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San Pedro Prison in La Paz, Bolivia is a singular type of prison. It accepts tourists. It also attracts professional photographers. For me, the story of San Pedro has always been the sporadic schedules of guided tours within the prison. First they are on, then they are off.
The very existence of images made by free-wheeling tourists tells us a lot more about the administration’s attitude to security, social priorities and moneymaking than the visit of any single photographer. One might presume that a professional photographer’s visit would be a rare thing … if it wasn’t for the thousands of photographs made by amateurs.
Still, I like very much a few of Giovanni Cobianchi‘s portraits in his San Pedro Limbo series.


If these images from San Pedro interest you, consider looking at Toby BInder’s work I featured earlier this year in Photos of Infamous Bolivian Prison Go Beyond Common Tourist Snaps

Prison by Christophe Negrel is shot in French prisons and focuses on the physical regimes kept by prisoners. Some great studies of moment in the portfolio.

Marie Levin holds a photo of her brother, Ronnie Dewberry, taken at San Quentin State Prison in 1988. Until recently, it was the last photograph he’d had taken. Photo credit: Adithya Sambamurthy/The Center for Investigative Reporting
STARVED OF THEIR OWN IMAGE
We are now into the second week of the California Prisoners Hunger Strike. It is difficult to get firm figures on the number of participating prisoners. The Los Angeles Times reports 30,000; CNN reports 12,000 and Yahoo reports 7,000+.
I’m inclined to trust the figures sourced by Solitary Watch:
The hunger strike began on July 8th with participation of approximately 30,000 people in two-thirds of California’s prisons, as well as several out-of-state facilities holding California prisoners. In the first days of the hunger strike, approximately 3,200 others also refused to attend work or education classes as a form of protest in support of the hunger strike. As of Sunday, there are an estimated 4,487 still on hunger strike.
Still, formidable numbers.
INVISIBLE AND UNPHOTOGRAPHED PEOPLE
Last week, in conjunction with the initiation of the mass peaceful protect, Michael Montgomery for the Center for Investigative Reporting published an excellent article California Prisons’ Photo Ban Leaves Legacy of Blurred Identities about the ban on portrait photographs of prisoners held in solitary confinement.
Accompanying the article is the interactive Solitary Lives feature and a Flickr gallery.
The ban resulted from a tension between what a photograph meant or could mean.
For families, a photograph is a tangible connection to their loved one behind bars, but for staff of the four maximum security prisons that upheld the ban, photographs were potential calling cards — circulated by prison gang leaders — both to advise other members that they’re still in charge and to pass on orders.
The ban was lifted in 2011, following the last California prison hunger strike. Montgomery quotes Sean Kernan, the former Under-Secretary of the CDCR
“I think we were wrong, and I think (that) to this day,” he said. “How right is it to have an offender who is behaving … (and) to not be able to take a photo to send to his loved ones for 20 years?” Kernan directed prison staff to ease the restrictions for inmates who were free of any disciplinary violations.
The ban in the four Californian prisons was extraordinary.
“I have never heard of any other prison system or individual prison in America imposing a long-term ban of this kind,” said David Fathi, director of the American Civil Liberties Union’s National Prison Project.
As I have stated frequently on Prison Photography, prison (visiting-room) portraiture is one of the most prevalent types of American vernacular photography.
Until artists such as Alyse Emdur and David Adler began to draw focus to this disparate, decentralised, emotion-laden, and high-stake vernacular sub-genre, prison portraits were kept in wallets, on mantles and in side tables. There’s tens of millions of them out there.
And yet, for over 20 years, thousands of men in California were not allowed images of themselves. The additional ban of mirrors in solitary units meant that many men often did not see images of themselves for years on end. Again, to quote Montgomery’s article:
“I have asked my husband, ‘Do you even know what you look like?’ And he says, ‘Kind of, sort of,’ ” said Irene Huerta, whose husband, Gabriel, 54, has been detained at Pelican Bay for 23 years.
THE PHOTOGRAPH AS AN OBJECT OF DEPLOYMENT
In the free world, photographs are ubiquitous, easily created, shared and possessed. The fact that these seemingly innocuous objects were caught in the tussle of control between prison authorities and prisoners is astonishing, and speaks to the power struggle (real and imagined) between the kept and the keepers.
Michael Rushford, president of the Criminal Justice Legal Foundation, said easing the restrictions on prisoner photographs raised no major security concerns, so long as inmates had to earn them. “It’s not as if there’s been an epidemic of inmate photos on the street,” he said.
I am not sure how Rushford would measure this, or even it would significantly alter the lives of prisoners, specifically now during the hunger strike, and especially now when proven or alleged gang affiliations have been put aside by prisoners in solidarity for improved conditions for all.
In light of recent art market fetishism, it would seem the primary reason anyone would want to gather prison portraits would be to repeat Harper’s Books’ $45,000 hustle and cash in on the images?
As for the families (following the ban lift) the value of newly acquired images is not in any doubt:
Seeing an image of their incarcerated relative for the first time in years has sparked renewed hope and revived dormant family connections. For others, the photographs are a shocking reminder of the length of time some inmates have been held in isolation.
CENTER FOR INVESTIGATIVE REPORTING LINKS
Michael Montgomery’s California Prisons’ Photo Ban Leaves Legacy of Blurred Identities
Interactive Solitary Lives feature.
A BRIEF NOTE ABOUT THE SOLITARY WATCH WEBSITE
I cannot emphasize enough how important the website Solitary Watch is as a resource. Jean Casella, James Ridgeway, and their team of reporters produce high quality journalism — not only for their website but for other news outlets including The Guardian, Mother Jones, Al Jazeera, Columbia Journalism Review and The Nation.
Solitary Watch is an independent media and advocacy project, funded by grants and donations. It is a project of the Community Futures Collective, a 501(c)(3) non-profit. You can support the project here.
I don’t hesitate to say that Solitary Watch has driven much of the critical and visible public discourse about solitary confinement in U.S. prisons and jails.
As Solitary Watch describes, “Solitary confinement is one of the nation’s most pressing domestic human rights issues — and also one of the most invisible,” which is why I have a vested interest in their work; we’re each interested in making solitary and other egregious aspects of the U.S. prison system more visible.

Prisoner Ustinova (2005)
Olga Chagaoutdinova‘s The Zone/Prisoners (2005 – 2007) is a series of psychological portraits taken in a women’s prison in the far eastern reaches of Russia.
“The intent of the project was to observe human existence in a panoptic and punishing environment,” says Chagaoutdinova. “Extended interviews with the prisoners allowed me to investigate the notion of personal identity, virtually extinguished under the pressure and rules of the penal system. Gender issues and the official suppression of sexuality within the penitentiary system constituted a further aspect of my study.”

AN EMAIL FROM POLAND
“The women have different histories but they all have one thing in common — they all just wanted to have nice portraits,” read the email from Edyta Ganc.
Well, Edyta nailed it. Ganc’s portraits are nice. But, they’re much more than nice; they’re rather formidable. They emerge from a straightforward approach to the prison by Ganc and the simplest of aims. The variety among the portraits is impressive. I immediately emailed Ganc insistent that I share the series, titled Borderline, here, with you.
“I helped them to look attractive by inviting a professional make-up artist,” continued the email. “I also prepared clothes for them … mainly from my private wardrobe.”
Ganc has succeeded twice over; for the women prisoners, she has made beautiful portraits, and for us, she has made poignant portraits to mull over. Ganc’s moments are noticeably heavy and to capture that is a rare skill. These portraits prick my curiosity. Whatever the histories of these women are, I am eager to know.
[Scroll down for our brief Q&A]




QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
PP: Why did you want to make portraits of the women?
Edyta Ganc (EG): I was always interested in histories of people that are somewhere else, beyond “normal” circle of society. And are considered: outsiders, freaks, strangers. I was to them as I wanted to show their humanity and normality.
PP: What is the full name of the prison?
EG: Areszt Śledczy Warszawa Grochów, which translates as ‘Warsaw Grochow Investigation Arrest.’ Grochów is a district of Warsaw.
PP: How did you gain access?
EG: I made a phone call to the press officer and talked to him about the aim of the project: to photograph the women in the ways they wanted to be presented — nicely dressed and with professional make up. I invited my friend, who is a make-up artist and she agreed to help me. When I got approval, I just had to write a statement about the project and my aims and gained access easily.
PP: How often did you visit?
EG: I started in January and finished in April 2013. My friend Kasia and I visited Areszt once, twice a week.
PP: What did the women do during the days in the prison? Are they involved in programs, work, education and/or other rehabilitation?
EG: I heard a lot of complaints that they could not leave the prison cell and do something interesting. They had some regular meetings with one cultural foundation but they weren’t really interested. The told me they would prefer career or craft courses. Something practical they could learn and gain the professional background – and use when they are free.
PP: What sort of crimes are these women in your photographs imprisoned for? Are they Polish citizens or from other countries?
EG: They are all Polish. Imprisoned mainly for robbery. Most of them were drug addicts and started to steal to have money for drugs. Some of them didnt tell me what was the reason. I wasn’t asking.
PP: You mentioned they all have individual stories. I expect they’ve had tough lives. Do you see them as perpetrators or victims or a mix of both?
EG: I see them as real women who had some problems with their life and now try to fix it. Some of them want to have better future and need to change. Whereas some don’t care and won’t change anything.
[Continue reading below]




PP: How many prints were you able to give each woman. What did they use them for?
EG: They asked for prints to send them to their relatives. I printed 3 copies for each of them but now i think it is not enough. I am going to send more.
PP: Are photographs rare in the prison? Are there any other opportunities for the women to have their photograph taken?
EG: Not really. It is rather rare thing.
PP: What did the guards at the prison think of your project and you visiting with your camera?
EG: They were really helpful. Of course, there were some situations I felt they wanted me to finish, leave and no longer disturb things, but I pretended I didnt notice it.
PP: Are Polish women’s prisons safe, sanitary places?
EG: Rather, yes. There are two types of cells. Closed — for women inprisoned several times, and half closed — for women imprisoned for the first time. The seconed ones have toilets with showers. First ones have only toilets and basins.
PP: Can Polish prisons improve or are they doing a good job?
EG: They could improve with their provision of education, courses, therapies, but generally I can’t complain.
PP: How do Polish people generally think about prisons and prisoners?
EG: They are afraid. They dont want to socialize with these people.
PP: Anything else you’d like to say?
EG: I hope these women will take part in vernissage. It will be the occasion to go out.
– fin –




BIOGRAPHY
Edyta Ganc based in Warsaw, Poland has a Masters Degree in Theater from the Jagiellonian University and later graduated from Camerimage Film School, Academy of Photography and Laboratory of Reportage, at the University of Warsaw. She is drawn to social justice and has led many photography workshops for children and teenagers. Ganc is co-founder of the Polish photography collective Spoldzielnia Dokumentalna.
WOMEN IN PRISON, IN PHOTOGRAPHY, ACROSS THE GLOBE
Spain: International Womens Day Body-Paint Festivity Photos Belie Barcelona Prisoners’ Daily Hardships
Israel: Tomer Ifrah Inside Neve Tirza, Israel’s Only Women’s Prison
United Kingdom: Adrian Clarke: “All the women have wanted to be identified by their own names.”
Romania: In Women’s Prison, Ioana Cârlig Asks, “What Do You Miss?”
Albania: Annaleen Louwes as Artist in Residence at Ali Demi Women’s Prison in Tirana
USA: Sye Williams at Valley State Prison for Women, Chowchilla, California
USA: ‘Maggots in My Sweet Potatoes: Women Doing Time’ by Susan Madden Lankford
Italy: Melania Comoretto and Women Prisoners
Globally: Jane Evelyn Atwood’s ‘Too Much Time’






















































