Night Owls and Abstractions was the 18th Koestler Arts exhibition at the Southbank Centre. It featured a selection of music, writing, fine art, craft and design by individuals in prisons, secure hospitals, young offender institutions and immigration removal centres, as well as people on community sentences and probation.
Koestler Arts invited Nigerian-born British poet, playwright, and performer Inua Ellams to select artworks from over 7,500 entries to the annual Koestler Awards. Known for his celebrated plays Barber Shop Chronicles and The Half-God of Rainfall, Inua’s body of work spans poetry, theatre, graphic art, and live events. His acclaimed theatre works have been staged at the Edinburgh International Festival, the National Theatre and by the Royal Opera House. Most recently, Inua joined the Doctor Who writing team for the second season of the Fifteenth Doctor.
Inua’s work often explores themes of identity, migration, and displacement, a powerful connection with the work of Koestler Arts. In 2024 he volunteered as a Poetry judge for the Koestler Awards and took part in a prison visit with the staff team to inspire participation from people in secure settings. He has previously worked with charities in the prison arts sector; his play Cape, originally commissioned by Synergy Theatre Project and published in 2020, toured to 3,000 young people in schools and prisons.
During curation, Ellams was struck by the many depictions of owls and what they might represent to people in these settings. He considered how nighttime has ‘the ability to amplify the imagination’ and this concept, based on the limitlessness of the imagination, is seen throughout the artworks on display.
Through his selection of more than 200 pieces, Ellams challenged the public’s preconception of the kind of artworks they’d expect to see from people within the criminal justice system by including a range of styles and themes – humour and colour sat alongside sadness and monochromatic designs, while portraits and landscapes sat alongside figurative and abstract work.
Some of the artworks on display were available to purchase. Visitors wrote feedback on their favourite pieces in the exhibition space, which were sent directly to the exhibited artists.
“I hope those that come, come expecting to have their minds blown a little bit, not just by the range of artwork on show, but also the structure, the narrative journey we’re building, from how you enter to how you leave.”
Inua Ellams
Throughout the year, Koestler Arts demonstrates the human value and potential of people in prison to the public through a diverse programme of exhibitions and events around the UK, the biggest of which is the exhibition at London’s Southbank Centre every autumn, visited by ca. 10,000 people each year. These displays increase public awareness of the otherwise hidden talents of people in secure settings, allowing them a creative voice in a system that can often be silencing.
Beyond the exhibition
Continue exploring the themes of the exhibition.
Listen
Hear music pieces that featured in the exhibition, from instrumental compositions to hip hop, rap and grime!
Age recommendation: 18+ (Some tracks contain content some listeners may find upsetting)
See our curator Inua Ellams and hosts of the Life After Prison podcast, Zak and Jules, discuss the exhibition, the artworks featured in it, and Minions!
Digital gallery
Iron Owl
HM Prison Dovegate, Jackie Roscoe Memorial Outstanding Debut Award for Sculpture, 2025
Mohawk Minion
HM Prison Dovegate, Highly Commended Award for Sculpture, 2025
HM Prison & Young Offender Institution Rochester, Gold Award for Graphic Novel, 2025
Jeep
HM Prison Gartree, Sculpture, 2025
South Park Doing Time
HM Prison Garth, Commended Award for Painting, 2025
Horned Owl
HM Young Offender Institution Polmont, Mosaic, 2025
Blackbox
HM Prison Frankland, Gold Award for Matchstick Model, 2025
Owl
HM Prison Gartree, Bronze Award for Drawing, 2025
No Name Golden Pheasant Salmon Fly
HM Prison Dumfries, Commended Award for Themed Category: Wings, 2025
Minion in a Cat Suit
HM Prison Garth, Painting, 2025
Untitled
HM Prison Five Wells, Hilda May Silver Award for Matchstick Model, 2025
Busy Bee
HM Prison & Young Offender Institution Stirling, Where there’s a will there’s a way Commended Award for Textile Art, 2025
Happy Flowers
HM Prison & Young Offender Institution Low Newton, D & S Commended Award for Needlecraft, 2025
Spring Blossom
HM Young Offender Centre Hydebank Wood, Edmund Paton Walsh European Peace and Unity Award for an entry from a women’s prison Highly Commended Award for Needlecraft, 2025
HM Prison Isle of Wight (Albany), Bronze Award for Poem, 2025
Never yours
illicit walks across a silvery lake
I was never yours
cheesy chips from a polystyrene plate
I was never yours
teenage drinking ‘til morning breaks
I was never yours
trading underwear in a public space
I was never yours
trousers torn as we got engaged
I was never yours
invasion and its toll takes
I was never yours
first born child – our world shapes
I was never yours
family tragedies, sorrows and aches
I was never yours
eight years waiting for our wedding day
I was never yours
second born, now everything’s in place
I was never yours
my mistakes, such a disgrace
I was never yours
our love was me being fake
I was never yours
loving me was your greatest mistake
I was never yours
Truth of it is… I’m not straight
you were never mine.
HM Prison Isle of Wight (Albany), Bronze Award for Poem, 2025
HM Prison Isle of Wight (Albany), Bronze Award for Poem, 2025
50th Birthday Present
Today at dawn a drone unstitches
itself and brushes into the air, straight
and slant as a Roman Road, and I dig
in low to the earth and see, born
from the sky, a red flush, a huge
blossom silhouetting the blown-up centrifuge
of my life so far – see how it has torn
everyone apart, and me a damp pig
of a man – so often bursting late
into the hush of other people’s hard-worked riches.
HM Prison Isle of Wight (Albany), Platinum Award for Poem, 2025
HM Prison Isle of Wight (Albany), Gold Award for Poem, 2025
Behind These Walls
Behind these walls, where shadows loom,
a flicker of hope begins to bloom.
The clanging gate, the stone-cold floors
cannot silence dreams that soar.
The hours stretch long, the days crawl by
but within my soul, I reach for the sky.
Through tiny windows, the sunlight gleams.
A reminder of freedom and far brighter dreams.
Though iron bars may hold me tight,
they can’t cage my soul’s vibrant light.
For in each moment, I find way
to make my spirit rise each day.
A book, a thought or quiet prayer
in every corner strength is there.
The world outside may seem so far away,
but peace and solace I can find today.
For life’s true freedom lies within.
Not in the walls nor the skin we’re in.
And although I’m here, I know it’s true
the power of hope will drive me through.
So, I’ll walk this road, though it’s steep and long,
with courage in my heart and with silent song.
For even in prison, one can still be free
if your heart knows the truth of its liberty.
HM Prison Bure, Open Window Bronze Award for Poem, 2025
HM Prison Bure, Open Window Bronze Award for Poem, 2025
A Donder
Oot fer a wander,
Doon a forest track,
Gravel crunchin’ under foot,
Trees aw aroon,
Greens, yellows, broons,
Nowt at aw but branches,
Pendin’ on the season,
Spring, summer, autumn and winter,
Every donder’s different,
Sometimes wae the dugs,
An ole friend or a partner,
Wae the kid or jist ma’sel,
Rollin’ hills, some steep,
Some wae a wee doon hill,
Mornin’, noon or night,
Every wander is different to the next,
Fresh mornin’ dew drippin’,
Aff the leaves an branches,
Mist in the hollows,
Sharp shards o’ sun rays,
Flickerin’ through the trees,
The leaves flitterin’ doon,
Or flickers o’ snow in wintertime,
Hard frost crunchin’ under foot,
Grey shadows in the night,
Foxes barkin’ danger,
O’ someone or something there,
Owls hootin’ a love song,
Twit twoo, twit twoo,
Sae quiet in the dead o’ night,
Birds tweetin’ first light,
A robin in full song,
Pheasants crowin’ for a mate,
Rustles o’ leaves wae a breeze,
Sticks crackin’ under yer feet,
Mud aw aroon even up yer legs,
Aw slippy under feet, need a stick,
Tae hold ye up, or two,
Whistlin’ wind through the trees,
Windmill seeds spirallin’ doon,
Dandelion puff floatin’ roon,
Squ’rrels skippin’ huntin’ nuts,
Fresh garlic, mint or pine smells,
A rabbit nibblin’ woodsorrow,
When a deer suddenly skips through,
Twa magpies sittin’ o’er a shiny coin,
All seasons create a different donder,
Icy puddles crackin’ breakin’ up,
Squidgy groon hardenin’ fer summer,
Hard groon and dust in the air,
Leaves doon everywhere,
A fantasia o’ colours wanderin’ through,
Sae many stories o’ ma donders,
A bit o’ time in nature,
Peace or time to think or get some fresh air,
Getting soaked, in a sudden down pour,
Nose aw blue, hands frozen, ice blocks for feet,
Snow in my hair, things white everywhere,
Sweat on yer brow, sun beatin’ doon,
Aw donders in the forest totally different,
Lookin’ forward tae a wee donder,
Tomorrow, an the next, an next,
What will it be that day,
I can’t wait to see,
See you soon I’m away for,
A Donder!
HM Prison Addiewell, Catherine Botwright Memorial Bronze Award for Poem, 2025
HM Prison Addiewell, Catherine Botwright Memorial Bronze Award for Poem, 2025
The Plastic Gangster
He’s king in his own cell, A-Wing the threes.
He thinks he’s the Governor, the real bees knees.
He has legendary status in his own head.
A cardboard shot-gun under his bed.
Sells the odd gram, one here one there.
He’s lost all his hampsteads, now he’s losing his hair.
He is the Gangster made from cardboard or plastic.
Old Charlie Big Spuds, thinks he’s fantastic.
He talks moody bunny from the side of his mouth.
He ain’t from East London, the North or the South.
No mates, no pals, no girlfriends, no wife.
Been doing bird most of his life.
Talks a good blag, he talks a good job.
Is he a chap? … No he’s a knob.
Four hundred large in Hessian sacks.
Security Express, flat on their backs.
When things get lively, when it gets a bit warm.
Cozzers approaching like wasps in a swarm.
Jump in the Haddock, put the foot down.
Through the back doubles, right out of town.
Get to the slaughter, carve up the dough.
That got a bit dicey, off to Spain we go.
He’s dreaming again, wishing if only.
He ain’t got the minerals, he just waffles pony.
The plastic gangster, he ain’t the smartest.
He definitely ain’t no pavement Artist.
He’s got big muscles, wears shorts and a vest.
Tells us his exploits… give it a rest.
He bowls round the yard, with plenty of front.
God loves you plastic, but we think you’re a right… idiot.
An eye in the barn, with twinkling moonlights flash,
Spies sudden scurry, amongst the soil and ash.
Bobbing, swiveling ears, entrap every sound,
Poised pail powder puff, senses tied to the ground.
Soft as night snowfall, ascend to glide away,
Silent shadow swoops, diving towards the prey.
Sixth sense tingling, he sees the ghost too late,
Fearful frozen feet, then bursts to attempt escape.
Claw scrabbles on stone, screeching squeaks of surprise,
Feathers flying fierce, a talon grips her prize.
Wing beats and dust cloud, then stillness on the wall,
Moonlit mellow mist, black finger standing tall.
Lightning ruined tree, her magnificent home,
Strong, solemn and stark, defiant and alone.
Calling to her mate, alerting little ears,
Cheeping crescendo, louder as she draws near.
Flying loping low, alights on black charred coal,
White whispering wings, then perching at the hole.
Dabs in hungry mouths, to satisfy the fray,
Then back to the hunt, fleeting flash, and away.
HM Prison Stafford, Tim Robertson Outstanding Debut Award for Poem, 2025
HM Prison Stafford, Tim Robertson Outstanding Debut Award for Poem, 2025
The Jungle
As I step out my door into the jungle
There are a few things I see
The monkeys climbing on the netting screeching over here
The rhinos banging and slamming against the door
The lions slowly pacing up and down the landing looking for prey
The zebras cautiously walking down the stairs heading to the hatch
The old elephants taking their time getting up and coming out
All the gazelles huddled together in a pack waiting to be told where to go next
The cheetahs and leopards waiting to run and jump in the yard
The tough mooses locking horns as they fight
The hyenas laughing and screeching as things start to go awry
And the vultures quietly and patiently waiting for the leftovers
Finally, the wolves come in all together in a pack screaming everybody get down
These are the things you see in the jungle – these are the things you see in jail.
– until, one night, it seemed he was the eagle
his head became an eagle’s head
his arms, outstretched, were eagle’s wings
So this was how it worked,
he remembered thinking. The air –
he could push off against it
It was solid, substantial, his hand
an oar breaking through water
There was no fear
though clouds were his companions
He twisted, span
marvelling at his new-found skill
He felt every wind-change
instinct working the thermals
until the roads became gossamer
and the river feathered
into the distant sea
What, then, should I learn?
he asked of the eagle
You’re supposed to learn
the things that you think are nothing –
invisible, weightless, as air –
are powerful, intractable forces
real and solid as earth.
HM Prison Isle of Wight (Albany), Richard F. Taylor Platinum Award for Poem, 2025
HM Prison Isle of Wight (Albany), Richard F. Taylor Platinum Award for Poem, 2025
If You Loved Me
From the fork of the lightning,
To the dish of the spoon,
Down the roll of the thunder,
‘Cross the face of the moon,
‘Neath the depths of the ocean,
O’er miles of the sea,
All would be footsteps,
If you loved me,
Butterflies in darkness,
Bats in light,
Hell becomes heaven,
Day becomes night,
Time turns into centuries,
As a seed turns to a flower,
Beauty is skin deep,
As one within another,
Lazy days, crazy nights,
Spiteful remarks, leading to fights,
Better beware – a fight’s on the cards,
Women dead brainless,
Men dead hard,
Take a look around my friend,
Don’t live this life in sorrow,
Hold your head up high my son,
Look forward to tomorrow.
How can I look worthy in this suit that doesn’t fit?
How can I say sorry for a crime I didn’t commit?
How can I stay focused when I’m handed fifteen years?
How can I be brave when I’m afraid to shed these tears?
How can I stand tall when people treat me like I’m scum?
How can I move on when you judge me for things you’ve done?
How can I prepare myself for all these mental scars?
How can I follow rules when you won’t tell me what they are?
How can I ask for help when all the staff just walk away?
How can I face my family when I don’t know what to say?
How can I find peace amidst the screaming every night?
How can I come to terms with this when hope slinks out of sight?
How can I live life when I’m just a rabbit in a hutch?
How can I keep my old friends close when phone calls cost so much?
How can I say goodbye when I can’t even kiss my wife?
How can I tell my God above I’ve had enough of life?
HM Prison & Young Offender Institution Chelmsford, Outstanding Debut Award for Poem, 2025
HM Prison & Young Offender Institution Chelmsford, Outstanding Debut Award for Poem, 2025
Fractured Time
Hark the sound of captives stretching
Stirring of poor souls yawning
Sound of bodies muscles flexing
Reverberation of the morning
I hear the language of the jail
As pairs of feet swing to the floor
Emotions cloaked by hidden veil
Keys jangle at the door.
Ruffled bedsheets pulled up tight
Hiding marks of troubled sleep
Invaded slumber through the night
Dreams nobody wants to keep
Playful dust and light at play
As heavy doors creak open wide
Anticipation of the day
Eager bodies step outside.
Invading lungs with cleaner air
Eyes adjusting to the light
People dressed in prisonwear
Greet the day without delight
Free of cellular confinement
Thirty minutes on the yard
Time now spent in entertainment
Connected minds with low regard.
Window warriors constant calling
Monumental voices screaming
Vented stories so enthralling
Heartfelt jargon lost in meaning
Set free for moments in the day
Collecting primal needs
Medication thrice a day
Disregarded stilted pleads.
The imposition looming
Desires fixed impulsive
Paraphrasing assuming
Barked orders none receptive
Locked inside this box of pain
Rejected calls without design
Emotions tempered wax and wane
Resilience within this fractured time.
Standing in a crowd of people
Fiddling with my shirt
Making polite conversation
That’s not how my brain works
Sitting in a classroom
As my anxiety gets worse
Blocking out the chatter
That’s not how my brain works
Raving at a rock concert
Until my eardrums burst
Fending off a panic attack
That’s not how my brain works
Finding healthy relationships
A normal his and hers
Showing love and affection
That’s not how my brain works
Making bad decisions
Which cause suffering and hurt
Choosing to be happy
That’s not how my brain works
There’s other people like me
With voices to be heard
But listening to our stories
That’s not how this world works
HM Prison Wormwood Scrubs, Outstanding Debut Award for Poem, 2025
HM Prison Wormwood Scrubs, Outstanding Debut Award for Poem, 2025
Like Many a Star Did
BuJu Banton, Sean Paul and Beenie Man
not the Jam, Beatles or Eric Clapton
who don’t need Pirate Stations to broadcast
which hide their locations along with the mast
Curry goat, Jerk chicken. Ackee and Saltfish
not the average British, unseasoned dish.
The cuisines absent from the school menu,
had to bring packed lunch, and skip the dinner queue.
Some kids give backchat to their parents
with mine, I’d be a hospital patient
could never address parents by first name
When I saw this, thought those kids lost their brain
hand up, waiting for teacher to mark my book
teacher skips me, stalling to take a look
Tending other students not waiting as long,
I protested what’s going on was wrong.
Which got me sent to the headmaster’s office,
without warning, confused and astonished.
Falsely accused of disrupting the class,
the only intent was to do my work fast.
I was too enthusiastic and eager,
genius is stunted by the teacher
An energetic kid, big, bright and bold.
A presence, particular to my mould.
Not the usual emotional restraint
Some want me to be something that I ain’t.
Frustration misconstrued as aggression,
Stressed through this emotional repression.
Many fall on the hurdles in the classroom
Later in life, find it difficult to bloom
The landscape has cultural dimensions,
different terms and facial expressions.
mannerisms, complexion to mention
don’t always receive the same attention.
A recurring theme for some children, it’s sad
being treated badly, made me behave bad.
Now a Problem Child, but problems elsewhere
Couldn’t care less, because treatment’s unfair.
Can’t tell me what’s right and wrong, I’m aware
being falsely accused became a nightmare
Told I had to work ten times as hard when black
reinforced in the world by the things that lack.
I spot a superiority complex,
looking down its nose feeling it’s the apex.
Dislikes anything unfamiliar.
Sets out to make behaviour similar
Coerced, ignored and mocked to assimilate
my images treated with contempt to self-hate.
Black and Proud never gonna regret it,
stepped out in the world unapologetic.
Viewed as confrontational and a threat,
unapproachable, cause boundaries are set.
Can’t catch a break even for a minute
attitudes still exist to break a spirit.
Some of it’s unconscious bias at play,
indoctrinated to look at things one way
Can’t know someone if you don’t interact,
stereotypes are long way off, from the facts
My culture some don’t wish to understand
a world I’ve known since stepping out the pram.
Although I’m born and bred in Great Britain
Mainstream never accepted who I am
Media fails to mirror society,
Misportray people with my identity
New Jack City, Juice, Boyz n the Hood
There’s emphasis on the roles that aren’t good
It’s why I’m feared and viewed with suspicion,
Presumed guilty because of the tell-lie-vision.
Renowned in entertainment and sport,
breaking through these barriers, battles were fought.
Banana peel on the field and monkey jeers
John Barnes made to feel he didn’t belong here.
Old colonial troops pleased some folks,
when Lenny Henry clowned himself with jokes.
Imagine the only love you’ve ever known,
doesn’t feel anything to you like home.
Not second or third but first person view
Can’t judge, if you have not walked in these shoes
Callout the antics some become sensitive
Lynch mobs and pitchforks defend a heritage.
Not generalizing, but if the cap fits
Speak same language, different semantics
race and class got some trailing through the mud.
unemployment’s high in certain neighborhoods.
No glamour in the hard menial work
the sweat off the brow, seems to get no perks.
No one from my ends had a suit or tie job
that’s why some hustle girls, drugs and rob.
A Che Guevara activism
from the old regime of oppression
Rejecting traditions of servitude
We did our own thing to eat some food.
Come from a disenfranchised community
disaffected by systemic cruelty.
Not held to same standards as my counterpart
that won’t win my mind, never mind my heart.
Law of physics, evil actions echo,
got us waking up, drenching the pillow,
generational complex PTSD
spreads over parts of society
Ego and pride, aroused a young rebel
tricked to walk in footsteps of the devil
It brought out a side of me that was vile
If you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile
That’s why with a lot of them, I can’t smile
got wicked to keep them in single file.
Thing I come to learn is sins will seek us out.
My conscience is constantly racked with doubt
I’m always on guard, you’d think I’m fencing
made me become numb, that stop me sensing.
Feared to be genuine with expression
Vulnerability’s masked in aggression.
Haunted by feelings of guilt and regret
My head’s perpetually pecked by threat.
Critical parents messing with my mind
no matter where I look, myself hard to find
There came a time I fell over the edge
living on it, was a suicide pledge
I was warned that those who can’t hear must feel
thought I was superman, a man of steel
HM Prison Magilligan, Outstanding Debut Award for Poem, 2025
Arrival
small room
welcome room
read posters
ripped yellow
peeling torn
pace room
bite nails
door unlocked
door opened
I exit
remove suit
body search
given clothes
grey jumper
grey trousers
grey socks
camera out
stare ahead
don’t smile
given card
given number
bag searched
bag emptied
boxer shorts
wash bag
headphones
chucked away
given plate
grey plate
plastic plate
plastic fork
plastic knife
plastic spoon
given food
maybe pasta
maybe fish
something red
sit down
two guards
ask questions
daft questions
keep calm
tell joke
bad idea
phone call
too short
welcome pack
five pounds
tea bags
sugar milk
biscuit pack
Rich Tea
given soap
given towel
given sheet
this cell
my cell
door opened
door closed
door locked
sit down
and breathe.
Sheffield Probation Service, Victoria Dickie Bronze Award for Poem, 2025
