As I think about the existence of involuntary servitude, it is so sad that I am bombarded with examples of its existence in real time. Being in prison, I’m faced with the harsh reality that the prison industry is in fact “slavery by another name.”
I am extremely affected (negatively) by the treatment of individuals who are already working for nothing more than a slave’s wage to begin with—17 cents an hour. Man!!! Frederick Douglass as an actual slave made six to nine dollars a week back in the early 1800! Yet these guys are subjected to
treatment that’s painful to watch. The thought of standing up against these conditions only results in threats of being placed on double zero status, where you are denied all privileges including yard and phone time until after 4:00pm. everyday. God help you if they learn that you have a parole hearing pending!
I choose to use my artistic voice to shine light on the plight of the prisoner kitchen worker. Depicted on the canvas is a scene I witnessed happen. A food service director was yelling at the top of his lungs berating a guy asking to be relieved because he wasn’t feeling well. I recall the director’s words, “Get your ass back on that fuckin line now, and shake some of that damn food off that spoon before you put it on those fuckin trays!” It was as if the prisoner was subhuman, and I sensed that I was seeing just a slight glimpse into what it must have been like to actually be a slave. I mean, the director might as well have said, “the sweat is getting in your eyes because you ain’t bent over far enough.” To be treated fairly—still in search of that one.
This artwork was commissioned for the Urban Arts Festival
