Day after day, room after room. I have the impression that the 600 inmates of the Penal Institution of Cândido Mendes all know me, or, at least, know that I exist.

Little by little, I also discover an enormous quantity of art inside those cells. There are talented men here. One prisoner carves names on pieces of wooden boxes used to transport tomatoes. Another makes small chairs for children from the same wood. Some dedicate themselves to building miniature scenes made of match sticks. There are also cartoonists, painters, poets, writers and musicians.

Seeking an opinion, these inmate-artists present their artworks for me to review. Unexpectedly, my hands are soon full of delightful presents.

Paulinho and I continue our walk through the corridor. In each cell we enter, there is always something unique. We arrive in one room with its walls completely covered with photos of naked women. I had expected to see a place with pornographic posters, but this impresses me because there is no longer any wall space available. Between the porno photos, on each wall, is one framed image of the saint Nossa Senhora Aparecida, The National Patroness of Brazil. By the upper bunk, just by the pillow of the eccentric prisoner, there is an enormous poster with a close up of a woman's vagina. "She is almost inside of my dreams.", he says. On the table there is a picture of his wife set next to a hand made lamp. The inmate had glued an image of the saint on the outside of a cardboard box and made several little holes around the figure. He then had placed a light bulb inside the box which makes an illuminated silhouette when the rest of the room is dark.

I ask his permission to photograph the room. "Demorou ", "took too long", answers the inmate seriously. I stand confused, not understanding if he is giving me permission. Paulinho laughs and tells me that "took too long" is a slang of this penitentiary which means that I can take the photo.

We arrive at an area where the inmates are accustomed to hanging around in the corridor. Unlike the previous section, where two prisoners occupy a cell, here the rooms are overcrowded. "Because we barely have space inside our rooms, we use the corridor as part of our cell.", complained one of them.

Inside one of the rooms, I see two electric wires immersed in a bucket full of water. Worried, one inmate advises me not to touch the water so that I will not get an electric shock. Laughing, he points to a fat old man who is resting in bed. "This is for my buddy over there who never takes showers with cold water."

As we continue through this section of crowded cells, a smiling young boy approaches us and asks me to take a photograph of his cellmate, who is in their room writing a love letter. The prisoners have fun embarrassing their friends. This type of humor is tolerated because it is seen as a sign of friendship. "Please, you must go there.", appeals the boy.

We return to the previous section. When we arrive at the door, I ask them to let me go inside alone. Slowly, I enter the room and I am surprised to encounter the youngest boy I have seen in the Caldron. He is well dressed and sitting on his nicely made bed with a writing pad on his lap. As his cellmate told me, he appears to be writing a love letter. He senses my presence. For a moment, he is surprised but before I explain myself, he comprehends that his cellmate is behind everything and gives me a shy, warm smile. An old, tattered book titled "The Brazilian Poetry Writers of Today -1985" lays by his side. I look at him and wonder how long he can stand his isolation from the rest of the prison. His situation demonstrates how the authorities mistakenly subject youngsters, who have committed slight transgressions, to serve their time of one to two years together with brutal criminals. This condition justifies the status of "Universities Of Crime" for prisons like the Caldron.

I am beginning to feel more comfortable inside the Caldron. Paulinho and I decide that it is time to show the others some of my photography work. We carry four abandoned ping pong tables to the second floor, clean them up and prop them against the wall. As we attach 40 of my pictures to the tables, a large crowd gathers to see the exhibition. Soon, many who have always avoided my camera now ask me to take their portraits. Everybody seems to have a loved one to whom they want to send a photo.