Escape Artist by William A. Noguera

Author:William A. Noguera
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: memoir about death row, living on death row, memoir about self-rehabilitation, memoir about life in prison, art as redemption, memoir about art and redemption, life in san quentin, life in maximum security prison, memoir about art in prison, san quentin memoir, prison memoir, memoir death row, artist memoir, artist in prison, memoir maximum security prison, painter memoir, painter in prison, convict memoir, painter on death row, artist on death row, san quentin artist, against death penalty, abolish death penalty
ISBN: 9781609807986
Publisher: Seven Stories Press
Published: 2018-01-11T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

San Quentin Death Row, 1989

Drawing always came naturally to me. I was determined to use it as my anchor to ground and protect me from the world inside San Quentin.

During my senior year in high school, I took an art class and learned a unique way to draw solely using dots. I don’t remember much about the class except this technique, and after so many years an idea formed. Using the set of technical pens the handicraft manager gave me, I experimented until I fully grasped the potential of the technique.

After only a month, I replaced working in graphite pencil with ink stippling, and when a potential buyer came to me for one of my pieces, I would show him and explain my unique way of drawing with only dots. It seemed to fascinate everyone who saw the drawings, and after only creating two of them for staff members of San Quentin, word spread about my work. I’ll admit, I didn’t believe my technique or my delivery was as clear as when I drew with graphite and regular pen. Nevertheless, the orders continued to come, to the point I was turning them down until I could catch up. That only seemed to put me in more demand. I raised my prices and was still a year behind. I had a real sense of accomplishment because my work was so sought after. No one at San Quentin sold their work solely through contracts as I did. The handicraft manager even suggested I reduce my prices, as she put it, “so everyone can afford to buy one.”

I wasn’t interested in her suggestions. If anything, I thought my prices were too low. But I wasn’t complaining. I had work. I was practicing and perfecting my voice and technique and being paid for it. I was also sending money home every month to help my family.

Most men here would be satisfied with that, but I wasn’t. That ambition, that sense of wanting to be heard, drove me forward. I didn’t want to merely “work for” someone. True, I needed to continue to get commissions to support myself, but what I truly wanted—what I thought of constantly—was the freedom to work for myself. As an artist, I wanted to create what I felt and needed to express, without limitation. I couldn’t do that while I spent most of my time working on commissions.

My solution to the problem, at least temporarily, was to make a personal expression book, where I drew and expressed myself fully, crossing into dark territory where my subconscious and vision became one.

Each night, I’d completely abandon myself to expression and the power I seemed to be able to invoke but not fully control. My time was limited, so for one hour each night I crossed over and worked. This, at least, was the plan. But often I didn’t stop until morning. Time ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was bringing my emotions to life.

Those drawings I showed to no one.

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