When you're sitting in the hole in Florence, Colorado's Federal Penitentiary, you don't really get much in the way of art supplies. Or food. Or sunlight.
You could get a box of colored pencils on commissary once a month, assuming you had the money on your books.
As far as contact with the outside world-
Well...they're supposed to roll a phone down the hall once a month so you can get a 30 minute call. Under perfect circumstances of course.
I got to use the phone three times in five months. Excuses, excuses.
So my wife and I wrote to each other every single day. We'd only get mail twice a week so that shit built up.
I would usually include a drawing. I was also usually tripping on synthetic cannabinoids.
Here's some of that stuff-
