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Jorge, 37

Jorge, 37

Stories

Meet Jorge…

…We always want to help when we get out, but we forget that we can help in here, like Edwin and Miguel are doing in our society in here. A lot of us don’t know how to do it and express what we are going through and need help to get it out into the world and change the image that is given to us.

Incarcerated: 21 years

Even though we have our ups and downs, I love that I was named after him, and I would name my son Jorge too if my wife is ok with it. We plan to have a baby at our next family visit…

Everything started in Juvenile Hall when I was arrested at age 16. I was not good at reading and writing, not even in Spanish. I remember I had a stack of letters from my mom in Spanish and I felt so bad I couldn’t read them. I got past my pride and asked the staff to help me read them. She started crying and I didn’t know how to react. I thought I did something wrong. She told me she would teach me to read and write, that I should have told her a long time ago, but I was prideful and I didn’t want people to know. I let my mom know, and she looked at me with a blank stare, like she thought I did know how to read and write in Spanish, at least. She just couldn’t believe it. She told me to do her a favor, “If you can draw me a happy face if you are happy or a sad face if you are sad, hearts and send it in the mail. So I know you’re ok. That’s how it all started, by doing small things for her. She inspired me to draw and all I wanted to do is keep her happy. As long as it put a smile on her face, I was willing to do it.

I got better at drawing roses and religious stuff like crosses. Early on I did a gangster praying to a virgin that turned out chubby because of the roses around her. In the drawing with the mask baby, I use crayons and mainly charcoal. I love charcoal – most of my drawings are in charcoal. I drew that as a message for people to get vaccinated and don’t be selfish because the next generation is going to be taking care of the aftermath. I understand people have their reason if they don’t take it, everybody has the right to do what they want, but I think it is the right thing to do.

We all have our moment in time when we can change, like a click. You hope it comes before you’re a wreck. We always want to help when we get out, but we forget that we can help in here, like Edwin and Miguel are doing in our society in here. A lot of us don’t know how to do it and express what we are going through and need help to get it out into the world and change the image that is given to us.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO SOMEONE TO IDENTIFY YOURSELF?

I am a humble and caring person, and when it comes down to family, they’re my number one. I love my family.

I like to be judged by my actions instead of the way I look. I’m a son, a brother, and a husband. When you start speaking to people, you see that we have potential, in a lot of different ways.

It’s hard for people to approach me even here because of the tattoos I have on my face and the way I look. I’ve heard the same thing from others who are blasted (tattooed) like me. Even here, getting hired for a new job in prison-like I did in the hospital, we get attention, like we are up to no good somehow, and stand out like a troublemaker. They think, “Let’s see how long you last here.”

I take pride in what I do and my coworkers see that. We work our hours and get to interact with people from society. There are not a lot of jobs like that in prison. Who would have thought you would be in an elevator with people from society? I thought we’d be treated differently…

Jorge, 37

Jorge’s Gallery

Art from Inside

Artist Jorge, 37

WHAT GOT YOU INTO ART?
Everything started in Juvenile Hall when I was arrested at age 16. I was not good at reading and writing, not even in Spanish, and I was lacking in education. I remember I had a stock of letters from my mom in Spanish and I felt so bad I couldn’t read them. I got past my pride and asked the staff to help me read them. She started crying, and I didn’t know how to react. I thought I did something wrong. She told me she would teach me to read and write, that I should have told her a long time ago, but I was prideful and I didn’t want people to know. I let my mom know, and she looked at me with a blank stare, like she thought I did know how to read and write in Spanish, at least. She just couldn’t believe it. She told me to do her a favor, though, “If you can draw me a happy face if you are happy or a sad face if you are sad and send me that in the mail. So I know you’re ok. That’s how it all started, by doing small things for her. My mom inspired me to draw and all I wanted to do is keep her happy. As long as it put a smile on her face, I was willing to do it. In the drawing with the mask baby I use crayons and mainly charcoal. I love charcoal – most of my drawings are in charcoal. I drew that as a message for people to get vaccinated, don’t be selfish, the next generation is going to be taking care of the aftermath. I understand people have their reasons, everybody has the right to do what they want, but I think it is the right thing to do.

Enjoy Jorge's Story
Crandell (Ojore), 54

Crandell (Ojore), 54

Stories

Ojore 2

Meet Ojore…

…In a place of darkness and stagnation, I shine like ten thousand suns, but it is the light and love of my fellow humans that ensure I continue to thrive.

Incarcerated: 28 yrs
Housed: California Death Row

Stripped down to my whites and state shoes, I was issued an orange jumpsuit for transportation purposes. After getting into the jumpsuit, I was placed in waist-restraints; then off we went down the tier, followed by the stairs; then out the unit. As soon as I step outside the unit, the non-descript, white,
transport van was parked outside the unit door. I was ushered inside to an enclosed back-seat compartment. Once in the seat, and before the cage was secured, ankle- shackles were placed on my legs. Yes, to prevent any escape. Just as I entered San Quentin Prison, in the back-seat of a car, twenty-two years later, I was now leaving the prison in reverse, along the same roadway that border the prison yard and followed along the looming wall that encircled the prison up to the same portcullis back-gate. Once through the gate and beyond the walls, I remained on prison grounds. As the vehicle drove along the service road I took in the water of the San Francisco Bay, next to the prison with great interest. Unlike when I arrived, it was not umber and clouded with silt, instead the rough, choppy water was an opaque
darkness. I observed the geese floating near the shoreline and enjoying a afternoon grooming. Normally, while on the yard, I would see them in v-formation flying overhead. Now I had some idea where they ended up. After leaving the grounds of the prison and the van was well into traffic, I began to sense a different vibe, energy and brightness.

During the ride to the clinic I often forgot I was sitting in the back seat of a transport van, dressed in orange, draped in waist restraints and ankle chains. My eyes and mind had not been that alive and animated in 22 years. The sun shined brighter, the sky was more pastel blue, and beautiful. I don’t remember the last time I saw so many trees? Society continued to move as I had left it, and that was the first time in decades I observed society as I knew it, unlike what I regularly saw on television. A state of nostalgia overcame me, that was visceral; my muscle memory I recalled such warm, beautiful days when I lived free and spontaneously. My thoughts drifted to my deceased mother; then to my grandchildren, with me pushing them in a swing, to enjoy ice-cream with them; then to so many others I desire to spend quality time with and would enjoy sharing freedom with. This was also the first time I sat restrained in a patrol car or transport vehicle and did not care if anyone peered at me with curiosity or disgust; nor did I feel or sense shame; or wonder what they thought of me. That’s not to say I accepted my position, nor had I become institutionalized and comfortable. I simply felt what people saw, was not a genuine depiction of who I am. W.E.B. Dubois, once wrote:

The slave walked free into the warın sun of freedom, paused awhile, then turned and returned to slavery.

Similarly, I soaked up the warmth of the sun as I wobbled into the clinic and departed. Only during those two moments did I experience a sense of freedom. Once back on prison grounds, my reality of being imprisoned returned. I was once again Crandell.

They can confine my physical body, but mentally I will remain free. 📸

Lamavis (Shorty), 53

Lamavis (Shorty), 53

Art from Inside

lamavis

Meet Shorty…

…My first piece of art was a card that I sent to my mother as a Mother’s Day Gift. She asked where I got the artwork and I told her that I drew it. She said, “Do more of that!” and my art career was born.”

 

Incarcerated: 27 years

The anger from my daughter’s passing led me down a path of destruction. To that end, my name means ‘to come into my chains, I will rise again.’ He told me that it wasn’t until I found myself living in these walls, that I would be able to quit my suffering. I would have to look at myself and realize that I can’t be mad at someone else for something I couldn’t control. I saw the direct and indirect effects of my actions on other people and I didn’t want my anger to control me. I hope you learn how to take control of your anger and rage. My self reflection gave me a deeper segway into myself. My artwork began after my self discovery. My art is the knowledge of the gift that God gives me. When I am painting it is as close to meditation and prayer as I can get. My first piece of art was a card that I sent to my mother as a Mother’s Day Gift. She asked where I got the artwork and I told her that I drew it. She said, “Do more of that!” and my art career was born. I’d like to give credit to my instructors and the guys in here. They were my educators. They taught me about how to see, and now I can’t unsee. Before I came to prison, I was a womanizer. So, there will probably be some women shocked to hear about the person I’ve become. To them, I apologize.

Eddie, 61

Eddie, 61

Stories

Meet Eddie…

…Every day, I know that I’m the one to blame, I see the picture clearly now. Stand strong, firm and solid, and I’ll defeat this maze. I’ll come back to you, my silent one.

Incarcerated: 17 years

No Longer In A Daze
I strapped on metal boots and used lives as my shield for false love. It started with hate and disillusion. It was my role regardless of my feelings. I swore to shed no tears. Then, I came to need someone kind. I had run everyone away, but noticed she was there. Standing behind but there just the same, a stranger in my life although I knew her name. She never said a word, just stood within my life. She was silent as a leaf in the night.

She told me who she was and I thought about the past. When I was hurt, broken by my faith, confused and caught up in hate. A hole appeared and dropped me in a daze. Now that I’m awake, I’m deep within this maze called prison. But just as we were talking, which I rarely do, I noticed something shining out from her. She was always there, standing lovely at my side, waiting for me to lose the life of phony pride. As I stood alone she reached out with her arms, wrapped me with her love, and gave me all her charm.

I had this need to share with her the things I knew were wrong. Searching for a route, a way back in time, when for that special moment, this woman was truly mine. In some strange way, she’s always with me each and every day. When I was blind and couldn’t see, I want her to know, I saw how much she cared. I know you are patiently waiting for me to solve this maze they call prison. Then, we’ll get our future back. Every day, I know that I’m the one to blame, I see the picture clearly now. Stand strong, firm and solid, and I’ll defeat this maze. I’ll come back to you, my silent one.
No longer in a daze.

 

Read Eddie's Poetry

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