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Staci Backauskas

When I couldn’t find a job after getting my journalism degree, I went back to school and got an EMT license – a pivotal choice that created the set point for my life. I caught a lot of flack for putting the employment search on hold. Some said I was impatient; others accused me of being too ar...

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It is a new day-Clean slate. Fresh start. Do over. Will you embrace it?

Staci B

When my friend Minnette told me six months ago she’d finally cut through the red tape and had found a gallery willing to hang a show of the art work created in her classes at the Hillsborough Correctional Institution, I knew it would be special.  I just didn’t realize how special.

For over four years, she has taught dozens of female inmates how to express their souls in Technicolor.  Generous, but tough, Minnette weeds out those who aren’t there to learn, making sure the ones who want to can.  In the beginning, she paid for everything out of her own pocket, the prison having no budget for luxuries like paint, canvas, and brushes.

In time, she garnered support from friends, colleagues and the community, allowing her to expand the program and teach even more women how to communicate their pain, hopes and desires through art.  And she became determined to let the outside world see what was being born behind the cold walls of a state correctional facility.

When I arrived for the opening, there wasn’t a parking space to be found.  I’d never been so thrilled at the prospect of having to walk in the July humidity.  At the doorway to the main gallery, I was greeted by a print of a bright green frog that looked as if it had escaped the wilds of the rain forest.  Inside, over 300 pieces covered the walls. 

Hung in mats four rows deep were abstracts and collages, portraits and sunsets, apples and animals. There were lighthouses and shoes, dancing women and city twilights, flowers and seascapes.  All gently nurtured from embryonic idea to full-bodied art by a woman who realizes we are all artists.  All containing a sliver of the artist’s soul left tentatively on the canvas to be evaluated and judged.

Dozens of people milled around, sipping punch and nibbling shrimp and crudités.  They studied the art this Sunday afternoon as if they’d stopped into a swanky gallery, commenting on color, style, and perspective.  From the two young boys offering concise opinions to the woman buzzing around on a walker, everyone had a favorite.  Everyone talked openly about the talent and the amazing courage necessary to expose one’s heart.

The art wasn’t for sale.  There are strict rules about an inmate profiting from anything created during incarceration.  Not one to be deterred, Minnette encouraged people to “adopt” any of the prints they wanted.  A donation to her art supplier was accepted, but not required.  By the end of the afternoon, neon stickers dotted many of the cellophane wrapped prints, announcing they’d soon have a new home.

None of the artists was in attendance. Confined to the prison grounds, they were left to imagine the goings-on less than ten miles away.  I wonder if they felt our appreciation for the beauty they created through the steel and concrete that offered them a choice to acknowledge their talent.