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

On the five-acre campus of the Cheyenne River Youth Project (CRYP), a unique, community-wide graffiti art event—the first and only in Indian Country—aims for more than just the walls. Located in Eagle Butte, South Dakota, on the Cheyenne River Reservation (one of nine Native Nations in the state), the organization has focused on providing youth with opportunities to get creative, develop healthy habits, work together, and learn new skills since its inception in 1988.

Executive Director Julie Garreau, who has been with CRYP since the beginning, is no stranger to balancing numerous aspects of the program. On the day Garreau spoke to me from her office, she and the CRYP team were preparing to welcome artists from around the nation—and this year, New Zealand—to kick off the tenth annual RedCan Graffiti Jam.

Far more than just an art showcase, RedCan promotes collaboration and community initiatives through pairing artists with teen interns of a CRYP Lakota Art Fellow. “CRYP created the Lakota Art Fellowship in 2019 so it could provide opportunities for teens on the Cheyenne River Sioux Reservation who have an interest in pursuing careers in the arts, and who have completed multiple internships through the nonprofit youth project’s dedicated art institute,” says communications director Heather Steinberger.

An Evolving Event

Garreau remembers RedCan as “a risky kind of project to initiate, but I feel like with CRYP we really understand kids, and you’ve got to take some risks sometimes to keep them interested and motivated and you have to do things very differently.”

Starting with the evening they arrive, the artists enjoy a traditional Lakota meal of buffalo soup, wojapi (a berry sauce), and fry bread. The four-day event, which includes performances, skateboard painting, music, and community meals, serves to not only engage but keep kids’ attention while celebrating Lakota identity and culture. 

This year, buildings in the mural lineup included the animal shelter, veterans building, radio station, and food pantry. Garreau takes time to discuss with the artists what the buildings are used for and their history within the community. Murals are also installed in the Waniyetu Wowapi Art Park, an open-air space where a series of wooden panels, shipping containers, and walls host constantly revolving graffiti compositions.

Returning artists include, among many others: East, an artist of Cherokee descent from Denver; CYFI, a Yaqui and Azteca artist from Minneapolis; and Natasha Martinez, a.k.a. Rezmo, a Diné and Mexicá artist currently living in the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community in Arizona. New to the event this year are Māori artists Phat1 and Lady Diva, from Aotearoa (New Zealand); Midwestern artist Brady Scott; and Kansas-born Ponca artist Amp.

Celebrating Connections

Rezmo had just arrived in Eagle Butte when in an email she wrote, “What I look forward to the most this year is painting in the community and making connections with the community members that come out and talk to us throughout the week.” At home in Arizona, she works in youth services and teaches art to kids ranging from pre-K age to teens, so partnering up with interns and young artists at RedCan sparks her energy. “It makes me happy to teach them and share what I know,” she says.

Garreau relates a story she heard from artist Hoka Skenandore, a Lakota artist who painted a mural spelling “Lakota” in both the Lakota language and in sign language, depicting each letter in hands of varying skin tones. “He said, this little boy came up to him and was watching him for a while,” Garreau shares. “Then the little boy went up to the mural and put his hand on the wall. And he said, ‘Huh, just like me.’ That’s the other part of this, right? Seeing yourself in these spaces and knowing that you are part of this, you know that this is for you—for us.”


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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