Abolition
Archive Art Memory Correspondence

About

About
Abolition Archive

We create, remember and commune across prison walls.

Here you will find a living collection of creativity and connection from imprisoned artists and their loved ones. Every letter, drawing and story is a thread in the fabric of our collective humanity.

Delicate archival flower illustration

Remember

We preserve and protect the art, writing and stories of incarcerated creators.

Open archival book with stars

Share

We help creators in prison edit and publish their comics, books, zines, and memoirs and amplify their voices through digital media.

Envelope with luminous correspondence star

Correspond

We exchange letters and match penpals to maintain connection and solidarity.

Raised hand holding a guiding light

Support

We practice mutual aid and fund commissary, stamps, art supplies, and re-entry assistance.

Our Story

Abolition Archive was born from the belief that creativity cannot be caged, and that connection can survive brick and barbed wire.

What began as cross-wall collaborations of DIY anarcho-punk zines and hand-bound books has grown into an international archive of art and writing.

They tried to bury us. They did not know we were sandworms.

How the Archive Works

We steward a sequence of creation, care and connection.

Letters and artwork being received by the archive

Receive

We are entrusted with letters, art and stories from imprisoned LGBTQ+ creators and their penpals.

Archival materials being preserved with care

Preserve

We carefully archive each piece to ensure longevity and access.

Published books and zines from the archive

Publish

We share through our books, zines, exhibitions and digital media.

People connecting through correspondence

Connect

We facilitate penpal relationships to build communities and deepen human connection.

Ongoing support sustaining artists and archive work

Sustain

We find creative ways to keep forward momentum and better support our artists.

Leadership Team

Our team carries the daily work of the archive—publishing, correspondence, reentry support, exhibitions, and the careful labor of keeping connection alive.

Portrait of Brett Tomás Gonzalez

Brett Tomás Gonzalez

Director of Programs

Portrait of Lyssa Gomez

Lyssa Gomez

Reentry Support

Our Impact

From our very first letters to today, the Archive continues to grow thanks to our community and supporters.

1,540+people exchanged letters with
$250K+direct support donated
57books and zines published
215+people welcomed home
10K+archived pieces and counting

Our Partners &
Community Supporters

Organizations, foundations, and media partners helping expand opportunities for incarcerated and formerly incarcerated artists.

Borealis Philanthropy Center for Cultural Innovation Ear Hustle Empowerment Avenue Flying Over Walls Galaxy Gives Horizons Foundation Justice Arts Coalition Knight First Amendment Institute Mellon Foundation Queer Cultural Center Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence Tegan & Sara Foundation Trans Justice Funding Project

A Walk Down Memory Lane

Before there was a storefront, a small press, a website, or a plan, there was a penpal. Someone on the opposite side of those prison walls to share art, queerness, jokes, dreams and 15 page letters handwritten in the back of a romantic literature class, signed with a black lipstick kiss.

That single connection has led you here. The year was 2017. Three scrappy punk kids in west Oakland met up in a community garden and spoke anarchism, prison abolition and, of course, comics. In that garden, ABO Comix: A Queer Prisoner's Comic Anthology series was born.

The creators opened a PO Box, screenprinted Be Gay Do Crime hoodies, and fundraised for a vintage book binding press. They placed an advertisement in the Black and Pink newsletter asking for comic submissions about true experiences inside the PIC. Their mailbox exploded and they have been buried under mail ever since.

Dozens of artists in prison shared stories in beautiful, vulnerable, raw comics. Those artists became friends, confidants, mentors, and elders, all while the state held them in cages. Their stories became Volume 1 of what would become a 10 volume annual anthology series.

Eventually, this little sandworm of an idea turned into another anthology. And another. And another. The community grew from 25 artists to hundreds, and counting. In 10 quick years, there were bookshelves of prison-published books, a podcast, an art gallery, and a vast network of abolitionists that spanned internationally.

It was not easy. There came the difficult, messy, mistake-driven process of learning how to navigate human relationships through institutional and community harm. We lost, and we grieved, and we screamed into pillows.

Maybe that is why Abolition Archive exists now: to remember those we have lost, honor those who are still with us, and carry forth the wisdom into the great unknown.