Established 2023
Photos Through the Lens of Isolation
Monday, November 11, 2024
Nicole Mirzaian
“Don’t you feel home-sick at times, Albert?’’ asked wifey. “Sure, but I look at your photograph, and then I don’t feel home-sick any more.’’
– The Umpire Vol. V, Issue 27, 1918
I can imagine the inmate who wrote this joke–presumably Albert–feeling a moment of lightheartedness, but beneath the humor, there’s a bittersweet truth: when you really miss someone, even their photograph can bring a sense of comfort. In the joke, Albert teasingly suggests that looking at his wife’s picture cures his homesickness in a backhanded way, yet there’s a tender side to it, too. For many, seeing the face of a loved one can be a powerful comfort, providing a small but meaningful sense of connection when physical closeness is impossible. While a photograph may not change the reality of separation, it can bring temporary relief to ease even the worst case of homesickness.
Beyond this joke, photographs in prison serve not only an emotional purpose but also as an essential form of communication and self-expression. During my recent visit to Eastern State Penitentiary, I was moved by several art installations that highlighted this idea.
One installation, Solitary Watch, is a unique, ongoing project that allows prisoners in solitary confinement to request photographs, drawings, or images of their choosing. You can interact with the project yourself through this link or the embedded page below. The requests themselves are very telling: a photo of “Liberation,” someone to “write back and communicate like a friend,” or even just a smiling face. The requests ranged from images of loved ones to symbols of freedom–like “Daddy’s Angel,” a photo of a daughter, or a snapshot of the Philadelphia Eagles’ championship victory. For those facing the psychological strain of solitary confinement, these photos represent glimpses of humanity that can serve as a bridge to the world outside.
Another installation featured a mural constructed entirely from magazine clippings and hair gel (pictured right) by artist and former inmate Jesse Krimes, which visually accomplished piecing together fragments of the outside world within the confines of a prison cell. For me, it sparked curiosity about how inmates must deeply feel isolated from the outside, compelling them to create a new version of it that feels close and accessible with whatever resources they can find. When the outside world is so far beyond reach, images become a powerful tool to recreate a world that is within reach. However, this use of images as a form of expression isn’t new to prison life; it even traces back to the early days of the Penitentiary.
As far back as 1917, Eastern State’s The Umpire featured instructions on transferring photographs onto wood. In one excerpt from Vol. 6, Issue 33, an unknown author describes the process: dissolving salt in water, floating the photo print on the surface, and carefully pressing it onto varnished hardwood. This creation of art within the constraints of prison is a testament to human resourcefulness, but I feel it also carries a deeper meaning. By preserving images in inventive ways, inmates attempt to frame the pieces of their lives that matter most—memories, family, or even glimpses of normalcy that, in even small fragments, can lend immense comfort. I find it genuinely inspiring how inmates find ways to communicate and connect in a setting that restricts both.
Despite limitations in their physical environment, incarcerated individuals are compelled to find ways to retain their humanity, and images become a necessary vehicle to accomplish that. For instance, in the summer of 1958, Eastern Echo magazine shared an article titled “Expression in Color” by inmate Frank H. Terres. He describes how, for two hours each week, a group of inmates would “leave the walls of the Penitentiary” to experience the beauty of nature. However, this was done only vicariously through colored photographs. These photos allowed them to “stroll through the by-paths of Fairmount Park” and “sit on the banks of the Schuylkill,” providing a momentary escape from the confines of their cells and allowing them to experience the beauty of the outside world. Upon reading this excerpt I couldn’t help but wonder if without these photographs, these inmates might lose touch—not just with the world’s humanity, but with their own.
This same yearning to maintain a sense of identity and humanity resonates through Dr. Nicole Fleetwood’s Marking Time: Art in the Age of Mass Incarceration. In her book and corresponding exhibition, Fleetwood explores how incarcerated individuals use art to push against the constraints of the prison system. Fleetwood’s work highlights how art essentially becomes an act of survival, serving as a way to preserve individuality within a system that is inherently designed to erase it. By taking a look at some of the works created by inmates and curated in the exhibition, we as the viewer are invited to consider the complex relationship between incarceration and creative expression. It raises questions about what happens to the need to connect and create under the pressures of confinement. I can’t help but wonder if this art would even exist if these individuals weren’t in such isolated conditions.
I also can’t help but wonder at what cost this creative drive emerges. Does the need to express oneself become even more essential in a place meant to restrict freedom? In the U.S. prison system, where contact with the outside world is limited, it’s worth asking if withholding these small comforts crosses a line, becoming more than punishment. Maybe there’s no clear answer, but these questions remind us to think about what it means to be human–and what it means to keep hold of that, even in the most isolating circumstances. Maybe, in the end, it’s as simple as Albert’s joke–looking at a photograph when you feel homesick, holding onto a small reminder that you’re still connected to something, someone, or even just the world beyond the walls of your cell.
