Two decades in New York City jails will leave their mark on you. The uniforms – so uncomfortable, so drab – the cold roundness of the bars, the perfectly imperfect symmetry, the unquestionably defined lines of the place itself. From the way you dress to the way you carry yourself, even to the way you speak, an indelible sign, like an unyielding bruise, lingers long after you’ve made it out.
For Renee Aiken, that mark is most evident in her work.
Calvin Setar 