A Breeze on the Blowing Wind: The Art and Awakening of Joe Avila
- Elizabeth Sinofsky
- Aug 29
- 3 min read
He was a condemned man, tucked away in a dark corner of Richard J. Donovan Prison, sealed behind concrete, steel doors, and heavy locks. Unseen, unheard, and unassuming. For years, Joe Avila walked the green mile on several California’s Death Row housing units. A quiet loner, he found more comfort in the company of his own thoughts than in the chaos of prison politics. He never imagined hope could reach him, until changes in state law shifted the fate of many condemned men.
For 22 long years, he endured isolation, an island of hell that countless others like him were forced to survive. Who would have guessed that beneath the rough exterior of a man branded as “the worst of the worst” lived a poetic artist?
This is the reality of a boy born into gang culture, indoctrinated before he ever had a choice. His version of “normal” was nothing like family vacations, holiday gatherings, or school lunches with friends. There were no first lost tooth celebrations, no pats on the back for passing a math test, no bedtime stories, high school proms, and no family dinners that made you feel welcomed and safe.
Only survival.....
His story might seem unfathomable to those who had softer more palatable childhoods.
I find myself asking, how can a child, born straight into chaos and carried from one trauma to the next, ever find a path to success? Especially when the very people meant to shield them from the icy winds of life are the ones conjuring the storms that tear their fragile souls apart.
How can society not see the journey that led this child to his own undoing and self-destruction? And how dare they be upset about it without ever zooming out to see the entire picture. But I digress, because this story is about the essence of a man, the sliver of a beautiful soul buried so deep under pain and circumstance. That part of Joe Avila is the part people don’t want to see, because to do so would mean stripping away the label that reduces him to just a number.
But we see Joe. We see him as a man who, once given the chance to program, to be self-reflective, and to connect with others in meaningful and healing ways, revealed himself to be creative, humorous, and gentle, a softer individual who has not yet vanished into the gaping mouth of the institutional cesspool of hopelessness. Yes, he still has complex feelings of anger and the weight of his actions never go unnoticed, not for a single moment, But today, he has support. Today he can choose how he addresses his past in a more meaningful way.
Joe is an artist, deep thinker and someone who deserves to be seen as he is today. Is he perfect? of course not. He will remain a never-ending work in progress, like all of us. Sometimes he's still angry, but he doesn't hold back now, he expresses the feelings of the shadowy parts of himself. HE channels himself through beautiful art - His talent is sublime
Fun story...when Joe wrote his letter for our Truth for the Youth program, I sent him his certificate of completion… and managed to get both his CDCR number and name wrong. He let the LEAD facilitator know, and I was mortified. If you know me, I’m a perfectionist. I quickly redid it and sent a new one, only to realize it was wrong again. What the hell was wrong with me? Why could I not get this man’s name right? This time, I sent an apology card along with it.
Joe was very gracious, though some of the other men were surprised he gave us that much grace. I wasn’t.
Finally, we decided to lean into the humor of it. I made two certificates: the fake one said Angry Joe and was to be presented first. We all had a good laugh. On the third try, I finally got it right. Even in that interaction, I felt the universe being playful with both of us, me, the perfectionist, and “Angry Joe,” the man from death row.
If you’d like to read Joe’s letter to the youth , you can download it here.
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