About jannestruck

Julie A. Struck is an innovative veteran arts educator, creative writer and interdisciplinary, mixed media artist with a lifelong mission to touch upon and explore art forms that illustrate her interest in dissolving boundaries and celebrating connections. Current projects include the design and implementation of art empowerment experiences for under served populations, and the completion of an illustrated memoir about connections between her professional and personal life. Her award winning artworks and creative writing have been published in Still Point Arts Quarterly, Line Zero, Vine Leaves, Gambling the Aisle, Kestrel's Fall 2013 issue, in which she was the featured artist and showcased at the 2014 Associated Writing Programs Conference in Seattle, and South Loop Review.

Eulogy For Another Brother

my brother Danny Joe at his wedding in the 1990s

Daniel Joseph Struck, my brother

This is a photograph of my brother Daniel J. Struck, or DJ, or Danny Joe as I always called him and still do, in the 1990s right after his one and only marriage. But he lived alone a long time. He had three great kids and just became a grandfather, and he died this past weekend, probably from a heart weakened by years of battling alcoholism.

Although I became distant from Danny Joe, like all my sibs and although that was never my intention, I never, ever stopped loving him for the kind, quiet, vulnerable and brave person he was. My best Danny Joe memories are: That photograph I can’t find of me at age seven or eight, wearing blue pajamas and bright red slippers with fuzzy trim, sitting on the braided living room rug and holding my brother in a strangling hug that he endured with that smile; teenage Danny standing up to my father with his fists clenched and me silently egging him on from behind my mother’s piano; watching him through the front storm door window, playing with my kids and other nieces and nephews on the front sidewalk instead of hanging out with the grownups at a family party; the Christmas he was celebrating sobriety and he and one other brother were the only siblings who met me for lunch in Huntley IL; and all the years and dozens of times he reached out to my daughter, encouraging her, no matter his own struggles.

Alcoholism, like many addictive behaviors, can be lethal. To those who must stand by and watch, it feels like helplessly witnessing the slow suicide of your beloved. And if addiction takes their life, the grief survivors feel is indescribable, even though your beloved is finally free from their tormentor.

#addictionawareness #addictionrecovery #unconditionallove  #youarenotyouraddiction


“Women’s Work”

Two Eves mixed media paintings

Two Eves, empowering portraits of girlz, circa 1995

Back in September 2020, at the height of the COVID-19 epidemic, a friend drove me to Indiana to pick up as much of my old artwork as we could load into her pickup. It was my first trip out of town since the pandemic began, and I was nervous about the four hour drive, nervous about being in public places, even briefly and while masked, and nervous that I would bump into my ex as a good portion of my artistic history is still in the attic of the farmhouse I once co-owned with him. Instead the trip was a going backwards in a good way that I sorely needed.

When I got it home to Kentucky, it felt oddly satisfying and deeply settling to wrap the rescued artworks in plastic and store them in my shed. All winter long as walked by it, filling bird feeders and fetching dry wood for my ceremonial little fires I could feel their presence, and that was enough until I moved into a new art making space where I have been painting and drawing several times a week again, also a first since the pandemic hit.

One of the purposes of this new, shared art space is to sell artwork. However, anyone who knows me well knows I don’t give a **** about selling my artwork; that’s not the reason I made art (although I didn’t know it at the time) or make art now. I do it because it’s a way to tell stories, some of them secrets, without saying a word. Visualizing my memories and feelings is healing and empowering. It grounds me. Making art creates something concrete and real when my world feels shaky and nebulous. It makes me feel like I am doing something positive and constructive during difficult times. So I told the art-space-mates that I wouldn’t be putting anything out in the front room to sell.

Now, I live in a place “where art is alive” as the billboards boast and the water tower proclaims. But in truth, it is a place where art is meant to bring tourists in who will buy it. Old Town, the location of my new studio space, has several galleries and craft workshops, but it’s mostly a ghost town, only recently enlivened by a pizza place that sells beer and wine. This “artisan village” couldn’t support a coffee shop either, though there was one in 2016 that I frequented once or twice with Owen, and I still think of him and that cafe every time I pass the clothing boutique that has replaced it.

But, like I said, I had no intention of selling anything — until the blank walls began to bother me, and I thought about my mummified artworks baking in the summer heat, and I suddenly had a fierce need to display them. So yesterday morning I worked up a slight sweat by grabbing two packages of small pieces from the late 1990s along with the two panels illustrated here, and brought them to the art space after work.

Here’s my history, according to them.¬†

Me outside ARC 1995

Me, outside ARC Gallery Chicago, after hanging Women’s Work

It was quite a transition from graduate student to working artist/teacher. I had to downsize my studio space by three-quarters, moving it into a half-basement of a townhouse I rented with my second husband, whom I married in 1994. But one of the first professional things I did was join ARC Gallery in Chicago, “one of the oldest co-ops of its kind in the country”. It was my first experience with gallery representation, which likely formed my lack of affinity for traditional galleries with paid staff judging artists based on their ability to sell, charging 50% commission on artworks sold, and an institutional hierarchy that is clearly patriarchal and focused on consumerism and majority rules. At ARC in 1994 there was a president, treasurer and secretary, elected by the membership for short terms. We all had a full say in decision making, and practiced group consensus. Every member paid minimal dues and had a gallery job — mine was doing monthly PR and Saturday gallery sitting a couple times a month. It wasn’t perfect, I’ll admit. I remember being particularly jealous of members who had lawyers and doctors for husbands and didn’t have to support themselves and a family like I did while struggling as a frantic adjunct professor with little time or money to make art. But overall ARC became a great role model for another kind of arts organization that I have been trying and failing to sell to this artist community after brief stints as a co-director of an informal organization that was supposed to promote public mural projects, and a member of local arts council that seemed to become paralyzed by COVID-19 restrictions that I saw instead as opportunities for growth and change.

So I feel like celebrating the person I became because of the person I was in 1995 by posting this pic of me in my late 30s, looking like Tom Cruise in Risky Business, tired as hell from hanging my ARC solo show entitled “Women’s Work” in which I displayed the panels I depict here, two of the six 50 x 35″ or so panels I entitled “The Eves”. They were based on photographs of my youngest daughter and one of her friends, and I no longer recall if I took them or they did. I only know that their poses intrigued me from a feminist perspective, it was pleasing and empowering to work with them and display them, and I am even more impressed with myself now as I unwrap crusty bubble wrap, maybe for the first time since that show, as ancient shavings from industrious mice cascade onto the sales room floor.




New ArtSpace

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After almost two years as a member of Berea Makerspace, I have moved my mural and other large scale art activities to a new creative space located in Old Town/Artisan Village in Berea, KY. This is a partnership with an artistic other, a generous donor and several other artistic types who would like to offer a work and sales space to artists who don’t quite fit in with other artistic organizations in the area.

In particular my partner and I want to offer an “alternative” art space to folks whose work and artistic philosophies may not be in alignment with more traditional arts organizations in the area. We plan to create a Facebook and Events pages soon, and will be scheduling monthly “critiques” and salon-style get togethers in the coming months.

Enjoy the slide show. This is a mural panel that got stalled in the middle of its community creation in the Berea middle and high schools because of COVID-19 school closures. My plan is to finish it and work with the schools to have it installed where the makers can see it and be inspired by it late this summer. When that panel is gone I plan to create a whole series of mural panels on polytab (mural cloth), modeled on another mural I helped create at a homeless shelter, and sell them to whomever is willing to display them publicly, and help pay for the installation.

Community Art in the time of COVID-19

Almost finished Hold Up Hold On panel, February 2020

a HUHO! panel from February 2020

Just as the Hold Up Hold On! team was successfully engaging participants in Berea, Kentucky middle and high schools…COVID-19 happened.

First, Berea College sent all students home in early March, which meant I lost one of my artist assistants. I remember thinking this might be a slight overreaction but as large area higher education institutions followed suit, including the one where the AmeriCorps program I manage is housed, as well as the area public and private K-12 schools, the surprise and disappointment I was feeling quickly turned to disbelief and then despair. I honestly and pretty quickly was no longer thinking about HUHO!; I was agonizing about my health and the health of my family and the sheer magnitude of the crisis.

The over three months that the pandemic has panned out to date, weeks and weeks of adjustment and survival, coupled with the recent onset of the racial unrest, has finally propelled me into a state in which I must reach out, act out, and figure out how to transform HUHO! into something that can be completed as intended, and further expanded and used by my community to help handle these uncontrollable situations and help heal from them.

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Initial movement in that direction happened in May when the Berea Arts Council, of which I am a board member, offered their windows for a HUHO! display.

I have since made an ask of the BAC, for support in 1) finding a building owner or city government entity willing to donate an exterior wall on which to install these panels; 2) hosting two upcoming events in which the Resilience panel is finished by area artists and in-progress panels are finished as well — with added elements that address equality and diversity.

It is my hope that I can directly partner with the BAC to make HUHO! a success story as of this fall, 2020.

Thanks again to the Kentucky Foundation for Women for helping to make this community art project happen!

The Kentucky Foundation for Women


Completion of multi-panel mural project, Colonels Create @EKU

  • Detail, Colonels Create collaborative mural
  • detail of Colonels Create community mural
  • Detail, Colonels Create collaborative mural
  • Detail, Colonels Create collaborative mural
  • Detail, Colonels Create collaborative mural

A group of about twenty EKU freshman and leaders in the First Year Experience program helped me finish our multi-panel mural project on December 5, 2019 in EKU’s beautiful Noel Studios. This was the last of four fall sessions, strategically chosen for their position on the academic calendar during challenging times (first weeks of term, pre-fall break, mid-terms, finals). The purpose of the mural project was to provide a quiet, mindful space to create without judgment, as well as teach the participants how taking creative risks can help them learn to be more resilient during tough times and challenging situations. We often can’t change what’s happening, but we can choose how we feel about and deal with it!

As with all my community art projects, participants help design and execute the project. My single contribution to the mural was the word “resilience” — and sponging paint around the edges. Participants collectively and collaboratively chose the color scheme, shapes and their position, and choice and placement of additional handwritten words.

As usual at each session there were folks reluctant to participate who were soon drawing and painting with finesse and gusto. Also as usual we talked while we worked, and about many things including the myth of mistakes (they are really opportunities) and ownership issues when one is working on a collaborative artwork (meaning giving up control, which can be freeing instead of frustrating).

I look forward to similar projects in the upcoming new year!!