This spring, an exhibition at the Boise Art Museum, "The Last Supper," presented a profound and poignant collection of ceramic plates, each meticulously painted with the final meal requested by individuals sentenced to death in the United States. Over a span of 22 years, artist Julie Green dedicated herself to this singular, compelling project, rendering each chosen repast in striking cobalt blue brushstrokes on second-hand white ceramic plates before firing them to permanence in a kiln. The cumulative effect is a vast, arresting mosaic that invites deep contemplation on life, death, and the human need for sustenance and comfort, even in the face of ultimate finality.

Green’s artistic journey began in 1999, while she was teaching at the University of Oklahoma. A local newspaper article detailing the execution of a 45-year-old man on Oklahoma’s death row, Norman Lee Newsted, seized her attention with an unexpected detail: his last meal consisted of six tacos, a half-dozen glazed doughnuts, and a Cherry Coke. This seemingly ordinary, yet profoundly personal, request resonated deeply with Green, prompting her to tuck the newspaper clipping into a folder. Six months later, another account of a death penalty case captured her focus, vividly describing the final moments of 41-year-old Malcolm Rent Johnson, who was convicted of rape and murder. Johnson’s final meal was an elaborate spread: three fried chicken thighs, a generous portion of shrimp, Tater Tots with ketchup, two slices of pecan pie, strawberry ice cream, honey, biscuits, and a Coke.

Reflecting on these details, Green later articulated, "So specific. So personal. It humanized death row for me." The sheer intimacy of these final requests, so divorced from the abstract legal and philosophical debates surrounding capital punishment, offered a powerful counterpoint to the dehumanizing aspects of the death penalty. Viewed from a distance, the exhibition’s numerous plates formed a striking, almost comforting, blue-and-white tableau reminiscent of traditional Delftware pottery. However, upon closer inspection, each plate revealed itself as a unique portrait of human desire and comfort, displaying an array of cravings, from simple bologna and cheese sandwiches to rich butter pecan ice cream, fried green tomatoes, cherry limeade, and classic apple pie.

The exhibition served as a stark reminder of how little the general public truly understands about capital punishment, a topic often considered only through the lens of moral reasoning and abstract philosophy. For many, including the author, the reality of the death penalty remains distant, an issue relegated to theoretical discussions. A few years prior, while researching a book about a notorious crime, the author delved closer into the subject, focusing on the 1993 kidnapping and murder of 12-year-old Polly Klaas. Her killer, Richard Allen Davis, has spent three decades on death row in California, a state that, like 26 others, retains the death penalty, though currently under a moratorium. Davis, like many others, is likely to die in prison of old age, a reality that further complicates the discourse around capital punishment.

This research into the Klaas case brought home the profound suffering one individual can inflict. In searching through case records, the author sought any trace of humanity in Davis’s past, any small act of kindness or evidence of love that might offer a glimpse into his background. However, such evidence remained elusive. This led to introspective questions: what would be the emotional and psychological impact of sitting down and speaking with Davis? Would empathy arise, and if so, would that be troubling? Conversely, what if empathy failed to materialize? Could one look another human being in the eye and wish for their death? These were questions that remained unanswered, as Davis had not responded to interview requests.

The profound connection between food and human experience became palpable when standing before Green’s collection of last suppers. Food is intrinsically linked to love, comfort, and care, as evidenced by the author’s personal experiences. Witnessing the power of communal food preparation, like casseroles cooked in parking lots after a devastating tornado, or the act of preparing a beloved family recipe, such as her uncle’s funeral meal, highlighted food’s role in easing grief and offering solace. Cooking, in essence, is kindness in action, a tangible way to exert control in the face of overwhelming powerlessness. While one may not be able to erase pain, the fundamental human need to eat persists.

Within the Idaho exhibit, two plates stood out, representing the state’s own engagement with capital punishment. One depicted the prison’s "Daily Special" on November 18, 2011: hot dogs with sauerkraut, baked beans, veggie sticks, and a fruit-studded gelatin, accompanied by a special treat from the chef – strawberry ice cream. This was the last meal of Paul Rhoades. The second plate detailed the meal of Keith Michael Wells, who was executed on January 6, 1994: a whole lobster alongside a rack of prime rib, two pints of black walnut ice cream, a 2-liter bottle of Coca-Cola, and a half-gallon carton of milk. These specific culinary choices, so mundane yet so significant in their context, underscore the individual narratives woven into the fabric of the death penalty.

Approximately nine miles south of the Boise Art Museum, eight men reside on Idaho’s death row, with one woman housed in a separate facility in Pocatello. These individuals exist in the shadow of a new Idaho law, slated to take effect in July 2026, which designates a firing squad as the primary method of execution. This legislative shift, even in a state known for its embrace of firearms, appears to many as a regressive and "barbaric" step.

This unsettling development brings to mind the case of Thomas Creech, a 74-year-old serial killer and Idaho’s longest-serving death row inmate, who has been incarcerated for over 50 years, with 46 of those spent awaiting execution. In February 2024, Creech consumed his last meal – fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, corn, rolls, and ice cream. The following day, his execution was scheduled, but the process became fraught with difficulty. Strapped to a gurney, prison employees attempted for approximately an hour to find a usable vein, puncturing him eight times in his hands, feet, and legs, only to have his veins repeatedly collapse. Ultimately, the execution, the state’s first in 12 years, was called off.

Kevin Fixler, a reporter for the Idaho Statesman who interviewed Creech after the failed execution, shared that Creech recounted, "I laid on that table and fully expected to die that day." His lawyers have argued that a second attempt would constitute "cruel and unusual punishment" and be unconstitutional. The difficulty in administering lethal injection, a method often used for animal euthanasia, has become a significant issue. Fixler explained that lethal injection drugs are increasingly difficult to obtain as pharmaceutical companies are reluctant to be associated with executions. This has led some states to enact shield laws to protect the identity of drug suppliers, yet the administration of these drugs remains a challenge. Medical professionals, bound by oaths to do no harm, largely refuse to participate, leaving the task to prison employees who may lack the necessary expertise.

Seeking a different perspective, Craig Durham, a lawyer specializing in death penalty cases in Idaho, suggested that a firing squad might offer a swifter and less agonizing end compared to the often problematic lethal injection protocols. He pointed out that many states employ a multi-drug cocktail where the initial drug sedates, the second paralyzes, and the third stops the heart, potentially masking suffering if one drug fails. Durham also raised a crucial point: the inherent gruesomeness and lack of sanitation associated with firing squads could, paradoxically, serve to increase public awareness of executions. If a state is carrying out executions on behalf of its residents, he argued, should not the public be fully informed and compelled to seriously consider the implications?

This notion of public awareness and critical engagement is an implicit theme resonating through "The Last Supper." Green, who utilized her art as a vehicle for advocacy, stated, "I paint to point." Her work masterfully compels viewers to think, without dictating specific conclusions, fostering introspection and sparking meaningful dialogue.

One such conversation occurred with journalist Joshua Sharpe, whose investigative reporting was instrumental in exonerating an innocent man convicted of murder, a story he details in his book, "The Man No One Believed." Sharpe’s accounts of wrongful convictions, which he notes are far more common than most people realize, shed light on the complex and lengthy legal processes that precede an execution. Though residing in Detroit, Sharpe viewed Green’s exhibition online, where the details of each last meal 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 September 2021, as Green completed her 1,000th plate, she was battling advanced ovarian cancer. A few weeks later, in Corvallis, Oregon, she exercised her right to physician-assisted death under the state’s Death With Dignity Act. Her obituary in The New York Times, however, did not specify her own final meal, leaving a poignant silence in the narrative of an artist who dedicated years to documenting the last culinary requests of others.