Internationally renowned artist
Mike Kelley was found dead in
his home on Tuesday at the age of
57. The
L.A.
Times reported that his
death was an apparent suicide, but
the cause could not be confirmed
until an autopsy is completed.
Kelley was known as a gifted artist
and musician, a founding member of
the Detroit proto-punk band Destroy
All Monsters.
Kelley was born in
Detroit on Oct. 27, 1954, to what he
described as a working-class
Catholic family, a background that
strongly influenced his art.
Eventually, the artist landed in
L.A., and helped to develop that
city as an international capital of
contemporary art.
A fact that is not well-known —
Kelley also paved my way to freedom,
rescuing me from a 15-to-life sentence
for a non-violent drug crime I was
serving at Sing Sing prison when he
chose my painting to be displayed in
a retrospective of his career at the
Whitney Museum of American Art. I
outlined this chain of events in my
book 15 to Life: How I
Painted My Way to Freedom.
September 10, 1993 was a day that
would permanently alter the course
of my life. It was on that day that
the prison administration received a
letter from Elisabeth
Sussman, a curator at the
Whitney Museum of American Art.
Sussman had contacted Sing Sing to
see if there was a convict-artist
who could participate in an upcoming
Whitney exhibit titled "Catholic
Tastes." She wrote:
I am the curator for the
Whitney Museum of American Art's
upcoming
Mike Kelley exhibition.
Kelley has made a significant
contribution to the performance
and conceptual art of the past
fifteen years, and we are very
enthusiastic about mounting his
first retrospective. One of the
works in the exhibition, "Pay
for Your Pleasure," requires
the appearance of a work of art
by a convict. The piece has been
shown in Chicago, Los Angeles,
Berlin, London, Switzerland, and
France with the cooperation of
local authorities. I am writing
to ask if your institution
sponsors an art program and what
are the possibilities for the
loan of an artwork to the
Mike Kelley exhibition. The
show will be held at the Whitney
Museum from November 4, 1993
through February 20, 1994. Thank
you very much for any assistance
you can offer.
Best regards, Elisabeth
Sussman, Curator.
The request was channeled to Sing
Sing's supervisor of special
subjects, Dennis Manwaring. Dennis
had worked at the prison for over 20
years, and oversaw the art program I
was teaching at Sing Sing. One night
he stopped by my class with her
letter. When I read the letter, I
knew that participating in the show
was the break I had been waiting
for. As I re-read the lines, they
blurred together into a single word:
FREEDOM. I told Dennis that I wanted
to participate in the exhibit and
gave him a set of slides of my
paintings that I'd smuggled into the
prison several years before.
A week passed and I hadn't heard
anything from Dennis. I was
impatient because I knew how the
system worked. Anything that
involved the administration, even a
simple decision or task, would take
weeks to address or end up
disappearing in the sea of red tape.
The chain of command and zillions of
rules and regulations created total
confusion. Several days later, I ran
into Baldy, Dennis's inmate clerk. I
asked him what was going on with the
show. "There's not going to be a
show for you, Tony," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"You better go see Dennis."
I immediately requested a pass to
Dennis's office. The door was open,
he was busy doing paperwork at his
desk. I popped my head in. "Hey
Dennis, you got a minute?"
"Have a seat, Tony," he said, not
looking up. Several minutes passed.
Finally, he raised his head. His
face looked weary. "We're not going
to participate, Tony. I'm sorry."
That was Dennis — short, sweet,
and to the point. So short, in fact,
that I felt like I'd been socked in
the gut. I needed this
break. It was the only one I had
left. I had exhausted all my legal
remedies and was stuck with a
15-to-life sentence for passing an
envelope of four ounces of coke for
the sum of five hundred bucks. I was
sentenced under the Rockefeller Drug
Laws, the toughest drug laws in the
nation. Some prison employees don't
even give you a chance to argue, but
Dennis was different. He had a soft
side. I decided to work it.
"Dennis," I pleaded, "what are
you saying?" I looked in his eyes
and tried to understand what was
going through his head.
"I refuse to let any of my
prisoners become exploited," he
said.
I asked him to explain what he
meant. He went on to say that he had
received "a startling letter" from
the Whitney that convinced him that
barring my participation was the
right thing to do. I asked to see
the letter. He hesitated, but
finally gave in. He handed me a
folder containing two letters
written by Elisabeth Sussman.
Dear Dennis,
Thank you so much for your
willingness to cooperate with
the Whitney Museum. What I did
not make clear this morning is
that the piece of art by a
prisoner that is appropriate for
Mike Kelley's work must be
made by a prisoner who is a
murderer. I hope that one of the
people you identified this
morning fits that description.
If you have any questions,
please call me. In the meantime,
I am enclosing a loan form,
which functions to identify the
artwork and to serve as a
contract. If you could possibly
send this back to us at once, we
can then go ahead and make
arrangements to pick up the work
in the next week or two. Best
wishes and thanks again.
I turned the page and scanned the
second letter that was sent to
Dennis, which was sent in response
to a letter he'd written her stating
that he wouldn't allow me to
participate. It was dated October
12, 1993.
Dear Mr. Manwaring,
I regret having presented the
matter of your inmate's
inclusion in
Mike Kelley's Pay
for Your Pleasure piece without
providing a context for the
admittedly jarring stipulation
that the inmate would be serving
time for homicide. Kelley's work
consists of a pantheon of images
of great men from Western
history accompanied by quotes
celebrating artistic genius. At
times the text seems to exempt
artists from the civil
constraints of law and common
ethics, and Kelley's
incorporation of a work of art
by a convict emphasizes this
idea by taking an extreme
position. As part of Pay for
Your Pleasure, visitors to the
exhibit will be requested to
make a donation to crime
victims.
You should be informed that
the description of Pay for your
Pleasure in the checklist at the
back of the exhibition catalogue
does specify a work of art by a
person convicted of homicide,
though not necessarily by name.
I appreciate your reluctance to
identify the crime committed by
the inmate whose slides you sent
us (they're very good!). Please
reconsider the matter and let us
know if you are willing to
proceed with the loan.
Like Dennis, I was taken aback by
the museum's insistence on having a
painting by a convicted murderer,
but in the long run, who cared? What
mattered was that my art would be
shown at one of the most prestigious
museums in the world. Hopefully the
exhibit would lead to my freedom.
"Dennis, you have let me do
this!" I said. "It could help me get
my freedom back! I know it will!"
Dennis sat up straight in his
chair and didn't say a word. He
reached for the phone and called
Father Kavanagh, the old priest
who'd been at Sing Sing for over 30
years. He was Dennis's spiritual
advisor. Whenever Dennis had a tough
call to make, he turned to the Lord
and Father Kavanagh.
"Father, is it ethical to release
the crime of a prisoner to an
outside source?" Dennis asked,
nodding as he listened to the
priest. He hung up and made the sign
of the cross.
"Well, Father said it was
unethical, so I won't reveal your
crime."
For a split second, I was elated,
but then I realized Dennis didn't
say he'd let me participate.
"Dennis!" I pleaded, "You have to
do this for me. Please!" I was
practically shouting. Dennis slammed
his hand on the desk.
"Are you a murderer?" he yelled.
"Did you ever kill anybody?" I shook
my head. "No? Then are you telling
me to lie?" he asked, his voice
shaking. "I'm not going to lie,
Tony. And that's that!"
I had to think fast. "Okay," I
said, regaining my composure. "I'm
not asking you to lie, Dennis. I'm
not asking you to do anything. I'll
write the letter and if anything
goes wrong, it's on me."
Without a word, he lowered his
head and went back to his work. I
took a pad from his desk and
proceeded to write a letter.
Dear Miss Sussman,
In response to your inquiry
about the crime I committed, I
am respectfully submitting to
you that I am indeed serving
time for murder. In fact, I am
currently serving two 15-to-life
sentences for a double murder. I
hope this satisfies your inquiry
as to the status of my crime.
Sincerely,
Anthony Papa
I did what I had to do and even
threw in an extra murder just in
case. A week later, I received a
positive response from the Whitney.
Dear Mr. Papa,
Thank you very much for
agreeing to lend one of your
paintings to the Whitney
Museum's
Mike Kelley exhibition. Mr.
Kelley has chosen to include "15
Years to Life — Self-Portrait"
in his piece Pay for Your
Pleasure. Thanks again (and
congratulations!)
Sincerely,
Minou Roufail, Curatorial
Assistant.
The following week the Whitney
sent a handler to the prison to pick
up my self-portrait "15 to Life." My
dream of having a painting exhibited
in one of the most prestigious
museums in America was coming true.
After the exhibit I read a review
by The New York Times' art
critic Roberta Smith who praised
my painting as an "ode to
art as a mystical, transgressive act
that is both frightening and
liberating, releasing uncontrollable
emotions of all kinds."
Soon after the exhibition the
prison became flooded with interview
requests and my case reached the
ears of then Governor George Pataki
who eventually granted me my freedom
through the act of executive
clemency in 1997. As
told by the NY Times at the
time, I literally painted my way
to freedom by showing my art at the
Whitney. At that time I also
revealed publicly for the first time
that I had lied about being a
murderer in order to get into the
exhibit. The Whitney tried to
exploit me, but I wound up
exploiting them. I got the show. I
got the exposure and I painted my
way out of prison.
In 2004 I returned to the Whitney
Museum of American Art along
with my self-portrait "15 to Life."
I had a book party and art exhibit
hosted by Andrew Cuomo (now Governor
of New York State). Hundreds of
people attended, including
celebrities such as Charles Grodin
and powerful politicians like former
governor Mario Cuomo and senator
David Paterson, who later became
governor of New York.
The one regret I had was not
meeting
Mike Kelley in person and
thanking him for saving me from the
belly of the beast. Without him I
would have been stuck in prison for
many more years. It's something I
will never forget. So now, through
these words, I say goodbye to
Mike Kelley and pay tribute to
him. I pray that he rest in peace
and that his soul find an eternal
happiness in the afterlife.
Anthony Papa is the author
of 15
Years to Life: How I Painted My Way
to Freedom and communications
specialist for Drug
Policy Alliance. He can be
reached at:
anthonypapa123[at]yahoo.com
To see more of
Anthony Papa's artwork, click
the slide show.
