In conclusion
More than $200 million was allocated by California to transform San Quentin into a rehabilitation center. Inmates then came up with their own ideas to decorate the space with top-notch murals.
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My friend Kai Bannon contacted me from San Quentin over the institutional phone connection around one month after I was granted parole and released from High Desert State Prison in 2024. For the first time as a free person, I was on the other end of these monitored calls, and my eyes filled with tears.
Kai and his inside team started a number of community-focused programs within the jail, and he co-founded San Quentin SkunkWorks, a nonprofit social innovation lab dedicated to introducing and testing moonshot reform ideas.
Kai now requested my assistance in bringing his ambitious new idea to life, which was to restore San Quentin’s 19th-century architectural landscape by bringing in light, color, beauty, and art.
The oldest prison in the state will be renovated and renamed the San Quentin Rehabilitation Center thanks to a $240 million commitment from Governor Gavin Newsom. In addition to converting the previous Death Row condemned housing unit into general public living quarters, his design calls for the construction of a new multi-building educational complex.
However, it doesn’t include altering the dull exteriors of the residents’ small, gloomy cells, which were constructed in the late 1800s, which are beige and brown. The physical surroundings continue to represent punishment, incarceration, and oppression.
Kai started to see SkunkWorks as a platform that would aesthetically enhance the facility’s older, less glamorous sections because so much attention was being paid to the new buildings that were scheduled to open in early 2026.
The project was named Chiaroscuro: Light Within the Shadows by him. The graphic interplay between bright and dark highlights is referred to as chiaroscuro in Italian. It emphasizes the vivid contrasts of humanity that exist deep within our prisons in a metaphorical sense.
We had to accomplish two goals at once: 1) find international artists who would be interested in performing inside a prison community; and 2) find a way to persuade prison officials that our idea was worthwhile.
Renowned muralists from California, the United Kingdom, and Dubai responded. They wanted to learn more about San Quentin and were intrigued by the idea. They want to inspire through art and wanted to learn more about the community they could soon be visiting. The Skunks gathered anecdotes from inhabitants of San Quentin, including staff members and officers who work side by side with residents for a significant portion of the day.
To our surprise, prison officials concurred that we were headed in the correct direction. With their help, we were able to get permission to show potential artists the facility’s images and layouts.
The purpose of the murals goes beyond simply improving the area’s appearance. Sgt. Freddy Brenes of San Quentin Correctional said, “They change the mood out here.” Both the employees and the residents of this community will feel safer in a calmer yard.
Faith XLVII, a South African artist renowned for painting community-inspired street murals on public walls and structures, quickly struck a chord with us.
According to Faith, “I just think that art has been and is a very big part of the cultural fabric of life and the processes of life in all traditional societies.” It is psychological, therapeutic, and cathartic. Through metaphors and symbols, it may communicate directly to the heart in a visual language that denies words.
Conversations swiftly changed because Faith already had a trip to San Francisco scheduled for a gallery display in June. at July, is it feasible to paint a mural on a wall at San Quentin? We would require the administration’s unambiguous approval. To pay for supplies and expenses, we would also need to raise money.
In order to raise money, Kai and his group started a grassroots social media campaign. We were under extra pressure to execute it flawlessly because it was Chiaroscuro’s premiere.
By June, SkunkWorks had raised thousands of dollars. Dozens of residents filled out donation forms within the facility to have funds taken out of their institutional trust accounts, which accounted for a portion of that total.
Kai told me that it’s actually sort of cool. Several folks stopped by and reported giving $5 or $10. For outsiders, those are negligible amounts. However, you and I are both aware of how much $5 or $10 is worth in this place.
We collaborated with Faith as well as Shannon Riley, one of the co-founders of Building 180, an art production and consultancy firm that organizes public art projects globally.
The majority of the mural’s paint was provided by Dunn-Edwards Paints thanks to Riley’s outreach. Their local distributors created a UV-protective finishing coat in addition to mixing and preparing bespoke colors.
According to Riley, putting art in public areas can truly foster genuine connections between individuals. It encourages dialogue, curiosity, and self-assurance—all of which are critical for recovery and rehabilitation.
Keya Tama, Faith’s son, traveled from New York to assist with the painting. One of the SkunkWorks outside volunteers who was traveling abroad donated her Sausalito residence for them to stay in comfortable accommodations close to San Quentin.
An artist himself, Keya felt compelled to install his own mural after speaking about the project with residents and staff.
As soon as I saw the wall, I kind of just had a feeling, he said. Much more like finding something that needed to be there or had always needed to be there.
  Like a piece of freedom
The Faith XLVII mural stands on the outside of West Block, where more than half the population passes back and forth on any normal day.
George Mesro Coles-El has lived in San Quentin for 13 years, and in all that time, the large blank walls seemed to represent only institutionalization and despair.
To be able to come out over these last few days and see a mural on the wall in front of me like when I come and get that first fresh breath of air in the morning, it s really impactful for me, said Coles-El. I never thought I would see a mural like that in a dismal place like prison.
Coles-El, Tony Haro and Luis Maya all worked with Faith XLVII and Keya Tama. They helped organize and prepare the paint, maintained the brushes and rollers and got a chance to color different segments.
You get to see something just so different, like a piece of freedom, said Haro. We re going back and forth looking at this beautiful mural that has a quote that s saying the heart of the world, you know? The other day, somebody asked me what does that mean?
And I said listen to what they re saying, bro wherever you re at, you re the heart of the world.We rethe heart of the world. You carry that with you.
More than simply transforming the physical surroundings, the mural also helped shift cultural perceptions.
I honestly have a newfound respect for staff, said Maya. A lot of them took extra efforts to see the project through just being able to be flexible, being receptive of communication. And then seeing how officers need a new change of scenery as much as us.
 A goodbye through a gate
On July 11, San Quentin Rehabilitation Center planned a media event to celebrate the murals. Faith and a news photographer waited outside but were told no guests would be allowed in that day because of an unexpected modified lockdown.
But Associate Warden Yaser Samara called and asked them to come back. Despite the lockdown, he was ready to help Faith get photos and commemorate her art before she returned to South Africa.
I m sure there s many perspectives on this, but at least in my experience with the warden, assistant warden and guards I met some pretty special people who seemed to want to also bring changes to the system, said Faith. And that was very inspiring to me to see that.
But because of the modified lockdown, Kai was not allowed to be outside when photos were taken. He saw Faith through a locked gate, and she came over to say goodbye and shake his hand through the thick iron bars.
It s not how I imagined this ending, he told me. But maybe it said everything that like even in this place that s built to separate us, we ve still found a way to connect.
And I think that the handshake said more than words ever could. It s gratitude. It s grief. It s a whole project in a single gesture reaching across boundaries and trying to create something beautiful, even when the system tries to keep you apart.
Joe Garcia is a California Local News fellow.
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