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GARY TYLER’S JOURNEY FROM DEATH ROW TO THE ART WORLD  
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Steve Appleford
March 1, 2024
Capital & Main
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_ Winner of the Frieze L.A. art fair’s Impact Prize uses quilting
to reveal the reality of life in prison: "If my artwork is able to
give people an understanding of what an individual goes through while
in prison -- it definitely means a lot." _

“Remembrance” (2023) by Gary Tyler, (photo by Tim Johnson,
courtesy of the artist and Library Street Collective)

 

GARY TYLER WAS JUST A TEENAGER when he landed on death row,
wrongfully imprisoned for murder, in 1974. And it would be four
decades before he left Angola State Penitentiary in Louisiana behind,
beginning a new life as an artist and sharing the reality of his
prison experience in evocative works of quilting and appliqué.

Gary Tyler. Photo by Dorian Hill, courtesy of the artist and Library
Street Collective.

Now 65, Tyler was awarded the 2024 Frieze Los Angeles Impact Prize
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that textile work, which will be on display at this week’s Frieze
Los Angeles art fair through March 3. At the heart of that work is the
trauma he both suffered and witnessed in his fellow inmates in his
years at the penitentiary. His pieces are largely self-portraits and
scenes from prison, and are dedicated to broadening the understanding
of what life there is like.

He ended up there as the result of a protest against integration and
busing that erupted outside Destrehan High School, where he was a
sophomore, in the small town of Destrehan, Louisiana. A 13-year-old
white boy was shot and killed during the protest. And after Tyler, an
African American, vocally defended a cousin who was being violently
detained by state police, he was arrested, charged and ultimately
convicted of the murder by an all-white jury when he was 16.

After the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the state’s death penalty
was unconstitutional, Tyler was ordered a new trial. He was
recommended for parole three times by the Louisiana Board of Prisons,
and became a national cause célèbre, covered by the _New York
Times_
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supported by Amnesty International
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But he was denied each time. His attorneys finally landed an imperfect
deal with Louisiana prosecutors: Tyler would be released if he pled
guilty to manslaughter, a lesser charge with a penalty less than what
he’d already served.

Tyler had embarked on a series of careers behind bars: He had learned
graphic design, became a hospice volunteer to dying inmates, repaired
wheelchairs and was president of the prison drama club for 28 years.
He also learned to quilt, which became an outlet for his artistic
expression that is now recognized around the art world. That artwork
depicts his plight in fabric and understated colors: In one called
“Defiant,” a prisoner stands with his wrists in chains, a look of
grim pride on his face. Others show inmates laboring in a prison yard
or peering between iron bars, with depictions of the occasional
butterfly to represent freedom and transformation.

His Frieze Impact award comes with a $25,000 prize, given by the art
fair in connection with Endeavor Impact and The Center for Art and
Advocacy [[link removed]]. 

“I have no excuse to sit on this,” Tyler said, describing his
mission as an artist. “I love doing traditional quilts, but I want
to do something provocative. I want to do something that’s
educational. I want to do something that’s enlightening to where
people can really look and say, ‘Why?’”

_This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity._

CAPITAL & MAIN: WHEN YOU WERE CHARGED FOR THE DEATH OF THAT BOY, DID
YOU BELIEVE THE TRUTH WOULD COME OUT?

GARY TYLER: When you are a kid, you are very confused, because you
simply got arrested for a nonlethal offense by protesting against the
maltreatment of fellow students and yourself. I was a young person and
confused [about] what was really happening. Of course, you think that
it’s all gonna end. But in my case, it didn’t end until four
decades later. 

WHEN YOU WERE CONVICTED AND SENTENCED, YOU WERE STILL A TEENAGER? 

I was a teenager. I was charged with first-degree murder, and I was
convicted unanimously by an all-white jury. Automatically, I was given
the death penalty. They set my execution date: May 1, 1976. 

“Defiant” (1976, 2023) by Gary Tyler. Photo by Tim Johnson,
courtesy of the artist and Library Street Collective.

WHEN DID YOU FIRST THINK OF YOURSELF AS AN ARTIST? 

I had never thought of myself as an artist. When I was on death row, I
noticed a guy making picture frames and jewelry boxes out of
matchsticks and cigarette packs. I wanted to know how to do that, so
the guy showed me. But I never thought that this would be a
manifestation of my life later on. In prison, an artist is considered
a hobby crafter … [who] earns a living by selling their artwork to
the public and makes gifts for their families. They never look at
themselves as artists.

But as I talk to people and they tell me, “Hey, Gary, you have a
gift, and you were quite good at it when you were in prison. You can
rank yourself as being an artist.” Reflecting on that, I agreed that
I’m not a hobby crafter. I am an artist. 

WE RECENTLY DID AN ARTICLE ABOUT A PROGRAM CALLED JAIL GUITAR DOORS,
WHICH BRINGS MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS AND INSTRUCTION INTO PRISONS. IT
SEEMS THAT HAVING A CREATIVE OUTLET CAN BE CRUCIAL TO SOMEONE IN
PRISON. 

It also helps people to recognize latent talent, something that they
never thought they had. I met guys that never thought that they could
sing learn how to sing — guys learning how to play a guitar, a bass
guitar and drums. Unfortunately, they wound up in a situation where
they realized that, hey, I had something that probably could have been
discovered earlier in life — before this terrible tragedy happened
in their lives.

YOU CHOSE TO TELL THE STORY OF YOUR LIFE THROUGH YOUR ARTWORK? 

Yeah. And also the lives of others. The people that I befriended,
people who have died in prison while I was there. People who I have
taken care of as a hospice volunteer that have died. To show the
humanity of prison life. 

WHAT WAS IT ABOUT QUILTING THAT APPEALED TO YOU? 

Well, nothing, to be honest with you. [laughs] I thought it wasn’t a
manly thing to be doing in prison, but being a hospice volunteer —
prisoners wanted to know what we could do to financially support the
program: “Let’s start making quilts to sell to the public.” And
guys started making quilts. They asked me to help them out because
they were falling behind. 

Since I am a certified graphic artist, I learned a technique called
appliqué, and I started applying that process into quilting. That’s
where my imagery came about, and lo and behold, it was something that
got many people’s attention. 

“One of World’s Wonders: African Giant Swallowtail Butterfly”
(2023) by Gary Tyler. Photo by Tim Johnson, courtesy of the artist
and Library Street Collective.

WHAT DO PEOPLE NOT REALIZE ABOUT LIFE IN PRISON?

Sometimes you have these movies that give a false depiction about
prison life. Prison is a world of its own. It is composed of people
from all walks of life: The good, the bad and the ugly, but sometimes,
people in prison are not what society depicts them to be. You have
genuinely good people in prison despite the crime that they went to
prison for. Everybody in prison is not a criminal just because a
person committed a crime. There are people in prison that deserve a
second chance.

WHAT’S THE MOST IMPORTANT THING TO KNOW ABOUT LIVING ON DEATH ROW?

I don’t think any [inmate] can accept that someone wants to take
their life from them. It was an uneasy feeling. It was surreal that
this was happening. It was a whole lot for a young person my age. It
took me some time to really grasp what was taking place. It was a
living hell, to be honest with you. 

WERE THERE MANY OTHERS THERE WHO WERE ALSO NOT GUILTY OF WHAT THEY
WERE CONVICTED OF?

You can pick up the papers every day — well, not every day — and
you see people who have been exonerated for crimes they didn’t
commit 20, 30, 40, 50 years ago. It is just horrible how the criminal
justice system operates. 

“Unwavering” (1988/1989, 2023) by Gary Tyler. Photo by Tim
Johnson, courtesy of the artist and Library Street Collective.

WHEN YOU WERE FINALLY RELEASED, WERE YOU ABLE TO USE QUILTING RIGHT
AWAY TO MAKE A LIVING? 

No, when I got out, I had to restart my life all over. When I went to
prison at 16 years old, I was a juvenile. I lived under the auspices
of my parents, who paid the bills, who took care of me as their child.
Now I no longer have them. I exited prison an elderly man. I was 57
years old, and then I found out that I’d have to work 10 years to
even start receiving Social Security. All this time I’m thinking
that if you reach a certain age, you automatically get Social
Security. That’s if you worked in the system, had a job in life. But
I was in prison all that time. Now I got to work 10 years to put
something in.

THAT’S A TALL ORDER.

I’ll be 77 years old before I’m able to start drawing Social
Security. So I had to concentrate on reacclimating, adjusting to life
and doing the things that will give me a solid foundation that will
help me sustain a living — a life out here in the free world.

People who knew me and the kind of artwork that I did, like quilting
and drama, always reminded me, “Gary, people would appreciate your
artwork more being out here than when you were in prison.”  I was
working to really get an anchor, get my life established. I got a
studio and people heard about me, my artwork, and knew that I was a
quilter. And miraculously, that was like a clarion call: I started
getting fabric from people all over. People donated sewing machines. 

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO YOU THAT THE ART WORLD IS PAYING ATTENTION TO
WHAT YOU’RE SAYING?

If my artwork is able to give people an understanding of what an
individual goes through while in prison — that a person can be just
as creative, can be just as productive than those who are not
incarcerated, and come out somewhat normal and able to function — it
definitely means a lot. 

Since I am in the position that I am, I hope that it’s a reflection
of the men and women in prison, that you don’t cease to be a human
being while you’re in prison. You can be just as productive. You can
be just as meaningful.

_Steve Appleford is a Los Angeles writer and photographer who has
covered riots, political conventions and pop culture for a variety of
publications, including the Los Angeles Times, Rolling Stone, GQ,
Entertainment Weekly, TV Guide and LA Weekly._

_Capital & Main is an award-winning nonprofit publication that reports
from California on the most pressing economic, environmental and
social issues of our time.
JOIN OUR EMAIL LIST TO STAY UP-TO-DATE WITH OUR LATEST NEWS._

* criminal justice system
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* Death Penalty
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* Artists
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* political prisoner
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