Peter Merts
I always expect to get something out of the interviews I conduct and usually have a good idea of what to expect. When I approached Peter Merts about collaborating on one after taking home CENTER’s 2021 Social Award for his project, Incarcerated Artists, I didn’t know that I would be pleasantly surprised that I got so much more this time around. Of course, it is also my goal that anyone else reading this will experience the same rush and feeling of positivity. And it’s precisely that one word, positivity, that spells out the work ethic, process, and photography that Peter creates.
Inspirational might be another word for what can be found here, though it almost seems like it’s not accurate enough. Peter’s work has taken on different forms over the years, but it is his long-term work of photographing California prison inmates that is simply profound. Many assumptions and pre-conceived ideas are often made about the incarcerated, and it is with this work that we get some insight into a world that creates positive change for them. And this, in turn, makes us realize how taking the proper steps forward with creating art can have lasting results for anyone. It is through Peter’s documentation that we all learn and prosper. Is it any wonder that he received recognition from CENTER (and others) for his efforts? So with that, let’s take a look at what a long-term project can be and should be from the mind of someone who betters us all through with his photography. My hats off to you, Peter.
Carving a linoleum block for printing, at San Quentin State Prison.
Bio -
Peter has been a photographer for 40 years, focusing on documentary, portrait, and fine art projects. His work has appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Economist, The Huffington Post, Newsweek Online, the Los Angeles Review of Books, Grazia (France), Pozytyw (Poland), La Fotografia Actual (Spain), The Independent (UK), Geo Saisson (Germany), and The Buenos Aires Herald.
For the past 15 years, Peter has documented California’s Arts in Corrections program—both as a volunteer, and under contract with the California Arts Council. He has photographed in all 36 of California’s adult state prisons, visiting over 120 art classes. Peter serves on the advisory board of the Prison Arts Collective, a provider of prison arts programming.
Peter co-published, with Dr. Larry Brewster, the book Paths of Discovery: Art Practice and Its Impact in California State Prisons (now in its 2nd edition). In the spring of 2022, he will publish a monograph of his prison art photographs with Daylight Books.
Peter was selected for the 2020 Critical Mass Top 50 and won the 2021 CENTER Social Award.
Interview -
Michael Kirchoff: I'm delighted to have this chance to learn more about you and your work, Peter. Thanks for joining me. Let's start with what it was that first lured you into the photographic arts. Was there a particular event or mentor of any kind that helped usher you into this field?
Peter Merts: Michael, thank you for the opportunity to ruminate over my photography; I expect to learn something!
My foundation in photography was established with my dad, who was a hobbyist; during my high school years, he introduced me to black and white processing and printing. However, a serious pursuit didn’t begin until fifteen years later when I was working for Bread & Roses (now Bread & Roses Presents), a non-profit organization in my county that provides free entertainment to institutionalized populations. One day while hosting a belly dance troupe’s performance in a nursing home I noticed how gleeful and appreciative the seniors were about the colorful, sinuous, jingling dancers. I thought to myself, “This is amazing; someone should be documenting this!” Since that day forty years ago, I have been continuously engaged in one or more photo projects. Bread & Roses immediately began using my photos in newsletters and for fundraising, which was quite motivating.
In the early years I took a number of photography courses through the extension program at the University of California—Berkeley; one of my instructors was French photographer Michelle Vignes, who became a long-term supporter of my work. Her appreciation and guidance helped sustain me through periods of self-doubt.
MK: What is your primary objective in photography?
PM: Early in my career I discovered the satisfaction of long-term projects; mine have run from five to fifteen years. Looking back over the arc of my career to date, I notice that most of my projects fall into one of two categories—introspective fine art projects and documentary/advocacy projects that serve my community. An example of the former is my project Solitude: Lost and Found in the Landscape; for the latter, see my work for Bread & Roses.
I would say therefore, that my dual objectives in photography are to learn more about myself and to advocate for programs that serve my community; oscillation between these two poles appears to be a core part of my process.
MK: Do you study what others are doing and find their influence in your image-making?
PM: I do look at the work of other photographers, though I believe the experience yields more in the way of inspiration than aspiration.
The first photographer who really got my attention was Cartier-Bresson. Looking at my modest library of photo books, I see others whose work I have admired at different points: Koudelka, Keith Carter, Sally Mann, and Pentti Sammallahti. I love the humor of Elliott Erwitt, and the activism of Eugene Smith.
Quite some time ago I trained and then worked as a docent at the Friends of Photography gallery in San Francisco (no longer extant, unfortunately). I would study new exhibitions and then give tours to the public, and that effort led me to appreciate some photographers that I otherwise would not have given a second glance.
Portrait session, in the art studio at San Quentin State Prison.
Puppeteer Jonathan Kidder entertains a sick child; from the Bread & Roses portfolio.
Visual arts class at Donovan State Prison.
Hip-hop dance class at Ironwood State Prison.
Gospel choir class at Valley State Prison.
MK: You recently took home the 2021 Social Award from CENTER for your work, Incarcerated Artists. What appears at first glance to be a strictly documentary project seems to be more of a collaborative effort in its execution. Can you tell us how this project came to be and if it's still ongoing?
PM: Earlier I mentioned Bread & Roses as the starting point of my photographic career. During my years documenting and advocating for their work, I photographed a number of their music concerts at San Quentin State Prison, which is near my home. One day I was photographing a Michael Franti concert there when Steve Emrick, who was then running the art program at San Quentin, approached and asked if I would be interested in photographing the art classes. That is how this project began. It is ongoing—or rather, I am planning a post-pandemic resumption as soon as in-person art classes resume and most participants can attend without masks.
You point out that some of my images suggest a collaboration with my subjects. This engagement happened over time, in response to a couple of factors.
Initially, I employed the same shooting style I had used for Bread & Roses—I photographed from a distance that I judged to be non-intrusive; I was looking in at each scene as an observer. However, this style soon seemed a poor fit for the mood of the art classrooms—which tend to be open, trusting, collaborative, and often playful. [Here I give a shout out to the teaching artists, who are responsible for establishing the classroom tone!]
I felt drawn to this upbeat energy; I wanted to participate rather than observe. More to the point, I wanted the viewers of my images to feel this positive energy. So I began to move in closer, and to explore the possibilities of collaboration with my subjects. Thankfully, the artists welcomed me in. I now regularly step into the midst of things during class. For theater and dance classes in particular, I feel like I’m dancing with the students as I flow with the energy and step lively to avoid collisions.
Whenever time and interest allow, at the end of a class I will offer to make portraits of the students. Since they know their families will be able to see the images, I generally get enthusiastic participation. The portraits are a great opportunity for collaboration—together, we decide how they will be portrayed.
The other factor that led me to a more collaborative shooting style was the reaction I sometimes get from members of the public, when I show them photos of prison arts programming. It boils down to some version of “they don’t deserve art classes”—which, besides missing the point, suggests that incarcerated people are incorrigible, irredeemable, or somehow less than human. Of course, research demonstrates that incarcerated people benefit greatly from art programs—but how do we elicit compassion and empathy for those locked away? My solution is to engage directly and almost intimately with these artists when I photograph them, to directly reveal emotions, moods, and personality. My goal is to illuminate their humanity.
Speaking of collaboration, let me take this opportunity to appreciate the people and organizations who have helped me with this project. I have been given unprecedented access to California’s prisons, thanks to the Department of Rehabilitative Programming at the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation. Likewise, I have been substantially supported by the California Arts Council (CAC), which administers the Arts in Corrections program. For fifteen months of this project, I was photographing under contract with the CAC; some of the images shown here appear courtesy of the CAC.
I have also worked closely with the program’s network of coordinating organizations—especially the William James Association and the Prison Arts Collective—which locally hire and manage the teaching artists.
Finally, I want to thank my onsite partners—the teaching artists certainly, but also the prison staff who have been great partners in the planning and execution of each shoot.
MK: These photographs of prison life are bright and vibrant and appear as more of a celebration than a sentence. Prisons and the incarcerated are often held in a dark and negative light, but you show us another side, which is rare. Were the methods to make these photographs planned out this way, or was it its own process?
PM: Most of the rooms where art classes are held have little or no natural light. The institutional lighting is dim, mostly fluorescent, and relentlessly overhead—resulting in scenes that are flat and muddy, and faces with inscrutably shadowed eyes. It makes everyone look—well, like criminals.
As mentioned before, my experience of these classes is just the opposite. There are good vibes and a busy, healthy industry; people are helping each other, laughing together, listening intently to the instructor. There is an air of agency and optimism. I want my photos to reflect this mood, so I boost the light in most scenes with two strobes on stands. With umbrellas, cords, light stands, etc. I have a pile of gear; I wheel it into and out of the prisons in a collapsible cart.
Adding light has the additional advantage of helping viewers to see and read the faces. One of my goals for this project is to disrupt the public’s conceptions of incarcerated people; by showing these artists interacting with mutual respect and authenticity, I hope to illuminate their humanity.
The style of lighting I use has changed over the course of this project. Initially I bounced strobes off the walls and ceilings; this gave a broad, shadowless light that is quite revelatory and makes colors pop. However, that style lacks drama and was becoming boring, so with the encouragement of some fellow photographers I have transitioned to direct lighting using umbrellas. It requires me to reposition the lights as I work the room, but results in images with more depth and drama.
Incidentally, if I have time during setup I gel my lights to match that of the ambient bulb lighting, which reduces background color casts.
Modern dance class at Central California Women’s Facility.
Origami class at San Quentin State Prison.
Guitar class at North Kern State Prison.
Theater class in the old chapel, at Folsom State Prison.
A playwriting student at RJ Donovan State Prison.
A percussion student at CTF Soledad State Prison.
MK: It does make sense that something like art therapy would benefit an inmate's mental health or rehabilitation. It certainly helps us outside of prison walls. Have you been able to watch substantial progress with any individuals and even perhaps seen them move forward after release because they participated in these classes?
PM: During the fifteen years I’ve done this work I have definitely seen transformations. One example is a man I’ll call “Allen”.
Allen is currently incarcerated at California Men’s Colony. While still in high school, Allen’s life began to go off the rails. His relationship with his parents went sour and he began running with a gang. One night, Allen and a few of these new friends assaulted a homeless person in Los Angeles. The man died, so at eighteen years old Allen—instead of starting his senior year of high school—went to prison for murder.
For his first few years in prison, Allen was unrepentant; he continued his gang affiliation on the inside. Visitation with his mother was awkward and unsatisfying for both of them. Eventually, Allen left the gang and turned his life around. He began taking education and self-help classes. He signed up for prison jobs, including one as a caretaker for a disabled fellow inmate. He re-established open, respectful, loving relationships with his mother and father. He will have his first parole hearing in early 2022, after 22 years in prison.
Allen attributes his turnaround to the prison men’s group he joined and to the art classes. In particular, Adam showed a talent for classical guitar and for creative writing; he credits his art instructors for seeing something valuable in him that he could not see himself.
I know of a number of men and women who are out of prison now and still work avidly on their art in spite of the massive challenges facing those rejoining free society. Some of them are now working for the same arts organization that brought them instruction inside prison. Others stay in touch informally with the instructors and organizations who taught them inside; they speak at prison reform conferences and give media interviews about their experiences with prison art programs. Against all odds, some recently released artists exhibit and sell their art.
MK: In your artist statement, you mention childhood trauma, and indeed our past dictates a considerable amount to our growth as an individual. How has trauma shaped both this project and you as a photographic artist?
PM: The trauma I experienced growing up resulted in a depressed and directionless young man. After years of floundering I got the professional therapy I needed; around the same time I discovered photography as a means for both exploration and expression. In the decades since, photography has become an essential part of my healing and my identity; more generally, I have come to recognize art as a powerful tool for introspection, empowerment, and transformation.
One specific way that my trauma impacted my photography is that, in response to the danger in my home, I developed a heightened sensitivity to people’s emotional states. This is useful when photographing people.
Many, if not most, incarcerated people have experienced childhood trauma. I think my own experiences with trauma have allowed me to appreciate the psychic damage that can be wrought, and have therefore rendered me more understanding and empathetic—especially toward those who were damaged as children. My own healing journey has also taught me the wisdom of asking for help and the value of forgiveness.
MK: Any exceptionally interesting stories from one of your shoots?
PM: The most embarrassing episodes I experienced during a prison shoot were my own fault. Once while rushing about, I tripped over my own light stand. Fortunately, I rolled when I hit the floor, cradling my camera to my chest. For a few moments I was the focus of the class.
Then I twice pulled over a light stand. As you can imagine, a 9-foot-tall light stand crashing to the floor during an art class will make an impression; fortunately, no one was hurt. I now move my lights more carefully and use heavier stands; I also make sure to keep my insurance up to date.
The most poignant episode occurred not during an art class, but months afterward. Norton Buffalo, master of the blues harmonica, held a one-day instructional workshop with some of the musicians at San Quentin. He drove three or four hours from his home, conducted the workshop as an unpaid volunteer, then drove another three or four hours to get home. Norton was a gracious, generous, respectful instructor. At one point to demonstrate a particular throat technique, he went separately to each student in the class. As he blew a riff, he invited each student to place a hand on his throat, to feel the vibrations of his vocal structure. As people in prison generally don’t touch each other, it was a rare moment of consensual intimacy between Norton and each student; Norton’s offered vulnerability in the moment seemed like a gift. We didn’t know it at the time, but Norton was ill the day he gave that workshop; months later he passed away from cancer.
Some may find it remarkable that I have not witnessed any violence or threat of violence in the roughly 140 prison art classes I have visited. In fact, the men and women value these classes so highly—some of them call the art room their “sanctuary”—that they avidly police themselves for any behavior that might interrupt the program.
I was once in a printmaking class at San Quentin—one of the few California prisons that allows the use of cutting tools—when one of the artists asked the room, “Hey, who has the #3 cutter?” When no one replied, the room collectively caught its breath; loss of a strictly inventoried steel cutting tool would shut the program down for a month or more. After a nervous search the missing cutter was found on a table, under a sheet of paper. There was an almost-audible sigh of relief, and people returned to carving their linoleum blocks.
Blues harmonica master Norton Buffalo demonstrates a throat technique at San Quentin State Prison.
MK: Is there a long-term goal for Incarcerated Artists?
PM: I would love for these images to have a positive impact on prison reform policy. In fact, I have been told that an earlier book I co-published with Dr. Larry Brewster did have such an effect. Paths of Discovery: Art Practice and Its Impact in California Prisons (2nd ed.) includes my photographs of prison art classes; the artwork and writings of, and interviews with, incarcerated artists; a summary of the research showing the abundant, cost-effective benefits of prison art programs; and a brief history of California’s Arts in Corrections program (virtually all of the prison arts classes I have photographed are part of AIC).
It has been said that Paths of Discovery was influential in persuading the California legislature to resume funding of Arts in Corrections, some years after the program was completely defunded as a result of the Great Recession. For anyone working in advocacy photography, this kind of result is the ultimate payoff.
Of equal importance is my desire that these photographs will illuminate the humanity of incarcerated people and bring comfort and hope to the artists and their loved ones.
MK: Anyone working in an artistic field has matured and grown over time. Is there anything you've discovered lately that you'd like people to know about you or your creative process?
PM: This may be true for most artists, but it’s important for me to keep learning—about both myself and my craft. I love to step toward the unknown with every new project.
I typically like for a new project to be very different from any recent ones. This helps me to let go of former concepts, methods, and styles, allowing me to develop these afresh. For example, my last major project prior to Incarcerated Artists was called Solitude: Lost and Found in the Landscape. It was shot on black and white film across multiple continents, has an introspective point of view, and contains a lot of nature and absolutely no people. It’s very different from Incarcerated Artists.
The level of collaboration—both within and beyond the photo sessions—I’ve embraced with this current project has been enlightening. Photography can be a lonely pursuit but does not have to be. I have become immersed in the society of prison arts programming and penal reform and I can report that it is a warm, intelligent, sustaining community.
I would be remiss not to mention here my technique for addressing creative blocks and conundrums. When I get stuck on an artistic or personal issue, I take a walk. A long one, in nature if possible, often with a paper and pen. These questions you posed set me off on several treks.
Handrail into surf, from the Solitude portfolio.
Tank and hills, from the Solitude portfolio.
MK: What steps do you pursue to find an audience for your photographs?
PM: For this project, the audience closest to my heart are the family members of the incarcerated artists. Some of them have told me how important these photos are to them—especially those who live far away or are otherwise unable to visit their incarcerated loved ones. So before I begin photographing any art class, I hand each student a slip of paper containing my website url and the click sequence to find the photos; I instruct them to pass the info to their loved ones on the outside.
Edited photos from the shoot are posted within a week or two after the shoot; families are allowed to freely copy and use the images. I also make unlimited prints available to the families, at cost. Prison rules forbid my giving anything to the student artists themselves; this scheme is my workaround.
I also give these images to the prison teaching artists and the arts organizations that employ them, to the California Arts Council, and to the Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation. Likewise, I distribute the images for use in articles, films, text books, blogs, websites, exhibitions, and slideshows pertaining to prison reform and social justice. They have appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Huffington Post, The Economist, the Los Angeles Review of Books, and elsewhere.
Incidentally, I ask the instructors to inform their class at least a week in advance of each photo shoot. This allows the students to consider in advance whether they want to be photographed (occasionally one or two will demur) and allows them to plan for hair and clothing (wardrobe choices are limited!) for shoot day. This advance notice is particularly useful for visual artists, because we ask them to bring on shoot day any completed work they have in their cell. If the artist desires, I photograph these paintings, drawings, prints, sculptures, etc. and post the reproductions on my website for their families to see. Some artists obtain these prints of their art from a family member, then show them proudly during parole hearings.
Lately, I’ve been seeking audiences for this work outside its home habitat of prison reform and social justice circles; to this end I participate in portfolio reviews and submit my work to photo competitions and publications.
MK: In speaking to future generations of photographers, do you have any words of wisdom to those setting out to make their mark in the photographic world?
PM: First of all, I recommend finding a project that will make a mark on the photographer themselves. Only projects that have deep resonance will be sustainable over the long haul. The right project develops its own momentum and confers a certain authority to the photographer.
Secondly, consider a project that will leave a positive mark on your community. Or on some community to which you don’t yet belong.
Thirdly, seek feedback from knowledgeable, reliable people on how to improve your project, and how to get it seen. Portfolio reviews by experts or even peers are great for this.
And finally, don’t give up! If you have been told by people accomplished in photography that your project is worthwhile, that it needs to be seen—then push through the rejections that will inevitably come your way, and keep trying. I received a lot of rejections before landing opportunities to show Incarcerated Artists.
A mask-making class at High Desert State Prison.
A theater exercise at Ironwood State Prison.
Aztec dance class at Substance Abuse Treatment Facility.
Theater students create an improv tableau about motherhood, at California Institution for Women.
A theater student applies his makeup, at California State Prison Sacramento.
MK: A final question. How do you see your work progressing into the future? Do you have anything new you are currently working on that we should be on the lookout for?
PM: I will likely continue with this project for a while; I think there is untapped potential. My photos are still useful in the prison arts community, and I feel compelled to further explore collaborative portraits. After a fifteen-month hiatus from visiting prisons, I just renewed my California prisons security credentials.
I will take this opportunity to announce that I am publishing a monograph of these photos with Daylight Press; it is scheduled for release in the spring of 2022. The working title is Ex Crucible: The Passion of Incarcerated Artists.
I’m also thinking of creating books from some of my older projects. Top of mind are the photos I made on Little Cumberland Island, a wild and isolated island off the coast of Georgia where my parents had a vacation home in their later years. My current plan is to include my landscape images as well as snapshots of my family on the island.
I am currently working on one other project. I love walking in nature and live in a beautiful area just north of San Francisco. I meander in the hills here quite often and have dreamed of doing a photo project related to these jaunts. I haven’t yet figured out my point of view; it’s a work in progress. The working title is Foot Notes, as I’m working at this point with a handheld street photographer’s camera.
Michael, thank you so much for the opportunity to think and speak about my photography. It has been edifying!
You can find more of Peter's work on his website here.
All photographs, ©Peter Merts
