By Randiah Camille Green for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Chrystal Blair for Michigan News Connection reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration

A waft of what smells like fresh cut grass and burnt oil hangs in the air of Detroit's East Canfield neighborhood. The eerie smell comes from the nearby Stellantis Mack Assembly Plant, which has received repeated air quality violations for paint and solvent odors over the last several years. In March, Stellantis agreed to pay a $84,420 fine from the Michigan Department of Environment, Great Lakes, and Energy (EGLE) for air quality violations for one of its plants in the same neighborhood. This neighborhood has one of the highest rates of asthma hospitalization of children under 18.

Despite its foreboding presence, residents like sisters Kim and Rhonda Theus are finding intentional ways to erect beauty. They run the nonprofit Canfield Consortium, which repurposes vacant lots for things like community gardens and public art. They're even renovating a former corner store into a coffee shop and art gallery, and carving out a future bike path.

Honoring Place and People

Their latest project is the Detroit Remediation Forest, a forest bathing installation located in the East Canfield Art Park that they hope will help mitigate air pollution from the Stellantis complex. The forest is anchored by a gold sculpture called "New Forest, Ancient Thrones" by New York-based artist and activist Jordan Weber. The piece has an air quality monitor that tells residents the particulate matter levels in the air.

It's shaped like two crowns, as an ode to Queen Idia of Benin (modern-day Nigeria) and Queen Ranavalona III of Madagascar who fought colonization. The crowns also honor Kim and Rhonda as modern-day queens.

"It's a strong symbolic representation of the African diasporic experience and the trauma that's in the land in both Africa and the U.S.," Weber said. "There's the 2008 housing crisis where you see what happened to the legacy of Black homeownership in Detroit, for example. Queen Ranavalona was exiled from Madagascar and forced to live in Europe for the remainder of her life, and that's no different to me than us being displaced in our communities where we have [generations] of families who literally sweat and bled to get that land."

Weber's sculpture was unveiled to the public in May. A second phase of the forest installation will include planting air-purifying conifers like white pine and fir in partnership with the Greening of Detroit, and installing an elevated walkway. It will also host outdoor programming for the Barack Obama Leadership Academy across the street.

"New Forest, Ancient Thrones," is the newest addition to the East Canfield Art Park, which the Theus sisters opened in 2021 on a vacant corner. Kim and Rhonda wanted to leverage the power of art to spark conversations on environmental issues, gentrification, and Black representation.

The first art piece in the park was a bronze sculpture by Detroit sculptor Austen Brantley called "Boy Holds Flower." In that piece, a young Black boy sits cross legged as he gazes in admiration at a flower he's just picked. It's important for the children attending the Barack Obama Leadership Academy to have this image of joyful Black boyhood. The park also includes a "Hood Closed to Gentrifiers" sign by artist Bryce Detroit.

Guided by Purpose and Legacy

Kim and Rhonda remember when the neighborhood was a bustling, Black middle class area - before the Stellantis plant expanded its footprint and displaced their neighbors and before Detroit's foreclosure crisis caused families to lose their homes.

"There was a middle school that we went to, a [recreation] center, playgrounds, and all those things are gone," said Kim "People who are building families won't move to a neighborhood where they don't have those types of amenities, so a lot of the work that we're doing at Canfield Consortium is addressing things like that."

Weber was selected as an artist-in-residence by Sidewalk Detroit, a place-keeping organization championing public art and urban greenspace. Sidewalk Detroit Director and Founder Ryan Myers-Johnson said that during planning meetings, East Canfield residents stressed that any art brought to their neighborhood should address issues they are facing instead of beautification.

"We started to really understand the problem with Stellantis and the air quality issues and how [the plant] is touted as bringing in jobs and not something that is actually destroying health and the fabric of this neighborhood," Myers-Johnson said. "So, we needed somebody rooted in understanding spatial trauma and environmental justice issues."

Reclaiming their neighborhood is Kim and Rhonda's way of preserving the legacy of families like theirs who moved to Detroit to escape the Jim Crow South.

"Our parents were born and raised in Tennessee ... The only jobs they could get there were either domestic work or sharecropping. They wanted to buy a home and build a family, so they left everything they knew in Tennessee to move to Detroit and bought a house in East Canfield Village," Rhonda said. "The majority of people that live here come from the same situation... so these houses have a powerful legacy."


Randiah Camille Green wrote this story for Arts Midwest.

By Brianne Sanchez for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Mark Moran for Iowa News Service reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration

Stories are shortcuts, introducing people and places we might not otherwise encounter. They help us discover meaningful connections, even amid isolating circumstances. Curious people often turn to books because novels and memoirs open up on demand, but everyone has a story to tell. 

In Iowa, CultureALL’s Open Book program makes striking up a conversation with a stranger as simple as visiting the local library. Their catalog of personal narratives introduces real-life protagonists whose singular struggles touch broader topics like immigration, identity, grief, faith and more. 

Since 2018, the Des Moines-based social impact organization has recruited more than 50 Iowans from diverse backgrounds to serve as human “Books.” They share short talks about a defining chapter of their lives with intimate audiences of “Readers.”

From Charlie’s harrowing story of surviving a traumatic childhood abduction to Sylvia’s tale of defying society’s expectations as a blind woman to earn her PhD in soil chemistry, human “Books” prove why people shouldn’t be judged by their cover. 

“Open Book can be a catalyst to speed up a relationship and introduce a conversation that maybe wouldn’t have naturally occurred,” says Karen Downing, a retired English teacher who brought the concept to CultureALL.

CultureALL supports human “Books” through the storytelling process. It compensates them for visits to retirement communities, libraries, businesses and other locations. 

Open Book’s story-sharing format was inspired by Human Library, a movement that began in Denmark in 2000 to address prejudice through personal connections. 

CultureALL’s version is reciprocal.

“We realized that, yes, people want to hear other stories,” Downing says. “They also really wanted to share their own and get a sense of their lived experience in conversation with someone else.”

She and former CultureALL AmeriCorps Service member JJ Kapur collaborated to localize the Human Library concept and measure its empathy-building impact.

Humanizing Complex Issues

Initiatives like UpLift: The Central Iowa Basic Income Pilot have participated in Open Book to bring local voices to issues like poverty and homelessness. Congregations have also used the program to build relationships across racial divides. Funding from Humanities Iowa is helping the CultureALL program connect urban and rural populations, too. 

“Hearing a personal story can change a lens on an issue or big, thorny topic that people maybe don’t have a nuanced understanding of,” Downing says.

The vulnerability Open Book encourages can be validating for participants like Yerliana Reyna, an immigrant from the Dominican Republic who moved to Iowa by way of the Bronx, New York. 

Reyna is a middle school counselor who connected with Open Book after participating in the Iowa Latinx Project’s Media Ambassador Program. She shared her story at a senior center in Pella, a community known for its deeply Dutch heritage. 

“I remember one of the ladies kept looking at me and then when I was done [speaking], she said, ‘You know that you are more brave than you think,’” Reyna says. “Your story can be of encouragement for somebody else.”


Brianne Sanchez wrote this story for Arts Midwest.


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A Wyoming arts hub is surveying organizations across the state to see if a potential new AmeriCorps program could help fill gaps in arts and humanities programming.

The AmeriCorps Rural Intermediary Program would provide extra support for Wyoming arts and humanities organizations, which are often rural and can employ just enough staff to operate.

Allison Maluchnik, executive director of the Nicolaysen Art Museum in Casper, said it could provide several benefits to the museum.

"We could utilize AmeriCorps members to help with our art education, outreach," Maluchnik explained. "There is potential for capacity-building at different arts organizations, volunteer programs. There are many different ways that AmeriCorps members could serve different organizations in the state."

Maluchnik noted the first step toward implementing the program is gauging interest. Wyoming arts organizations can take a survey on the topic through Jan. 20. They can contact the Nicolaysen museum for more information.

According to a University of Wyoming report, arts and culture added more than $540 million to the state's economy in 2022 but it varies widely by county. Teton County saw nearly $230 million in arts-based economic output, while 11 counties saw less than $5 million.

Maluchnik stressed rural arts organizations could especially use the support.

"This would hopefully give those organizations that do not have the larger community a sense of support," Maluchnik emphasized. "And also, a means to build programming and volunteer capacity."

The program would be a state-facilitated arm of the national AmeriCorps service program, which offers resume-building and scholarship money to members who serve.


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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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