Category Archives: Environment

Bob Shell: Stone Walls Do Not a Prison Make



 Bob Shell: Letters From Prison #27


Letters by Bob Shell, Copyright 2018


Photography by Julie Chu, Aja Butane, Katherine Jania & Zoe, Copyright 2018


Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage.

We’ve all heard that old saying, but where does it come from? It’s the beginning of the last stanza of the poem “To Althea, from Prison” written in 1642 by Richard Lovelace, while imprisoned in Gatehouse Prison. His crime? He had petitioned to have the 1640 Clergy Act annulled. Today, no one knows for certain who Althea was, or if she was even real, but she lives on in that romantic poem. BTW, the full stanza goes:

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage;

Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage;

If I have freedom in my love

And in my soul am free,

Angels alone, that soar above,

Enjoy such liberty.

If you want to read the whole poem, it’s on Wikipedia. Someone set the lyrics to music, and Dave Swarbrick does an excellent version on Fairport Convention’s album Nine. I was fortunate enough to be photographing Dave on stage during my music photographer days and lost all interest in photography when he launched into the fiddle intro to Althea (I say fiddle, but I believe Dave was playing a viola that night). I learned years later that Dave was struggling with hearing loss, probably from all those years on stage in front of giant amplifiers. I’m partially deaf today in my right ear, the one that was usually toward the amps when I was on stage right. Fairport was opening for Traffic on that early 70s tour, and, for my money put on a better show.

But back to poor Richard pining for Althea through his bars. Let me tell you something, Richard. Stone walls (or concrete today) do a pretty damned effective prison make!

Modern prisons are modular structures made of interlocking precast concrete slabs. The slabs are lifted into place with cranes during construction. You may find signs that the slabs were lying flat at one time in the form of muddy boot prints going across walls that no one bothered to clean off. These “build a prison kits” go together quickly, almost like building with Lego blocks. Once finished they generally are T-shaped buildings, with each arm of the T being a “pod” with cells on three sides, plus showers, and a flat concrete floor with stainless steel tables with attached seats anchored to the floor. Cells generally are about 8 x 12 feet on the inside with the door on one of the 8 foot walls and a small window on the other. Except that the designers of the prison I’m in right now decided to omit the windows. Inside each cell are two bunks attached to the walls, a very small table attached to a wall with one or two seats, also attached to the wall, and a one-piece stainless steel sink/toilet, also attached to a wall. Nothing movable! I’ve been in four different Virginia prisons in the last ten years, and they’re pretty much the same with minor variations. Storage space for personal belongings in cells is very limited, usually an under-bed locker, either welded to the bottom bunk or sliding on the floor so it can be pushed under the bottom bunk. Speaking of bunks, they’re steel slabs. We are given “mattresses” for comfort, two-inch thick foam pads that are more like yoga mats than real mattresses. I used to have a “medical mattress” prescribed by a DOC doctor, but the DOC eliminated them several years ago. It was about six inches thick and very comfortable. I guess they don’t want us to be comfortable. I’m certainly not. I’m writing this at four in the morning, unable to sleep, an all too common problem here. For towels or whatever there are two “hooks” on one wall. These are straight metal rods about three inches long with a ball on the end that fits into a socket attached to the wall. The ball is a friction fit into the socket, so if you put too much weight on it, it collapses. Why? “We don’t want no hangings.”

I really don’t understand what anyone thinks they’re accomplishing by warehousing people this way. They no longer call these places prisons. Now they’re “Correctional Centers.”. I guess the word “prison” has become non-PC. But I can tell you from personal experience that damn little correction takes place. Oh, they have programs and classes, they will tell you. I’ve “been down” ten years as of last September and have yet to be offered a seat in one of those programs or classes. I’ve certainly not been rehabilitated! Nor did I need to be. I was doing just fine, making a good living from photography and writing, and at the peak of my career. And the state brought my whole life crashing down over events that never even happened except in the imagination of an incompetent quack of a medical examiner. I’ve posted details at under News Updates.


About The Author: Bob Shell is a professional photographer, author and former editor in chief of Shutterbug Magazine. He is currently serving a 35 year sentence for involuntary manslaughter for the death of Marion Franklin, one of his former models. Shell was recently moved from Pocahontas State Correctional Center, Pocahontas, Virginia to River North Correctional Center 329 Dellbrook Lane Independence, VA 24348.  Mr. Shell continues to claim his innocence. He is serving the 11th year of his sentence. To read more letters from prison by Bob Shell, click here


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PSA: VOTE! November 6, 2018


Vote! November 6, 2018

Also posted in Advertising, Affiliates, Announcements, Blog, Current Events, Documentary, Erotica, Fashion, Friends of TWS, Glamour, Health Care, History, Models, News, Politics, Popular Culture, Student Life, Women

Katie Kerl: Clothing & Tattoos


Text by Katie Kerl, Copyright 2018


Photography by Tony Ward, Copyright 2018




When asked about clothing and personal style, I typically go against the grain. A 70s flower child mixed with, funky shoes, scarves, hats, & jewelry. One of my favorite things to do in Philadelphia is Vintage shop. Mixing old with the new pieces and being unique. My grandmother’s scarves are something I try to tie into a lot of my outfits. Accessories were her favorite. I have been lucky enough to come across some very similar souls in this city who are happy being in their own skin, and standing out in a crowd. Be it in Versace, homemade scarves, or their own clothing lines.

When it comes to dating, I have noticed you need to dress to attract the kind of man/ woman you want. If you’re looking for money throw on that little black dress, pumps, and sit at the bar in Rouge, Ashton, or Del Frisco’s in Philadelphia and just wait. Walk around the city in high tops, a dress, and a jacket with a hat, you may attract a few interesting characters.

  In 2018 where everyone is on dating apps the reality of that, it’s a crap shoot. There is nothing worse than going on an interview type first date. Starting off with what you do for a living, how much money you make, and the zip code you live in; that’s not being genuine.

I know within 10 minutes, which is enough time drink one whiskey on the rocks if there is a connection. That is why I’m attracted to creative minds that talk about life, experience, struggle, and strive for something greater than sitting confined to a desk. There is nothing sexier then confidence and passion in a person.

Another major part of my style is my tattoos. I battle with severe anxiety and depression, but at the end of the day I know what makes me happy. As a child I did not know what anxiety was, or why I did not feel normal all the time. Being an only child my parents kept me busy participating in every sport, club, and camp they could get me into.  Regardless of being socialized and having a great family, id get sick to my stomach before having to go to any large social situation. I would think people did not like me and have an occasional panic attack.

Later, I was in a pretty severe car accident. I almost lost my arm and had four surgeries to save it. It took two years out of my life recovering from it. The accident gave me PTSD it was a pretty dark time in my life. I’m very thankful for having such amazing parents who did everything they could to get me through it.  Being on medication for pain, depression, and anxiety left me feeling like a zombie. I got so frustrated with all the medications I threw it all away and decided it was time to feel life again.

Since about 15 years old, I found that getting tattooed pulled me out of whatever I was struggling with at the time. The needles combined with vibration distracted my mind, and the pain was concentrated elsewhere. It was instant relief and made me look unique.  I have 14 tattoos on my body, and of those I have two favorites.

Alice in wonderland was my favorite movie as a child. Alice was not looking for a prince. She was a daydreamer who pushed the limits of reality to find herself, experience vs. being saved by a man. The Caterpillar who is featured on my side actually taught Alice how to cope with the difficulties she experienced in Wonderland. He asked the all important life question “WHO ARE YOU”???? That is usually what every adult struggles to find out. That piece took about 17 hours and 4 sittings. Jason Goldberg at Olde City Tattoo brought my vision to life.

Most recently I had the chemical compound for happiness done on my forearms Serotonin and Dopamine. These are the only tattoos that when I have clothing on you can see. A daily reminder to do the best I can. On the side of a scar from a car accident sits serotonin, with a whiskey glass, and pills on the inside. Signifying what I go through when it’s depleted. On the dopamine side I have a music note. That is my happiness. House music takes me to another place and time. There is no greater escape than dancing to good music in an awesome outfit.


Portrait of Katie Kerl. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2018

Portrait of Katie Kerl. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2018


About The Author

Katie Kerl. Born 1984. Raised in Drexel Hill,  Pennsylvania. 
Attended Drexel University for Behavioral  Psychology .
Occupation : commercial/ residential  design 
Philadelphia resident since 2011 . 
Hobbies include  : Foodie, whiskey drinker,  fitness , cooking  , tattoos , & house music lover . 

Instagram:  @beatz_eatz_n_freaks 

This is Katie Kerl’s first contribution to Tony Ward Studio.
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Bob Shell: What’s Wrong With The American “Justice” System

Artwork by Thomcat23 for Tony Ward Studio, Copyright 2018.

Artwork by Thomcat23 for Tony Ward Studio, Copyright 2018.



 Bob Shell: Letters From Prison #26


Letters by Bob Shell, Copyright 2018




Everyone who reads this can hope fervently that they never get caught up in the American “justice” system. It’s badly broken, and has been for quite some time.

I’ll illustrate from my personal experiences, starting in 1969. At that time I was living in Richmond, Virginia, sharing an apartment in the “fan district” with some friends. One morning the Richmond Vice Squad showed up in our apartment. That’s right, IN our apartment. I was in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal when this man just walked in and put a gun in my face. No one identified himself as police, so I had no idea what was going on. They’re supposed to knock on the door and identify themselves, but not this bunch. They got in by climbing onto a balcony and coming in through the balcony door, which was unlocked because it was a third floor balcony and not easily reached. One must have climbed up and let the others in the front door. Oh, they did have a search warrant which they eventually produced — a warrant for a different address! They proceeded to search the apartment, and us, and found one marijuana “joint” in one man’s pocket, a man who was just visiting and didn’t live there. But that didn’t matter to them, they arrested us all for possession of marijuana, a felony in those days with possible 30 year sentences. Our lawyers pointed out the wrong address on the warrant and that only one person actually had any marijuana. None of that mattered, we were all convicted and given three year sentences.

Thankfully, the judge suspended the sentences and put us on three years of probation. That was a complete joke. The first time I went to see the probation officer, he saw what I was convicted of, went around his desk and locked his office door and pulled out a joint, lit it, and we shared it. Needless to say, I never had any trouble with him. But, with my father’s help, I petitioned the Governor and was pardoned, so the conviction wasn’t on my record and all of my rights were restored. I lost three months of my life, the time spent in jail prior to my trial, plus $ 300 to the lawyer, which was a hell of a lot of money in 1969.

Fast forward to 2003. On June 3, I returned to my photo studio from eating a quick dinner at Sonic in the next block, and found my girlfriend/model/studio assistant Marion Franklin passed out and unresponsive. I did what any concerned person is told to do and called 911 and performed CPR until the EMTs arrived. I won’t go into detail here about it all, but was told several hours later by a detective that Marion had died at the hospital. My life collapsed. Those interested can read the details on my website, On June 7, just after returning from Marion’s memorial service and wake in North Carolina, I was arrested.

The next four years were a nightmmare. The medical examiner told the police that Marion was dead, and had been dead for some time, in the last photos I took of her that day. I ended up charged with second degree murder plus three sex charges based on the theory that Marion was dead the last time I had sex with her and I just didn’t know it! I was also charged with having my mother’s medications. My mother had died and I had lots of her things and hadn’t gone through it all and gotten rid of the meds. The charges were flatly absurd, but I soon found out that nonsense accusations can be the hardest to defend yourself against. I’ve had proof since 2009 that the medical examiner’s testimony that Marion was dead is hogwash, but once you’re convicted the conviction becomes an entity unto itself, and the system will do anything not to let go of it.

Between my arrest and my trial, which began August 20, 2007, more than four years passed. For the first year I was on house arrest, permitted to leave my property only to go see my lawyer or a doctor. After that I was restricted to the City of Radford for a year, and Virginia the rest of the time. When Marion’s best friend got married and wanted me to come to her wedding, the judge would not allow me to go because it was in North Carolina. When I wanted to attend the Photo Marketing Association trade show in Las Vegas in March of 2004, the Commonwealth’s Attorney (Virginia’s equivalent of a District Attorney) told my attorney and me he had no objection, then after I’d bought a nonrefundable air ticket, made hotel reservations, and replied to several RSVP party and dinner invitations, he showed up in court and denied he ever said that! I was out the cost of the airfare and had to back out of invitations, some from Japanese who look upon that as loss of face. It caused me many problems.

My friends and associates in the photo industry never took the charges against me seriously, and I continued to write for several magazines and wrote four books during this time. But, since I couldn’t leave Virginia, there were many good assignments I couldn’t do. That was very frustrating and hard on my cash flow.

The trial, when it finally came, was a farce. The medical examiner once again testified that Marion was dead in those last photos. The state’s digital imaging “expert” took the stand and spouted sheer nonsense. I could not have independent tests done on the autopsy samples even though I had hired a topnotch lab to do so and the judge had ordered the samples sent to them, because the medical examiner had destroyed the samples without telling anyone or considering that the case was ongoing. There’s much more, but most is on my website, particularly on the NEWS UPDATES page.

So I am still in prison. I’ve been locked up 11 years as of September 1, 2018, for something that never happened. I did not kill Marion, I would never have harmed her in any way. I was in love with her, and she with me. When we produced a stack of emails from Marion to me as evidence, the prosecutor alleged that they were fake.

Those emails, some with explicit sexual references, were genuine, as was a note Marion wrote to me saying how much she appreciated and loved me. The prosecutor couldn’t claim that was fake because it was in her distinctive handwriting. The prosecution insisted, in spite of all evidence, including testimony from our friends who knew about our relationship, that Marion and I never had a romantic relationship, that our relationship was pure business. That was just insane, since I was living part time with her and was paying the rent and utilities on our apartment, as well as sharing the same hotel room and bed in our travels. I’d even begun making arrangements for us to go to Europe together later that year to show her some of my favorite places. The prosecutor just couldn’t wrap his head around a much younger woman having a relationship with a man my age. Does he not know about Mick Jagger, Ron Wood, and others (actually he probably doesn’t!).

The only evidence we’d had sex that day was my own testimony. I’d volunteered that information when asked, seeing no reason to conceal it. The swabs the medical examiner took during the autopsy showed seminal fluid, but strangely, found none of my DNA, only Marion’s own, for which I have no explanation. The medical examiner said he saw no evidence of penetration. Did I imagine having sex with Marion that afternoon? I don’t think so.

The last photos and videos I made with Marion were very personal, and never intended to be seen by anyone but us. I had to endure seeing these very private images being projected to giant size on the courtroom wall, even though they had absolutely nothing to do with the case. To use a legal phrase, they were “prejudicial but not probative,” which means they prejudiced the jury against me but didn’t prove a damned thing. Since Marion was nude in most of the images, the jury of small town small minds would have convicted me of anything.

In Virginia prosecutors are elected, not appointed, and all aspire to become judges. Thus most of our judges are former prosecutors, so you know whose side they are on. And at election time the prosecutors running for reelection crow about their conviction rates. They lose sight of the fact that their job has two sides; to convict the guilty, but to not convict the innocent. They Marshall all their resources toward conviction. The citizen finds himself/herself up against all of the resources of the state. Under these circumstances only the wealthy who can afford the very best lawyers, investigators, expert witnesses, etc., can prevail. When I was first charged I called the best lawyer I knew of in the area. He told me that unless I could raise several million dollars I could not afford him. That’s the reality in America today.

If I’d been wealthy, I wouldn’t be sitting here in this prison cell tapping out this post on my little mini-tablet. Poor people stand little chance in a rigged system like this.

Now I wasn’t living in poverty, but I was not rich and it was hard for me to come up with the bail money. My bond was $ 75,000, which meant I had to come up with $ 7,500 in cash for the bondsman plus signing my car and property over as collateral. But you get it back if you don’t skip out on your bail, right? Wrong! The bondsman keeps the $ 7,500. That’s his fee. So, even if you win at trial, you’re out that money. I did get my car title and property deed back, though. Small comfort. The only reason I had the $ 7,500 was that when my mother died at the end of April, barely a month before Marion, and had left me some money. Otherwise I’d have had to stay in jail until trial. “Innocent until proven guilty,” yeah right!

Those interested in learning about how the legal system really works should read Prison Legal News magazine ( a monthly journal full of accurate stories. You can tell how good they are by how badly prisons and jails hate them and try to censor them. Every time a prison or jail tries to censor them, they file suit and win. The same people also publish Criminal Legal News, a magazine that deals more with the details of the law. Both are excellent and worthy of support.

After you’re convicted you automatically get to appeal. Most appeals are rubber stamp denied. Then you move on to Habeas Corpus, which can overturn your conviction. There is an absurdly short one year deadline on filing this. Since you have to hire your own lawyer for this, or, if like me you have no money to hire one, you must do it yourself. The process is complex, and no one can learn the details in less than a year. I got books on how to do it and wrote my own. My first submission was rejected for being too long, so I shortened it to meet the court’s requirements. Then it was turned down for omitting the stuff I had to take out to shorten it!! A no win situation!

So I’ve spent the years since then putting in every possible hour in our law libraries learning as much law as possible to find ways to overturn my ridiculous convictions. No luck yet.

Aren’t there innocence projects, the ACLU, etc., to help people like me? In theory, yes. In practice, no, because they’re all strapped for money and can only take a very few cases out of the hundreds who come to them for help. I’ve wasted uncounted hours, postage, copying costs, etc., trying to get help from these people. Most don’t even answer letters. As one federal judge said, there’s an epidemic of prosecutorial misconduct in this country today, and it his overloaded the system. But any politician who tries to do something to fix the system faces being labeled “soft on crime” by his/her opponent and losing elections.

Studies have shown that our current mass incarceration program has had no effect on crime rates. Countries that don’t have this practice generally have lower crime rates. Isn’t it time for the U.S.A. to stop being the “Incarceration Nation?”


About The Author: Bob Shell is a professional photographer, author and former editor in chief of Shutterbug Magazine. He is currently serving a 35 year sentence for involuntary manslaughter for the death of Marion Franklin, one of his former models. Shell was recently moved from Pocahontas State Correctional Center, Pocahontas, Virginia to River North Correctional Center 329 Dellbrook Lane Independence, VA 24348.  Mr. Shell continues to claim his innocence. He is serving the 11th year of his sentence. To read more letters from prison by Bob Shell, click here


Also posted in Affiliates, Art, Blog, Current Events, Friends of TWS, History, Politics, Popular Culture

Robert Asman: Sacred But Not Profound




Photography and Text by Robert Asman, Copyright 2018




While photographing on the streets, I am constantly aware of what a powerful sacred purpose of historical consequence our city Philadelphia hosts.  In the past, I was trying to capture people, places, and things that grasped my curiosity and maybe contained an iota of profundity or gravitas. I also felt at times that the street was more of a studio than my real indoor studio, but definitely a special place with so much contemporary history ubiquitously piled on the old.  My concern with this work was to see what a scene would look and feel like photographed on black and white film and made into a silver print which would often have a humorous, sad, or poignant depth, structure, and surface.  Similarly, the finishing drama of the nude is played out in the darkroom in conjunction with solitude and the transcendent chemistry, physics, light, and silver. Just a simple act of birthing, not unlike the street photograph or landscape discovery making this work and process visual and experiential poetry without the struggle for words and narrative algorithms.

I recall back in pre-2000 my assignment was going to be photographing the city for a decade on larger format film (2.25″x”3.25) to capture the visual feel of the city in the new millennia.  I wasn’t quite sure how I would print them or what they would look like so I let history play out, and then it presented itself like a meteorite explosion.  The 9/11 Tragedy which was reaking of incredulity, surrealism, pain, disbelief, and sadness changed my entire conception of  what the world could be.  That event also dramatically changed my perceptions of the future as well as history.  At the time Lil’ Bush was appointed President.  Of course Lil’ Bush was moved out of the way except for ceremonial functions and the neocons took over our military and banking systems and we have had War ever since in the Mid East of all places.  Another consequence of the Wars to the nation was further social segregation and polarization of the classes with the “haves” reaping huge proportions of the wealth in garish displays of tastelessness while the poor got poorer.  This dynamic has lasted until today…endless wars, economic crashes, and garish wealth transfers and Donald Trump, a pitiful TV actor, is being made  the symbol for it.  That being the reality, the prints I made were very heavy and brooding.  The images (silver toned prints) were embedded in a warm matte Agfa Portriga paper that were selenium toned and bleached before being soaked in tea to give it an ambiance of yellow haze and a heavy sorrow.  The entire body of work is much about our present and history using the City of  Philadelphia as a metaphorical dramatic stage set for the plight of our nation’s  future.

“There is no instance of a nation benefitting from prolonged war.”

Sun Tzu


About The Author: For most of the last thirty-five years, Robert Asman has been devoted to investigating and stretching the conceptual and technical boundaries of silver prints.  As an alchemist of the dark room, Asman’s creations come to form in the darkroom through the boundless manipulation of paper negatives and chemicals.  His explorations and technique bind human form, urbanism and nature.  Asman approaches art making as a transformative process, in which he mines the physical properties of his materials to create a work on paper in which process and image are one.


To see additional photography by Robert Asman, click here


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