Arizona Attorney - October 2015

FROM THE EDITOR
A Publication of the State Bar of Arizona

ARIZONA
attorney

MAGAZINE

attorney

Editor

TIM EIGO
Tim.Eigo@staff.azbar.org

Art Director

KAREN HOLUB

Production Manager

MICHAEL PEEL

Advertising Manager

LISA BORMASTER FONTES Lisa.Bormaster@staff.azbar.org

Advertising Coordinator

MIKYEILA CORDERO

Editorial Board

ASHLEY KASARJIAN, CHAIR

Addresses

1-866-48-AZBAR (Toll-free outside Maricopa County)

www.azbar.org/AZAttorney
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(ISSN 1040-4090) is published monthly, except bimonthly,
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VOLUME 52, NO. 2

DAVID H. BENTON
YUSRA B. BOKHARI
HON. THEODORE CAMPAGNOLO
PAUL F. DOWDELL
GREGORY GAUTAM
ANN HOBART
HON. RANDALL M. HO WE
MELISSA IYER JULIAN
KARA L. KLIMA
J. SONYE T TA LAWRENCE
MAY LU
HON. WEND Y S. MORTON
POURIA PAKNEJAD
EMILY K. POKORA
MARK D. SAMSON
KYLE SHELTON
THOMAS STACK
LACEY STOVER GARD
MICHAEL F. VALENZUELA

For at least the past decade, art and a commitment to it have
been hallmarks of this magazine, which once again is about to launch
our annual Arts Competition (see page 25). How deeply felt is that
commitment? Well …
In an upcoming issue, we will examine the viewpoints of lawyers
who advocate for arts in society and in schools.

And over the past year, I’ve seen (and covered) the nexus between art and law as they intersect in unique ways. It’s been especially visible though the discussion of the value of arts education in prisons— whether via an ASU student club committed to prison education ( http://tinyurl.com/prison-education-asu), or via a unique Boston art-gallery exhibition ( http://tinyurl.com/prison-arts-ica), or via one in downtown Phoenix ( http://tinyurl.com/art-convicted).

But I started to wonder: What’s up with this prison–art unity?

Why have so many people found that relationship to be effective?

And more specifically, does my own art–law–prison Venn diagram have deeper, odder roots? After all, the law as a subject of study has many pathways. What leads me and others to wonder about the power of art to change lives?

I was musing on that when I recalled, in a queasy moment, a painting that hung in my childhood home. It was a portrait of a clown. (Trigger warning: He’s at the left.)

For most people, that subject matter would be enough to raise the oddness meter. But it gets odder, for that artwork had been painted by an inmate at a maximum-security prison. How it found its way to a wall in our entryway (yup) is an incarceration tale.

My dad, for most of his work-life, was a New York State correctional officer (formerly prison guard). As the years went on, Green Haven Prison decided to hold annual inmate art sales.

I never asked my father if he knew the inmate
who painted the clown. But for whatever reason, the sad fellow
appealed to him, and he made an art purchase.

Everyone else in the family was less than enchanted by the haunting visage. Eventually, when the wall was painted, the art piece ended up in the basement—to our relief.

One evening, though, after dinner, a few of us kidded our dad about the piece, and someone mentioned that a friend or distant family member had never liked the painting. Surprised and dismissive of that person’s evident lack of taste, he sprang from his chair and raced to the basement. The sound of tumbled boxes was followed by his reappearance, proudly holding the sad jester aloft. In the moment it took us to realize our tactical error, he had re-hung the piece in its place of honor. The power of art.

My dad died a number of years ago, but I occasionally consider retrieving that piece to hang in our own home. The dismay of our daughters might be worth the effort.