Marc Loyon. We had already completed a project together some time ago about the outskirts of Rennes and the surrounding area. The next idea was to work in an enclosed space and expand the vision.

Delphine Dauphy. This work is part of an “Urban exploration” of Rennes. Its aim is to explore all the different ways of inhabiting the city. Meeting with the prisoners allowed us to question our perspective through creative documentary research and photography as a means of expression.
Throughout the workshops, we encouraged the prisoners to use different photographic approaches, in order to develop a visual dialogue between the living spaces and the rules and pace of the prison environment. The results were both posed and spontaneous shots within the prison walls.

ML. It was heavy, stressful; I felt uncomfortable. What stressed me out the most were all the stages involved in getting to the workshops: we had to go through 13 doors in the men’s prison. We would end up in somewhere that was virtually inaccessible and I found the noise quite intimidating.

DD. To begin with, one of us would go to the men’s prison and the other to the women’s. These two locations seemed so different from an architectural point of view that we wanted to work together at both, so that we could combine the shots.

ML. The men’s detention centre is new, built of concrete, quite a cold place. It feels like part of a housing estate with its mostly functional architecture, like a large housing complex where space is at a premium. This makes the place feel very crowded.

DD. The men’s prison seemed quite cold to me, but at the same time, there was a lot of colour on the walls.It feels like an effort has been made to brighten up the space, make it a bit more colourful,but with all the concrete, it is hard to detract from that feeling of coldness.

ML. It was quite the reverse at the women’s prison. The building dates back to the 19th century with little renovation.

The prisoners told us that they dreaded the arrival of winter every year. What with the damp and cold, prison conditions are difficult.

In the women’s detention centre there are also trees, plants, a garden and a magnificent chapel dating back to the end of the 19th century. In a space like that, loaded with history, I felt like it would be easier to settle in.

DD. The women’s prison building is very old, built of stone and you can feel the damp inside. Despite this, it feels a little more welcoming. This is of course a little ambiguous, as we are talking about a place of imprisonment, a place filled with life stories that are generally tough and painful, all of which is absorbed by the walls and architecture.

DD. Privacy came up many times in discussions, more so the lack or even complete absence of it. This was often associated with a loss of identity. How can you be yourself when you are observed, monitored and checked all the time? It felt very strange for me to go into their cells and photograph their personal belongings, even though they had agreed to it.

”In prison, the walls limit perspectives and restrict movements. They have an impact on the body and enforce certain postures.”

The prison management asked us to maintain the anonymity of the prisoners who were photographed out of respect for their victims and their future lives outside of prison. Some images were rejected during the selection process by participants who felt that they were too recognisable. I sometimes had the strange feeling that, by eliminating their face from the frame, I was also deleting their identity, even though I was fully aware of the need to maintain anonymity. We had decided that we did not want to know the reasons behind their imprisonment and that we would take on the role of workshop facilitators without focussing on the fact that they were prisoners. While taking photos, I focused on who those people were at that precise moment: a middle-aged woman in a flowery t-shirt who loves flowers and nature, touching trees and breathing their smell. That’s what interested me.

ML. The idea of photography in prison is very restricting. We are in quite divided spaces, not somewhere we can extend our view as far as the eye can see, as we can in a more classic landscape. Visually, the spaces are confined and closely linked to the privacy of the individuals.

In these locations, I felt like I didn’t have time to contemplate. We had to be truly spontaneous when looking for shots in these spaces.

There was a particularly memorable moment for me. At the exhibition one Friday at 4pm, the entire prison administration team were present, as well as many prisoners who were out on a special permit to see the exhibition. There were also ex-prisoners as the work was exhibited about five or six months after the end of the workshops and some people had been released in the meantime. Some prisoners’ parents also came. There were lots of people, lots of discussions. It made me understand the importance of exhibiting this sort of work.

DD. During discussions with others who were coming into prison to run theatre workshops or organise concerts, I noticed that everyone talked about intensity: the intensity of the audience, their engagement in the projects, a very strong engagement. For me, this project has been the discovery of a very unique world. Hearing the prisoners’ stories and exploring the prison spaces allowed me to get a sense of the weight of imprisonment and the loss of liberty. I learned about the harshness of this life on hold, where time is strung out. Waiting is the name of the game. Even if you only spend a few half-days there, you don’t enter a prison casually.

Project led by Clothilde Vareille and Gwennaëlle Neveu of the Champs Libre Facilitation Service, and in close collaboration with Julie Girard and Alice Guibert, cultural coordinators at the “Ligue de l’Enseignement” (a confederation of organisations that promote public and secular education and cultural and sporting activities).¶