This spring, the Boise Art Museum unveiled "The Last Supper," a profound exhibition featuring 1,000 ceramic plates, each meticulously painted with the final meal requested by individuals facing capital punishment in the United States. Over a span of 22 years, artist Julie Green dedicated herself to this monumental project, rendering each unique request in cobalt blue brushstrokes on salvaged white ceramic plates, subsequently fired to preserve the poignant imagery.

Green’s artistic journey into this somber subject began in 1999 while she was teaching at the University of Oklahoma. A local newspaper article about a 45-year-old man on death row, Norman Lee Newsted, arrested her attention with a striking detail of his last meal: six tacos, a half-dozen glazed doughnuts, and a Cherry Coke. This seemingly mundane, yet intensely personal, request resonated deeply, prompting Green to clip the article and file it away. Six months later, another death penalty story captured her focus, vividly describing the final moments of 41-year-old Malcolm Rent Johnson, who had been convicted of rape and murder. Johnson’s last meal was a complex offering: three fried chicken thighs, a generous portion of shrimp, Tater Tots with ketchup, two slices of pecan pie, strawberry ice cream, honey and biscuits, and a Coke.

Reflecting on these details, Green later articulated, "So specific. So personal. It humanized death row for me." Viewed from a distance, the exhibition’s sprawling arrangement of blue-and-white plates evoked the familiar aesthetic of antique Dutch pottery. However, upon closer inspection, each plate revealed intimate portraits of desires and comforts, showcasing an array of last meals that included simple bologna and cheese sandwiches, rich butter pecan ice cream, comforting fried green tomatoes, refreshing cherry limeade, classic apple pie, and countless other culinary selections.

The exhibition served as a stark reminder of how abstract the concept of capital punishment often remains for many. For most of her life, the author had contemplated the death penalty through philosophical and moral reasoning, a distant intellectual exercise. This changed a few years prior while researching her book, In Light of All Darkness. The focus then shifted to the specific case of Polly Klaas, a 12-year-old girl kidnapped and murdered in 1993. Her killer, Richard Allen Davis, has spent three decades on death row in California, a state that, along with a few others, currently maintains a moratorium on executions, meaning Davis will likely die in prison of old age.

This research brought the profound suffering caused by a single individual into sharp focus. In an attempt to find any trace of humanity in Davis’s past, the author delved into case records, searching for even a small act of kindness or evidence of love, but found none. This led to introspective questions: What would be the emotional response to sitting with Davis, to potentially feeling empathy, and what if that empathy was absent? The inability to answer these questions, stemming from a lack of direct interaction, remained a lingering thought, as Davis had not responded to interview requests.

The experience of standing before the mosaic of last suppers underscored the profound connection between food and human connection. Drawing parallels to witnessing the solace provided by casseroles in the aftermath of a devastating tornado, or the urge to prepare a beloved family recipe like okazu, a Japanese comfort food, to ease grief at a funeral, the author recognized food as an act of care and control amidst uncontrollable circumstances. Even when unable to alleviate suffering, the fundamental human need to eat persists.

Within the exhibition, two plates specifically represented Idaho. One depicted the prison’s "Daily Special" on November 18, 2011, for Paul Rhoades: hot dogs with sauerkraut, baked beans, veggie sticks, and a fruit-studded gelatin, accompanied by a special treat of strawberry ice cream. The second plate illustrated the last meal of Keith Michael Wells, consumed on January 6, 1994, consisting of a whole lobster, a rack of prime rib, two pints of black walnut ice cream, a 2-liter bottle of Coca-Cola, and a half-gallon of milk.

These details provided a somber backdrop to the current realities in Idaho, where eight men, along with one woman, reside on death row. The recent legislative shift in Idaho, set to take effect in July 2026, making a firing squad the primary method of execution, adds another layer of complexity and controversy to the state’s approach to capital punishment. This move places Idaho alongside Mississippi, Oklahoma, South Carolina, and Utah, which also permit execution by firing squad, though Idaho is unique in designating it as the default method.

The controversy surrounding execution methods was brought into sharp relief by the case of Thomas Creech, Idaho’s longest-serving death row inmate. In February 2024, after more than 50 years of incarceration and 46 years on death row, Creech’s execution was called off after a lengthy and difficult attempt at lethal injection. Prison officials reportedly struggled for about an hour to find a viable vein, poking him multiple times in his hands, feet, and legs before the procedure was halted. This event, the state’s first execution in 12 years, has led to legal challenges, with Creech’s lawyers arguing that a second attempt would constitute "cruel and unusual punishment" and violate constitutional rights.

The difficulties encountered with lethal injection executions highlight a broader national issue. Reporter Kevin Fixler of the Idaho Statesman, who interviewed Creech after the failed execution, noted the increasing scarcity of lethal injection drugs, as pharmaceutical companies are reluctant to be associated with capital punishment. This has prompted some states to enact shield laws to protect the identity of drug suppliers, thereby easing procurement. However, the administration of these drugs remains problematic, often falling to prison personnel lacking the medical expertise of doctors and nurses, raising concerns about the humanity and efficacy of the process.

Craig Durham, an attorney specializing in death penalty cases in Idaho, offered a different perspective, suggesting that execution by firing squad could potentially be swifter and less agonizing than the often-problematic cocktail of lethal drugs. He pointed out that the multi-drug lethal injection protocols, designed to sedate, paralyze, and ultimately stop the heart, can mask suffering if individual drugs fail. Furthermore, Durham raised a provocative point: the visually stark and unsanitary nature of a firing squad, while controversial, could foster greater public awareness and engagement with the act of state-sanctioned killing. He questioned whether citizens, on whose behalf the state carries out executions, should not be more directly confronted with the reality of the process.

This question resonates deeply with the core of Julie Green’s artistic endeavor. As Green stated, "I paint to point," utilizing her art as a powerful vehicle for advocacy. The exhibition masterfully compels viewers to contemplate the complexities of capital punishment without dictating conclusions, encouraging introspection and stimulating thoughtful dialogue.

Such conversations include those with journalists like Joshua Sharpe, whose reporting led to the exoneration of an innocent man, a story detailed in his book, The Man No One Believed. Sharpe’s work underscores the alarming prevalence of wrongful convictions, which contributes to the protracted legal battles and immense financial costs associated with death penalty cases. Even from Detroit, Sharpe engaged with Green’s exhibit online, where the detailed meal requests are cataloged. He observed that Green’s work "adds dignity to this concept of publicizing the last meal, taking that information and putting humanity back in."

In a poignant postscript to her life’s work, Julie Green, who was 60 years old, was battling advanced ovarian cancer when she completed the 1,000th plate in September 2021. A few weeks later, she passed away at her home in Corvallis, Oregon, with physician-assisted suicide under the state’s Death With Dignity Act. Her obituary in The New York Times notably did not specify her own last supper. The exhibition, therefore, stands not only as a testament to the lives and final requests of those facing execution but also as a profound reflection on life, death, and the human desire for connection, even in the most extreme circumstances.