GIA Reader (2000-present)

I was lucky as a young artist, with the ink still drying on my BFA, to learn about working in the public art field through a Minneapolis-based CETA program in 1977. CETA (Comprehensive Employment Training Act) was a federal jobs program that included several arts initiatives around the country. As gallery director of City Art Productions — the name of the one-year program initiated by Melisande Charles at the Minneapolis Arts Commission — I got to organize exhibits of CETA artists at libraries, plazas, government centers, and parks throughout the city.

The first project for Artspace, a nonprofit organization that develops affordable spaces for artists, was in an area of Saint Paul, Minnesota, that was, if not depressed, at least neglected. Starting in the late 1980s, Artspace redeveloped a six-story warehouse into fifty-two live/work units for artists, plus office, studio, and commercial space for nonprofit arts organizations and other tenants. At the time, the Lowertown area of Saint Paul was home to a number of empty or underused warehouses. The Northern Warehouse Artists’ Cooperative opened in 1990.

DataArts is a national nonprofit service organization that supports data-informed decision making in the arts and cultural sector primarily by providing access to high-quality financial and programmatic data collected through its flagship service, the Cultural Data Profile (CDP).

This article is excerpted from a phone conversation between Anthony Leiserowitz and Alexis Frasz on June 8, 2016.

On May 25, 2016, Grantmakers in the Arts gathered a cross-section of twenty-eight funders from the arts and environmental sectors for the Arts and Environmental Sustainability Thought Leader Forum at the New York Community Trust. Most foundations in attendance were represented by two people: a person from the arts and a person from the environment, each of whom were interested in collaborative work at this intersection. Helicon Collaborative organized and facilitated the session.

Eleven years of retracing our family history had led me here to the March, but this long journey began with my mother, Lucille Dion Wilson. She was enrolled on the Rosebud reservation in South Dakota, where she grew up. Between the ages of ten and sixteen, she attended the Holy Rosary Mission School, a boarding school on the Pine Ridge reservation. After moving to Minneapolis, she eloped with Chuck Wilson, a tall Swede from central Minnesota, and raised five children in a white suburb. When I was growing up, she told me that she was done with “all that,” referring to her Indian heritage.

The woman on the phone was friendly but insistent. “Look,” she said, “more and more artists and arts organizations are taking on cross-sector community-based work. But this is a complex gig, and, unfortunately, many of them are in over their heads.” It was a blunt assessment, but I knew she was right. “Yeah, I’m seeing the same thing out in the field. So, what do you think is needed?” Her response? … One word: “Training!”