A Self-Reckoning At A Prison Art Show

Prison Arts Annual Show 2024
CT State Community College
Manchester
Nov. 6, 2024

When I was 8 years old, my father went to prison. I remember going to see him during the nearly two years he spent incarcerated. The cold gray walls were contrasted against different activities that the guards allowed my brothers and me to take part in with our father. And at the end of the day, regardless of how normal everyone tried to make it seem, we were still all in prison for a few hours.

That feeling came rushing back as I viewed the spectacular artwork displayed at CT State Community College Manchester as part of the 2024 edition of the Prison Arts Annual Show.

Organized by Community Partners in Action, the show, which is open to anyone who is incarcerated or formerly incarcerated, is described as ​“a chance to dignify the constructive endeavors undertaken daily in prison, provide families a chance to connect with their loved ones, and create connections between the prison and the outside community.”

It’s also a way for those dealing with incarceration and its aftermath to express themselves. Beverly Martin’s piece Looking Through My Window describes the pain of incarceration in literal terms. It also uses the imagery of brokenness, such as shattered glass and the hauntingly anthropomorphic linework in the lower left hand corner to communicate to the viewer. The phrase ​“I am not my crime” is particularly wrenching, as it’s something she’ll have to contend with whether she’s incarcerated or not.

Felicia Strong also incorporates words into her visually striking piece Psalm 23. The chapter in the Bible contains some of the most famous words ever written: ​“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, For Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.” But what caught my attention are the words on the outline of the colorful person, especially the declaration that ​“I am the perfect mother for my children.”

When my dad went to prison, that was the first time I began to seriously entertain the idea that my father wasn’t a perfect being who could do no wrong. Part of the growing up process is realizing that your parents are just regular people. While it wasn’t quite as dramatic of a process, my son has begun to realize that I’m just a regular person too. It’s a painful process to fall from grace in the eyes of the person you love the most, but it’s also inevitable. It is important to realize that while we might not be perfect people, we are perfect parents, because we can’t be anything other than what we are.

Scent of Freedom by Marcos Mercado is one of the most outstanding pieces of visual art I’ve ever seen in a gallery. The colors of the flowers complement each other, and somehow give off an aura of hope despite the melancholic reputation of blue and purple. A hummingbird is not the kind of bird one usually associates with freedom, but I think that makes the artwork even more compelling. As the hummingbird never stops, never do people stop yearning for artistic expression, for the sense of freedom that sharing your creative vision can bring. Freedom has literal connotations in this case; the metaphor is just as powerful. 

Even as I tried to appreciate the beauty and raw emotion of the work in the exhibit, I felt uncomfortable. I was 8 years old again, sitting in therapy, trying to explain feelings that I didn’t understand, and in many ways still don’t. Trying to make the abnormal sound and feel normal. Is that what it’s like to create such breathtaking artwork while your freedom is restricted? 

I’ve got some feelings that I need to resolve about my own father, my role as one now, and what freedom means in all of those contexts. The works at this art exhibit didn’t give me any answers. They did something even better — they made me finally ask the questions.

NEXT

The Prison Arts Annual Show 2024 continues through November 13, with a closing reception on November 9 at 12:00