We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Erin McGrath Rieke. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Erin below.

Alright, Erin thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. Do you think your parents have had a meaningful impact on you and your journey?

I’m so glad you asked me that, because recently I found myself surrounded by boxes of photographs, old home videos, and memorabilia in our storage closet–fragments from another lifetime that I’ve been revisiting as part of my ongoing I Am. I Am. I Am. Project. It’s a reflective body of work that explores identity and self-concept through the lens of memory, creative reawakening, and the layered reconstruction of the self.
As I sifted through old pictures, I came across the image of myself as a wiry, platinum-blonde girl with giant, gray-blue eyes, stringy hair, spindly legs, and crooked teeth donning a grin that radiated unshakable confidence. I found myself standing in the quiet afternoon as a crone reflecting on my life, and I realized the resilience that carried me through every devastating, dark passage and eventual rebirth always existed within me. That resilience was radiating in the picture of that girl I once knew so well. I could see it in her. It was something my parents instilled in me long before I knew how to name it.
When I was a kid, I carried this unshakable belief that I could accomplish anything if I simply willed it hard enough. I learned that persistence and dedication could bend the impossible into something pliable, and the world, when met with a combination of kindness and persistence, often yields to determined hands. My parents, with their own unique style, nurtured that instinct within me rather than tempering it. They never told me to slow down or to be more realistic.
​When I was seven and decided to run for treasurer of the entire school, the principal told me I was too young. My parents’ response was simple: Then prove him wrong. And I did. They stood behind every wild idea as if it were another adventure. When I wanted to learn sign language at the local college in fifth grade, they signed the forms and drove me to classes. When I wanted to study acting in New York, they booked my flights and arranged my accommodations. They paid for lessons, headshots, and instruments, and they showed up for every contest and performance as if each one were a Broadway opening.
​I must have been so completely saturated in love back then that it hardened into belief. Because of them, I carry an unshakable faith in myself–a foundation rooted in that quiet chorus of “you can.”
​My parents gave me a life of comfort and privilege. We lived among the broad streets and manicured lawns of a beautiful Chicago suburb, in a home that never knew want. There were dinner parties alive with laughter, my father on the piano, my mother handing out instruments and costumes as if every night were a rehearsal for something magical. It was a world that shimmered with possibility. Within it, I came to understand both the privilege and the peril of comfort–how it could cushion, and how it could obscure. But most of all, my parents taught me this: that the world is not something to wait for; it’s something to reach toward, even when your hands tremble.
​So what did my parents do right? They gave me everything. Everything a child could need–stability, nourishment, education, healthcare, culture, and structure. But they also gave me far more than the tangible. They instilled discipline, manners, conviction, loyalty, perseverance, and a moral compass rooted in empathy and ethical integrity. As first-and second-generation Americans from Irish immigrants, they carried a deep sense of duty and honor that greatly contributed to the foundation of my own character.
​When it came time to establish my business years later, my mother stepped up and became my silent partner–not for recognition, but to ensure I had the foundation and freedom to follow my dreams. That act of faith mirrored everything she and my father had modeled my entire life: steadfastness, generosity, and unwavering belief.
​Their influence runs through everything I create. My mission is to use personal narrative interwoven with creative expression to break down the walls that keep us isolated from one another. My parents taught me to move toward the world rather than wait for it to come to me. Through my art, writing, and advocacy, I try to carry that lesson forward, doing what I can to help others find new ways to express what is too raw to say, and to transform silence into something shared, human, and deeply healing.

Erin, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

I grew up in a household where creativity and intellectual curiosity were an integral part of daily life. My mother came from a family of visual artists and she studied design. She encouraged me to sketch, paint, and explore the tactile world of making. My father’s family, a lineage of builders and engineers deeply immersed in theater and music, instilled in me a lifelong love of performance and expressive storytelling. I was also very close to my grandparents, who encouraged open political and social discussions that exposed me early to diverse perspectives and deepened my understanding of human connection. Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to have mentors in literature, sociology, psychology, social work, and business who reinforced these values, teaching me that knowledge and empathy are inseparable, and that true insight grows through engagement, reflection, and dialogue.
​Creative work is an unconventional craft, and my approach to it is often equally unconventional. It’s no surprise, then, that my journey to becoming a “creative professional” has been anything but traditional–shaped as much by curiosity as by necessity. I first began my working life by filling gaps wherever opportunity arose: acting as a quasi-paralegal in law offices, exploring web design at the dawn of the internet, teaching preschool art, selling luxury home fragrance at trade shows and designer clothes in retail stores; I certainly performed countless data management jobs. Each role honed adaptability, rapid learning, and the ability to communicate across diverse audiences-skills that remain central to my practice today.
​Insofar as creating my professional creative journey, I suppose it began within my children’s schools, where I first volunteered, then taught art, and eventually organized eccentric fundraisers. My early projects revealed the radical potential of collaborative, community-centered initiatives. In 2010, I founded Divinemoira Studio, creating a platform to work with artists, galleries, and nonprofits. Through the studio, I partnered with organizations including The Angel Band Project, NAMI, RAINN, The Trevor Project, UN Women Civil Society Advisory Group, and the Regional Arts Commission, to name a few, presenting work in venues ranging from local galleries to the United Nations.
​I define myself as an interdisciplinary activist-artist, which is a fancy way of saying I work to bridge visual art, writing, performance, and advocacy. My work is rooted in personal narrative but intentionally constructed to engage collective experience. Through my projects, I cultivate dialogue around trauma, mental illness, addiction, suicide, and gender-based violence, creating spaces where vulnerability is honored and silenced experiences are given form. The ultimate goal is to foster compassion and connection, transforming personal and communal pain into insight, empowerment, and shared understanding.
​More recently, my practice has taken a “boots-on-the-ground” approach. Through RedBike Outreach, the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP), and the Yale University Mentor Program, I help provide emergency supplies to unhoused individuals, advocate to the state legislature for those living with mental illness, and share my experiences to support people with dual diagnoses. In these roles, I try to help others reclaim dignity, rebuild community, and navigate life’s most formidable challenges.
​What sets my work apart is the balance between openness and strength. I aim to give voice to the silenced and create spaces where people can both witness and be witnessed. Projects like the Aria Rising Project, Turbulence Behind Tranquility, and my recent Peer Discussion Groups and Creative Meditation Sessions embody this approach, fostering connection and engagement. They reflect a core principle of my work: creativity is a tool for growth, restoration, and agency. My mission is to show that personal narrative, when paired with artistic expression, can dismantle isolation, cultivate empathy, and provide tools for navigating both internal and communal challenges. Whether creating mixed-media installations, facilitating discussions, or mentoring participants, my practice is grounded in integrity, reflection, and a belief that creativity can heal, empower, and unify.
​Through my work, I hope to provide people with ways to express what is too raw or complex for ordinary words, and to create spaces where connection, understanding, and transformation can emerge naturally.

Is there mission driving your creative journey?

Not long ago, I remembered a group of students I worked with years ago. They were creating visual journals when I noticed a reserved redhead at the end of the table, pensively staring at her page. When I approached, she admitted she wasn’t sure if her drawing was “good enough.” I knelt beside her and said simply, “It’s not about perfect—it’s about what you feel inside and what you need to express.” Soon, she began drawing with a joyful abandon, her pensive expression gone. That brief, quiet moment captures the heart of my work: creating spaces where people can safely translate their inner lives into form, and be seen, understood, and heard without judgment.
That sense of responsibility-a quiet mission to offer not just art, but hope-has guided every project I’ve undertaken. My work, whether through mixed-media installations, interactive projects, or discussion-based creative sessions, seeks to transform vulnerability into connection. It is rooted in the belief that even the most raw, painful experiences can find expression and healing. I am endlessly inspired by the courage it takes for someone to show up with their story, to place their emotions into a tangible form, and take the daring plunge by sharing that with others. That bravery, in turn, inspires me.
My creative journey is a journey of service. I offer tools and experiences that awaken reflection, foster connection, and kindle quiet courage. In struggle and silence, my work reminds us that hope endures. Every brushstroke, every word, every shared performance is a spark-proof that creativity can illuminate the darkest paths and inspire compassion, courage, and change.

What’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative in your experience?

The most rewarding aspect of being an artist is truth-the ability to explore and express it in its rawest form. It’s honesty with myself and with others, a freedom and liberation that comes from creating without limits. I cherish the connection it brings to ideas, to communities, and to the people I meet along the way. Most of all, it’s the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, a calling that continues to inspire and challenge me every day.
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Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.justeproductions.org
• Instagram: @justeproductions1975
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ErinMcgrathRieke
• Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/erin-mcgrath-rieke-b43566176/