Artwork for Sale

I call this painting an omen to the new reality that America is beginning to live up to. It is a multicultural, diverse society. This comes with a warning to all racists, ‘you will be welcomed into this new society or you can collide with it but will not stop it.' And a message to the new American Patriots: ‘It is your inherent duty to protect humanity from its flawed racial past as the new Atlantis.’ “

—Lamavis Comundoiwilla

This piece tells the story of Kawashima Yoshiko, born in China, raised in Japan where she became a spy for the Japanese army during the Second-Sino Japanese War. Her unique story is as an eye-catching androgynous, cross dressing Femme Fatale. From girlhood she toggled between male and female identities.

This painting is a revision of a painting I did for the first iteration of this exhibition. Now that I have grown while in prison, I can find peace within myself, and not just from the sky. Learning how to sit still and reflect on my life and my actions has helped me grow and I do a lot of that while on my bunk. I am the silhouetted girl sitting on top of her prison bunk, emitting peace from within depicted by the glitter.

The sky goes from light to dark to represent that no matter how bright or dark things are in life, I can always look within to find my own light. This goes for everyone, no matter where you are.

I came up with the idea for this painting while thinking about how my bed in prison gives me the space to grow or change. The woman in the hourglass is changing with time. She's shedding her old self and growing to become better. As the sand falls it changes into color which seeps out and turns into a butterfly. I chose a butterfly because to me that represents freedom. I painted everything black and white to symbolize the past, and the butterfly in color to represent the future. 

This painting is symbolic. In prison we are assigned a bed, a small space that we can utilize and make a place where we can focus on our growth, meditate, do group homework, pray, or whatever is needed to make change. We can either stay stuck in our past mistakes or become a better version of the person we used to be.

This is a “shortened print” edition, meant to be a 20-copy 1st edition produced inside San Quentin State Prison. Due to events beyond my control, the linoleum block was sent home with only a few prints made. This edition is now extremely limited, as all future prints of this image will exist as new editions outside these prison walls.

Inspiration for this print came from a face in a stack of papers and magazine clippings somebody had. It was only a loose line drawing of a face fit for a coloring book, but it captivated me; I saw a story in it. I changed pretty much everything but the profile of the face and added everything else.

This is a vision of a post-apocalyptic world where survivors must be always looking forward, never going backward. A world where people remember what really matters most. Some have said that it reminded them of Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sowers novels (which I had to read AFTER several comments). I think it fits well.

Ancestor’s Reflection is the motivation of the Orisa Esu (pronounced A’ Shoe). In the Yoruba Diaspora, he is the “owner of the crossroads.”  When looking at this artwork, I want to share a pataki (story) of Esu:

“There were two close friends talking when ESU walked rudely between them. One friend said: ‘Did you see that rude red being?’ The other friend stated: ‘No, you’re wrong, my friend. It was a rude brown-black being!’ In their arguing, Esu stepped to them. They looked at Esu and began to laugh at themselves. For you see they were both right.”

If I were asked what this art means to me. I would say understanding, reflection, clarity, choice, and humor/laughter at ourselves.”

A warrior’s journey is one where the path is sure to lead them far from the world they once knew and at the same time reflect the world which they’ve come to know as the ancestor’s world.

The reason the world resembles a rock or a stone is because I feel many worlds can be very hard, like the world of prison. I was inspired to do this piece studying a self-help course leading to insight for my crime.

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We all have experienced darkness and feelings of isolation, whether short or indeterminably long, that it overwhelm us. I have been there. However, there always exists a manner to move beyond that darkness to bask once again in the light of freedom, love, and hope. 

Monochrome work can imbue an image with a particular climatic intensity to draw one’s attention and imagination in. The light at the top of this stone stairwell beckons us to rise up.

This painting was used as cover art for NYU School of Law’s Collaborative Report with Scrutinize in March, 2024.

In this painting I pass into the next existence in my sleep, in my bed and happy to be free! 

The story I am recounting happened when I was living on East Block in San Quentin State Prison—the institution in the painting. I did not want to live any longer. My family attempted to convince me of the value of living no matter the persecution & injustice I was living! They only managed to delay this however until my pending release. I went directly to the Bridge and tried to jump. Not succeeding, sitting in the back of that SFPD squad car knowing mine could have been a death of ‘blissful bunk freedom’ I thought, “had I done the right thing in that cell alone smelling salt air & serenity?” Over government, religion and family objections, I wouldn't be the political prisoner I am today! That makes this painting my most personal truth! Since I know I’m going to perish in prison. When I die it's going to be a good death because it will happen in my bunk.

My last refuge & savior is my prison bed. I can’t imagine being without its daily comfort. Even as I write these words it's my state issued bunk making it possible. It has provided me a place to learn, meditate, study behaviour modification, learn & use coping tools, values, ethics, correct character flaws, and conflict resolution! 

In this painting I have a vision about the prison falling apart because the system is unsustainable. I didn't go by way of land, for fear of being sought out, chained by haters and unprepared for death. Instead, I chose to embark on an unknown voyage in my bed christened,    "My last chance bunk!" Using my panties & mop handle to catch some air we were off on a fateful trip! No reason to expect to succeed alive. Knowing death at sea would complete mother nature's circle allowed me to happily accept the risk. Even this last chance was a chance! Surrounded by sharks and risk of expiring by exposure and at the mercy of tides and wind. Alive or not, freedom is mine! Full of love and hope!

This painting recounts, in vivid color, my recurring dream of loving female desire. An unknown tall, dark & handsome man sweeps into my prison bed on his bike. Mr. Wonderful sees me for who I am. As I lay in bed, he takes my ass out of this useless, dysfunctional, falling apart, prison cell and onto the yellow brick road to pursue a future together… all while asleep. Unlike Dorothy, I don't ever want this dream to end!  

Laying here in my bed this lovely morning, so very comfy, after self love feelings & contentment! It's only here in my bedroom that life realizes its proper value. Prison life is not light & love. Dark & hate conflict my body daily. My bed, she still holds me firmly during every moment enduring self doubt, sorting it out. Accepting me, even as my mortality wanes, laying here with her holding me.

This piece is indicative of the choices we are sometimes faced with; how what we decide impacts others around us. And how, in most cases, there are ample motivations for better choices. Consider a person who sells illegal drugs on the street. Everyday encounters with both living and inanimate objects can serve as guideposts. Take for instance, the stop sign in this composition — the damage of the sign makes it prevalent. It may go unnoticed by many, but to the person who's thinking he/she should "stop" dealing drugs it could be a source of confirmation. Next thing you know, your eye finds the word "STOP" somewhere else in the piece. What in your own life might you need to STOP? Personally, I did not take heed to these guideposts. So I recognize them now from a position of consequence.

It would be a huge mistake to assume that only bad or illegal things happen at the community liquor store. You can also find a sense of community there too. Honestly, I believe that these urban "watering holes" do a great deal of harm to the community. But when Sister Johnson's family needs help making rent, it's never the big box stores who come to the aid. These are the spaces that allow out of towners to sleep overnight in motorhomes and eighteen wheelers. I left the Walmart parking lot bare because I wanted to convey a sense of it being void of community.

Although I have discovered peace from within myself, I still love looking at the sky from my bed, where I meditate about my life and future. My future is my family, and it is comforting to know that when I look at the sky they see the same thing. I am all about balance, in my life and my art, so I painted the sky in complementary colors to the mountains. I used different size paint brushes to create the mountains and freehanded them while looking at a picture of the view behind my mom’s house to guide me.

Mass incarceration, fueled by capitalism's need for surplus labor, has produced the world's largest harvest of human beings. Forced into the bondage of neo-slavery, I am not just a descendant of a slave. I am also part of a marginalized, vulnerable group of human beings who are slaves—prisoners.

‍This artwork was commissioned for the Urban Arts Festival

I’m a descendent from a culture of cruel capitalistic slavery—America carved my ancestors from the continent of Africa. The Motherland cried tears as her sons and daughters fell to imperialism and over the side of slave ships during the Atlantic slave trade. Despite political doublespeak and racist rhetoric written in the US Constitution, slavery still persists for my people—the poor, the darker, the prisoner, the slave.

‍This artwork was commissioned for the Urban Arts Festival

I was inspired by the forced labor in prisons that still occurs during this day and age. This image depicts what happened to Blacks during slavery is still going on till this day—especially in progressive California.

‍This artwork was commissioned for the End Involuntary Servitude Digital Media Campaign

There was a time the only door I could open was to the dreamscape of my imagination.  My bed, a small, thin vinyl covered slab of synthetic material became not only sanctuary, but my starship through which to escape afar, beyond the concrete and steel that constantly encroached every visible angle. This mural gives tribute to this gracious reprieve by utilizing linen bed sheets as my canvas.

My bed was a magical place where avenues to elsewhere were offered through books, or imagination—I could be transported away.  Deep reflections, heart aches, floods of memories, so much living and thinking took place on that small mattress, so of course I would come to consider it a character of its own, a companion in adventures. 

I wish this mural to reflect the idea of a bed as a means to escape by painting this literally happening. I am whisked away by my ally that simply creates a direct route by bursting through the cement walls on a flight out and above confinement and into the realm of stars, cosmos, liberty and possibility. 

This mural was created in a series of late night sessions over the course of 30 days. Night was the only time available to create during the busy holiday season and continuous stream of events at the non-profit “Freedom To Grow” where I work as the garden steward and herbalist.

I am the woman in this painting, floating in the sky, free in mind and spirit. The tree, firmly grounded, reminds me of where I've come from. My bed is placed next to the tree indicating it’s where I can return to, my safe haven. 

The planets and galaxies indicate unexplored areas in life. The stars and blue sea of space represent the possibilities and opportunities. The mountains represent the strength of my higher power, and the Aurora Borealis represents spirituality.

This is a depiction of my struggle to hold onto my humanity while in a hostile environment. Retreating to my island of a bed, I use music and art to stay human.

Many people become someone they don't recognize when working through grief and difficult situations. In this painting, I am surrounded by different beings who are no longer human, beings who have walked through darkness in their lives and have become monstrous versions of themselves. The mermaid represents the effects of addiction. The seductive demon covered in gold is temptation. The widow weeping over the body of her former lover suggests how dangerously far a woman is willing to go when "in love." The witch is a person who has hurt and even killed children. The serpent woman broke the mirror because she cannot stand to see who, or what, she has become. The skeleton in the closet is the image of our shame and guilt, secrets we hope no one learns. The cracks in the wall are an indication that the prison system is flawed. 

Many of us have gone through hell and back, and still haven't been able to get out of that cycle. I've fought with my own darkness over the years, and it's taken me a while to finally make it back to a healthy state of mind, where I can remember what it means to be human.

When I think about the Plessy vs Ferguson case, which ushered in "separate but equal," it pains me and causes me to question: what must an entire people have experienced in order for adults, as well as the youth, to see themselves as inferior to someone else? This piece is a view into my own answers as a child to the questions written on the chalkboard. At the time what I understood of white people was that things were better for them. And my answers were reflective of my desire for better. But instead of getting better treatment, I got labeled as someone suffering from an identity crisis.

While in my cell, laying on my bunk, I thought a lot about home and the beliefs, culture, and life I had left behind. Over the passing of time, it became clear to me that the institutions in the hood had bred me to be exactly the person I was. This painting maps some of the structures I would see growing up in Watts, CA daily. The Simon Rodia Watts Towers were in my backyard—my early introduction to art. This bridge I crossed every day to get to middle school—Institution #1. I would walk from Watts Tower (bottom right structure) past a statue of a woman, in front of the Watts Arts Center. The bridge was my connection to both worlds—my home, and the institution that purposely failed me. The trees on the other side of the bridge are black because the culture at school wasn’t educational at all. It was a place meant to keep people that looked like me contributing negatively to society.

Series of 3 paintings.

In prison—Institution #2, my bed supported my mental health. It was a place where I could go beyond the restrictions of the concrete block walls that surrounded me. Suicide watch is the only place in the institution with single beds. In this painting, I wanted to emphasize that although I never went there physically, mentally I was able to create that space for myself in an 8-woman cell. My bed allowed me to find this mental healing space.

Series of 3 paintings.

This final image is about my decision to attend the university—institution #3. I pondered this many times over while laying on my bunk. In the painting, I placed myself walking towards the campus library at CSUN, excited about the thought of learning. Now that I’m home, I’ve been granted a second chance at life and have the opportunity to make what I dreamt of in prison a reality.

Series of 3 paintings.

This is a painting I did to commemorate family trips when we would drive our car to California to visit my grandma. I believe this is primarily why I love Southwest art so much. I grew up in Minnesota and lived there all of my childhood years, so seeing the different landscapes excited and inspired me to draw and paint these totally different scenes. Painting allows me to go outside these prison walls and rediscover part of these same experiences, even while incarcerated.

My son was four months old when I was arrested in 1995. He just turned 30 a couple of months ago. My desire has always been to be reunited with him. The only way I can for now is through my bed when I go to sleep and am able to dream.

This canvas represents my hope. The brick fades as I step from prison to freedom. The sound of the waves grasp my focus, as they sooth my spirit, and keep me grounded. I look straight ahead at the horizon, the lighthouse, my beacon, my son.

As a 66-year-old woman diagnosed with leukemia, my body takes a beating every night. The abstract background becomes the focus of the hope I still hold onto. It represents brighter days, with the sun pushing through. The sun brings me joy and solace, a sign that the terrible night on this bed is over, at least for now.

The thought bubbles represent what keeps me awake most nights. The tornado reflects the tossing and turning as I struggle to find rest, feeling worn out from cancer and my aching body. Yet, I thank God for the sun, for it means this night’s nightmare is finally over.

My relationship with my prison bed leaves much to be desired. There are times I can honestly say I hate my bed. It has been detrimental to my mental, physical, and psychological well-being. I’ve had the same mattress for nine years—it could be folded in half three times.

There is very little difference between the 1800s and present times. Black people are still under the gun by the overseers.

‍This artwork was commissioned for the End Involuntary Servitude Digital Media Campaign

This painting depicts a dark rainy morning at a prison work change area. The focus is on the young man at the front of a line of workers standing in the rain waiting to be allowed to go inside to work. Old, young, various ethnic groups, and all miserable while they eagerly wait to go to work for less than .50 an hour.

This painting explores what goes on inside my mind when I’m alone in bed. My imagination painted this image which looks like a fantasy but it’s actually mirroring my reality. Isolation, separation, perception, passage of time, love and the political climate in prison are all part of this reality. This is a window into my current situation as an incarcerated individual which resulted from my experience in a dysfunctional society. 

Beauty and the Beast, the easily recognizable fable, represents that juxtaposition of the monster society has painted me to be with my original essence, the nurturing mother that I was. Beauty’s earring is my resilience, in spite of dire circumstances my heart remains true and full of love. The clock at the bottom represents my sentence of 18 years to life. The castle behind the clock represents the dark and light side of prison. The border symbolizes the political climate within prison. The crooked green line is the corrupt officers, they wear green. The larger blue line represents the incarcerated women, we wear blue and outnumber those who control and oppress us. The black and white lines represent the good and bad officers. 

There are some staff who wear green knowing what goes on inside is bad but they have to blend in while doing the right thing and are good to us. Other staff stand for everything which is systemically corrupted and get away with atrocities.

The black rose in the middle speaks to the justice system. In the original Beauty and the Beast story the rose depicts a curse. The only cure for the curse—in my case incarceration—is to love, practice self love, and shatter expectations. Shuttering free from our confines, both mentally and physically is the path to achieve freedom.

**The artist invites you to listen to the song “Starlight” by Michel Simone from the movie Twilight, on your own device, while viewing her painting.

The Monkey King is the very intriguing character of the famous Asian epic "Journey to the West."  Monkey was kicked out of the heavenly realms because he  was deemed to be incorrigible, undisciplined, and reckless. Yet he had a big heart underneath all his foolish behavior. Monkey was accompanied on his adventures by characters that represented his unruly aspects as well as his higher nature. I wanted to depict the Monkey King as he became after his adventures...wiser, awake, redeemable, yet still possessing his carefree spirit.

This 33 page zine showcases the poetry created for the exhibition.  

Designed by Miye Sugino

Though I have been surrounded by dull brick and concrete for the past 30 years, I have always managed to elevate through dreams to places full of lush vegetation and flowers. When I have these dreams I don't want to wake. These are the times I am grateful for my bed, a moment of freedom and saving grace.

This canvas includes plants from my prison Zen Healing Garden calling attention to the beauty in nature and the lack of it in prisons.

‍In 2017 Hurricane Maria came down upon the island of Puerto Rico. In the wake of this historic storm, the island paradise of my cultural heritage, my people, and home to my family, suffered utter devastation. From a prison cell I bore witness and cried. The Trump administration dismissed the severity of the destruction, intentionally disregarded the actual death toll of more than 3,000 Puerto Ricans, then tossed paper towels as if it were manna from heaven. Rich Americans then came, bought up land, built gated communities, and laughed.

I painted the sky in bold red, white, and blue strokes to represent the volcanic acclaim of Americanism to the world. The “skullishness” of Lady Liberty’s face uncovers how the American government and corporations exploit the island and its people. American interests want Puerto Rico, but not Puerto Ricans. Tito Kayak, and others, still stand strong against these injustices. Letting the world know, “I AM(E)RICAN!”

This is a limited edition linoleum block print inspired by a poem published in the book Al-Mutanabbi Street Starts Here. The title of the piece is pulled from the poem by Thomas Christensen. When I read that line, all I could think of was the fact that, during the Iraq War, neither American nor Al-Qaeda forces cared about the culture of the people whose land they were fighting on. Both sides wanted to impose their own ways and beliefs on the people and were destroying the Iraqi peoples’ history and culture.

In this piece both warring parties are on opposite sides of the street, taking a mirrored stance of arms raised against the people. In the middle you have a storefront with a local man and woman fighting against both sides with ink pens and books—their only means of defending and preserving their culture.