All language subtitles for Art.and.Krimes.by.Krimes.2021.720p.WEB.h264-OPUS.[eng]

[soulful melody
playing on cello]

[waves crash]

[light, rhythmic banging
in distance]

[banging continues]

[ambient electronica music]

*

[phone ringing]

MICHAEL BROWN (on phone):
Kintock Control.

This is
Michael Brown speaking.

How can I help you?

Yeah, this is Krimes.

I'm leaving work
to head to the house.

BROWN:
What's your name again, sir?

Krimes. K-R-I-M-E-S.

-BROWN:
All right. I got you, man.
-All right, thanks.

-BROWN: All right?
-Yep.

[line disconnects]

[flock of geese honking]

[bright clip-clopping
of horse hooves]

[cars passing]

JESSE KRIMES:
Me and my mother lived above

my grandfather's
machine shop.

And when she was at work,
I would always go downstairs.

Yeah, the smell of this place.

This is like
a very distinct smell.

So, every time
I smell it, it's like,

oh, yeah. I'm home.

It's a good grease smell.

The sandblaster.

I used to play with that thing

all the time when I was little.

So, you like put
your arms in it.

It feels like you become
this like machine,

and your hands are in here.

The phone that
they could never find.

But people call here
all the time,
and they never answer.

I don't even know what that is.

I would always come through
and raid everything

and steal the materials
and turn 'em
into my art projects.

I think these things
are really elegant.

Which is weird to say
about this dirty shit.

I would read Foucault's
"Discipline and Punish."

There was an image in there
of this tree,

and it was all contorted.

And there was a post
that was stuck in the ground,

and they tied it around
this contorted part of the tree

to try and straighten it.

You know, this one's straight.

That's how it's
supposed to look.

These [chuckles] remind me
of that contorted tree.

That's what happens when
there's too much compression:

you bend the valves.

It freezes up the head,

completely shuts down
the entire engine of the car,

destroys it...

all from this little thing.

But they're beautiful like that.

Yeah, I'll probably end up
making something with these.

I think we found
some new materials!

[light guitar playing]

Growing up, I didn't actually
understand what an artist was.

I was always
kind of like a maker.

There was these
really interesting objects

that I connected with.

Machine equipment
and cardboard boxes

piled up in the corner.

And I would always make these

three-dimensional theatrical
structures out of cardboard,

just design little scenes
and tape them together.

Got lost in making
these things all day.

The only time
I felt comfortable

was when I was
actually making work.

*

[sandblaster whirs]

[sandblaster slowly powers down]

I always did really well
in my art classes,

and I wanted
to go to an art school.

[metal pieces clink and clank]

But I don't ever recall in
my life anyone being like,

"Oh, this is something
you're really good at.

You should explore this."

There was never
really much direction.

I was kind of left to my
own devices most of my life.

[mellow music playing on guitar]

I noticed early on,
coming through school,

that I was different
from a lot of my friends.

Most of the kids
had two parents,

they had houses

and cars and, you know,
nicer things.

My mother had me
when she was 16.

It was basically
a child raising a child.

We didn't even have a kitchen.

We didn't
have a refrigerator.

Our beds were in
the same room.

My mother had to work all day,
every day,

and my biological father
was never there.

The guy who raised me
was Tom Adams.

He actually was there
at the hospital,

but he wasn't
in the delivery room.

But yeah, he came in
right away and held him.

And, oh, he loved him. Yeah.

And... nobody ever
loved Jesse like he did.

[mellow music continues]

JESSE:
I was very close to him.

I didn't know that
he wasn't my father

until I was about
nine or ten years old.

At that point in time, his
relationship with my mother

was going south 'cause he
was drinking more and more,

and he was beginning
to use heroin.

When I was 16 years old,

he was in, I think,
a drug rehabilitation center,

and he just walked out
the door one day

and went and hung himself
in the woods.

And, um...

you know,
that was kind of, uh...

that was intense.

So...

[sighs]

Yeah, that was, uh,

that was the point in time

when I started
kind of acting out.

I got involved in
drinking and partying.

I started selling weed

and then selling
cocaine at parties.

*

It was no secret
I was a train wreck.

Getting arrested all the time
for public drunkenness

and underage drinking.

I was so reckless.

I really didn't give
a shit about myself.

I didn't care if I lived.
I didn't care.

I had full scholarships
to Temple University,

Tyler School of Art.

But I ended up
getting in trouble there.

I lost all my scholarships.

I got kicked out of school
and went to prison

for possession with intent.

And that was my first time
ever being in prison,

and I served a year and a half
state sentence.

When I came home,

I was trying to work
and go to school.

And the stress of that
began to wear on me.

So, I went back
to what I knew,

and I began, um,

selling cocaine again.

[tense music playing]

[indistinct TV chatter]

-It was a Friday night...
-[heavy knock on door]

in February of 2009.

I immediately
just turned and ran.

-[loud bang]
-[police chatter]

They kicked in the door.

[police chatter continues]

[handcuffs tighten]

I admitted
everything that was mine.

I showed them
where the drugs were.

I was honest about everything
and just sat there

while they went
through the house.

And then they find
147 grams of cocaine.

ut when I refused to cooperateB
and snitch on other people,

they increased my drug weights
from 147 grams

up to 50 kilos based off of
other people's statements.

And they're like, "Oh, yeah.
I know that guy!

I got 40 grams
from him yesterday,"

and then they
charge you with that.

his is a typical practice thatT
happens in the federal system.

[tense music continues]

CINDY KRIMES:
And they actually called me

and said, "If he doesn't
tell on these people,

we're gonna file
federal charges."

And I said, "Go for it."

I said, "You can file all
the federal charges you want.

I'd rather have
my son in jail than dead."

JESSE:
It was pre-sentence.

I'm presumably innocent,

and they had me in
solitary confinement.

It was 23 and 1 lockdown,
like dirt floors.

The sinks are
busted off the wall.

The toilets leak
and don't work.

There's no sunlight.

You get no outside recreation.

And you get
thoughts of suicide.

I was basically
losing my mind.

Art is what I know,
so the whole time,

I was making
artwork to survive.

[light chiming]

[pen scratches across page]

I worked on
the purgatory series

the entire time
I was in pre-sentencing.

I remember from when I was
a kid playing with Silly Putty

that I could put it
onto a newspaper

and pull the ink off of it,

and it would leave
that inverse image on there.

[pensive music
on piano and strings]

And I began cutting portraits
of people who were accused

of committing crimes
in the paper out

using the inner connector
of a AAA battery

that I sharpened on the floor

and used as
a kind of cutting device.

And I would carve
prison-issued bars of soap

into little slivers.

And then by making
the surface wet

and pressing the portrait
on top of the soap,

it would leave
the inverse image of the face.

In order for me to send
these pieces of soaps out,

I needed to figure out
a way to house them

so that they wouldn't break.

And that's when I thought
of the prison playing cards.

*

[indistinct prison chatter]

I began collecting the cards

and cutting the faces
off of face cards.

And after I would get
so many cards,

I would make these
card structures and mail out

two in an envelope.

And I made hundreds of them.

I would work roughly
12 hours a day.

This process kept me sane
because, really,

I never knew if I would even
make it out of there.

[music gently fades]

[traffic rushing, horns honking]

We went to sentencing,

and that was
a major moment for me.

Just walking into that
courtroom, you feel the power.

The United States of America
versus Jesse Krimes.

Like, this is
absolutely ridiculous.

All of these things that
I viewed as not that serious

became very serious
at that moment.

I'm never doing anything to put
myself in this situation again.

I ended up being found guilty
f 500 grams of powder cocaine.o

So, instead of 100 months,
the judge gave me

a 70-month federal sentence.

The judge recommends that I get
sent to a low-security facility,

but he also said that,
you know, if I ever come back

in front of another judge again

that he has
a permanent residence

for me in the BOP.

So, basically, I'm, you know,
if I get in trouble again,

I have a life sentence.

[dramatic electronic music]

But the one thing that
really stood out to me

was when he said,

"Earlier today, someone
came before me who had

"a similar criminal history
with the exact same offense,

"and I just gave
that person 20 years.

But I see value in you."

n the moment, I was just like,I
thank fucking God.

But then like afterwards,
I was like, well, why?

I was with the guy
in the holding cell

before I went in
for my sentencing,

and it was a Black guy.

[balance creaks]

It seemed to me that race

was the main driving factor
in that decision.

Honestly, it made me angry.

[somber electronic music]

The Bureau of Prisons ignored
the judge's recommendation.

They didn't send me to
a low-security facility.

They sent me to
a medium-security facility

as far away from home
as possible:

utner FCI-2 in North Carolina.B

It's full of every gang
that you can imagine.

So, like,
the Hell's Angels are there,

um, the Italian Mafia's there,

the Russian Mafia,
Black Guerrilla Family, Pisces,

Sureños, Latin Kings,
um, you name it.

Every major criminal
organization in the world

is, is housed there.

Going in there,
I was terrified.

But I walked
into the cafeteria,

and it's like,

all the whites sitting here,
all the Blacks

and all of the Spanish,
and everyone was segregated.

There was like no
racial mixing at all.

[voices echo]

Within the first couple weeks,
there was this huge war

that almost jumped off between
the whites and the Blacks.

[inmates arguing]

The guys handed me shanks.

I took them, but I just

threw them away
in the trash can

'cause there's no way
I was gonna go out there

and stab anybody.

I mean, that would've
given me a life sentence.

That division is really
fostered by the prison system,

so that people don't unify

and rise up against
the guards and the staff.

[somber music playing]

You fear for your life
on a day-to-day basis.

That was my introduction
to the federal prison system.

[mellow guitar playing]

I found out that
I was having a son

he week before I got indicted.t

Whether me and her
worked out or not,

there's no way that I'm not
gonna be there for my kid.

There was
a lot of absence in my life,

and then I basically

did the same thing to my kid.

I know how
damaging that was for me.

I knew that I needed to do
what I had to do

to make it out of prison

so that I could come home
and be a present father.

[indistinct shouting]

I felt like I was at war.

I had to get out intact.

I just stayed in the cell
and made drawings as a way to

disconnect from everything
that's going on around me.

[wistful piano music]

I wasn't that skilled at
drawing before I went in.

It was just
something I learned.

I began using graphite
and a #2 pencil

to do recreations
of masterworks.

But I would transfer
the heads of offenders

over top of
the religious icons.

I wanted to decontextualize
the way that we view

who is an offender
and who isn't.

And so, I also began
transferring images of

celebrities and politicians,
based on the premise

that we're all
some type of offender.

It's just a matter of whether
you've been caught or not.

[music intensifies]

Over time of making the work,
people would come to the cell

and wanna talk and
wanna see what I was doing.

So, they're like,
"Oh, you're an artist.

Can you draw?
Can you do portraits?"

So, I just did one real
quick off of someone's ID,

and everyone was
really impressed.

So, you know, then I had tons
of people coming to the cell

to get portraits
and buy portraits.

The work served as this
medium of communication

that allowed me
to connect with people

past that whole
prison persona.

[traffic roars past]

They did a portrait of you
and put it in Philly?

Holy shit! [laughs]

You got me, man.
You got me.

They put a portrait of Cano
in Philadelphia, overdue.

-[laughs]
-And me right next to you.

I always wondered
what this feeling was,

to walk into prison
and not be an inmate.

-Yeah.
-Here it goes.

I had the codes to this place.

I first met O and Cano

when I got transferred
to Fairton, New Jersey,

which has
a drug program.

This is Al Capone's cell.

[camera shutter clicks]

I basically used
the drug program

to get me back closer to home.

[tender guitar music]

JARED "O" OWENS:
Before I met Jesse,
I wanna say it was,

had to be about 10 years

I was there for conspiracy
to distribute powder cocaine.

In "Shawshank Redemption,"
I guess I was like

the Morgan Freeman
of the art room [chuckling].

That's who I was!

I was the guy
who knew how to get--

move in the environment
because I was there so long.

One day, I walked in to go
start on one of my paintings,

and he was sitting there.
And I looked, and I said,

"Why is this guy sitting
in front of my painting?"

And I said, "If he's sitting
in front of my painting

and he's looking at it,
then he's gotta be an artist."

What are the odds of me
bumping into somebody

who's a conceptual artist
in a federal prison?

I guarantee you if there's
another conceptualist in there

[laughs] he might not
ven know he's a conceptualist.e

CANO: What Picasso?
What Picasso you don't like?

-A lot.
-And he likes Matisse.

I love Matisse.
I like him better than Picasso.

-Love Matisse.
-Matisse is terrible.

-What?!
-He's like one of
the worst artists.

Ladies and gentlemen,
excuse that sacrilege.

-Matisse and--
-I'm so tired of him.

-He's like a Renoir.
-What?

-Renoir and Matisse.
-Totally different.

-I like Matisse.
-No.

-I like Matisse.
-No.

-I wish.
-[laughs]

This was every day
in the art room. This.

-This what we do inside.
-Every day.

JESSE:
When I got there, I went
straight to the art room

'cause I wanted to see
who's making what,

if I could get a space.

o, I just spoke to the guards,S
and they're like,

"Oh, you need to talk to O."

O: So, we started talking,
nd the conversation went from,a

"Which prison
did you come from?
What did they have there?

"Did they let you have
colored pencils?
Did you have this?

Did you have that?
What kinda paint did you have?"

And I knew a lot of
artists he didn't know,

and he knew a lot
that I didn't know.

So, we would feed
off each other.

God puts people in your life.

[bright electronic music]

I had nobody else to talk
to about art, you know?

There's not a lot of
people in there that are

thinking about
art on that level.

GILBERTO "CANO" RIVERA:
And when you're
in that atmosphere,

you don't wanna open
yourself entirely to people.

But O lived in my unit,
so it was like,

"Oh, we got a new artist.
You're gonna like him."

So, when I met Jesse,
we talked about art,

and I seen what he had
to offer that was different

than other artists I had met.

And we just like hit it off
from like the beginning.

JESSE:
Artists are definitely
treated differently in prison.

You're a highly valued
member of the community

because you provide
something real

that humanizes people
and connects people

to their families and
makes people feel valuable.

CANO:
That's a commodity.

You sell it,
you know what I'm sayin',

so you could eat,
you would never go hungry.

Out here, artists go hungry.

O did really well
in there, and Cano.

You know, they would
paint a lot of portraits,

nd they would do a lot of worka
that people would buy.

And that's how they survived.

That's how they
bought their materials

to make the other work.

'Cause these guys were really
advanced in terms of the work

that they were making.

They were doing
beautiful abstractions

and experimenting

with different techniques
and styles.

O:
To me and Jesse and Cano,

doing portraits
is like a card trick.

We were past that.

We were looking for
something deeper.

[bright music on guitar
and chiming bells]

-JESSE:
When I was in Fairton,

I had a larger space
to work in,

so that allowed me to change
the scale of my project.

For the last three years
of my sentence,

I created
"Apokaluptein: 16389067."

he title comes from the originT
of the word "apocalypse,"

which means
to uncover and reveal,

in combination with

with my Federal Bureau of
Prisons identification number.

began to think about buildingI
a sort of time machine,

one made of images sewn
together, blended, embedded.

A chance to travel
outside of my container,

visiting the future
that already exists

while avoiding the present
circumstances of my condition.

O:
He says, "I'm gonna
take a sheet,

"and I'm gonna transfer
an image with styling gel.

"And I'm gonna do
a big one, all right?

And I'm gonna do
Heaven, Earth, Hell."

And I was like,
"Okay. I get you."

A little of,
what's the guy's name?
[clicks tongue]

JESSE: Bosch.

I wanted to do a kind of
vertical triptych.

I'd decided to use federal
prison bedsheets as a canvas.

So, I would do a bunch
of work for other people,

portraits and tattoo work,

and then they would
pay me in books of stamps,

which is roughly
$7 in prison currency.

And then I would
pay a friend of mine

who was working
in the laundry.

He would give me two sheets.

The sheet itself is produced
in the prison

using prison labor.

They pay them
like 40 cents an hour,

and they're making
millions of dollars.

So, the sheet that's produced
by the incarcerated person

is then used
to literally cover

and hide his body
while he sleeps.

So, stripping their sheets
and, you know,

defacing them,
destroying them,

it was like a nice
form of resistance.

When I saw that art
had a "fuck you" element

to the system,
I was all-- I was onboard.

I was like, great.
I wanna be part of that.

[haunting electronic music]

I wasn't buying paints.
I wasn't buying brushes.

I didn't need canvas.

I was stealing everything
from the prison on purpose.

O:
Procurement of all
the elements of his piece,

whew, it takes a army,
you know what I mean?

It is not,
it's not like out here.

You need it,
you go get it, you know?

In there,
getting the sheets,

you can go to the Hole.

Getting the, the newspaper
is a, is a mission.

I mean, the styling gel was
ust as important as the paper.j

That's how
he did the transfers.

He tried to buy a case of it,
and they were like,

"What are you doing with
all this styling gel?!"

nd they gave him two or three.A

They were like,
"That's all you're gettin'."

You know, I would
go to the commissary

and get him styling gel,

and they
would look at me like,

"The fuck are you getting
styling gel for? You're bald!"

[upbeat music on guitar
and keyboards]

The staff would come sit and
watch him and be like, "Cool."

One time,
they said something.

"That's not a bed sheet
that he's doing?"

I said, "No, no,
that's a canvas."

JESSE:
You know, this is
considered contraband,

so it could've gotten me
time in solitary.

If my points go up, I could've
been sent to a penitentiary.

That was
the least of my worries.

I just didn't
wanna lose the work.

[upbeat music fades]

CANO:
I didn't know exactly
what Jesse was up to.

I never knew that he was
onna make this colossal thing.g

He would complete a panel,

and it was kinda interesting
the way he thought about it

way before how to
unite these things.

And he was doing 'em, and
he already had it sketched out

in his, in his mind
what it was gonna be.

[chimes tinkling brightly]

-JESSE:
At the time, I couldn't
have explained to you

why I was doing it.

It was an intuitive way to work
through these concepts

that I'm still figuring out:

what it means to be good
and what it means to be bad.

And I was reading these
philosophical texts...

"The Divine Comedy,"
"The Kingdom and the Glory,"

"The Wretched
of the Earth,"

Bourdieu's "Distinction,"
Hegel.

Reading these
philosophical texts

was a way to kind of
decode these things to me

and work through some of these,

some of the visual imagery that
was developing intuitively.

"The New York Times" served
as my window onto the world.

That's why I was
selecting imagery outta there.

Images out of
the travel section,

man-made disasters,
natural disasters.

This was the school shooting
at Sandy Hook Elementary.

This is a father carrying his
child after a bomb went off,

and she was injured by shrapnel.

ll of the Hell panels are madeA
rom commercial advertisements.f

They would have articles
exposing the factory fires

in Bangladesh where all
of the workers were dying

in these apparel fires.

And it's H&M
and it's Ralph Lauren.

And then there are full-page
advertisements

for H&M, Ralph Lauren.

The figures came
out of Foucault's

"Discipline and Punish,"
where he talks about

the corporal body.

And they're all
ballerina figures.

They had this whole idea
of this perfect human body,

the perfection of movement.

t's this completely artificialI
thing that we idealize

and aspire to.

Each one of these
would take about a month.

I would work on them
in the cell,

oh, roughly,

probably 12 hours a day,
seven days a week.

So, there's a lot of hours.

Making this was very
transcendental and, you know,

I put a lot of blood, sweat,
and tears into this thing.

So, using that material,
to have it confiscated

was my biggest fear.

So, I ordered one canvas
out of Blick catalog,

and when it came in the mail,
I just took it off of the roll

and gave the canvas to Jared.

nd I put my sheets on the rollA
and then put all the labels,

the Blick labels
and the red tape, back on it

so it looked like
it was a linen canvas

that was ordered through
the appropriate channels.

And every piece
that I finished,

it got boxed up
and shipped out that day

so that I could
minimize the chance
of it being confiscated.

I had a rapport with
the mail people. I'm like,
"Hey, what's up, guys?"

And I'd be like,
"How many boxes you got?"
Five, six boxes.

I'd put his stuff on the top,
and I would always make sure

that it went out.

JESSE: It kind of like took
the place of my body in a way,

so when I was making it
and sending it out, it was,

it was almost like
sending out pieces of myself

outside of the prison walls.

[ethereal electronic music]

Realizing that I was
about to be released,

I remember rushing

to finish the last section,
which was the Heaven section.

And I ended up
finishing the final panel

nd sending it out three monthsa
before I was released.

That's when I had to start
making plans as best I could.

Like, what am I gonna do
when I come home?

Who am I living with?
And do I have a job?

I had foolish
delusions of grandeur

that I was just
gonna come home

and create artwork,
have serious shows.

[laughs]
Like, immediately!

Not immediately,
but that was the vision

that I had for my life.

[ethereal music continues]

There's still a million
tripwires that would send me

right back into prison.

But I knew that I wouldn't
put myself in a position

to be rearrested
or to get that life sentence.

September 12th of 2013,

I was released into
the halfway house.

Technically, by BOP standards,
I'm still incarcerated.

The first time I was able
to like come up here...

[turn signal clicking]

and actually
drive on the highway?

All of that stress and bullshit

of being in prison
and then coming home.

And you're happy
to be home,

but you're still
surrounded by people.

So, you're still
like performing.

And being in the car
was like the first time

I was actually by myself.

It was early in the morning.

There wasn't a lot of traffic.

It was the most
liberating feeling.

I think I was singing
at the top of my lungs,

and I never sing.

[optimistic piano playing]

[quiet conversations]

*

*

JESSE:
All right. Love you!

Have a good weekend!

[traffic rushing]

[sirens in distance]

-Hey. Allie.

-How you doing?
-How's it going?

These are the two walls.
This is east and west.

Okay.

JESSE:
My adjustment is probably

pretty atypical.

I had a transitional job
waiting for me

as soon as I came home

with the Mural Art
restorative justice program.

The director of the program,
Robyn Buseman,

came into Fairton.

So, he was in the art studio,
and he was showing me

a piece of this big work
that he'd done on sheets.

But he couldn't show me
the whole thing 'cause it was

kind of hush-hush, and
it was on prison property.

And I said to him,
"You know, when you get out,

"we can probably get you into
our mural arts program

where we hire people to work
our to six months, part-time."f

RUSSELL CRAIG:
That's where I met Jesse.

Like a month after me
working here,

then he came along
to Mural Arts.

We was working
together ever since.

We ended up
getting a reputation
for being like a team

that don't play when it
come to installing and stuff.

So, I get dedicated.

We work on weekends, days,
or holidays, all that.

JESSE:
You see that, Craig?
They don't even fit together.

They're not cut straight.

Craig often calls me
Captain America

and calls himself Iron Man.

RUSSELL:
Thinking you should,
you go make the lines,

you should just put it there,

and that's gotta
be a touch-up area.

JESSE:
Put our lines there
and get them to...

And then we argue,
and I say, "No,
I'm more like Iron Man

"because he's much
more abrasive, matter-of-fact.

He's kind of a dick."

This is gonna be
a, a nightmare.

Craig would be
more like Thor, I think,

or The Incredible Hulk.

So, he's quiet, reserved, and
then he turns into beast mode.

[spirited music on piano]

RUSSELL:
I'm a visual artist. I paint.

It started like when
I was very young.

I was around seven.

My childhood was like
the hood, street life,

foster homes and stuff,
ya know what I mean.

So then, once I started
running away from them,

it was like the streets
became like your family.

I was about 20 when
I first went to jail.

I was like 26 or so
when I went upstate.

Jesse had a lot of drugs,
more than what I had,

and I did more time
than he did.

I got a 5-to-10
in which I did 7.

We talked about that, but
we don't go heavy into it.

He know, and we know.
We just know.

It's just the reality of it,
you know what I'm sayin'?

When I first walked in,

it was just
all you see was like

mad Black people.
And I was thinking like, damn!

They locking up
a lot of Black people,
and that's one jail.

So, just imagine all the jails
in Pennsylvania.

Then you've got jails
all over the United States.

[cell door slam shut]

One day, I went to the yard,
and the wall's like

real, real big,
you know what I'm sayin'?

When the sun set, the horizon,
you can't see it.

So, the wall kinda
killed my spirit,

and I like ain't
go out for a year.

'Cause I had nothing.

Zero money on the books,
zero visits.

And being like in
the foster homes and stuff,

I never had no real family.

You just ain't
have that support.

I would just watch the block,
and I would just watch

how everybody was moving.

'Cause it's like a machine.

It's a dark machine, too.

That's why the art became
important, 'cause it was

like a focus,
and it was like an escape.

*

I did it all day.

All day, every day.

The goal was
learn art, do art,

get outta the street life,

get outta the prison life.

[music swells]

JESSE: All right.

I think the best way
to start is to just

put the whole top row in,
and we'll go 13 down to 1.

-WOMAN: Okay.
-Yeah, they're numbered funny.

The system I developed was
like, in the process, so.

How many times have you
put this all together?

Not very many, right?

No. I've laid it out
on the floor a lot.

WOMAN: Yeah.

[laughter]

Well, I was actually on
like a 40-foot scaffolding

-just the other day,
installing a mural, so.
-Oh!

This is kind of
what I do every day!

-Is that with
the Mural Project?
-Yeah.

Wow.

[gentle piano music]

JESSE:
You can see marks from the tiles

on the desk that I worked on.

It's almost like
these little crosshairs.

That I always found
really interesting

'cause it was like the trace
of the actual prison.

I used the size of that
desk as kind of my guideline.

*

[hammering echoes]

Coming home without
this body of work

and without having
something to kind of

represent my experience,

I mean, I wouldn't be able
to really talk about it

in the way that I'm able
to talk about it now.

-I think that's pretty good.
-Yeah.

JESSE:
I'm actually surprised

with how well it lined up
and connected

versus what I thought
it was going to do.

I thought it would be
a little bit more disconnected

in the horizon line.

I'm really happy about it.

This is my first solo
exhibition of my work ever,

so I'm really proud
to have it,

especially in the state
that had me in prison.

So, that feels really good to
have it at a major university

in the same state.

We're the state university,
you know?

-Yes.
-So, that--

I like that. [laughs]

It kind of let me know
that I was able

to accomplish something.

[music slowly fades
into wind, birdsong]

So, what do you think
we're gonna catch over here?

JESSE'S SON:
I hope we don't catch
a big catfish like last time.

JESSE:
That was a massive
catfish, wasn't it?

SON: Yeah.

JESSE:
We'll have to call
Grandma over to get it off

if you get one like that.

SON:
Yeah.

-See, it's a fishing rod?
-Oh, look.

You can see the
whole way to the bottom.

Yeah! There's little fish.

That's where we're
gonna go, right there.

JESSE:
e has no idea I was in prison.H

-Is it on?
-Almost.

Whoa! [laughs]

You got a worm in the face!

His mother
brought him in to see me

when he was first born,
when I was in
Dauphin County,

and that was the only time
I ever saw him

while I was incarcerated.

SON: Right there.

Ah, yeah, you can see 'em.
Hold on.

I saw him again
for the first time

when I was in
the halfway house.

[giggles]

-What kinda fish is that?
-Uh...

JESSE:
I got a pass to go to
the zoo to meet him.

Interesting place to meet
your son for the first time.

Walking around
a bunch of caged animals

after coming home from prison.

All right!

SON: There.

He was like, "Get offa me!"

[Jesse laughs]

JESSE: I remember not
knowing how to treat him.

-You wanna throw him back?
-Yeah.

JESSE:
He very immediately
felt like my son,

but also felt like
someone else's kid.

SON: Yes!
This is where big fish are.

JESSE:
His reaction was, like,
at first a little shy

and kind of clung to Mom,

like when we first met
outside of the zoo.

-SON: Finger. Bleeding!
-JESSE: It'll be Okay.

JESSE:
It's important that he knows
that I'm there now,

ust showing up and being therej
as much as I can.

[indistinct French chatter]

[traffic roars,
bright music begins]

[subway squeals]

*

JESSE: I wasn't allowed
to go outside at all.

-PATRON: Lights?
-Nothing.

-No sunlight, no fresh air.
-No sunlight.

For a year.

This work was very meditative,

so it allowed me to disconnect

from all that kind of,
that dangerous environment.

It had that element
of game and chance,

and the soap has
this latent kind of language

of purity and sanitization

and washing oneself
of one's sins.

[stirring piano
and string music]

It's pretty amazing to think
that I was just in prison

a little over a year ago.

It's nice to have this work
that was hidden and created

in solitary confinement
having a chance to speak.

But it feels very...

very empowering to be here.

*

I had to write a letter
to my probation officer

to go to Paris.

And he told me
he supports me going,

but he had to get approval
from his boss.

And then they had to go in
front of a United States judge

to get approval for me
to leave the country.

You know,
I'm going home tomorrow,
and as of right now,

I don't have a job
waiting for me.

o it's a little bittersweet inS
the sense that, you know,

this is a great opportunity,

but now I have
to kind of go back to reality

after being here
and try to find work.

[echoing footsteps]

You can tell how old
these paints are because

they don't actually come
out of the tube. [chuckles]

But I think the one thing
you learn in prison is to

not waste your materials.

So, I've had most of these
paints since...

before prison.

I haven't really
bought any new materials.

I try to buy as, um...

the least amount
of new materials as possible,

so I just use the old,
crappy paint that I have

and try to make it stretch.

The deck's stacked against you
when you come home,

and there are days
when I feel depressed.

Being out here
and not having money,

it's kind of like
still being in prison.

Your liberty and your freedom
is dependent upon money

in a lot of ways.

I moved in with
a friend of mine.

I'm not paying rent
right now until I figure out

what I'm gonna do.

Since working with
Mural Arts was temporary,

I need to find a job.

I've applied for
a lot of positions,

and I've gotten
a lot of interest.

However, my record stops me
from getting a lot of jobs

that I think
I'm well-suited for.

So, I'm free, but I'm not
really free in the sense

that other people are.

They still have
their hooks in you.

So, even right now,
I'm on supervision.

o there's this kind of tensionS
that you always feel,

where the tiniest little thing
can send you back to prison.

It's just this looming
thing over you.

I started drinking.

I started smoking
cigarettes again.

It's easy to fall back
into old behaviors.

*

CASHIER: $39.29.

-And did you want any cash back?
-No, thank you.

I can feel myself getting
agitated and more reckless.

And I can feel that kind of
tension creeping back in

that existed before
I went to prison.

*

[music slowly fades]

I was trying my best to get
Lead Artist positions,

apply for fellowships,
get grants,

and nothing
was really panning out.

And so, it was just
a real constant struggle.

I felt really worn down.

[dark guitar music]

One night,
I ended up going out

in Lancaster with a friend.

I got pretty drunk,
and when I walked outside,

there was a cop
standing out there.

And he said that I stumbled,
and he arrested me

for public drunkenness.

It felt like the thousands
of nightmares that I've had

since I've come home
from prison,

here I wake up in a jail cell.w

It felt like
everything was lost.

First on my mind
was just how royally
I fucked up with my son.

How, if they violate me,
and I don't get to see him

this weekend, that I've
already established

a relationship with him.

And then now, this feels
like an insane betrayal.

Particularly after going
through what I went through.

[soft music playing]

These aren't things that
are just magically fixed.

These are things that
are a part of you forever.

Waking up in the jail,
I didn't have the expectation

that I was going to get off.

Everything that I had been
working towards for years

was about to just vanish.

I was violated
and going back to prison.

Before I could even
call my probation officer,

he called me.

Instead of violating me,
he ended up recommending

that I go to counseling.

[soft music fades]

The only other person
that I told was Craig.

RUSSELL:
We was going out after that.

He's like, "I can't.

I gotta chill
'cause I got locked up."

And I was like,
"All right, word."

And I just be supportive of
it like, "You got through

"that shit, you understand.

"So, let's not fuck up again
'cause if you do,

it'll prove whoever tryna
take you down right."

[indistinct chatter]

And so, it was like,
"We need to go back to work."

And it was just art, art, art.
It's always art, art, art.

JESSE: You know,
we just had a conversation
where it was like,

"We got too much good shit
going on to throw it away

for this kinda stuff.
Get back in shape."

[bright, energetic
electronic music]

[whispers]:
That should work.

*

Got it.

[music continues]

Whoo!
Look who made the book.

There it is!

*

-MAN: Did you meet these guys?
-JESSE: Jesse, nice to meet you.

These are the guys
from "Philly Voice."

So, yeah, we were
thinking that we would do

the portrait shot first.

[camera clicks]

PHOTOGRAPHER:
You wanna maybe
smile a little bit?

Awesome.

So this exhibit, did the gallery
come to you for this?

JESSE:
No, it kind of it was
a mutual thing.

So the curator, Julie Courtney,

we had been planning
to do a show,

but we didn't have
a place to do one yet.

And she went out to lunch
with someone from here,

and they were very open
to having her come in

and curate the show here.

Do you think your life
would've shaped up this way
had you not gone to prison?

Like, do you look back on that
and think maybe that was like

a meant-to-be kinda situation?

I do, actually.
Prison really focused me.

I think it really made me
angry and kind of resentful

while I was in there.

But rather than get depressed
and then get down on myself,

I used that as like fuel
and this unending source of

drive and energy
to make more work.

Because I saw the power
and kind of self-worth

that it was giving to me.

Like, the level of drive that
that instilled in me is just,

it's non-stop, so.

Eventually, I feel like
would like to relax a little.I

But, yeah, I feel
a tremendous social weight

has been placed on me.

-Hey, how are you?
-Good!

JESSE:
You know, I still have tons
of friends who are in there.

Yeah, for the first year,
pre-sentence...

So, maybe one day I'll
slow down and relax a little,

but right now,
it's just non-stop.

[upbeat piano music]

My documentary will explore
the trauma-to-prison pipeline,

the effects of trauma
on the brain,

restorative justice,
and re-entry.

Storytelling
can create empathy,

and empathy can
move people to act.

My project will allow
an audience to know

and, hopefully,
empathize with those of us

who have made
tragic mistakes.

One of the things that really
burned itself into my brain

when I was incarcerated
was having a woman's body

going through the system
and losing authorship,

losing authority
over that body.

And so, I just was really
interested in this idea of

the dehumanization of the body
as a result of incarceration.

The first project is the
"Inmate Activity Book."

It started out as like a joke.

It was a friend of mine
who was doing Fed time,

and so I was sending him
funny drawings,

basically, is how this started.

We printed a couple editions,
and the feds like confiscated

whole runs of this book.

Okay, so, they say--
she likes it.

[laughter]

While I was in
grad school in 2012,

I was wrongfully incarcerated.

I came up with this little idea
of bringing my experience

to the space that I was in.

RUSSELL:
We provide formerly
incarcerated artists

from different disciplines
$20,000 apiece:

10 for your pocket,
10 for your project

to create, like, art.

And providing an opportunity
to put their talent out there

to show the world this talent.

JESSE: It's work that
needs to be in MoMA.

It's work that needs
to be in the Whitney.

And it's work that
no one knows about.

WOMAN:
Sherrill has the best
kicks out of all of you.

Okay.

[indistinct chatter]

*

[birds chirping]

JESSE:
So, I started getting
a couple bigger projects.

I was the lead artist
on the Voices Project,

which was a big project
here in Philadelphia

hrough the Mural Arts program.t

That was definitely
the biggest check
that I've gotten

to lead a project.

And then I found out
that I got selected

for the Rauschenberg
Fellowship.

Hi.

And then
the Art for Justice grant

was really the thing
that solidly

put me
back up on my feet.

So, I was feeling much more
financially secure, I mean,

for the first time
since I've been home.

[music slowly fades]

[cat meows]

This is a first edition
Foucault,

"Discipline and Punish."

But the thing that's really
interesting about it,

it's actually called,
well, I'll murder it,

but it's basically
"Surveillance and Punish,"
right?

And so, I was wondering,
like, what happened
in the translation

where they switched
to "discipline"?

Because it's a very
different connotation.

[ethereal electronic music]

[geese calling]

SON:
I betcha my shoes are
gonna smell like cow poop.

-[Jesse laughs]
-I hate cow poop!

JESSE: You probably
already smell like poop.

SON:
I do not smell like poop!

JESSE:
When's the last time
you showered?

SON:
Not yesterday, but the day
before yesterday.

JESSE:
Okay. That's pretty good.

SON:
I bet you the police
are gonna catch us!

JESSE:
You think?

I feel great
about being a father.

Yeah, but, you know,
I still wish I could do more.

We should transfer this one.

I wanna show you
how to do a transfer.

With [strains] hand sanitizer.

Like, I'm still
in Philadelphia.

He still lives in Lancaster.

I only see him
every other weekend,

and so there's parts
of that that's like...

I don't know.
I don't know how you fix that.

I definitely don't wanna
move back to Lancaster.

So, that's not the best idea,

and I don't think that
would be good for anyone.

So, I'd be there more,
but I'd be miserable.

I like that technique. [laughs]

[whispers]: Beautiful!

Oh, look.
That little smoke piece
didn't transfer.

-Yeah, some of it did.
-Oh, yeah. Some of it did.

And the spots look cool
because then

it's like
a woodpecker pecked it.

-Yeah.
-Like a bird.

*

I wonder if I can come back
at night and, like,

rip that out by the roots!

You gotta see
what's under there.

It's interesting that some
of the branches are like this,

and then some of them are roots.

The fact that you
can't tell the difference

between opposite ends
of the spectrum, right?

Whether it's a branch
or it's a root system,
like, either way,

it's still like
an interconnected system.

And so, like, there
is no top or bottom.

That's basically
what the whole idea
of the show is about.

[drill whirs]

I wasn't prepared for how
difficult it was going to be

to be taken seriously
as an artist

versus just viewed
as a prison artist.

I mean, this guy needs
some love anyway.

I think in 2016, I had
went up to New York to show

"Apokaluptein"
at the United Nations.

There you go.
Blow it real light.

Go ahead.

And one day,
me and Julie Courtney
walked to Chelsea

because we wanted
to see the shows,

and Julie just
walked into a gallery.

And she came back out,
and she's like,

"Oh, you really
need to come in here.

"You need to meet Barry.
He owns the gallery.

He's interested to meet you."

And then after talking,
showing him my work,

he took me on
as the first artist

that he's represented
as a gallery.

I feel like I've been able to
se my privilege, my education,u

and my networks to build
something that is sustainable.

But the thing that's
kind of frustrating to me
is that people

who have been in prison

who are super,
exceptionally talented artists

are not getting projects,
not getting platforms,

in the top-tier
contemporary art sphere.

And, I mean,
t's slowly starting to happen,i

but they're missing
the value that someone

who has been through this
experience can contribute.

One in three people
has a criminal record.

And so, that is
a clear signal to me

that there is a whole pool
of wasted talent,

not just in the prison system,

but people who have
since come home.

[serene piano music]

RUSSELL:
There's so much against you.

And I'm seeing
more and more now how...

difficult things are.

It's always like
a challenge every day.

In prison, you're sought after,
you know what I mean?

Here, it's a dime a dozen,
know what I mean?

And that, that's the sad truth.

But we trying to prosper,
and we not going back.

At least we're gonna do
verything in our power not to.e

O:
I'm just gonna
keep making art.

And as frustrating as it is
not to sell a lot of paintings ,

you gotta block that out.

So, the next step for me
is just to keep painting.

*

Actually, today...

Yeah, so, today
makes five years

since I was
released from prison.

So, I've now
officially been home...

longer than I've been in?

And my exhibition's
opening tomorrow,

the day after I came home?

It's all good shit.

[soulful guitar music]

Ow, ow.
That's hard to open.

[lid pops off]

Early celebration,
calming mechanism,
a lot of things.

*

There were a couple people
who said they couldn't make it.

MAN: Like who?

O. So, O said
the hurricane messed up

all of his travel stuff.

It was all kind of
last-minute anyway.

He lives in South Carolina.

It's a pretty big ask to have

someone come up to New York

for a night to see a show.

What's up?
How you doing?

A ton more fruits.

-Thank you for coming.
-Yeah, no problem.

Aw, shit! Cano!

What's up, baby?
How you feeling?

-What's going on? I'm good.
-Yeah?

-Yeah, yeah, yeah.
-Look who I bring with you.

-Hey!
-See? Somehow.

I got you. I got you.
I got you.

Somehow, I knew he
was gonna be here.

I got the text, and I was
like, that shit's fake!

-That's fake.
-[laughs]

-What's up, my brother?
-You can't bullshit me.

-I know. I tried.
-[laughs]

I thought I would get you.

[indistinct chatter]

[light guitar playing]

*

JESSE:
I was like, where the fuck?

RUSSELL:
You even saw me
when I first came in.

-Yeah, I did. I did.
-Come get a drink with us.

-Late, though, late!
-[laughs]

-It was a nice turnout
and everything.
-It was great, man.

It's better than I--

and I was like,
I ain't know this poppin'

-more than that other joint.
-Yeah, for sure.

So, the glass
is actually blown into
those structures, right?

Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

-WOMAN:
And then these are epoxy?
-That's actually plastic.

-WOMAN: Yeah?
-So, those are digital.

WOMAN: It's a transfer,
like you were doing before.

JESSE: Kind of, yeah.

-This is amazing!
-Thank you.

-Are you happy with it?
-I am.

I'm incredibly happy.

-It's ah-mazing!
-Yeah.

So, these are all natural roots.

And then I got the very
cliché artificial plants

and attached them on
and melted the plastic

and formed it and painted it

so they all look as
seamless as possible.

-CANO: Presentation.
-Yeah? Yeah, yeah.

Feeling this big time.
I'm feeling this big time.

-Got the flowers going on.
-[laughs]

I thought you'd
like the flowers.

-I was like, this is Cano.
-Yeah!

I remember when we were
talking shit the one day.

You're like,
"Sometimes a motherfucker

-just wants to paint flowers."
-[laughs] Oh.

I was like, yeah. I get it.

I need this picture, too.

*

[birds chirping]

[tranquil guitar music]

JESSE:
I'm not ashamed about

being in prison at all.

don't think anyone should be.I

You know? I made a mistake.

I'm not a bad person.

It doesn't make you
a bad person.

Everyone likes to just be
these simple narratives

and classifications
because it's safe.

But people are complicated
and more nuanced than that.

*

Some of them are
probably living,

so you shouldn't
break them off.

Well, this one's dead.
Can I break this?

-Nah.
-Come on!

-No, no breaking trees.
-It's dead!

[soft piano playing]

JESSE:
I feel pretty good.

But at the same time,
it's bittersweet.

Because, you know,
I'm here, but yet,

I think about
a lot of the people
who are still in prison,

who aren't going home...

at least not any time soon.

*

[energetic,
uplifting piano music]

*