Jail inmates’ trouble is ours, too
The prevailing attitude of our society toward incarcerated persons is not one of compassion. We do not think about what happens to them while they are out of sight because we feel they must pay their debt to us.
Neither do we remember that they will be returned to society.
So with surprise I read in the Pensacola News Journal about an exhibit of inmate art at the University of West Florida. I made time to visit the exhibit.
According to the informational flier at WUWF’s Gallery 88, “the Captured Art program began as a mental health initiative at the Escambia County Jail in October 2007.” Taxpayers, do not fear. The program is taught by two volunteers and funded through donations.
I’m no art critic, but I appreciate efforts at creativity and self-expression. Taking the time to read the artists’ statements and trying to empathize with them was a good exercise in seeing things from another’s point of view.
Five of the 19 works were entitled “Self-reflection,” something incarcerated persons have a great deal of time to do. The inmates showed obvious feelings of sorrow and regret, along with hope for the future.
Several portrayed themselves at various stages in life, from childhood filled with innocence and dreams to troubled times of journeying down roads of destruction. They used symbolism well. One of my favorites expressed an air of loneliness in a quiet, almost eerie, bayou setting. Yet I could imagine the hope for freedom in the image of a bird in flight through the peaceful scene.
The intent and interpretation is less important than being able to read emotion from the work. Many pieces showed appreciation of nature, something that might be sorely missed from the confines of jail.
While all the works were a pleasure to behold, three struck me as unique.
“Skull, Clock and Lock” had been done in ballpoint (contraband) on a bed sheet. My deduction is this was not part of the program; however, due to its intricacy and detail, it had been included. “Native American” was a stark expression of concern and solemnity. Finally, a small black and white called “The Messenger” took my prize for unique. The subject was a fluffy little bird looking upward, with its beak open. Something was raining down from above — maybe feathers, maybe the message the bird was waiting to receive. Or was the figure directing its own message toward the heavens?
I am thankful I took the time to view the exhibit and think about the men behind the art; the experience was worthwhile and uplifting. I applaud the Captured Art program and encourage support, because we can be assured of one thing:
Few inmates are locked away forever. Most re-enter our community, and we need them to be mentally fit and educated well enough to move beyond the trouble they once caused. In the end, their trouble becomes our trouble.
Andrea Walker is an adjunct instructor at Pensacola Junior College
