We were lucky to catch up with Julie Reneé Benda recently and have shared our conversation below.
Hi Julie Reneé, thanks for joining us today. Can you talk to us about a project that’s meant a lot to you?
One of my favorite works is a piece called “It Was Never Mine”. I harvested a downed sugar maple tree on the 20 acres I grew up on, just after my parents sold it. I carved into them a narrative reflecting on illusion of property ownership and responsibility we should all innately feel to the earth.
The text goes: “On August 30th of the year two-thousand and twenty one, according to the Gregorian calendar, of which means nothing to a patch of growing moss or aging maple, I pried a nail from between two planks of wood, the boards wailing as the hole let go of it’s metal tongue. My father watched as I tore apart the abandoned fishing shanty at the east corner of the pasture and said that I didn’t need to trouble myself anymore.
That the clouds and the trees and the pollen; and the standing deadwood, and the earthworms, and the rubber tires and broken fences, and the mangled window frames stored in the collapsing outhouse, and the cherry tree and towering aspens, the majestic pine and the dwarf hazelnut, the gluttonous caterpillars and the parched grasses, and the succulent raspberries and the spotted winged drosophila residing in them, the mosquito larvae and the swingless swing set, and the pitted iron cook stove, and the August sunsets and the bones of every dog, horse and rabbit, and the fucked-up garbage bins- unrepaired from yet another surly black bear, and the heart I buried between two trees which are now three; all 25 million square feet of land, (if measured by the foot prints of a large transient fowl), I no longer had to care for, for all of it was no longer mine.
Upon hearing this, I paused for a moment, then continued to rip the last nail from its place. It let out a cry that I swear was heard by the sleeping fawn six miles away and I replied: ‘It was never mine to begin with’.”
Julie Reneé, 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’m a visual artist and writer, originally from the remote Keweenaw Peninsula of Michigan. I don’t have an “elevator pitch” for what I do (mainly because there aren’t any tall buildings where I live), but I describe myself as a sculptural storyteller, narrative artist, and when appropriate, comedian on paper.
A born and raised “Yooper,” I grew up at the end of a road, at the edge of the earth, spending my formative years collecting firewood and attempting to gain a suitable audience of—well, none—amongst a lot of maples and pines. There was so much forest around that up until the first grade I believed that we all naturally aged into trees. (Although now I wonder, was that so wrong?) I have since evolved my sense of vocation and now write, draw and carve for humans.
I gravitate towards unconventional forms of text, unusual narrative structures, humor, trees, rocks and really whatever I can find, as a means of subverting dominant narratives in the society around me. I’ve carved forest histories from the perspective of geological time, satirized the spiritual effects of molten rock from a blast furnace, created parody elections for the plant kingdom and written about the leaving someone you care for. Because in our society it is taboo to be sharing anything but how well you’re doing, I create projects that allow me to speak openly about the processes of grief, loss, anger and self-love.
What do you think is the goal or mission that drives your creative journey?
It was books, art, music and comedy that taught me language could be a powerful tool to challenge convention. I fell in love with the way words could serve as a poetic rebellion or a scaffold to be forthright with a vulnerable state of being. Stories expanded my understanding, self-acceptance, humility and had the potential to change rigid perceptions around me.
So I don’t know if I would call it a mission, but I believe there is a very universal need for more stories. Better stories, different stories. Ultimately, the stories we tell shape our beliefs, and those beliefs in turn, lay the foundation of culture. I think it’s our job to consciously tell the stories that might be hard, subversive, honest or disorienting if we want to build a culture that looks different from what it has been.
What’s a lesson you had to unlearn and what’s the backstory?
In the last several years I’ve had to confront some unconscious conditioning around the unhealthy and unchecked ways we associate endings with failure. It knocked me out of my seat one day when my younger brother, (who I’ve looked up to for many things!) advised me: “Quit, and quit earlier.”
In our culture we are told to “never give up”, be a “yes man” and that quitting is weak or a sign of failure. Moreover, Millennials and Gen Zers are disparaged for not having enough of “grit”. While I appreciate having learned the value of perseverance and commitment in overcoming challenges, I’ve come to realize that a one-size-fits-all approach to work and life is not always beneficial. I’ve had to unlearn the notion of sticking to something indefinitely—because quitting certain projects, relationships, jobs (if we have the means) also has value. And just like saying no, it can leave room for what is more appropriate, safer, healthier, etc.
The result for me is a practice of discernment that helps me be more effective, focused and fulfilled for the yeses and commitments I do make.
Contact Info:
- Website: www.jreneebenda.com
- Instagram: @jreneebenda
- Other: julie.from.the.rock on Tiktok
Image Credits
Carl F. Morrision, Christopher D. Thompson, Christopher Selleck (please ask for individual photo credit)