to a fair and equal future’ is what drove the creation of EDWINS.” EDWINS draws diners for its lauded classic French fare, but the best things to come out of its kitchen may be the formerly incarcerated adults who receive hospitality and culinary training through the eatery’s Leadership Institute, 95% of whom have been able to secure employment after graduation.

Brandon reached out to Wendy at PAC about his “art for dinner” menu concept, saying, “We’ve been invited to cook at the James Beard House in NYC, one of the highest honors in the culinary world.  When cooking here we also provide the menu. And for the front of the menu I’m looking to feature a work of art. The night will be filled with decadent French food, wine and of course our mission. Along with our restaurant and training center on the outside we also have programs in thirteen prisons. In all my time I have yet to see art like I see on your site, and I am hoping that you could help me find an artist for the art work for the front of the menu.”

On December 18, Wendy passed along the opportunity to design a menu cover to Conor and other artists whose work is shown in the PAC gallery.  The deadline was for the finished work to arrive by January 5. I really wasn’t sure if Conor would take on the challenge — particularly at this complicated and dark time of year. The holiday period is tough enough for many people. Suddenly Conor would be dealing with an outside deadline. Incarceration makes the time pass differently — days and weeks merge or stretch into unmeasurable spans. His art room suddenly had limited access due to the holiday schedules of correction officers. The mail room was only open one day a week to send larger packages.

Painting has had the most tremendous impact on Conor. At first, possibly it was a release, a way to pass time, but it has grown into something more like a companion, and conversation, a passion, a window into a new world. Conor was always artistic, studying drawing, painting and design, in high school under the guidance of a beloved teacher.  But in more recent years, as he tackled watercolor he eagerly acquired new skills.

Watercolor is complex because it requires a great deal of forethought and planning.  His growing techniques in this medium are self-taught. His grand-father and another adult friend, both artists, mentor him through the mail.

 In the fall, Conor began to take a college distance learning program to complete his interrupted Associates Degree.  In addition to courses in Business and Sociology, he is taking a course called Exploring Art: A Global, Thematic Approach. The resulting grade on his first paper was an A! The prison also asked him to design and teach a course in watercolor painting in the spring.

Conor said yes to the menu challenge!  He managed to get his work into the mail on January 3rd. He thought to send me the USPS tracking number, so I would know when it could arrive. But then it waited in the prison for two days, and afterwards must have traveled by pony express. Or maybe it was the East Coast snow storm. It was ten days before it finally arrived. Meanwhile Brandon was as calm and encouraging as could be throughout my updates about missing mail. He simply said, “I love beating the odds.” But I was on tenterhooks.

Finally, on the afternoon of Saturday the 12th, the artwork arrived! Conor wrote:  “My menu was a combination of oil pastel, watercolor, ink, ink pencils, as well as a varnish (on the knife and spoon).  I used a picture you took (of Carnegie Hall) in Manhattan for the perspective.” The result was a looming cityscape with a gleaming knife and spoon in the foreground. The towering buildings and walls were painted in shades of browns, blues and grays, illuminated by a yellow, ochre, and rose sky.  Brandon wrote, “Amazing,” when he received the design.

January 17, 2018. On the day of the event, we met Brandon to pick up a sample menu, and received a quick tour of the James Beard House. The site was a narrow brownstone in the West Village, with an impressive walled garden, terrace and dining rooms. Its basement is devoted to a surprisingly compact kitchen and receiving room. The atmosphere was focused and quiet, filled with very busy staff deftly arranging and filling dishes. Passing through the kitchen, and terrace, we were shown the elegant dining rooms upstairs on the first floor.

Brandon told us that they would seat 78 guests that night — quite a few more than expected. All the handsome menu designs (there were six) were bold, vivid, and varied, 13x 16, and printed on a fine heavy linen-vinyl stock, with the hand-printed menu on the backs. All but Conor’s had signage integrated over the design.  Perhaps because his design arrived late, there wasn’t time to add logo and names and dates.  His menu looked unique.

This holiday season turned out to be a creative period for Conor, which brings to his parents and to all his family peace and pride. We have PAC to thank for connecting Conor to this opportunity!

Brandon Chrostowski

Brandon Chrostowski, Chef of EDWINS Restaurant of Cleveland OH, holding Conor’s menu design, just before his awards event at the James Beard House and Foundation, NYC.

Top chef in kitchen

Brandon and staff in the kitchen.

Table setting 2

Table setting

Menu design Edwins Restaurant

Conor’s menu design

Detail of Conor menu design

Detail of Conor’s menu design

Conor Broderick, artist, 2017