Article by Becky Fillinger, photos provided
A Discussion with Emily Baxter, Founder and Director, We Are All Criminals
SEEN, on exhibit at WAM until May 18, features currently (and one formerly) incarcerated artists in collaboration with artists, activists and academics in the Twin Cities community. The partnerships explore the issues of incarceration, isolation, healing and coming home. We talked to Emily Baxter, Founder and Director of We Are All Criminals, about the inspiration to create SEEN, the partnerships and the many organizations you may support that attempt to change the American carceral institutions.
Emily Baxter, photo by Barbara WestonQ: What inspired you to create SEEN, in collaboration with WAM, and how does it connect to the broader mission of We Are All Criminals?
A: We Are All Criminals began as a response to the hypocrisy I witnessed advocating on behalf of people with criminal records. Fifteen years ago, I was working at the Council on Crime and Justice and traveling all across the state, speaking to legislators, landlords and licensing boards, employers and educators about the need to create pathways to second chances for people who were impacted by the criminal and juvenile legal systems. Time and again I would hear: you can’t trust a con; once a criminal, always a criminal. This was often proclaimed by people I was damn sure had broken the law: it’s truly impossible to navigate this legal landscape for any appreciable amount of time (an adolescence, a college stretch, a year, a week, a day) without violating our ever-expanding federal, state, and municipal codes.
So I started collecting stories of people generous and self-aware enough to share stories of crimes committed for which they were not caught, examining with them the state and federal codes and broader social stigma that would stymie them from living the lives they now enjoyed; we explored how race and class privilege prevented them from being within the crosshairs of the criminal legal system; and we contrasted these stories with stories of former clients of mine (I’m a former public defender) as well as family, friends, colleagues, and mentors of mine who—without the shields of privilege, have been confined and defined by their criminal records.
I shared these stories – this research – across the nation, with the very people I had been trying to reach before (along with the broader public), and they were listening! Like truly listening, and changing policies and practices and perspectives through the work. I was so excited – but also, I knew that simply centering the voices of the people who “got away with it” wasn’t the overall goal. It was time to use the platform to amplify the voices and humanity of the people who were directly affected by the systems – namely, people in prison and jail, those with criminal records, and family members whose loved ones were incarcerated.
In 2019, I reached out to the Minnesota Prison Writing Workshop to see if they would be interested in collaborating on a project I was calling SEEN, a prison portrait and poetry series. They connected, and in some cases, reconnected me with authors in facilities across the state. I took portraits of the writers and collected the work they chose to share with broader audiences: poems of childhood, stories of genocide, and reflections on belonging.
The year before, in 2018, a dear friend and former WAAC board member, Ingrid Nuttall, had introduced me to Boris Oicherman, the then-Cindy and Jay Ihlenfeld Curator for Creative Collaborations. I helped advise on artist Danny Clifford McCarthy’s Section of Disapproved Books project at WAM, held a handful of We Are All Criminals’ office hours in the museum, and began brainstorming with Boris what bringing artists who are incarcerated into the space might look like.
Boris and I agreed that the work must be collaborative and inclusive. We didn’t want to create an extractive exhibit that only took from artists in prison, but something that would create community while unlocking access to the rich academic resources at the University. So, we decided to pair each participating artist with an artist, activist, or academic in the Twin Cities to explore the work together. We matched folks based on curiosities, interests, and artistry. For example, we paired Sarith Peou, a man who has survived war, genocide, the Killing Fields, Prison Island, refugee camp, and thirty years in a Minnesota prison - a lifetime of very little agency over his own body - with Carl Flink, the director of dance at the University - a choreographer who exercises and helps others exercise bodily intention and autonomy.
Q: Can you talk about the significance of the exhibit’s name - why SEEN?
A: Mass criminalization is dependent upon the ignoring and erasure of the people we cage. SEEN challenges that by bringing them back into view, back into our line of sight. Being seen as more than a conviction. Being seen despite being disappeared behind prison walls. Being seen means you feel connected, understood, and accepted. It’s reparative, dynamic, and powerful – you experience connection, understanding, and acceptance – three things that typically do not happen while isolated and alienated in prison.
Q: How does this exhibit challenge the way society views individuals with criminal records?
A: Our hope is that, as you walk through the exhibit, you see each artist – and, see yourself in them. And perhaps truly see yourself – in all your complexity and capacity for change.
Q: How did you select the incarcerated individuals featured in SEEN and their collaborators? Can you describe for us the process involved in bringing this monumental project to WAM?
A: I’ve been working closely with the Minnesota Prison Writers Workshop (MPWW) and the incredibly gifted writers inside Minnesota state prisons since 2019. It was through MPWW that I reconnected with artists I had met through my broader We Are All Criminals work, like Fong Lee and Jeff Young, and new-to-me artists like Von Johnson and Sarith Peou. My hope was that we could bring the outside artists into the prison to connect with their collaborators – so I opted for one facility to ease the administrative aspects of visiting. I reached out to several writers at Stillwater Correctional Facility, and seven responded saying that they would like to be a part of the exhibit. I then paired them with collaborators on the outside, and just as we were planning our first visit, COVID hit. The prisons were locked down – meaning programming and visitation ground to a halt. We continued the collaboration, primarily using me as a conduit for communication between the inside and outside artists. Since we first began this project, two artists have been transferred to Faribault, three to Moose Lake, and one has, happily, come home. Only one artist remains at Stillwater.
Artist Fong Lee with a museum visitor
Q: What were some of the most powerful or unexpected moments in the creation of this exhibit?
A: After a resentencing in 2022, Fong Lee came home eight years earlier than expected. Being in space with Fong in the Weisman galleries, sharing pho and cake with him in the community, and joining him and his SEEN collaborator, Kevin Yang, on a trip to Detroit to meet Fong and Bino’s families, were - at the outset of this effort - wildly beyond what we could have hoped for. Additionally, Fong and Kevin are collaborating on a number of projects - with SEEN being just one of them, and witnessing them create together is one of the greatest wishes and joys of this exhibit.
The joys continue, too. For example, on opening day, seeing family, friends, and community brave the snowy roads to celebrate the artists - inside and out - was something that will stay with me for a long time. Mothers gathered to hear their sons’ voices, people who had grown up together behind bars reuniting in a space of celebration, and artists drawing people closer to their installations to describe the processes and purpose of each detail - all together created an edifying, inclusive, and restorative day.
To our surprise and happiness, three inside artists - Von, Sarith, and Bino - were able to join us on opening day via Zoom. Rachel Raimist walked them through the exhibit as visitors offered words of congratulations and understanding. Also on the call were the artists’ family members who could not otherwise join us in the space: Von’s grandmother in Chicago, Bino’s sister in Florida, and Sarith’s cousins in France. At the end of the call, I brought the laptop into Bino and Diane’s When a Garden Becomes a Canopy of Verses installation so that we could sit amid the hyacinths, when Sarith said that for years, he was too ashamed for his family to see him while he was incarcerated, but that had recently begun to change with the development of the exhibit. His cousin leaned in closer to her camera and said, “There is no shame here. Just love. We see you and we love you.” Nearly everyone within earshot was crying.
Q: I am so happy for everyone involved that opening day brought these interactions and emotions! What role does the viewer play in engaging with SEEN? Were there intentional choices made to provoke introspection or interaction?
A: The viewer is an integral part of the exhibit. Their experience - interactions, introspections, contributions - are invited at each installation. Von and D.A. ask that visitors leave notes for loved ones separated by mass incarceration, and record messages to the artists on a prison phone; Fresh and Erin ask visitors to consider what belonging(s) looks like, and what you would take with you, if only given two small property bins in which to hold your life. Jeff and Korina ask that people contribute photographs of their own memorial tattoos, while considering the healing aspects of ink on skin and memory in our DNA; Fong and Kevin ask that visitors tie white string around each other’s wrists while welcoming them into the space.
There are ways to participate virtually, as well. For example, in response to B’s poem We Can’t Hear Ourselves Sing, which visitors can hear emanating from his chandelier of birdcages in the gallery or on the website, people are encouraged to call WAAC and record their own sounds of belonging to be added to the auditory community quilt that will be a part of the exhibit’s online presence.
Q: What do you hope visitors take away from SEEN after experiencing it?
A: A sense of shared humanity and urgent call for change.
Q: How can art and storytelling drive criminal justice reform more effectively than statistics or policy discussions?
A: The Reverend Jerry Hancock, in connection with a WAAC event, said, "Those of us that have been working for criminal justice reform have come to understand one very important thing: the power of art to change people’s minds. In some ways, it may be the only thing that does." We use narrative, photography, poetry, sculpture, film, and other media to teach people, and to inspire people to engage with their legislators, their employers, and others in their communities to create change. Art reaches people who have otherwise not been engaged, by encouraging them to see themselves in the humanity of others, and it sparks action.
Q: Do you imagine SEEN as a traveling or evolving exhibit? Are there future plans for similar projects?
A: Mass criminalization and mass incarceration are national crises, our hope is to collaborate with communities across the nation to create similar exhibit experiences. Additionally, it is our intention that the seven partnerships continue in whatever creative and organic way the conversation leads.
Q: If someone leaves SEEN feeling deeply moved, what’s one action you’d encourage them to take next?
A: Come back with a friend! Invite others to hear and see the artists, to see their humanity. Connect, follow, and support the organizations working to amplify the voices of people in the cross hairs of the criminal legal system, like T.O.N.E. U.P., The Waiting Room with Nadine Graves, We Resolve, The Wrongfully Incarcerated and Over-Sentenced Families Council, Until We Are All Free, the Minnesota Prison Writing Workshop, The Reentry Lab, and We Are All Criminals.
Wednesday, April 23, 2025 at 2:04PM
Little Big League
