Violet Aveline speaks softly, making contact with her hazel eyes. Her flower barrettes hold back little wisps of hair. She seems to glow. That might be because her first child is due in February. But, beyond that, she possesses a magical quality — which extends to her artwork. A painter, filmmaker and collage artist, Aveline’s work comes directly from childhood: Cowboys talk with each other. A pink child in a bunny suit looks back, frowning. A body of water circles a neon pink castle below the words “A moat to keep the commies out.” In a performance piece, she and her friends wore jumpsuits and horse masks made from paper bags, singing and twirling sparklers in front of a TV blaring a church service. “I have been trying to get people to feel a certain way, not so much manipulate, but to guide them,” she says. “I want people to laugh, not at me, but with me, at something with me, or to feel like a kid again. I remember feeling pretty happy most of the time when I was a kid. It was so much nicer to be able to believe in anything. “When you grow older you can’t believe you’re going to be president or that there still might be that last unicorn in existence. So that’s the downfall to growing up.” Although Aveline has shown work at the Bodner and Murphy Art Center and is part of the Hoozitz show Sept. 9 at the Harrison Center, she still refrains from referring to herself as an artist. She feels she still is studying. “There’s so much stuff I don’t know about. I’d call myself a reader or a worker at a coffee shop but not an artist,” she says. “I think I’m another student that really likes art. I am still trying to figure out what I want to do.” —Shauta Marsh
Kelly Beerbower has three stuffed animal heads — a boar, a mountain goat and a ram — hung on the wall above her television. “I’ve always been obsessed with anthropology, archeology, genetics and behavioral studies. Just the similarities between animals and humans and how we space each other apart,” Beerbower says of her art and décor for her studio at the Wheeler Arts Community. Her obsession is reflected in her work. On one of her silkscreened posters, Beerbower sits nude in neon yellow on a neon red elephant. The series continues with different colors and Beerbower sitting on different animals. “I used myself as a study, propped a laundry basket up on the table and straddled it,” she says. “I was a little worried when I dropped the film off at Cord. I can’t imagine what they thought when they developed that.” Beerbower has spent summers working with horses in Zionsville and volunteering at the Jack Leer Wolf Memorial, where she searched for road kill and chopped it up with an ax to feed a pack of seven wolves. She got too close to the wolves and had to leave the job behind. “I couldn’t handle the job anymore,” she says. “A female wolf had a stroke in her den and was dying.” These experiences have an obvious effect on her work. Some of her work contains phrases like “You maneuver like a cornered dog” and “As I promised tiny monsters.” Her silk screened shirts sometimes take an entire day to make. They are layered with color, each image divided into parts then layered over with different colors. Beerbower sells these shirts or pillows for $15-$45. You can buy Beerbower’s work at www.lovemarshill.com, at Rural located at 970 Fort Wayne Ave. and at the upcoming Wheeler show on Sept. 17. —SM
Rob Bola, a graduate of IU, grew up in Bloomington and has worked in local film in New York and Seattle, but it was in Indianapolis where he made his most significant contribution thus far: working on the script for the endlessly inventive thriller romp Fake ID, directed by Joel Umbaugh. “You think you know a lot of stuff, and then someone puts a camera in your hand and you realize you know nothing,” Bola says. “I hear people say, ‘I watch a lot of movies to educate myself.’ But there’s so many facets. It’s one of the most complicated arts. I’ve been doing it five years, and I could do it 50 more and keep up refining myself. That’s pretty much what Joel and I are doing. We’re always trying to improve ourselves, to top ourselves with the next thing.” Bola returned to Indianapolis and ended up hooking up with Umbaugh in preproduction on Fake ID as a script consultant. Before long, Umbaugh asked him to do a full rewrite. Bola started over from the beginning, redefining the characters and locations and rewriting nearly all of the dialogue. “I wish it was a process I could have more often,” Bola says. “I finished it a week before production began and neither Joel nor the producers said, ‘We can’t do this. We don’t have the time to figure this out.’ They said, ‘Pretty much we’re going to shoot the script as it is.’ And we believed in it, out of necessity if nothing else.” Indianapolis has been Bola’s home base for three years, and he doesn’t see himself moving anytime soon. “When I started filmmaking I searched for someone like Joel, and I ended up finding what I was looking for in Indianapolis,” Bola says. “We see moviemaking in the same way and trust each other and respect each other, and that’s what needs to happen. At least at this stage. I’m not under any delusions of grandeur that I’m some auteur. I don’t have a vision I’m trying to get out there. Our concern is to make entertaining movies. Hopefully, they’re sophisticated and challenging, but that’s our main concern. Neither of us is trying to get across an agenda. We don’t have an ideology. We’re willing to give up whatever it takes to make the movie better.” Next up for Bola is a suspense thriller with Umbaugh, Earshot. —Paul F. P. Pogue
Matt Buchanan has all the makings of Clark Kent, except he doesn’t really save the world. By night, he moves boxes for Fed Ex in a blue T-shirt, blue workpants, black boots, no cape. By day, he sleeps, gets up, throws on a western-style plaid shirt, some black Chucks, writes poetry and works on his white 1966 Ford Galaxy. Oddly enough, telephones show up a lot in Buchanan’s poetry, just like Clark Kent thinking about making a change in the phone booth. Here’s an excerpt: “How great it is to have the phone ringing all the time! And not to answer it! O just a few misplaced understandings Miss Valentine. I think we should keep the things we’re saying. Move them around like boxes! And things in them! But what quiet evening did we hide inside? The one where you said, ‘it’s the beginning of realizing so much.’” Like most superheroes, he first relied on Bryan Adams songs to impress the girls. “In third grade I wanted to give a girl the lyrics. I remember writing them down: rewinding and pausing, rewinding and pausing,” he says. “Then, on my own, I wrote some real bad high school stuff. I think it’s gotten better.” Buchanan started his first two years at the Herron School of Art working toward a visual communications degree. Although he was writing the whole time, Buchanan really didn’t consider himself a writer until he took a class with IUPUI’s Hannah Haas. “She inspired me to switch to an English major. She and Terry Kirts have been incredible. They’ve helped me quit being scared to call myself a writer and take my work seriously.” Buchanan’s writing is similar to the work of prose poet James Tate. It’s thoughtful, smart and fun to read. First and foremost Buchanan is an observer, interested in the world around him. And, even when writing about himself or his relationships, the poetry remains selfless. Sort of like Superman. —SM
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Indianapolis rapper and MC Jocque Carey of the rap group J30 (pronounced JAY-TRAY-O) is that he’s 17 years old. Wise beyond his years, Carey talks of being a “conscience rapper” in the tradition of thought provokers Eminem and Kanye West. Carey and J30 took part in this year’s Midwest Music Summit and like many other acts are trying to make it. Jocque established himself as an actor and performer in Indianapolis at the tender age of 8 with his involvement in the Asante Children’s Theatre. However, music is his first love. He recently worked with Indiana legend Rhymefest and now is ready to take J3O to the next level. He shared with NUVO a few thoughts about rapping, life and the Indianapolis hip-hop scene.
NUVO: Why was rap so appealing to you?
JC: Rapping allows me to express myself. My mom used to say, “How can you rap? Your life wasn’t that hard?” But I’d just laugh and say that it’s the best way to express what I feel.
NUVO: What do you think best sums up your philosophy on music?
JC: I’d say the phrase “Quit trying to hold us down,” which is a song on our album. It really represents how I feel about my ability to inspire people with my raps.
NUVO: You seem extremely tuned in to talking about social issues while still staying positive. Who was the biggest influence on you?
JC: My mom. She would always talk about conspiracy theories and about how some folks are out to get you. She gave me that edge to always be up on social issues.
NUVO: How do you feel about the Indianapolis hip-hop community?
JC: We have a vibrant hip-hop community but Indianapolis has yet to develop its own flavor. It’s not as supportive as it could be. We spend so much time trying to be Chicago or Dirty South that we forget that the Nap has a story to tell. I mean there are times when I’m playing my CD and someone else hears it and says, “Who is that?” Well, if I tell them that it’s my group then they just look the other way, but if I tell them it’s some brother from Chicago, then they’re like, “Man! That’s hot!” Some folks just can’t believe that there’s a lot of hot talent in Indianapolis. But it’s getting better. Look for Jocque Carey and J30 at the RCA Dome on Oct. 13 for the Red Cross National Youth After School Concert. Learn more by contacting email@example.com. —Alphonso Atkins Jr.
Sarah Collister is in her second season as a full member of Gregory Hancock Dance Theatre. Sarah holds a bachelor of science in arts administration with a dance concentration from Butler.
NUVO: Why Butler?
SC: Marek Cholewa came as a guest artist to the pre-professional Alexandra Ballet Company in St. Louis [her hometown] and recommended I try Butler. I did, and studied with Cynthia Pratt, Norman Walker, Marek Cholewa and Michelle Jarvis and danced in Nutcracker, Swan Lake, Midwinter Festival. I then went to New York City for a year, danced with two small companies. When I came here, I did one Dracula before becoming a full member.
NUVO: Why GHDT?
SC: I was introduced to Gregory by one of his former dancers, and I love his work. He’s supportive, encouraging, each show is a completely different entity, which I enjoy. Gregory is a lot of help with the challenges of different styles and characters. He gives us a lot from his research. Gregory’s mentoring is wonderful, very welcoming. I never felt like “the new girl.” The company was, “You’re here now, you’re one of us.”
NUVO: How do you prepare for your own roles, particularly Hunchback of Notre Dame, which requires at least five character and costume changes for you. And what about understudies for leads?
SC: I read the novel and tried to research the characters and the whole story first, and then my own parts. Costume changes become a routine, like memorizing lines. You have to be very organized. The company is so small, we don’t really have understudies. We all take that on, to be able to jump in and cover.
NUVO: Describe a typical dancer’s day.
SC: We have class in the morning. A different class every day for three to four hours: ballet, modern, jazz, character, African, Indian and so on. We work out and rehearse for a new program, with a short lunch break. Evenings are free when we’re not performing. I serve at two different restaurants, Buca di Beppo at Castleton and Broad Ripple Seafood Shop. It’s incredibly hard work [being a dancer]. You have to love what you do. If you didn’t absolutely love it, you couldn’t handle the discipline. —Rita Kohn
Carrie Claycomb is a studio artist at the Harrison Center, where her oils hang as descriptors of her varied journeys through poetic, representational, modern and symbolic terrain. She teaches ceramics “to kids and adults” at VSA Arts of Indiana and photography at the University of Indianapolis.
NUVO: Oils, ceramics, photography — why?
CC: I kind of have my hand in different things. [A pause, and a chuckle] I do do quite a bit. It all intertwines with what my personality is about. It’s so much fun to switch every day from one to the other. One job is very social; my art is very quiet. Photography is just for me. It’s simple, very feminine; [now] it’s more photographing segments of dresses. [A photographic work in the hallway is of a man’s shoes as he’s walking.] The intent is to exhibit for purchase. The next Harrison Studio show is Sept. 9. The new painting series is oils on wood. I’ve always liked shiny. I like how wood glows underneath — luminous. I love the poetic part; poetry I’m thinking of; as I paint words flow. In the background of my paintings are stories. Paintings take years and years to finish.
NUVO: Why VSA Arts?
CC: When I graduated from the University of Indianapolis — BFA in studio painting after switching from art therapy: it has come right around — VSA Arts needed a studio technician. That melted away and I was thrown into classes. It has grown and I have grown. There are several teachers. I usually teach clay. For the first six months I taught but then several started working in an open lab on their own. We can accomplish so much with our students to build their self-esteem. We give access to arts and all the things that come with art. Most don’t get it in schools. VSA students let you be in the moment. It’s all about the moment, catching it, living it. That’s the U of I philosophy.
NUVO: Talk about the transition from student to professional artist.
CC: It’s hard. I’m just getting over being spit out of college where I was doing art for art’s sake. Dark and menacing doesn’t go over well [for sales]. At first I tried to paint to sell or be commercial. I’m burned out on group shows. I’m always planning this great big solo show. It takes quite a while to plan a show. It’s hard to branch out when you have to hang a show here every two months. Three of us share this space. It’s fun to see how it’s evolved but it’s high maintenance to keep up with open studios. —RK
Seventeen-year-old Dustin “Von Dust” Cooper is a second-generation hot-rodder. While other teens his age run around with iPods and text messages, the lanky Avon youth resides comfortably in the 1950s, essentially techno-free. Dustin’s ’50s is not some costume-party Fonzi sock-hop nonsense. He drives his customized 1955 DeSoto Firedome (powered by the original factory hemi) every day, including to classes at Avon High School and Ben Davis Vocational School. He is a member of the Cluster Busters Car Club and spent the summer working in Gasoline Alley on the build crew for a 1949 Ford truck that will attempt to break an obscure world speed record at the Bonneville Salt Flats this fall. He’s so far into the ’50s, his father John said, that he can barely be troubled to check his e-mail once a week. Dustin communicates artistically with the world via dagger and One Shot — insiders’ parlance for the specialized brush used by pinstripers and the preferred brand of sign paint. Pinstriping itself is an ancient style of decoration. The late Kenneth Howard, better known as Von Dutch, raised it to an automotive artform in the 1950s. Yeah, him — the one whose name graces the trendy clothing. Hence Cooper’s Von Dust professional handle. “Four years ago I wanted to learn to pinstripe,” Dustin said, and an older local hot-rodder stepped up to the plate. “He gave me a brush and showed me how to mix up some paint and how to pull a line.” Then only 13, Dustin practiced for about a year. Then he got serious. “I started out doing toilet seats and selling them at shows,” he said. “One guy said, ‘Hell, you might as well stripe my car.’” So I did. Overall, along with small projects, Dustin estimates he’s striped about 25 cars, as well as his family’s refrigerator, stove and storm doors, and the upholstery in his own DeSoto back seat. Von Dust’s skill with laying on the One Shot has attracted a good deal of hot-rod media attention, and a clothing company called Public Nuisance Garage (pngarage.com) has picked up two of his designs to print on shirts. —Chris Pfouts
Richard Edwards is a songwriting prodigy. He’s been playing in and around the Indianapolis bar scene since he was 17. His first album, I Was an Astronaut, released under the name Archer Avenue, won praise from the Village Voice, which ranked it higher than the 2004 releases from Papa Roach or Ja Rule. Now heading up his new band Margot and The Nuclear So & So’s, Edwards is gaining even wider praise as they tour the Eastern states. Major labels are starting to take notice — you should too.
NUVO: What’s your process for creating music?
RE: I usually write a record with a theme in mind. Archer Avenue is about high school coming to an end and not being sure of what you were going to do next. The Margot record was more about people scattering and going their separate ways. I guess it was about high school ending and feeling abandoned.
NUVO: Is too big a deal being made of the fact that you’re a young songwriter instead of just a songwriter?
RE: When people say, “He’s good for his age,” I’d bitch to my friends about it. But now I feel like I have a head start. There are a lot of great songwriters in Indy. To be considered at the same level this early on is a big jump-start. A lot of songwriters write some of their most important work when they’re young.
NUVO: Is it easier to write about feeling melancholy?
RE: I write my best after I come out of a really sad period. I’m more reflective after I’ve come through a rough period. Songwriting is finding the little happy moments within all the sad times.
NUVO: How’s the CD being received on the road?
RE: It’s selling really well, but the exciting thing is that for the first time in my career it’s obvious that the labels know about us. I’m actually in New York right now because a label flew us out for a meeting. We’re ready to do a new CD. We’ve already started writing new material and we just need to find out so we can get back in the studio. —Wayne Bertsch
Brian G. Hartz has been involved with theater since he was very young. He says, “The first time I remember thinking I might have a knack for it was when my third grade class did You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown. I played Charlie Brown. Believe me, an 8-year-old wearing a rubber bald cap is a weird sight. But I took it very seriously — probably too seriously.” Though not a theater major when he attended IU (he studied English and economics), Hartz participated in several of the school’s productions. “I got my theater education on stage, which is the best classroom there is.” After graduation, Hartz worked for the Bloomington Playwrights Project (www.newplays.org), a little company in Bloomington dedicated entirely to performing new plays and nurturing new playwrights. Hartz recalls of the experience, “I spent most of my waking hours there, and the money was a joke, but that season was a crucial crash course in zero-budget theater. When I left there, I could do everything from hanging lights to planning fund-raisers — and knew how to get it done with no money yesterday.” In 2003, Rough Magic Productions debuted with Hartz directing/producing Romeo and Juliet — A Crime Story, a re-setting of Shakespeare’s play amongst the Chicago Mafia of the 1940s. “That production brought together so many of the most brilliant theatrical talents I’ve encountered so far in this town, at just the right time in their development and in just the right place. The result was electric — a Shakespeare that crackled with life and exploded onto the stage; the way it should be experienced.” Hartz has exhibited his many talents locally, not just in a directing capacity but also as an actor and, recently (in Bug at the Phoenix Theatre), as a sound designer. Hartz describes his draw to the theater: “I admit it, I’m a sucker for the instant gratification of having my audience right in front of me. I revel in the immediacy and the ephemeral nature of the medium. A few people come together at one time, in one place, to invent a little fantasy that evaporates as soon as the lights come up. There’s a tacit agreement that everybody will pool their imaginations to create something that takes them outside their current experience — like a consensual collective dream, or like children playing.” Hartz has work endeavors that will be keeping him in Indianapolis, but what he sees himself focusing on in the future are more collaborative pieces. “As for myself, I’ll be out there and active in Indy theater as long as I’m in Indy, if only because I can’t help it. There are many more unhealthy addictions; at least an addiction to making art does some good for someone beyond myself.” —LG
Zeal isn’t exactly the attitude most 24-year-old guys have toward kitchens. But most 24-year-olds aren’t Tyler Herald, and few guys his age have amassed the impressive resume he has. A longtime Muncie resident who in high school made up the lunch specials at his mother’s restaurant, Stirling’s, Herald took a circuitous route to his first executive position at downtown’s new ultra lounge, 6. Sports — first football, then golf — drew Herald to Beloit College in southern Wisconsin, far from the gastronomic capitals of America. A dynamic professor inspired him to major in history, and he dug in with the rigor of a serious scholar. But it was to food that Herald was ultimately destined and, after graduation, he enrolled in the intensive 15-month program at Portland, Ore.’s Western Culinary Institute. On top of a 7 to noon daily schedule, he worked as private chef for corporate CEOs and Portland Trailblazer Damon Stoudamire. In Portland, he fell in love with the diverse produce from local farmsteads, and he helped out in scrupulous kitchens like Craig Baker’s Echo, where almost everything was regional and organic. His prodigious skills landed him a six-week internship at North Pond in Chicago, working under Bruce Sherman, a Food & Wine Best New Chef of 2003. When he got the call from the owners of 6, he quickly whipped up eight signature dishes, including his flatbread pizza, the dough for which rode in the seat next to him on his flight to Indiana. No wonder he got the job. Follow this guy around local markets and watch him grill a farmer about why he removed the greens from his beets. Step into his spacious, pristine kitchen, and see him beam over a box of heirloom tomatoes. Signs he’s posted inform the wait staff about the day’s fish special. “Questions?” he writes, “Ask Tyler.” This is no corporate chef schlepping out bland victuals to satisfy the masses. After just a few promising months, he’s retooled the menu, including more locally inspired dishes such as Indiana sweet corn fritters with a roasted-tomato rémoulade. He may be working at a restaurant named 6, but his tasty, well-articulated plates are quickly earning this enthusiastic chef some perfect 10’s. —Terry Kirts
I scream life into these lyrical exercises, inflating alphabetical artistry into spirits like GOD because he created by spoken word. I’m a poet. I decided to introduce this paper to this pen and they united in matrimony holy but they are considered freaks and so from its worth this piece is birthed. I’m a poet. Dark Knight
Cleo House’s poetry speaks volumes of his appreciation of the English language. The 28-year-old Indianapolis native’s love of poetry is an extension of his love of the stage where he built an impressive resume as a resident artist, performer, director and playwright with Indianapolis’ Asante Children’s Theatre. At his core, the recently married former rapper (who often goes by the moniker “Dark Knight”) loves to live, laugh and learn. He sat down with NUVO for a lyrical joust.
NUVO: You’re a talented and well-rounded performer. What drew you to poetry?
DK: Poetry allows my soul to sing. If I’m not creative, I’m not completely living. With words, you can speak them correctly or put your own spin on them and make poetry who you are. Spoken words created the world.
NUVO: You were originally a hip-hop artist right? Did that lay the foundation for your appreciation of language?
DK: Actually, I was a poet long before I started rhyming. I always loved words. Even when I was a kid. I could never get over the power of words. One of the stupidest things people ever taught me was that sticks and stones would break your bones but words would never hurt you. That’s a lie. Words can hurt! That’s why you’ve got to be careful what you say. Poetry is powerful.
NUVO: What theme dominates your poetry?
DK: Love. Definitely love. Of all types and all aspects, good and bad. The love of people, love of food, love of crime, everything.
NUVO: Who has had the most influence on your poetry?
DK: My family, James Officer [president of Midtown Writers], DAS EFX, The Notorious B.I.G and, of course, Ms. Asante. She helped me bring a lot of stuff out. I’m a better man because of her. Look out for Dark Knight’s upcoming spoken word release Just A Messenger. —AA
Karla Reyes is editor-in-chief of BELLA, a full-color, 34-page, free monthly magazine.
NUVO: Why did you found a Spanish language magazine in Indianapolis?
KR: I saw a need in the community [for women of Latin American heritage] not to forget the beauty of their culture. I came in 1986 as a first-grader. Until ninth grade I was the only Mexican kid in my class. It was very rare to have Mexican friends or access to anything about our culture. My sister and I looked around and saw the American Girl was not us. It was only around 1995 that the Indianapolis Mexican population increased. But still, we felt everything was targeted for the blue-eyed blonde. BELLA’s mission is to empower mentally and physically the Hispanic woman. Entirely in Spanish, it is the No. 1 source of information for women ages 13 to 65-plus. Features include beauty, fitness, scholarship, nutrition, fashion, careers, relationships. It’s written on an eighth grade level so any IPS student has something interesting to practice Spanish on. BELLA is approved for use in IPS high schools. I wanted a magazine that unified us, for readers to hear monthly “you are capable of everything.” My nieces inspire me. I want to be a role model for them.
NUVO: When and how did you found BELLA?
KR: December 2003 we started with a team of five, including my sister and me. It was hard to sell advertising at first. All we had was a cover. We decided no advertising of tobacco or alcohol products. Our first issue came out April 2004. Since then we have been able to change and shape women’s lives. Sometimes it astounds me how much I can do. Being an entrepreneur is tough. It’s a non-stop shop. I am doing everything I learned at Ball State, where I graduated with a public relations major and Spanish minor. I’m very versatile. I also do marketing for iMAGEN TELECOM. Right now all I have time for is karate — yellow belt — and being active in Junior Chamber of Commerce and Public Relations Society of America.
NUVO: When and where is BELLA available?
KR: BELLA comes out the 15th of the month. We distribute to all Mexican groceries, iMAGEN TELECOM outlets and public libraries. We have a circulation of 10,000. —RK
“When I’m designing, I want the architecture to speak to the client. When you go into places you should feel the dialogue between the space and its user.” —jTravis Russet jTravis Russet has worked on numerous projects in cities across the country including Indianapolis, New York and Los Angeles. The young visionary and Ball State alumnus feels a sense of connection with architecture because of its ability to manipulate space and build a dialogue between structures and those who use them. NUVO recently had an opportunity to ask a few questions.
NUVO: What influences your design style most?
JTR: Theory. I’ve been most influenced by the theories of space and how people interact with space. It’s a process for me.
NUVO: What happens in that process?
JTR: Often, I struggle with a blank piece of paper. Most of the time, when I design, I go through a series of conversations with the client. I hope to get a manifestation of the client’s ideas blended with my own style. As an architect, I have an opinion of what should be the design and clients have others. I can be stubborn at times, but the client’s wants are the final goal.
NUVO: What drives the creation of new spaces?
JTR: Composition. It’s a combination of looking to people’s natural movements and capturing the storylines of a space in your design. Buildings are not just containers for function, but they can be catalysts for dialogue and inspiration.
NUVO: Architecture has been in the news recently with the conversations surrounding the Millennium Tower in NYC. What’s your take on that?
JTR: That project has really uncovered the dirtier side of architecture and design politics. There is a lot of ego and money involved in projects such as that one. I think what they arrived at for memorializing Ground Zero will be very good.
NUVO: Many designers have a dream job that they would like to do. Do you have any dreams of a masterwork?
JTR: I would just like to build something that I’m happy with. That’s the ultimate goal. Something I’m truly happy with. —AA
Adrian Stanley is laughing. “For some reason, my work seems to involve a lot of battle scenes, pure Victorian mannerisms versus white trash. Most of my images come from a notion of pride either breaking down or the origin of it.” Stanley began making books when she worked at Dolphin Papers. “Ed Funk [the store’s owner] opened up how versatile printmaking could be and taught me how to run a press,” she says. “After that, I began silkscreening in book form, making clothing, and stenciling on bags and purses with odd things. It was a release for me outside of Herron.” Although Stanley has shown a lot of her clothing and purses at the Bodner building, where she shares a studio, she now wants to concentrate on bookmaking and letter pressing. Her books are progressive, each image moving from the next, telling a story. “When you make a book there’s so much history, and when you have a conversation with someone at times you get bored,” she says. “When someone reads your book they get a glimpse into you, your conversation never revealed. A book will live long after I do.” Stanley’s work is available at www.lovemarshill.com, Rural located at 970 Fort Wayne Ave. and at the upcoming Wheeler show on Sept. 17. —SM