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About a month after I earned my parole and was released from High Desert State Prison in 2024, my buddy Kai Bannon called me from San Quentin through the institutional phone portal. My eyes welled with emotion at being on the other side of these monitored calls for the first time as a free person.

Kai co-founded San Quentin SkunkWorks — a nonprofit social innovation lab focused on introducing and testing moonshot reform ideas, and he and his inside team embarked on a series of community-oriented projects within the prison.

Now Kai wanted my help to realize a bold new vision — to rehabilitate the 19th century architectural landscape of San Quentin by infusing it with light, color, beauty and art.

Gov. Gavin Newsom committed $240 million toward renovating the state’s oldest prison and rebranding it as San Quentin Rehabilitation Center. His plan includes a new multi-building educational complex, as well as repurposing the former Death Row condemned housing unit into living quarters for the general population.

But it doesn’t include changing the drab beige and brown exteriors that surround residents whenever they leave their tiny dark cells, which were built in the late 1800s. The physical environment still signifies oppression, confinement, punishment.

With so much attention focused on the new buildings set to open in early 2026, Kai began to envision SkunkWorks as a platform that might aesthetically elevate the older, less glamorous parts of the facility.

He christened the project Chiaroscuro: Light Within the Shadows. An Italian term of art, chiaroscuro describes the graphic interplay between light and dark highlights. Metaphorically, it underscores the bright juxtapositions of humanity that live deep within our prisons.

We needed to meet two objectives simultaneously: 1) reach out to global artists to see who’d be interested in working inside an incarcerated community; and 2) figure out how to convince prison administrators that our project had merit.

From Dubai to the U.K. to California, world renowned muralists responded. The concept intrigued them, and they wanted to find out more about San Quentin. They wanted to understand the community they might soon visit and hope to inspire through art. The Skunks collected stories of the individuals living inside San Quentin — including officers and staff who spend large chunks of their days working alongside residents.

Much to our amazement, prison officials agreed we were on the right path. With their support, we gained approval for photos and design layouts of the facility to be shared with prospective artists.

“The murals aren’t just about making the place look better. They change the mood out here,” said San Quentin Correctional Sgt. Freddy Brenes. “A calmer yard means a safer yard — for staff and for the people living here.”

We soon felt an immediate connection with Faith XLVII, a South African artist known for creating community-inspired street murals on public wall spaces and buildings.

“My personal view is just that art has been and is, in all traditional societies, very much a part of the cultural fabric of life and the processes of life,” Faith said. “It’s cathartic; it’s therapeutic; it’s psychological. It speaks in a visual language that negates words and can speak directly to the heart through metaphors and symbols.”

Faith XLVII, a South African artist, outside of San Quentin Rehabilitation Center on July 11, 2025. Photo by Jungho Kim for CalMatters

Faith already had a planned trip to San Francisco in June for a gallery exhibit, so talks quickly evolved. Would it be possible to create a mural on a San Quentin wall in July? We’d need clearcut approval by the administration. We’d also need to raise funds to cover materials and costs.

Kai and his team launched a grassroots social media campaign asking for donations. Because it was the debut installment of Chiaroscuro, we felt an added pressure to pull it off without much hitch.

SkunkWorks raised thousands of dollars by June. A percentage of that came from dozens of residents who filled out donation slips inside the facility for money to be deducted from their institutional trust accounts.

“It’s actually kind of cool,” Kai told me. “A number of people came by and said they gave five bucks or 10 bucks. Those are small amounts for people on the outside. But you and I both know how much five or 10 bucks means in here.”

In addition to Faith, we partnered with Shannon Riley, one of the co-founders of Building 180 — an art production and consulting agency responsible for coordinating public art installations all around the world.

With Riley’s outreach, Dunn-Edwards Paints sponsored most of the paint for the mural. Their local distributors mixed and prepared custom colors along with a UV protective finishing coat.

“I think placing art in public spaces can really help connect people in meaningful ways,” said Riley. “It sparks conversation and dialogue, curiosity and confidence — all really important for healing and rehabilitation.”

Faith’s son, Keya Tama, came from New York to help paint. 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.

Barbed wire casts shadows on a mural painted by Keya Tama at the San Quentin Rehabilitation Center on July 11, 2025. Photo by Jungho Kim for CalMatters

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’re the 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.

Assistant Warden Yaser Samara and Faith XLVII stand in front of the artist’s mural at the San Quentin Rehabilitation Center on July 11, 2025. Photo by Jungho Kim for CalMatters

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.”

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Joe Garcia is a California Local News fellow.