Events
Sketches From Behind Prison Walls
On Friday May 3, at 5 PM, the Gallery at the Vault in Springfield, VT will host an opening reception for a collection of sketches Rein Kolts, an inmate at Vermont’s Southern State Correctional Facility and a Quaker who attends the worship group with me at SSCF. Below is a note from the artist about the works featured at the Vault, as well as in a forthcoming book developed with me titled Sketches from Behind Prison Walls. This book will be available in the first week or so of May, published by the Quaker Institute for the Future and funded by New England Yearly Meeting.
Artist’s Note:
This collection is a collaborative creation of the inmates of the Vermont Department of Corrections, born of the frustration and despair that accompanies our captivity. The stories and artwork herein are, for most of us, our only voice—whispers that collectively amplify into a shout for justice. No two of us followed the same pathway to prison, but from the unfortunate position at which our paths have crossed we have endeavored to create beauty in the face of the horrors of our reality.
My name is Rein Kolts. I am an artist imprisoned at the Southern State Correctional Facility in Springfield, Vermont. I began sketching my fellow inmates mostly as a way to pass my time productively and bring a modicum of joy to the other men and their families. Drawing a person fosters a certain intimacy and friendship with them, and I found that through my art I earned the vulnerability of the men I drew. Some inmates spoke of their children or a distant lover. Others raged against the courts or the prison administration. Many expressed exasperation, some found faith, but all hungered for purpose.
We started to write down our stories to accompany my sketches. What started as a pass-time transformed into collective expression that had the potential to overcome the loss of our voices at the hands of the criminal justice system. No one listens to one of us—but maybe they would hear us if we spoke together. Maybe they could see us if we were transformed into art and beauty.
Chains, cell blocks, and chemical sprays have a way of signifying to the people subjected to them that they do not matter—that they are meant to be dominated and incapacitated. To the public, seeing your government subject people to domination signifies that those people probably needed to be dominated to keep you safe. And we, the subjects of domination, lose our time, our voices, our dignity, our humanity, and too often, our lives. In just the last year, 2 percent of the inmates at Southern State Correctional Facility have died.
We know how little we matter to the state. But through our art and our stories, I hope we can convince you that we should matter to you.
Rein Kolts, Southern State Correctional Facility
On Friday May 3, at 5 PM, the Gallery at the Vault in Springfield, VT will host an opening reception for a collection of sketches Rein Kolts, an inmate at Vermont’s Southern State Correctional Facility and a Quaker who attends the worship group with me at SSCF. Below is a note from the artist about the works featured at the Vault, as well as in a forthcoming book developed with me titled Sketches from Behind Prison Walls. This book will be available in the first week or so of May, published by the Quaker Institute for the Future and funded by New England Yearly Meeting.
Artist’s Note:
This collection is a collaborative creation of the inmates of the Vermont Department of Corrections, born of the frustration and despair that accompanies our captivity. The stories and artwork herein are, for most of us, our only voice—whispers that collectively amplify into a shout for justice. No two of us followed the same pathway to prison, but from the unfortunate position at which our paths have crossed we have endeavored to create beauty in the face of the horrors of our reality.
My name is Rein Kolts. I am an artist imprisoned at the Southern State Correctional Facility in Springfield, Vermont. I began sketching my fellow inmates mostly as a way to pass my time productively and bring a modicum of joy to the other men and their families. Drawing a person fosters a certain intimacy and friendship with them, and I found that through my art I earned the vulnerability of the men I drew. Some inmates spoke of their children or a distant lover. Others raged against the courts or the prison administration. Many expressed exasperation, some found faith, but all hungered for purpose.
We started to write down our stories to accompany my sketches. What started as a pass-time transformed into collective expression that had the potential to overcome the loss of our voices at the hands of the criminal justice system. No one listens to one of us—but maybe they would hear us if we spoke together. Maybe they could see us if we were transformed into art and beauty.
Chains, cell blocks, and chemical sprays have a way of signifying to the people subjected to them that they do not matter—that they are meant to be dominated and incapacitated. To the public, seeing your government subject people to domination signifies that those people probably needed to be dominated to keep you safe. And we, the subjects of domination, lose our time, our voices, our dignity, our humanity, and too often, our lives. In just the last year, 2 percent of the inmates at Southern State Correctional Facility have died.
We know how little we matter to the state. But through our art and our stories, I hope we can convince you that we should matter to you.
Rein Kolts, Southern State Correctional Facility