Soul Dancer | Artist | Survivor | Justice-Impacted Woman | Advocate
Beyond the Prison Walls: Finding My Voice Through Art
My journey into the criminal justice system didn't begin with a crime. It began with trauma, devastating loss, abuse, addiction, and years of trying to escape emotions I didn't know how to face.
When I was 20 years old, my two-year-old son, Jason, was tragically killed. His death left wounds I didn't know how to heal, and drugs became my escape. I still speak his name because he lived. He was here. He was loved. And as long as I have a voice, his memory will never be forgotten.
I spent 7 years, 7 months, and 7 days in a Nevada women's prison, followed by 23 years on parole.
Prison changes you. It's the loneliness, the regret, the endless hours alone with your thoughts, and the heartbreak of being separated from your children. It's the days without hearing their voices, the birthdays you miss, and the ordinary moments you can never get back. Prison doesn't just take your freedom. It takes pieces of your children's childhood, too.
I remember waking each morning, looking out the same window at the same barbed-wire fence, listening to the same blackbird singing what always seemed like such a sad song. Beyond those fences, life continued. Inside, time seemed to stand still. Some days, simply holding on to hope was an act of survival.
And when the prison gates finally opened, I discovered that freedom and being free weren't necessarily the same thing. My conviction followed me home, shaping my life for decades after my release.
I've been in recovery since November 10, 1996, and have spent more than 30 years walking alongside others navigating addiction, incarceration, recovery, and reentry.
I've learned that grief has many faces. Sometimes it's losing someone we love. Sometimes it's the years we can never get back, the relationships that changed, or the life we once imagined. I don't know that we ever truly heal from such losses, but I've discovered that art gives us a gentler way to carry what our hearts cannot put down.
My artwork is colorful, whimsical, sometimes a little wild, and deeply personal. I create from joy, sorrow, laughter, hope, and the belief that even life's broken pieces can become something beautiful.
I am more than my conviction, more than my grief, and more than the prison walls that once surrounded me.
I am an artist. I am a survivor. And I have always been human.
— Sandy
