No longer the product of my crime (but of my creativity)

Finding creativity in the brutality and apathy of the prison system.

The artist behind Steeldoorstudios is from Manchester (United Kingdom) and has been incarcerated for a large part of his life. He is approaching his 54th birthday. He is incarcerated near Oxford in the South of England for a life sentence. “Realistically, I stand a good chance of being released within the next couple of years though, of course, this is dependent on the parole process and the amount of progress I’ve made”, he says. He describes art as his one constant companion during his long years of confinement.

He has accepted to share with us and comment about two of his paintings. His words expose the challenges of the creative process in prison.

All paintings are copyright Steeldoorstudios, 2020.

Being encased within steel and mortar shouldn’t and mustn’t be allowed to alter the fundamental essence of a human being. I, like many others amid the brutality and apathy of the prison system, have either retained or found the ability to be creative.

My initial experience of art came by way of the surrealist artist Salvador Dalí. Aged just 11, I was indoctrinated into the world of institutional life via a lengthy stint in an approved school¹. That old Victorian convent was to be my reluctant place of abode till I was 16. With its high ceilings and gloomy long passageways, it was a frighteningly imposing building. The kind of edifice designed to oppress and assert its will upon you and quite capable of leaving a person feeling both inferior and chastised simultaneously. It was here that I first saw the Salvador Dalí painting titled Swans Reflecting Elephants, which evoked two separate feelings, fascination and disquiet.

Even though my interest in art stemmed from an early age, I came to paint relatively late on in life. Being colour blind, I believed it to be a hindrance for a painter so I steered clear until my late 30’s. During these long years of confinement, art has been my one constant companion. Without its loyalty, I would hold a damn sight more of the pain and fear that shaped my life from a young age. Perhaps the most prominent factor in a person’s removal from society is finding that ability to adjust to the isolation.

Right at the outset, as that steel door slams shut on the first of many nights of incarceration, you find yourself alone. No family, no friends, husbands, wives or children. Completely devoid of loved ones, the weight of that isolation is truly felt.

I vividly remember the next morning, as the dawn of that new day illuminated the festering, dilapidated Victorian cell that was to be my new abode for however many years to come. Tuning into the sounds of the disembodied men beyond the thick cold walls: stirring, coughs, snorts and groans carrying along the landings. A low rumble as prison guards mount the steel stairs in unison at either end of the wing. My mind’s eye envisions a lumbering beast inhaling its first breath of fetid air. I can almost hear it groan in resignation. “The key is acceptance” a voice whispers in my minds’ ear. Taking my own deep breath, I stand up and stare at the securely locked heavy steel door in front of me.

My freedom is gone. I no longer have the autonomy to do something as simple as open my own door!

From here on in, I’m told when to eat, to wash, to exercise, even when to speak. I’m told what is required of me and left with no illusions of what the consequences will be for any infringement of the rules. Reduced to nothing more than a mere number accompanied only by a profound lack of voice.Being encased within steel and mortar shouldn’t and mustn’t be allowed to alter the fundamental essence of a human being. I, like many others amid the brutality and apathy of the prison system, have either retained or found the ability to be creative.

Some write prose or poetry, others paint, draw or play music. Whatever particular bent they have, it’s the one thing humans have in common: we are all creatives, by our very nature.

Author’s note: Back then, youngsters aged between 11 and 18 could be placed by Court order in approved school. They were the equivalent of a reformatory. Today one of the terms used is children’s home, though that terminology evokes a certain sense of wellbeing and nurture, neither of which was evident in my years incarcerated there.
See England & Wales country profile for the current organisation of the prison system for minors. ↩

I’ve drawn endless images of myself drawing myself, it speaks highly of the monotony endured within prison. Cell in Cell (Green Dreams) illustrates my immediate environment but also the fantasy of my eventual freedom.

Paint what you know?

Intermittently, I’m trying new approaches and techniques amid the “darker” pieces but it’s very difficult finding new inspiration in such isolation. My lovely partner ensures I receive a couple of monthly art mags which are full of useful and interesting articles.

Inevitably, I continue to return to the same themes though. I have to exercise my imagination in doing so. Is that a bad thing? My sterile, often dark and brutal world is a subject I’m all-too familiar with.

Paint what you know! No clue where I picked up that saying or indeed, if it is even one. Though I do recall somebody saying something similar to me last year. His favoured painting style was landscapes. He stated he had become quite proficient and hadn’t ever considered changing until the day somebody he admired asked him the question “what does an inner city Birmingham boy know about landscapes?”. Although there’s plenty of debatable points in that argument, I get what the question evokes. It strikes the same chord with me as it did with the landscape painter. I know institutional life; I’ve been a part of it since I was a small child of 11. Although I do purposely try to stay clear of the more brutal and graphic images so as not to inflict them upon others (you the viewer), I try to “paint what I know” and offer you a little insight into my world.
I can’t speak for you, but I’m often feeling on the verge of either exploding or falling apart at the moment. Trying desperately to hold on to some semblance of sanity is compounded by being confined to a 7’x7’ concrete box for 22 hours a day.

I’ve drawn endless images of myself drawing myself, it speaks highly of the monotony endured within prison. Cell in Cell (Green Dreams) illustrates my immediate environment but also the fantasy of my eventual freedom.

I am no longer the product of my crime but of my creativity. I survived the past; I am thankful for the present and I now have a much brighter future.

Reflection in an insular world

It’s not all negative though. Having to dig so deep for those illusive reserves of resilience is an opportunity to learn more about yourself. Self-reflection has become an interesting bed fellow over these many months of lockdown. In fact, I think it’s fair to say ‘reflection’ itself appears to have become an oddly repetitive theme throughout this COVID crisis. Or maybe I’m just more aware of it because of the epidemic? Reflection has begun to wear many a different guise in my very insular world: be it reflecting on the need to give myself a good kick in the pants and drag myself off the pity pot, or the more recent completion of another self-portrait.

Let me share with you what had transpired whilst looking in the mirror and how my painting “You’re Looking at the Problem” came about. I had recalled an incident from around 2005. Somebody took it upon themselves to enter my cell and surreptitiously stick a hand-scrawled note under my mirror, using toothpaste as an adhesive. I have no clue as to what time he had done this, I only noticed it after bang up (lockdown). All these years later, I still recall the reflected look of confusion being mirrored back at me as I re-read the note with the smell of toothpaste assailing my nostrils. “You’re looking at the problem!” it said. Eyes flicking from the mirror to the note, I saw the anger ignite. My initial response spat itself from my lips: “F**king knob head!!”. It didn’t take much in those days for my sense of indignation to take hold. This particular incident had left me completely confused as to whether I was being criticized or complimented. So as per usual I chose the former to take umbrage with, as it was a more familiar emotion.

Sometime later and upon further reflection, I began to wonder not just what it was this guy saw in me, but also why he’d bothered doing it at all? I was acutely aware of what people thought of me back then. It was plainly evident in the looks of disdain and the usual avoidance of me. As I didn’t particularly like myself in those days either, it was understandable. That note has always stayed with me. It gave me enough food for thought to ignite a very small flicker of a flame, which eventually would combust into a burning desire to be healed.

I initially created Steeldoorstudios.com as a singular entity enabling visual communication to the outside world. However, it’s our desire that this project becomes a beneficial platform for myself and others of my ilk to find their creative voices, be able to share, connect and maybe one day return to the outside world, not as a tainted outcast but as a useful and valued member of society with something to offer.

I am no longer the product of my crime but of my creativity. I survived the past; I am thankful for the present and I now have a much brighter future.