Painting his penitence

Marlowe Parker is a vivacious, kind, gregarious guy who emanates an undeniable joy in painting. His imaginative and colorful works are part sociological study and part Outkast video come to life.

The 44-year-old is making a name for himself steadily in the art world, selling paintings and amassing a faithful fan base that includes Harry Connick Jr. A feat for anyone, sure, but Parker is doing this from behind the razor wire at the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola.

Parker is 11 years into a 25-year sentence on a drug conviction. He started painting only six years ago. Addicted to drugs when first sentenced, Parker went to rehab at Angola and got clean. Still, he was tortured by dreams of his old life of using. Then something changed.

“I asked the Lord to give me something in place of my addiction, and—booya, this is what I get,” Parker explains. “I love it, and this is what I do.”

Access to the hobby shop on the prison grounds is a privilege. When Parker earned his way in, he used the scraps of other artworks to try out his own. “They would leave their old paint out, and I’d ask them, please, can I have that?”

Parker says that the more seasoned artists started helping him and eventually decided he was ready for his own quality paints and a nice brush. “I loved that brush so much that I started working, and it just came out,” he says.

Parker draws inspiration from his artist stepfather, Gilbert Green, who also served time at Angola, and Clementine Hunter, arguably Louisiana’s most celebrated folk artist. Hunter’s paintings show plantation life in simple but meaningful strokes. Similarly, Parker’s paintings capture moments of everyday life. They are real and raw, colorful and playful.

Parker’s subjects are either completely imagined characters, people from his past, or historical figures he reads about in books and newspapers. At the Angola Prison Rodeo, Parker’s fictional characters draw the biggest crowds. A lot of people relate to Parker’s “moose heads,” caricatures with big heads and long necks, come to life in both urban and rural settings—talking, laughing, drinking, dancing. “When I paint, I laugh at my own art. It tickles me to death,” Parker says.

Painting is clearly Parker’s escape from the toils of prison. When he arrived at Angola, he had to make a choice, he says: either play the destructive prison game or do something positive to turn his life around. His artistic efforts have now come full circle. He teaches his techniques to anyone serious about the craft.

Regardless of what he’s in for, Marlowe Parker is excited about what a clean future holds. “It’s a sense of freedom,” he says. “You can get into art and just go free. My imagination is that one day I’m going to paint a big doorway, step through it and throw my brushes to someone else. If they get a chance to do this, and stay focused like me, they can paint their way out of prison. That’s what I want to do: paint my way out of prison.”