By Kate Mothes for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Mike Moen for Wisconsin News Connection reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration

In a self-portrait titled “First Aid Kit” by DarRen Morris painted in 2019, the artist clutches a large, abstract object with fanned white bristles. At first difficult to recognize, the object in his arms is a giant paintbrush. Incarcerated within the Wisconsin Correctional System since the age of 17 and serving a life sentence, Morris clings to art as a survival tool, emphasizing that without it, he would not be able to endure the conditions of imprisonment. 

“Art Against the Odds: Wisconsin Prison Art defines art making as not only a creative pastime but a life-saving tool of self-definition for those who are removed from society,” opens the preface of the exhibition’s catalog. The wide-ranging group exhibition, most recently on view at the Neville Public Museum in Green Bay, Wisconsin, brings together work by artists incarcerated within the state’s correctional facilities as a way to counter assumptions about imprisoned individuals and the prison system itself.

Debra Brehmer, director of Portrait Society Gallery in Milwaukee, and curator of Art Against the Odds, traces the genesis of the exhibition to a very different project, yet one also focused on the impact of art-making where access to art is often scarce. The program, called On the Wing, met every Tuesday at the House of Peace, a local community center, to draw in sketchbooks.

“It was about gathering, drawing, experimenting, sharing stories, conversing, and building relationships across the divides of poverty and race,” Brehmer says. “Many conversations at the table touched on incarceration. My eyes were opened to the fact that if you are Black and poor in Milwaukee, you’ve had a friend, son, or relative in prison. It was shocking to me that this was such a normalized part of existence.”

Around this time, Brehmer began working with an incarcerated artist named M. Winston to exhibit his work in the gallery. Portrait Society works with artists who have been marginalized, ignored, dismissed, or discriminated against. “M. was a point of entry into the larger carceral world,” Brehmer says. “Exploring art made in Wisconsin prisons felt like a good COVID project, and so many inmates at that time were really suffering during lockdowns.”

Reconstructing a Sense of Being in the World

Winston, who grew up in Mississippi, is currently serving a 30-year sentence at Kettle Moraine Correctional Institution and has since become a friend and guide to Brehmer during her research. He makes vibrant acrylic paintings of landscapes, buildings, and abstract color fields, and his sculptures of miniature houses often evoke real places around Milwaukee, made with materials like paper, food boxes, and paint.

Numerous letters that the artist wrote from his cell, which are included in the exhibition catalog, elaborate on his love for walking, a grounding practice in Zen Buddhism, and observations of daily life separate from the outside world. In one letter, dated March 26, 2022 he writes: 

This jail is a slave ship without the water. Do you know I have nothing but my mind to keep me going. I have art that may and may not tell my story. I do try hard to tell it. I think that art is something of a person’s soul, our days and nights come and go. But I can do a painting and tell why I did it and what I think it is and that will last forever. If you view art I have done over these long 20 years, you can bet I wasn’t here in the mind. I must do art each day. On some days, because of the size of the painting/drawing, I will do up to six. There’s so much I want to talk about, and I will in time. Let’s see where this ship takes me tomorrow.

Letters play a core role in the show, with an entire wall dedicated to handwritten notes—a small selection of hundreds sent to the gallery during the process of organizing the show. The display is accompanied by a table and an invitation for visitors to write a letter back to an artist from the show. Audio clips of the letters being read aloud are streamed on a loop through the gallery, a poignant backdrop to artworks that delve into each individual’s personal stories, challenges, and reflections.

An Emotional Outpouring

In January 2023, the first iteration of Art Against the Odds opened in the galleries of the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design. “I can only say that the impact of the MIAD show was shocking,” Brehmer says. “We did not expect the attendance: 7,000 people in seven weeks. We did not expect the emotional outpouring. The gallery became a safe space for public conversations that people could not have otherwise.”

Brehmer, who curated the show with Portrait Society Gallery Manager Paul Salsieder, attributes much of the success of the show to the fact that it revolves around accomplishment in addition to the deeply important—yet often dismissed—role that art plays within society. “Art heals and focuses the maker in a space of meditation,” she says. “These artists who turn to art in prison—with no formal training for the most part—find rather quickly that it not only soothes their anxiety but takes them on a journey of expression and self-knowledge, and it builds pride and esteem.”

The visibility afforded to the artists in Art Against the Odds is significant because while the carceral world is hidden, it affects an incredible amount of people in society, from victims to family members to prison staff to social justice system workers and more. The U.S. currently has one of the world’s top incarceration rates—in 2018, it was the world’s highest. Today, approximately 531 of every 100,000 people are in a prison or jail. “Most of these individuals will be released back into the community,” Brehmer says. “If they lack self-esteem and skills, this transition will not be successful.”

Art Against the Odds provides a new lens through which to view the prison system and those living within it. “This is not to deny the pain inflicted by crime, nor the lingering impact on victims, but to privilege redemption and the potential expansiveness of the human spirit,” the catalog introduction continues. “This provides space for hope. Without hope, there is no humanity.”


Kate Mothes wrote this story for Arts Midwest.


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By Amy Felegy for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Kathleen Shannon for Greater Dakota News Service reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration

Ask any six-year-old and they’ll tell you just how to play the classic game of Go Fish: Get a handful of cards. Try to get four that match. Repeat as attention spans allow. 

But swap out the fish for owls and say “gookooko’oo” instead of “go fish,” and you have Bineshiiyag: one of several new amusements in the Nashke Native Games award-winning line. 

Launching a year and a half ago, the three-person business is trying to bolster Ojibwe language and culture in the Midwest—in a fun, accessible (not to mention, effective) way.

“Our mission is to increase awareness and the power of learning through gameplay. And boy, we just see it come to fruition every day,” says founder and CEO Tony Drews “Chi-Noodin” (Big Wind). 

Language learners, teachers, families, and curious board-gamers alike can purchase the games, ranging from modern takes on traditionals (like Bagese: The Bowl Game) to fast-paced fur trade-simulation kits with puzzles and tile matching challenges (like Mii Gwech). 

The games are an avenue for discovery; they can be played in Ojibwe or English (Dakota expansion packs coming soon!) Here, words are intentionally not forgotten. 

Drews says there are less than 700 first-language Ojibwe speakers in the U.S. 

“And if we don’t do something, we’re gonna become known as the people who were the Ojibwe,” he says. “Native history is Minnesota history. And without a spark, our youth aren’t gonna learn it.” 

Drews’s great-grandmother only spoke Ojibwe. Her daughter was sent to Pipestone Indian Training School and now, Drews’s father doesn’t know more than four words in Ojibwe.  

“It took one generation to strip my family of its culture, its language and the millennium of our culture,” Drews says. “We can’t talk about language and culture separately. They’re intertwined.” 

Take the word mindimooyenh. Somebody who holds the family together. A term of high respect for an elderly woman. 

“If you call someone an old woman in English, that’s a dig, right? So if we lose that word, we lose the cultural perspective of how we truly look at elderly women,” Drews says. “And the same with elders. We call our elders gichi-aya’aa: ‘the Great Beings.’”

Second-grade teacher Lisa Schussman’s students have played Ginebig: The Snake Game, Makizinataagewin: The Moccasin Game, and Bineshiiyag in her Lincoln Elementary classroom.

She loans out take-home kits at the Bemidji, Minnesota, school where many Native students attend; the area is surrounded by the Leech Lake (Ojibwe), Red Lake (Chippewa), and White Earth reservations. 

“I just find it such a valuable way to get … excited about the language and about their culture and respect too,” Schussman says, overhearing students using words learned in the games. 

“I think that a lot of times we get nervous to try or we don’t want to do something wrong, so then we don’t. But I’ve found that through the games, you’re a lot more willing when it’s in a fun, laughing atmosphere to just try.” 

Goji’ewizi: Just try.


Amy Felegy wrote this story for Arts Midwest.


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By Amy Felegy for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Mike Moen for Prairie News Service reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration

Director Anj Karna describes Parachigo as a three-layer cake. 

Sitting on multiple floors, the grassroots art venue in Fargo, North Dakota, hosts pay-what-you-can studios, a music and event stage, a 24/7 band practice room, and an art store. 

It’s what many call a third place — a no-cost hangout spot. Run by five board members and a handful of volunteers, Parachigo is for all ages, alcohol free, and low cost. 

“Parachigo is a seat at the table that we built ourselves for local artists,” Karna says. “It’s the community voice of art.” 

This particular voice has a particularly uncommon name, too.

“I think a lot of the people who run the space and are passionate about the space share very similar views, but the goal is also to be neutral ground, regardless of that, for anybody recovering or like may come from a different angle, but shares the understanding that equality is important. So I think that’s kind of the only guideline and expectation.” 

Storefront Director Crona Solberg says Parachigo is “the little glue” between people and community, which often don’t meet due to financial or other barriers. 

“Everywhere in life, it seems, everything is just so disconnected. And this is the only place that feels connected,” Solberg says. “Mom and pops died 40 years ago. We’re bringing that back, but now it’s like 30 mom and pops all together.” 

Up next for Parachigo is adding more board members and volunteers, partially to lessen Karna’s workload as director, manager, fundraiser, outreach specialist … the list goes on. 

A main goal is climbing out of $2,800 in debt from relocating this year. People can donate by texting DIY to 53555. 

A dedicated space to make art happen is just as integral as the art happening in it, Karna says. Parachigo is Fargo’s unwavering reminder of it. 

“I think in all cities, local communities and art communities are a dying breed. But they’re not going anywhere. [Artists] just need a place to get together. And if you have an empty space and open it to local creatives, they will fill up the space with beauty.”


Amy Felegy wrote this story for Arts Midwest.


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Book bans are on the rise in Maryland, according to a new report from PEN America.

The nonprofit that tracks issues of free expression says Maryland tied with South Carolina at ninth for the number of books banned during the last school year.

Three Maryland school districts tossed out a total of 64 books.

Carroll County was responsible for 59, due to a new policy there that bans titles with any sexually explicit content - a policy backed by Moms for Liberty, a national parental rights group.

Tasslyn Magnusson, a senior advisor with PEN America's Freedom to Read program, said parents have always had questions about books for their children and worked with librarians. But now, she said, the motive behind bans is changing.

"There are people who don't want to read the titles, but submit large challenges - 20, 30, 40 books at a time - and it's not about their child and their family," said Magnusson. "It's about all the students, and it's much more ideological and driven by much more political interests across the country."

Some of the titles banned in Maryland included notable works like The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood and The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison.

The PEN America research found books bans haven't been evenly distributed across the country. Iowa and Florida were responsible for more than 80% of the banned books in the last year.

And in the last school year, 29 states saw at least one booked banned. Magnusson said to change this trend, folks must show support for librarians before book challenges arise.

"You need to go into the public comment time of your school board meeting or send messages to your administration, before things happen in your community, about how much you love your librarians," said Magnusson. "Talk about how much you love diverse, inclusive literature that prepares your children for the world that they live in."

This past April, Maryland Gov. Wes Moore signed the Freedom to Read Act into law. It requires school officials to not remove books based on ideological, religious or partisan opposition.



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