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

Murals are fast becoming a staple of Midwestern towns, and the Mural On The Wall (Mural OTW) team approaches this familiar cultural touchstone with a surprising twist. 

Most muralists are commissioned to portray a certain theme, in a specific place, using the artist’s signature style. Although the people who live and work in a space may walk by the mural every day once it’s finished, they have little say in the design. Mural OTW’s Amber Hansen, painting professor at the University of South Dakota and Reyna Hernandez, painter and muralist, create community-based murals that flip this model on its head. 

When Mural OTW’s in town, you’re invited to take part in every step of the process. 

“The murals we create are being imagined and designed with the people who utilize the space and have invited us to be there,” Hansen explains. “We don’t show up with a design ready to go. It unfolds as we meet with members of the community.”

Once a mural location is secured, the Mural OTW team invites the community to take part in design workshops. Rather than asking residents to sketch, the ideation sessions are usually filled with conversations, poetry, and storytelling which serve as fuel for the design team. “Each design workshop is tailored for that group of people, in that time, and that place,” Hansen elaborates. Through creative design approaches, the question of what represents a town is raised, and the answers go beyond naming iconic landmarks or sports mascots. 

“Sharing stories helps people think about the place they live creatively. It’s not just the water tower or the railroad tracks. It’s a matter of pushing the way we see our communities. When we’re painting on the wall, and people see their ideas come together, they see the story of who they are as a community come together too,” says Hernandez.

There’s only so much square footage on each mural, and no way to represent every suggestion. Just as important as facilitating conversations is the art of editing. 

“It’s like writing poetry, where you take large and complex feelings or attitudes and whittle them down just to what needs to be said,” Hernandez explains. “We take all the information we’ve gathered from our meetings and synthesize the ideas, being as intentional and careful as a poet is about the words they choose.”

A glance at Mural OTW’s portfolio reveals a wide array of mural projects, united by a monumental visual style that marries striking color combinations with detailed, skillfully rendered compositions. 

Vermillion — South Dakota’s first community-based mural, according to the team, placed next to the nonprofit movie theater — highlights the town’s culture through lighthearted riffs on famous movie posters. A mural just a block away portrays two horses bursting above a detailed star quilt while another celebrates female role models and mothers. From Centerville to Sioux City, each mural is as unique as the community that helped bring it to life. 

Community members can pitch in for the painting process, although Hernandez, Hansen, and local team members lead major aspects like projecting the image, outlining, and rendering details. They engage curious onlookers, prompting a collective sense of ownership over the design. 

“This work is challenging, from the funding to the weather to organizing the meetings… and sometimes wasps,” Hansen laughs. “Yet it consistently feels like the most rewarding work. The artists we work with give generously to make this happen, and in response, the community meets that generosity in any way they can, whether it’s donating supplies or food or labor. The idea that it’s not just for us, but for everyone is inspiring.”

That spark of inspiration has spread to the wider community. Vermillion, Mural OTW’s homebase, has a wide range of current and finished mural projects, and past participants have gone on to organize projects of their own. If reading this made you curious, too, Hansen has this advice for you: 

“I learned this process by working with other artists. You can start small. You can make a mural with just three people in the place where you live. It doesn’t even have to be on a wall. What does a collaborative painting look like with four of your friends? Painting can be a very solitary practice, but seeing something you helped make happen, from the first stages to finishing touches, can make other things feel more possible.”


Rebecca Froehlich 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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