Each time I visited Without Alarm, the numbers of young people and families,
in addition to the familiar faces of artists, gave evidence to the success of
this show as being truly a community event. We estimate that more than 600 people
attended the April 20 opening, with a total of nearly 2000 who saw the show
during its three-weekend run.
Notions of "security," often conjuring up some vague opposition to
generalized paranoia created in large part by a media that emphasizes random
violence even as its statistics decrease, cover a wide range of issues. An ironic
juxtaposition of signifiers of "comfort" within cramped isolation
cells was treated by several artists. Jacki Apple's Sanctuary (ghost.dances3),
with ultramarine walls and stone labyrinth, was intended as a paradigm for a
state of mind, investigating the boundary between prison and sanctuary. "When
does the jail become shelter? When does the shelter become a prison? What is
the border between external and internal security? . . The cell is the body,
habitat of the mind and the spirit. . . ." Tulsa Kinney's portrait
of the dysfunctional family emerged in her Den, as an innocuous portrait
slide show was undermined by a raucous videotape of family gatherings. Fire
literalized the terrible sacrifice of our young people in Karl Mihail's
melting wax figures, as well as in Lane Barden's "three strikes"
piece, with its burning oil lamps. The collaborative team Ultra-Red installed
written materials about safe needle exchange programs for youth, as well as
an original audio work. Sophia Beauvy used an entire bank of cells, scattering
fragrant materials on the floors of several (cloves, lillies, eucalyptus), hoping
to soothe the bodies of those reading jarring texts about incarceration. Her
framed series quotations led to a final cell where viewers could play either
of two videotapes about the socioeconomic causes of crime. Sean Duffy
used industrial ducts, painted gold and dripping gold coins at the end of a
rainbow mural, where stuffed animals clung to the apparatus of his Napdays
at Rainbow Hollow, a metaphor for the cheerful distraction from the escalation
of poverty. By placing one's own ear against those sculpted by Steve Appleton
in the walls of his cell, one could hear a variation of the softly, but urgently
repeated, "Money money moneymoneymoney.. . . ."
While one visitor present at the opening remarked that, in the 1940s, he had
actually spent a day in this very jail, the reality of confinement was a shock
to many. Hoang Vu's worm hung suspended-a pupa?-between walls covered
with obssessive counting marks. Erika Suderburg's envelopes of Very
Secure Letters, placed throughout the entire second floor, provided access
to materials questioning whether the rest of us are truly "free,"
as long as some citizens are incarcerated for political beliefs. I felt the
same chill upon recognizing the words from the last letter written by Ethel
Rosenberg to her children as when I first read them. Ming-Yuen S. Ma
paid homage to Jean Genet in his installation, and John White
referenced Robert Stroud, "The Birdman of Alcatraz" who became
attached to a stray sparrow, with both a static work featuring bird shelters
composed from sweepings after the general cleanup of the space, as well as in
a live performance on April 27.
Since the Collective's initial call to artists encouraged some method for audience
response, several works provided pens for writing directly on the piece. The
walls of Cindy Lopez and Lili Müller's Holding Tank,
with floor text indicating different sections of the Northeast, filled up quickly
with text addressing safety and fear. While most comments were thoughtful, here
and in other pieces such as Patty Sue Jones' request for narratives about
being violated or attacked, there was some overflow into adjacent spaces, as
well as generic "tagging." Perhaps in future shows, new methods for
feedback may be developed. Artists Franklin Odel and Rachel Siegel
are creating an opportunity to carry this dialogue to the Internet, where artists
may have Web pages. Deep Dish TV, the national activist satellite program,
will present Lock Down USA:
the business of crime and justice as its Fall series, and some videotaped
images from our show may be included.
The overall success of Without Alarm is largely due to the extraordinary
efforts of two people; to thank them, we presented special Certificates designed
by artist Pearl Beach, to Collective President and Adminstrative Liason
Suzanne Siegel and to Aztlán Foundation member Leo Limón,
who acted as our On-Site Coordinator. Thanks are also due to the Board and committee
members who helped to facilitate various aspects-and, of course, to the exhibiting
artists. (And I am sorry not to be able to reference all the fine work in the
show.)
As a personal note, I have worked on artist-designed shows since the early 1970s,
and this event was, despite its size and complexity, my most memorable and pleasant
of such experiences. The exhibition brought many of us together for the first
time, and I hope these new connections will be strengthened, especially among
Northeast neighbors. Wanda Patterson, one of the Optimist Youth Home
art instructors who participated in Without Alarm, commented that she
felt her students were just beginning to think about these issues, having barely
gotten over the shock of finding interest in their thoughts and talents.
We were very pleased that Martheal Johnson could represent students of
the Charter Oaks Project at our press preview, April 19. Accompanied
by a guard from California Youth Authority, Martheal was also surrounded with
support from artists Susan Hill and Lydia Nicole, Ventura School
Superintendent Vivan Crawford, Media Instructor Brad Gardner,
and Artist Facilitator Shelly Wood. Following Martheal's statements
regarding her desire to create a strong family base with her son when she is
released, Hill and Nicole stressed that, upon completion of their program, these
young women will be ready to re-enter society; the crucial element will be our
ability to accept and embrace them. A society that does not share responsibility
for its youth and those incapable of caring for themselves is destined to remain
in crisis. Certainly the price tag for incarcerating and (sometimes) educating
a youth in the criminal justice system for one year (approximately $35,000)
as opposed to providing educational, employment, and recreational activities,
is an incentive for even the most narrow-minded among us to rethink prisons
as a "growth industry."
Some facts from America Behind Bars: The International Uses of Incarceration,
1992-93 by Marc Mauer: Yearly maintenance costs (not including construction)
totalled $26.8 billion; the American prison population doubled from 1980 to
1991; one in four young African Americans is under jurisdiction of the criminal
justice system. As noted above, incidents of violence are highlighted in the
news, while no mention is made these days of the looting of the nation's thrifts.
Sophia Beauvy cited telling statistics in her installation: "We
have successfully become the Savings and Loan bailout state: according to government
figures of 1992, we now spend six dollars on this bailout for one dollar on
welfare." I understand that Charles Keating, one of the very few S&L
criminals serving jail time, may be released soon; and I read with dismay that
a lawsuit filed more than a year ago detailing corruption in the current MTA
subway project is only now being revealed. .
--Nancy Buchanan, Project Director, Without Alarm
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