Ed Epping

Consider the power of a simple straight stitch embroidered 100,000 times in a vintage canvas cot cover. Each stitch is unique unto itself, but when collected and assembled in the shape of a reclining figure, each stitch undergoes a drastic transformation in its presence. Similarly, a half-inch graphite mark located within an orange rectangle. When 2,300,000 cells are occupied by a stroke of graphite, the simple mark gains a weight and character that resonates. While neither approach demands advanced technical skill, their repetitiveness fosters a captivating experience.

My work is guided by these fundamental principles:

1. Art making is fundamentally a problem-solving endeavor.
2. Ideas are privileged over media.
3. I find provocation in overlooked material.
4. Influenced by the music of Thelonious Monk and the poetry of Paul Celan, I am continually reminded of the profound impact of suggestion. What I leave unsaid can be just as significant as what I highlight; this balance prevents my work from veering into overstatement.

By focusing on ideas rather than being limited to specific media, I am more open to broader investigations. Some ideas require a choice of material that would fail to work with another idea. When teaching, I would emphasize this idea in my studio tutorials by citing the following example: would you bank with an institution housed in a trailer hitched to a truck? The two elements do not connect in a way that builds trust. Likewise, the media selected in making an image must establish an unchallengeable trust with the viewer.

If an essential quality of art is communication, and it is, then the exchange among me, my work, and the viewer must tender a trusting relationship. The range of media in my work includes drawing (various, including pyrographics), sewing, artist books, sculpture, pamphlets, painting, watercolor, and computer-generated prints. I chose this range because it effectively conveys my ideas in a manner consistent with establishing that conviction. This trust is not just a feeling, but a connection that encourages the viewer to feel secure and attached to the narrative of the art.

In this moment, striving to grasp the vastness of 100,000 individuals held in isolation or the total number of incarcerated people in the US (now, 1,800,000), the viewer steps back from mere abstraction and actively engages the connection between the concept and the tangible reality revealed by these stitches and graphite strokes. The viewer’s role in this process is crucial. They are not just passive observers, but active participants in the artistic process. Their interpretation and engagement with the art completes the artistic process, making them an integral part of the creative act. Their understanding and empathy are what give the art its power and its ability to provoke thought and action.

How did I arrive at these choices? A keyword throughout the Corrections Project was accounting. My father was an accountant, and he was a key figure involved with a high-profile crime in the state government of Illinois in 1956. He served five and one-half years in a state penitentiary for his involvement. He was held accountable. This personal experience with the justice system deeply influenced my work. Accounting is a system of adding and subtracting, accumulating an overall understanding of transactions over time. Keeping track of time without a calendar is stereotypically represented by the tally-mark system of accumulating four vertical marks diagonally crossed by a fifth mark. Repeat.

What does repetition do to me? The intensive process was chosen for its numerically consuming nature, but the time taken is not a burden. Like any mantra, the repetition can become both meditative and, yes, boring. The key is to find a balance, as the quality of the repetition needs to be consistent. If it becomes inconsistent, then the possible shifts become an undesirable distraction. Some days, hours can pass. Some days, an hour feels like an eternity. I suspect this might be similar while incarcerated.

When I first started the Corrections  Project, I read that prisons and jails referred to their size by the number of beds they contained. Yes, resorts, hotels, or even camps can refer to the number of beds, but being incarcerated has nothing to do with any of those places of rest or joy. That struck me. So I purchased a very cheap imported blanket of the type and quality used in prisons and jails. This blanket, a symbol of discomfort and confinement, became the ground for my art. I began embroidering tally marks in that blanket to reach the then-current population of 2,300,000. The active metaphor here is that each stitch represents a person sleeping under such a blanket, each mark a reminder of their confinement. The weight of the blanket and linen embroidery will make for an uncomfortable rest, mirroring the discomfort and lack of rest experienced by those incarcerated. That piece remains a work in progress.

Mastery in mark making encompasses more than traditional techniques; it invites me to redefine craft by occasionally embracing the rawness of untrained marks. Yet, there are moments when skill and facility are critical. When representing an unjustly treated individual, I am compelled to honor their likeness with a series of marks that draw on the rich traditions of portraiture, such as the use of light and shadow to create depth, and the careful attention to detail in capturing the subject’s expression. Choosing to make these marks with a pyrographic stylus was triggered by my desire to sear their likeness into the viewer’s consciousness. To burn their likeness into the paper so that their unjust treatment could not be erased.

Think of dominant corporate logos and how they establish an immediate link to their services or products. Graphic design. In a subject as complicated as mass incarceration and overcriminalization, the layers of cause and effect can easily get lost unless details are presented clearly. There are more than a few instances when I have turned to graphic design principles as vehicles for representing those complexities. Printed graphics, an enduring means of communication, can present the subject and the verb succinctly and fulfill the principle of less is more. If the viewer is unfamiliar with an important detail, a graphic sign can draw their attention and quickly convey a connection through comparison and contrast.

Unless you have been incarcerated, how would you comprehend the size of a prison or jail cell? Hollywood examples are just that, fictional. But overlap what the viewer might have experienced—a pool table, a VW Beetle, a grocery cart corral in the shopping center—with the outlines of a cell with its bed, urinal/wash stand, and desk, and the comparison (to scale) instantly communicates the confined qualities of living there. This use of graphic design to address complex social issues through art is chosen to make the audience feel art’s power in addressing societal problems. It allows them to acknowledge these issues, to understand them more deeply, and to feel a connection to the individuals affected.

In some instances, I have determined that data points extracted from organizations focusing on particular layers of the subject can be collated into twelve-page, printed, and online pamphlets. Each concentrates on one channel—for example, overcriminalization of race, or gender, or poverty, or mental illness—and builds a graphic and narrative thread to better inform the reader on that particular point. The process of creating these pamphlets involves careful research, thoughtful design, and clear communication. It is a way to bring the often overwhelming and abstract data about these issues into a more digestible and relatable form. Pamphlets have a long history in the evolution of political and social justice movements because they can easily be passed along once their contents have reached the populations needing to know. With online access, the populations reached are limited only by the means of informing through social media. In other words, limitless. This process of turning data into art is a powerful way to engage the audience and inspire action.

I have learned that the problem solving in my art making is my most effective means of introducing viewers to social injustices. The US has, since the 1970s, rewritten the codes to punish, not rehabilitate, whole populations—populations that have been systemically isolated, poorly educated, denied access to economies or health benefits, and judicially supervised. I have maintained a means of threading the simple with the complex and keeping the essentials of craft. I want the image, the idea, the medium, and the viewer to all be a part of realizing an outcome that lingers. Lingers long enough to be transfixed into action. Action that seeks change. Change that matters.

 

To view my July 2025 installation, follow this link. Select the full-screen view icon from the bottom right menu in Issuu for an enhanced view of the images and text.

 

Image at top: Ed Epping, Abolitionist’s Ledger, 18 x 12in. ledger binder, 1500 pages of printed paper, graphite, gum eraser, metal cannister, brush with dust-pan.