From Concept to Confinement: A Dialogue on Art and Incarceration
*Photo credit to Allen-Golder Carpenter and Emmanuel Massillon
Emmanuel Massillon and Allen-Golder Carpenter
Consultant: Aziah James Lusala
Cell 72: The Cost of Confinement
London Gallery Weekend Performance: 6-8th June 2025 12am-12am (72 hours)
(6 June – 13 July 2025)
This exhibition will transform the gallery into a prison cell for over 72 hours, during which the conceptual artist Allen-Golder Carpenter will live inside the cell. The purpose of this exhibition is to provide a raw and unfiltered insight into the inhuman conditions and psychological effects of incarceration, drawing attention to the often overlooked realities of prison life. The gallery space, known for its intimate size, creates an immersive experience. The all-glass storefront allows for passersby to witness the performance, adding a unique element of public engagement to the work. This setting will create a powerful contrast between the freedom outside the glass and the confinement within, enhancing the emotional impact of the piece. It is crucial to clarify that this exhibition is not intended to exploit prison culture for profit. Instead, it aims to raise awareness about the harsh realities faced by inmates in the American prison system. To further underline our commitment to this cause, 15% of the exhibition sales will be donated to a DC prison reform organization and HMP Feltham. The exhibition will feature a small number of installations that Allen will interact with in the durational performance, each representing different aspects of prison life. In conjunction with the artworks created during the performance and presented as part of The Cost of Confinement, Allen-Golder Carpenter and Emmanuel Massillon, will also present a number of affordable editions. These will include a zine, limited edition posters, and a special edition tee-shirt collection from both artist's independent brands.
(Excerpt from https://harlesdenhighstreet.com/Cell-72 )
Entering the Concept: My Initial Reflections
Throughout the years of knowing Emmanuel Massillon, I’ve had the privilege of hearing some of his deepest thoughts and wildest ideas. One recurring topic in our conversations and his research has been incarceration.
I don’t have a direct connection to incarceration, though I’ve done my fair share of research on political prisoners. Still, that doesn’t compare to what Emmanuel Massillon and Allen-Golder Carpenter are currently representing in this work and Allen is performing.
I first heard about the concept at the beginning of 2024. Honestly, I wasn’t the biggest fan. Like many others, I thought it was wild—but that wasn’t off-brand for Emmanuel and his otherworldly ideas. I may not always agree with every concept he brings forth, but I’ve learned to respect the intention behind his work. This particular idea felt extreme to me—but I understood, and still understand, the need for this kind of representation.
At the same time, I couldn’t help but think about the psychological toll this would take on Allen. Being confined to a single room for 72 hours, under surveillance, with no control over your environment, even in a gallery setting, is not a neutral act. Isolation—even in the name of art—is still isolation. The body feels it. The mind resists it. And while Allen has the option to leave, many people around the world do not.
What Emmanuel and Allen are doing is symbolic—it’s a gesture, a performance, an embodiment meant to spark dialogue. But no matter how intentional or immersive the symbolism is (because it is not a simulation due to it not being close to or an exact representation of incarceration/solitary confinement), it cannot replicate the trauma, violence, and inhumanity of actual incarceration, especially solitary confinement. The carceral system strips people of agency, of time, of identity. It leaves scars that can’t be easily expressed or staged.
I sit with the discomfort of that gap—the gap between performance and lived reality. And I think that tension is necessary. It keeps the audience from consuming the work as entertainment. It reminds us that we’re witnessing a representation, not a reenactment.
So while I still have mixed feelings about the method, I can’t deny the commitment behind it. And I deeply appreciate the way it refuses to let us look away—from the conditions so many Black and brown bodies alongside many others are forced to endure in silence.
In the months leading up to this groundbreaking performance, Emmanuel and I had many conversations. I asked him, “Why must you do this? Have you fully considered the impact on Allen, and on the public’s reaction?” From the beginning, he was aware of the risks, but he remained steadfast in his decision to follow through. That kind of conviction—to act on what moves you and to speak truthfully through your art—is something I deeply admire in both Emmanuel and Allen.
I feel lucky to have witnessed this project unfold from its early stages to its public presentation.
As someone who’s always thinking about how environments affect the mind, body, and soul, my main concern—beyond the conceptual execution—was Allen’s well-being. Though I’ve only known him for the past two or three years, I’ve had the chance to witness his warmth, his joyfulness, and his seriousness about his craft. That balance is something I deeply respect.
Now, as Allen approaches the final 24 hours of his 72-hour performance, I wanted to check in on him all the way from Brooklyn, NY. While I’ve only been able to wave through WhatsApp video calls that Emmanuel holds up to the gallery window, my heart goes out to him in this confinement. I know this is not a literal experience of incarceration—but the emotional, psychological, and physical toll is still very real.
I’m incredibly proud of Allen and his strength to endure this space and what it represents.
As a way of checking in and documenting this moment, I’ve put together a series of questions for him. Some I plan to ask while he is still in the performance space, and others I’ll ask immediately after the experience—and again a few days later—to understand how his body, mind, and spirit shift post-performance.
How Far Can Art Go? Interviewing the Creator Behind the 72-Hour Lock-In
At 11:43 AM EST on June 7th, 2025, as I waited to interview Allen, I had the opportunity to speak with Emmanuel Massillon for a brief interview and discussion about the current state of the performance and his interactions with the public during his visits to the gallery.
RC: How is everything going? What are people’s reaction to this performance?
EM: People can see him [Allen] and he can see people. The way the space is for some reason he can hear everything everyone is saying, but they can’t hear him while he is physically in the space. So if you are trying to talk to him he can hear you but you can’t hear him type shit. People just be saying shit like “Why is he in there?” “What is going on?” “This is stupid”
Earlier I was speaking to a lady who was walking by while I was checking in on Allen [via video chat] and she said “Oh my God this is important. People need to see this especially in Harlesden you know. It’s sad and you can see that young man is going through something, but it’s important” I then over heard a man walking by talking about how a gallerist has been incarcerated for 2 years and he thinks it’s important for this to be spoken about in the area. I wish I had the chance to get more information but people were stopping by for a few seconds then they were off to continue with their day and of course I am not physically there.
EM: So the reviews have been very mixed, but they mostly have been positive. A lot of people who were actually incarcerated have came by and have said “this is very important! Thank you so much. I don’t want people to go through this. You are shinning light on it” then I had one dude that thought the piece was cool, but he didn’t like it because it made him feel negative emotions, but he respected it because art is supposed to make you feel emotions. You know?
RC: Yeah.. I agree.
EM: Yeah, but I think the mixed reviews [pauses] The positive and negative are good because the piece is supposed to create discourse. You know what im sayin’?
RC: Exactly.
EM: The piece is supposed to get people talking about their privilege or you know how they have interacted with prison. It holds up a kind of mirror to people, because if you are upset why are you upset? I have literally seen so many people question their own existence when they have seen this piece and they see how Allen is. He is not physically happy in there… He is not happy. [pauses] You know from my personal observation. But I think the way he looks in there and the way he acts you know.. just him being in there in the sweat suit with the phones on the wall people can infer that it is “prison”. I think another powerful thing to document too on the record when I came up with this idea and as a conceptual artist when you put these ideas out in the world you don’t know how they are going to effect people or how people are going to interact with it. So I think one of the most craziest things to me that I saw was the fact that Allen is stuck there kind of in time and he knows that most prisoners have a release date so they know… Hey I’m going to be here for an x amount years, or months, even some days at times depending on what you did. And so I think him just being locked there and him seeing everybody else walk by and they’re free, but he’s not— even though it’s a mock setting it’s having a tole on him and I think people can see that when they come see the show.
RC: Would you consider this to be a simulation?
EM: No, I wouldn’t say this is a simulation. I would say it’s symbolic, because a simulation you would recreate all of the scenarios of prison. Nobody is going to go in there and strip search him or shank him you know and do the most heinous things that happen in prison. It’s supposed to be symbolic to raise awareness. I think the most powerful thing I saw was the fact that Allen is staying there still in time and everyone is just walking past him. Conceptually it’s like how in prison you’re just sitting there doing your daily routine etc. and life is going by. So you’ll see people walking past the gallery and not even look at Allen or know that he’s there then you’ll see people and they’ll be like “Oh what’s that?” While they are looking in the window, take a glance, and talk about it for 5 seconds and walk away and go on with their regular lives. I think seeing that with my own two eyes made me reflect on how we actually think about prison you know what im sayin’. How we’ll talk about it for five minutes or seconds and then we won’t care about it no more and just go on with our lives. Or even when we have loved ones who are incarcerated.. they are locked down being subjugated to non healthy and not the most high quality food through commissary and the prison meals, their safety is at risk, their physicalogical health is at risk, and they are locked in a box like an animal, under constant cervalence etc and they are aware of this and this effects their mental health. While they are going through that we are outside living our lives. So I think the most powerful thing for me personally was to see a physical representation of that. People just walking by not even noticing there’s someone in the gallery or people just walking to the glass for a few seconds and they have to go catch the bus because the bus stop is right near the gallery. It’s like a conceptual representation of how even though there’s people locked down we’re still living our regular lives. I thought it was something to really behold.
RC: How many more hours does he have left?
EM: He has one more day. It’s 4:35 PM here actually.
[going back to what we were talking about before my question] I think that is something I wasn’t prepared for as the person who came up with the concept and seeing Allen act it out.. even though it is a symbolism [of being incarcerated] it still has real effects. I had people come to the gallery and they said “Well… this isn’t the same as prison because Allen knows he’s going to get out eventually but in real life some people don’t know when they’re going to get out” These are true statements you know, but I’m just happy this got people talking. People are even challenged. I had a lot of people from galleries and museums come see the project today, and they commended me and said “No matter what anybody has to say about the project I know many artist that talk about exploitative topics that never donate money to anything”. Especially in this kind of art market where every penny counts. The gallery is going to donate 15% as well as the artist [Allen & Emmanuel] to a cause. Which is kind of unheard of.
[If] Anybody who has anything negative to say I challenge them to donate 15% of your next check. If your mom sends you a dollar go donate 15 cents. Even if you are for the project or against the project I challenge everybody. You don’t have to match our donations we’re doing, but I do challenge everybody to go and make a donation to any organization of your choice that helps people who have been incarcerated or haven’t been incarcerated.
RC: [chuckles] Am I being challenged currently?
EM: Yeah, it goes for everybody. If I can do it you can do it too.
RC: Do you have any origanizations you recommend for people to donate to?
EM: Yea I’ll send them to you. I gotchu. [pauses] Man my phone’s on 3%
RC: Well i won’t take up any more of your time or your battery. Anything else you want to say regarding what you’ve seen?
EM: Yeah, it was different people of all races and me being an African American Haitian artist you know I see the prison system from my point of view and I know there were comments from people saying we were performing for white people and etc. but these are also issues that effect other groups of people as well.
RC: Mhm exactly. Including internationally, not just here [USA].
EM: Yeah, I’m talking about it as a black person, but there were white people that came and talked about their experience with their brother being incarcerated. You know sometimes I think because the project is a black body in a space and he’s subjugated to being locked up in a space, we often forget damn there’s other people who aren’t black that have a relationship to incarceration. Black people aren’t the only people who are locked up.
RC: Of course.
EM: Yeah but I think some people forget or don’t realize that. It’s crazy to see..
[pauses to assist a bystander as he’s walking to the underground]
RC: For this project were you aiming to pertain to black people across the diaspora or were you aiming for it to pertain to anyone that was/is incarcerated? Quick before your phone dies!
EM: I think all of my work stems from the black experience, but I was doing it to talk about my people. But my work is for everybody. You can make work about [specific] people and what not, but you never know how it’s going to affect other people. But i gotta go charge my phone before it dies.
RC: Yeah. I’ll wait to interview Allen. Safe travels.
Before this conversation with Emmanuel, I had been working on a series of handmade pieces (knit pillows, bags, & much more) that will be available June 25th, 2025 in the shop section of this website. With each release, I plan to donate a percentage of the proceeds to different organizations.
Since I’ve been directly challenged by Emmanuel through this project, I’ve decided to take that challenge seriously and align this first release with a cause that speaks to the heart of the performance: incarceration.
For this initial drop, I will be donating 25% of the proceeds to the Innocence Project—an organization founded in 1992 by attorneys Peter Neufeld and Barry Scheck. The Innocence Project has been a leader in criminal justice reform, using DNA evidence and other scientific methods to help exonerate the wrongfully convicted.
Here is the link provided by Emmanuel Massillon: https://dcaccesstojustice.org/foundation/
*Photo credit to Allen-Golder Carpenter and Emmanuel Massillon
When the Voice Can’t Travel: Interviewing the Performer Within Cell 72
At 11:25 AM EST on June 8th, 2025 I finally got the chance to interview Allen. I had sent my questions to Emmanuel, and Allen wrote his answers down on a piece of paper. There was no other way—we couldn’t hear each other through the glass. He could hear me, but from the outside, his voice couldn’t reach me.
This experience made me really think about communication—specifically, how we connect with someone who is incarcerated. The limitations, the barriers, the silences. It’s something I hadn’t fully considered before, and it’s stuck with me.
Over the past 72 hours, I’ve found myself reflecting not just on the performance, but on the actual bodies that are incarcerated across the world. It’s unsettling. The weight of it has been keeping me up at night—it’s even started showing up in my dreams.
It’s wild how the human mind works—how a single encounter can open up so many questions about justice, connection, and what it means to be heard.
RC: First and foremost how are you? How are you feeling and what is your body feeling right now? Are there any changes within yourself that you have noticed?
AGC: I feel tired, but strong, changes in myself I’m not sure yet, maybe my resolve feels deeper, especially since I’m almost done.
RC: What’s the hardest part—silence, stillness, or being seen?
AGC: Hardest part? Being seen. I’m hyper-aware of every move I make, which is why sometimes I just sit still, especially when people are outside, I usually avoid eye contact.
RC: Do you feel like this space is holding you, or is it exposing you?
AGC: The space is definitely exposing me, I can’t feel held by voluntary internment, but I definitely feel like an object going to the bathroom feels like a strategic act to minimize being seen.
RC: How does time feel differently in the space versus outside? And what is your interpretation of time now?
AGC: Time is slow, feels like it passes at maybe half or 2/3 of its normal pace, seeing people outside is grounding every time the door is cracked I’ve never been more grateful for fresh air.
RC: How have you been managing sleep? & I’m interested to know what kind of dreams you are having or if you dream at all?
AGC: Haven’t been sleeping well, especially not waking up on my own terms. Not dreaming really, but think sweet memories help me fall asleep, mostly about women.
RC: What is this experience teaching you about your own mind, body, and spirit? What does “freedom” mean to you right now—in this moment?
AGC: It’s teaching me my body is strong and my mind is strong, or at least strong enough to remain dedicated to the ideas I believe in.
RC: What do you want the person who walks by this gallery for 5 minutes to leave with?
AGC: I want them to remember that the system of oppression are always right on our doorstep and that you could be walking right past them at any moment.
RC: How do you feel about having the ability to hear people but they can’t hear you?
AGC: I feel like it brings me closer to the actual experience of incarceration you know the world is going on outside, but you’re so far away from it. No one can hear you.
RC: What do you hope stays with you after these 72 hours are over?
AGC: That fighting for justice, freedom, and awareness is a forever thing not just for 72 hours.
RC: Is there anything you would like to share with the people?
AGC: I know that I can never fully replicate the horrors of prison from an art gallery that’s not the point, I do things like this to show that those locked up far away and out of reach of their families, are not forgotten about and for the ones who were locked up and now free, we didn’t forget about you while you were away. We pour out libation for lost loved ones and ancestors.
I pour myself out for these 72 hours as a libation, but instead of just honoring the dead, I honor those alive, forced to live as if they were dead.
Where the Curtain Falls
The conversations shared here are only a small glimpse into a much larger, ongoing reality. Incarceration—across the world—is more than policy, more than punishment; it is lived, endured, and often invisibilized. I hope this post encourages readers to pause and consider the people behind the walls, the systems that confine them, and the humanity that persists despite it all. May this be a moment of reflection—not just on the performance, but on the world that makes it necessary.
Thank you all for reading.
Until next time.
With much love,
Ryan Cosbert