I

t’s not here to give out grades, to set
learning objectives or to change people.
It doesn’t teach about alcoholism or

how to balance a checkbook. It’s not here to save
souls or proselytize. Rather, the Prison Creative
Arts Project goes into prisons around Michigan
with a simpler mission — to bring joy.

Started in 1990 under Buzz Alexander, a pro-

fessor of English at the University of Michigan,
PCAP incorporates visual, written and theatri-
cal art into the lives of inmates from prisons in
southeast Michigan, and accepts artistic sub-
missions from all 33 prisons statewide.

The impetus for it came from a 1990 class-

action lawsuit filed by incarcerated women
vying for the opportunity to earn college credit
while incarcerated, as men were already able to
earn degrees in jail. At the time, Alexander had
been instructing courses on street theatre when
his students learned of the lawsuit and con-
vinced him to bring his classes to the women’s
prison in Ypsilanti, the only one in the state at
the time.

Thirty six years later, the project is now led

by Ashley Lucas, a professor of theatre and
drama at the University.

Originally intending to write a book about

the program, Lucas joined it in Jan. 2013. She
spent a year following Alexander’s students to
see its effects, which, she said, confirmed her
initial assumptions about the power of the pro-
gram.

“Doing this program as a student radically

changes the perspective on what the arts can
do and the feelings on the justice system,”
Lucas said. “It’s a much greater learning tool
about those ideas and our cultural as a carceral
nation.”

She eventually had to scrap her plans for a

book, but as she was studying PCAP by attend-
ing workshops, collecting field data and follow-
ing Alexander around, PCAP was studying her.

“They were looking for somebody for about 10

years,” Lucas said. “Someone interested in con-
tinuing (Alexander’s) work capable of achieving
tenure at the University of Michigan.”

Lucas said Alexander, who had taught at

the University for more than 30 years before
his recent retirement, found an entirely differ-
ent learning environment from the one he had
grown accustomed to at the University.

“You have the undivided attention of people

in the room,” Lucas said. “It’s hard to walk into
a classroom and find that level of attentiveness
and readiness, to find that eagerness to be part
of something bigger than yourself.”

Alexander was the program’s trailblazer and,

according to Lucas, didn’t stop to consider what
other people had to say about his project.

“I think Buzz did a lot of things on his own

incrementally,” Lucas said. “The University was
a different place back then. He was taking him-
self into prisons, I don’t think he asked permis-
sion.”

Students from the program have achieved

honors both artistically and academically, such
as Mary Heinen, who was formally incarcer-
ated in Michigan’s only female prison, was able
to earn a bachelor’s degree from the University
under Alexander’s tutelage. To achieve this, a
student proxy went to class for her, took notes
and sent her the assignments. Heinen has since
been the recipient of the Soros Justice Fellow-
ship, a fund to support criminal justice reform
work.

“That climate educationally has changed

drastically since the early ‘90s,” Lucas said.
“The University was a much more open place
in terms of how it approached people in prison
educationally. In part, they’re no longer being
taught by professors. You have to apply to the
University and pay full tuition in order to get a
degree.”

Alexander’s struggles in getting the program

off the ground mirror those of current volun-
teers, who undergo extensive training and sur-
veillance before stepping foot in prison.

The PCAP Process

About four years ago, while still on parole,

Aaron Kinzel started working as a facilitator
with PCAP. At the time, he was in a graduate
program at the University. A native of Monroe,
Mich., Kinzel has never been incarcerated in
Michigan as an adult, but spent time in a Michi-
gan juvenile detention facility and 10 years in
Maine jails after being convicted for attempted
murder in 1997 in Maine.

Kinzel is now also a doctoral candidate

and a faculty member in the Criminology and
Criminal Justice departments. He said he felt
disheartened before applying to the University
considering his record. Though he had already
received his associate’s degree at Monroe
County Community College, and his bachelor’s
at Siena Heights University, he had been reject-
ed by other colleges in the area.

“Probably one of the biggest things I describe

my own personal narrative,” Kinzel said. “I
personalize myself with someone who is incar-
cerated. I know how empowering it is to get
contact with people from the inside that I’m a
part of their culture.”

Kinzel is now a leader in the Linkage Project,

a program through PCAP where former pris-
oners come back into the community to lead
workshops. Kinzel led one such workshop at the
Monroe County Youth Center, where he was
incarcerated as a juvenile. He said the experi-
ence of returning, even as an adult, was stress-
ful for him.

“It was creepy as hell, and very anxiety driv-

en — there’s this anxiousness it’s really hard
to describe,” Kinzel said. “Different sounds,
smells, the clicking of a door … it really trig-
gers a physical emotional response. To go back
where I was as a kid — even though I didn’t
really spend that much time there — I felt that
melt away when I was connecting with kids that
were a mirror image of myself and how I over-

come adversity really helpful.”

The difficulties that come with integrating

into prison life mean the program has signifi-
cant training requirements, the bulk of which
concerns what permissible in the prison for
both volunteers and participants.

Initial requirements for volunteers are mini-

mum — they have to be older than 18 with no
criminal record to get into the prisons. Though
there are few non-student volunteers, the
amount shifts from semester to semester.

Training for the volunteers has several com-

ponents. There is one occurrence of all-day
training in the first weekend of the semester,
which Lucas said has regularly supported 60 to
80 participants, including some people enrolled
in the classes. After that, facilitators meet every
other week to meet with mentor about work-
shops and get advice with program staff and
faculty.

Diversity is a staple among those who volun-

teer for PCAP, from slam poets from Detroit to
a woman in her 60s was doing a quilting work-
shop last year with a University student. There
are cases like Susan Ashmore, a community
volunteer, who got involved because one of the
long-time PCAP volunteers went to her church
and gave a talk in 2008. Ashmore is pioneering

the project’s first workshop in a federal prison
for the first time alongside Larry Root, a profes-
sor in the School of Social Work.

Lucas said the program devises a list of

agreements before the workshop can begin,
usually incorporating some of the rules of the
prison facility, like no touching. Additionally,
they aim to avoid activities that would require
participants to close their eyes or turn their
backs, which are safety concerns within a pris-
on setting.

For students who participate, the challenges

varied, with many noting there are barriers to
entry or perceptions they hadn’t expected.

Music, Theatre & Dance senior Leia Squil-

lace began working with PCAP her junior year
and said she initially got involved because she’s
been interested in using theatre and perfor-
mance for social change.

“I think that theatre has an incredible capac-

ity for people to relate to each other, and to
bolster empathy,” Squillace said. “So when I
learned about PCAP, I thought what an incred-
ible opportunity to put those theories to the test
with practical experience.”

Squillace led her first workshop at Cooper

Street Correctional Facility in Jackson, Mich.,
with another student facilitator. During that

semester, she instructed about 10 participants
once a week in two-hour sessions.

“I was very prepared for leading theatre

exercises,” Squillance said. “I felt I was pre-
pared to have fun with the participants. What
I didn’t feel prepared for, or what surprised me,
I guess, working in a prison like this is one of
the most closed-off communities and environ-
ments in our entire country.”

Squillace said it was difficult to access that

community because there are legal stipulations
meant to keep people out. Personally, she said
she knew few individuals with access to people
with those experiences, and said she found
depictions of prison life as portrayed by the
media to be mostly inaccurate.

“One of the most, I think, difficult aspects

about PCAPS is that after the workshop I can’t
casually enter the prison to see them and it’s
heartbreaking,” Squillace said. “I became
so close with them, and I had honestly more
uncomfortable interactions with the guards
than with any of the incarcerated people.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure what the perceptions

are of PCAP,” she continued. “I think maybe
one is that we are entering the prison to like
educate our participants, because I think really
the mission of PCAP is all people, regardless of
whether they are incarcerated, have a right to
creative expression. And ultimately, that’s what
we aim to provide.”

Squillace traveled last May with Lucas and

about 18 other facilitators to conduct similar
workshops in prisons, hospitals and isolated
communities in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

“That trip proved to me that what we are

doing at PCAP, while it seems unique, it’s work
that a lot of people find important not just in
Michigan or in the United States but interna-
tionally as well,” she said.

Anna Clark, a University alum and current

Knight Wallace Fellow, got started with the
program as an undergrad. Several years ago,
alongside Matt Erikson, another University and
PCAP alum, she started a theater program in

Detroit. This January will be the five-year anni-
versary of their program.

“I was doing a workshop at a prison in Jack-

son that’s now closed,” Clark said. “It was a
writers group. It involved a lot of props, objects.
I also happened to bring a copy of The Michigan
Daily because it had an article about the annual
prison art show.”

Clark, who has written about her experienc-

es with the program for The New York Times,
said some challenges she faced as a facilitator
involved the vagaries of the prison system. She
said it was difficult when a long-time partici-
pant is relocated and there isn’t an opportunity
for closure. She also noted a time when she was
banned from one of her workshops: tradition-
ally items brought into the prisons were cata-
logued with the guards, and on that day, the
program was running late and the group was
waved in. Among the props Clark had gathered
for the improv workshop was a bracelet. On
their way out, Clark was showing the contents
of her bag when she realized someone had writ-
ten on the newspaper.

“They saw the note, and a bracelet that could

have been a gift, so they kicked me out,” Clark
said. “Sometimes that kind of stuff happens. I
get it. When you bring in young people that are
new at this and whether intentionally or not
there can be risks that you don’t even realize,
and I get that. I think the people who work in
these places have an exceptionally tough job.
They would rather be over cautious than under
cautious. Some facilities, they don’t have to let
us come in — and some don’t.”

“Anything that you take into a prison you

have to get approved for,” Lucas said. “You can
get the whole program thrown out of the prison
for not taking all five pens out.”

Another, perhaps less obvious, stigma are

concerns of romantic relationships occurring
between the volunteers and the prisoners.

“It’s perfectly natural to develop feelings,”

Lucas said. “Prisoners may want to pass a love
note, but you can’t bring anything out of the

prison that you haven’t secured permission for
ahead of time. If someone slips a love note into a
notebook, so even if my students didn’t know it
was there, our program suffers.”

Lucas cited in particular an incident that

occurred on a sponsored safe sex day on cam-
pus, during which condoms were being distrib-
uted on the Diag, and one female participant
unthinkingly slipped one into her pocket on her
way to participate in PCAP.

“You can understand why that looks sus-

picious even though she didn’t have sexual
designs on anyone,” Lucas said. “We support
our students. We are here for them, but we have
to abide by the rules of the facility. But what can
happen to the people in our workshops, if rules
are broken, even if we’re the ones breaking
them, is the people who signed up to participate
in our workshops are the one who really suffer.”

For students, being able to fully commit to

the program is also a challenge.

“I think, well, one of the challenges is it’s

just time,” Clark said. “I think a lot of the folks
you work with have been on the wrong side of a
broken system, just being there despite all odds
over time.”

A PCAP associate, Clark still does a work-

shop but isn’t a regular participant. She said one
misconception she consistently addresses is the
nature of the interactions themselves.

“They teach us how to be better,” she said.

“They make up an exercise. I think that back-
and-forth energy is better for everybody. It’s not
a charitable project that implies a one-direc-
tional relationship.”

However, she said the program opened her

eyes by granting her the freedom to see first-
hand the realities of a prison setting.

“There really aren’t a lot of programs like

this, and the fact that this has lasted as long
as it has, after a change in leadership with
the University, change in leadership from the
department of corrections, and the change of
leadership through the program,” Clark said.
“That’s amazing, that’s a testament to the infra-
structure to the program and the people that
have shown up to it.”

The Program Today

A annual art show is the program’s climax

and biggest expense. All of the art is matted, a
technique that involves spraying a protective
sealant over the piece, so the pieces are ready to
be displayed. Walls must be constructed within
the showroom at the Duderstadt Center each
year, though it’s still not enough space.

“We make a video to send to all the prisons

because they can’t come to see their art,” Lucas
said. “Show every piece of art in the show. And
we send that video and produce the video nicely
and asked that it be played on the closed circuit
TV.”

The type of artwork, and the training par-

ticipants receive in the leadup to the art shows,
varies.

In general, Lucas said, to be involved in the

program an inmate must be “ticket-free,” or
have gone without incident, for six months.
Workshops are conducted in both private and
public juvenile facilities as well as the adult
prisons.The program provides services for
level-one prisoners, who are nearing the end of
their sentences, but can only accept submission

from those at level five, which is solitary con-
finement.

“The things about levels is that they are

separated from each other for various security
reasons,” Lucas said. “We are only allowed to
program with people of a select level together.
We never ask about people’s crimes.”

Lucas said over the course of the project, the

types of submissions have varied, some in direct
correlation to what’s happening in the world
outside.

“Things like technology are often confusing

to people in prison,” Lucas said. “There’s some
things that are difficult to picture, but there are
other things to which people respond to con-
temporary critique.”

Notable shifts in submissions, he said,

occurred after Hurricane Katrina and after the
news broke about the Flint water crisis. The
year President Barack Obama was elected, he
was featured in many pieces displayed by the
program.

“There are often very thoughtful pieces that

address environmental concerns,” Lucas said.
“You can spend decades of your life without
touching a blade of grass. (Inmates) are not
allowed to be barefoot, so to think about wild-
life and nature. There’s a lot of contemporary
political thought.”

Lucas said, based off her studies of similar

programs, she believes PCAP to be the largest
prison arts programming in terms of the num-
ber of people, the number of prisoners that have
access to our programming and the number of
people they serve.

“It’s above and beyond anything we’ve seen

anywhere else and it’s the infrastructure of
the University that makes that possible,” Lucas
said.

Because the material reality in prison is so

constrained, the project has acquired a reputa-
tion as a refuge for the incarcerated. Lucas said
while bringing art is a gift to anyone’s life, the
benefits brought to the prisoners isn’t the only
impact.

“I think the patent assumption that people

tend to make when they hear about this pro-
gram is that it’s changing people in prison most
of all,” she said. “I would argue strongly about
that. There’s a lot of very casual remarks that
say that we liberate people in prisons with the
arts, that people feel free.”

Beyond the art itself, the program enables

prisoners to engage not just with those out-
side their scope, but also each other, building
a community that enables all involved to have
connective positive activity that they cannot
engender by themselves. Prisoners cannot usu-
ally congregate together, as it increases the risk
of gang activity or violence, and activity must be
supervised.

Lucas said though the prisons often cast

them in the role of supervisors, the primary
objective of PCAP is to bring joy.

“I think we do change people, to connect

meaning with others, give some agency, we try
to let the prison drive the programming, but
once we’re in there we say to the folks in prison
or in the facilities, what should the end product
of this look like let us help you make what you
want,” Lucas said.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016 // The Statement
4B
Wednesday, October 19, 2016 // The Statement
5B

COURTESY OF PCAP

“Where Heaven and Hell Battle for the Souls of Men” by G. English

COURTESY OF PCAP

“Untitled” by Steve Hoyt

In Prison Creative Arts Project, Collaboration
Allows Students and Inmates to Flourish

By Jackie Charniga, Daily News Editor