"Letras hechas a mano": New Writing Workshop and a Painting Class Behind Bars

This past summer I returned to Mérida to launch a new writing workshop in the new U.S.-funded women’s prison (CERESOFE), along with the writer and prison educator Zindy Abreu Barón. The workshop, which runs from September 2018-June 2019, is called “Letras hechas a mano,” (“Handmade Letters”) because after the women finish writing and workshopping their texts, we will print and bind the books ourselves using a donated letterpress. While Zindy is leading the workshop in my absence, we talk on a weekly basis about its process and I send texts to be read and to serve as inspiration for the womens’ writing.

Zindy loves to bring guest artists, writers and painters to her prison workshops, and so while I was there I attended a visit by the local Mérida- based artist Manuel May Tilán. The following is a transcription of the notes I took on the day of their visit to the women’s prison, 25 June 2018.

We arrive in the common area around noon. The heat at this time of year in Mérida is oppressive-today it reaches 35 degrees Celsius-and we ask to turn on the air conditioner, but are told it’s being fixed, and no air circulates.

Maestro Manuel Tilán unpacks paints, brushes, and canvasses that he has brought from his own studio. Zindy pulls out sodas and chips that she and I purchased on the way. Classes here are taught for free, and supplies and refreshments are brought by teachers on a donation basis. Why are the costs of education not covered in the prison budget? I find myself wondering for what feels like the hundredth time.

The guards are trained to observe stricter rules here than in the men’s prison. They have the women sit each with an empty chair in between them, and they all walk in a single file when they enter and leave the room. I am told that they spend more hours locked in their individual cells here than in the other prison. They also wear uniforms here—identical black polo shirts and khaki pants—rather than dress in their own clothing, which can include the huipil or local white, loose fitting dress with flowered embroidery at the hem and collar.

As we sit down to prepare the art table for the inmates’ arrival, I notice that time passes more slowly here inside the prison walls than it does elsewhere. I remember Zindy telling me “no puedes conectarte con el dolor de ellas. A veces sí me conecto con él. Tienes que ser fuerte y recorder el propósito de por qué estás aquí.” (“You can’t let yourself connect with their pain. Sometimes I do feel connected with it. You have to be strong and remember the reason for why you’re here.”)

To make up for the lack of air conditioning, two fans are turned on at full blast, making the papers fly. Two female guards stand near us, silently watching the proceedings and listening to everything that is said.

Because I can’t take photos--my phone was retained at security--I try to take mental pictures of everything that occurs, everything I see…. White walls. The blinding sun outside on the grass. Neutral hallways. Whirring fans. The women have arrived and are seated around the table, their polos an incongruous black in the languorous tropical heat. Celina, Yesenia, Grisell*…..

Manuel steps from behind an easel in a dapper straw hat. He asks us to write our name, the name of the relative we feel closest to, and to draw our favorite flower, favorite animal, favorite city, and the colors of our favorite city- a therapeutic exercise that promotes connection. I perform it alongside the women and feel myself relaxing and connecting to far-away loved ones as I do so. Without benefit of the internet we draw from memory; representation of the outside world here is peripheral, woven of projection and conjecture. For the second exercise Manuel tells us that from the moment we learn to write the alphabet we learn to draw. He teaches us to use letters-U’s, V’s, W’s, S’s-to create flower shapes.

At the end of the lesson Manuel passes out blank canvasses and paints- over the next few weeks the women will produce their own original artwork. Below is one of the finished works produced in the workshop, courtesy of a photo by Zindy Abreu Barón- the only one I could find.

I am grateful to Zindy, Manuel, Francisco, the prison direction and above all the female inmates of the women’s prison for allowing me to participate in this class.

*I’ve changed names for the sake of confidentiality.