Harrell Fletcher interview continued:

HF:…a crash course in contemporary art history. 

Imagine if, say, you were someone who didn’t know anything about abstract art — it didn’t exist for you. You thought that art had to be representational. Your only concept was that art was paintings of representational things like landscapes and people and horses. Then someone shows how you can also make paintings that are nonrepresentational — that are abstract. It would probably be a hard concept to grasp initially just because you weren’t familiar with it. In a similar way, our participants knew about abstract art, that had entered the realm of what they thought art could be, but they didn’t know about conceptual art. So I had to kind of lay that groundwork for them and show them that it was valid and what precedents had occurred. We talked a lot about examples from artists who had done conceptually-based work and how that functions and fits into the art world. We talked about how it can be supported by art world systems and those kinds of things. 

People were interested. They thought it was intriguing, but they were also a little bit in disbelief that it could be true and valid. It didn’t fit their concept of art. How could coming up with an idea that didn’t produce an object be a valid artwork? There is definitely a learning curve of getting people to see that as a real thing. The next step is can you begin to think about producing a project like that. Making conceptual art is very low friction. You don’t need a lot of materials, equipment, or a specific context like a gallery. You don’t have access to a lot of those things, because of the limitations of the prison— but you can completely think of anything you want to. You have access to your mind. Conceptual art can happen in ways that are so minimal that it could just be done verbally or mentally and still be a valid project.

IOA: I love how your project promoted the idea of reframing time spent during a prison sentence as an ‘artist’s residency.’ Please talk a little bit about the changes you see in a participant’s outlook and practice once they view themselves as experiencing an artist’s residency.

HF: That concept, of an artist residency, was also unfamiliar to pretty much everyone we worked with. We spent a long time bringing in slides and materials and examples of artists’ residencies. Similarly to conceptual art, there was disbelief that there could be something like that in the world— especially the traditional residencies where it’s like a retreat and you have time and support and you might get food and money so you can concentrate on making your art. We first had to introduce that concept and get it across that it was a real thing in the world and that artists had access to it. Having done residencies myself, I could talk about that experience. Other people came in and talked about what that was like too. 

First, we had to put it into the realm of possibility. If something doesn’t exist in someone’s mind or experience as possible then they’re not going to be thinking it can be done. Most of the things we do in our lives are based on the fact that somebody else already thought it up and invented it and used it. If I was just left on my own, I would probably never invent the wheel but instead — here I am and it’s so available. I just use the wheel all the time. It’s a silly analogy. But it’s similar. If you didn’t know an artist’s residency existed, you wouldn’t know how to activate something like that. Similarly, with conceptual art, you wouldn’t know how to use conceptual art if you didn’t know that it existed or how it worked.  

First, we had to get the idea across; an artist’s residency was easier to get across than conceptual art. Then we tried to figure out what does this mean? Part of our concept in a way was that, within a prison, the artist’ residency is a conceptual artwork. Part of how we justify that it’s possible to create an artist’s residency in a prison is by looking at the status quo version on the outside and the things that they are offering you at one — a physical location where you live and sleep, space to work, food, utility bills are being paid — so you don’t have to think about any of those things. In prison you also have that. You didn’t go there willingly. You didn’t apply to go to prison. You were forced to go there. We acknowledge that difference. But once you’re there, you have a similar situation where things are being provided. If you can conceptualize that instead of it functioning as a punitive prison situation, you can use it as an opportunity to spend time working on your art. It’s just a mindset change but it can give a totally different perspective. And I think that was what we heard from a lot of the participants— that the conceptual perspective was of use to them. We were able to make name tags, because everyone has to wear a badge with their prison number on it. Our participants got to add this extra tag that had their face and said “Artist-in-Residence.” Just that simple act of wearing that tag validated that they really were Artist’s-in-Residence. They found that really useful as tangible evidence that this was legit, and it helped them think of it that way.

IOA: My favorite projects in your book were the exhibition on contraband showing how even mundane objects take on different meaning in a prison setting and the board game project about what life is like in prison. Can you talk a little bit about those?

HF: Those were led by a former grad student of mine, Spencer Byrne-Seres. He was working with an outside gallery where the contraband project happened. That was done through a lot of group work with the people on the inside and coming up with the concept for the show. In that case, Spencer and others were trying to get input from the incarcerated participants about they what they thought would be an interesting subject for an exhibition. The board game was his graduate project. He also really worked with the people on the inside. It was his concept but he then took lots of input from the inside participants. They did lots of testing with a beta version of the game and then people would play it and tell him what wasn’t working. Eventually there was a final game that happened as part of his graduate presentation. 

IOA: I also thought Answers without Words — where participants on the inside ask questions and people on the outside send a picture as a visual answer to the question — was great. What is your favorite question from the Answers without Words project?

HF: One of my former grad students, Anke Schüttler, did that project, the inside exhibit version is still installed in the prison. Every time I go there, I see it. It’s installed above head height on long horizontal panels. Most of the people who worked on that project are no longer incarcerated. CRCI is a minimum security prison and people are always released within 4 years once they get there.  I’d say the question: What is time like on the outside compared to time in prison? was a favorite. I like that concept of taking something that we think of as being universal— everyone experiences it the same way— but realizing that different conditions and circumstances, like being in prison, cause you to experience it in a different way. Sometimes it speeds up. Sometimes it slows down. I liked that idea.