Eric Tadsen
“Art on a mission” might be a cliché, but Mark Fraire makes it fresh and relevant.
“I tell people who don’t want to invest in the arts — especially arts for kids at risk — ‘Then while you’re at work, because they have nothing to do, they’ll be breaking into your house.’”
Fraire, 57, is not your typical arts administrator, and Dane Arts (also known as the Dane County Cultural Affairs Commission) is not your typical arts board.
In fact, the organization’s mission is undergoing a major shift as Fraire puts into action his vision for using the arts to boost struggling communities — including a vital mural program that has involved low-income communities of color.
“I know we could solve the racial inequity problem with more people involved in the arts,” says Fraire, who joined the agency in 2014. “I know we could solve the achievement gap with more people involved in the arts. Because this is about building the inner spirit of the people with whom we live and love.”
Pretty words, but can a former standup comedian, a Chicano from the steel mills of Gary, Ind., really do this?
“He’s smart, funny, neighborly, has opinions that he isn’t afraid to share, and has always been concerned with engagement, equity and access through the arts and creativity,” says Anne Katz, executive director of Arts Wisconsin, a statewide advocacy nonprofit.
“Mark is a passionate, entrepreneurial public servant who is still very much an artist,” observes one former boss, George Tzougros, executive director of the Wisconsin Arts Board. “He cares about and supports the work of artists and arts organizations, and looks for ways that both may benefit the community.”
For his part, Fraire feels like he has landed in the right place to live out his passion for the arts and social justice: “I finally have the position where I can dig deep into what I think is important.”
“There is no white in me”
Fraire, who has an undergraduate degree in English, is a polished speaker, even in an informal setting. He speaks in precise paragraphs, but when he’s talking about a passion, he’ll begin a sentence only to stop and rephrase. He is sometimes animated, sometimes still, tapping the table for emphasis.
In those moments, the word “irony” often pops up. It’s not a verbal tic; just reflective of the different worlds he has inhabited. Today he sees it as a strength, though it wasn’t always so.
Mark Fraire (bottom right) was the youngest of six siblings. The family lived in Gary and Crown Point, Ind.
Growing up the youngest of six children in Gary and Crown Point, Ind., Fraire was well aware of the challenges for people of color. “There is no white in me,” says Fraire, though he jokes that, as a child of native-born U.S. citizens, he’s neither Latino enough for Latinos, nor white enough for whites. Fraire’s mother, Gloria, was born in East Chicago, Ind., and his father, Gabriel, was born in San Antonio, Texas.
“Our father would often say to us, ‘Your name is Fraire — you have to be the best,’” recalls Fraire’s brother John, vice president of enrollment management and student affairs at Portland State University. “He did not mean that in some sort of cutthroat or win-at-all costs way. He was simply speaking from experience. It was his way of saying ‘You’re a Mexican. You have to be twice as good before you get even half the credit.’”
Though his father had two master’s degrees in social work, he worked in the steel mills in Gary, which provided good-paying middle-class jobs — until the mills started to close in the mid-1970s. “People lost their jobs, their homes, their families, their lifestyles, and those that could afford to move, moved out of Gary,” says Mark Fraire.
After he and his sister were jumped by a group of boys on the way home from school, the family relocated 11 miles south to Crown Point.
To young, urban eyes, Crown Point was all Norman Rockwell and wide lawns. The most excitement the town ever had was when John Dillinger got locked up in 1934. (He bluffed his way out of the town jail with a handgun he carved from wood, covered with shoe polish.)
Fraire supposes his family moved to find better schools, “because that’s what Latinos are all about, you know. Get your kids a good education, and then maybe they can succeed.”
“It was a pretty tough childhood for me. It was all white, rural kids. I made plenty of good friends, but you still had name-calling. ‘Why don’t you go back to Mexico?’ ‘Why don’t you go back to where your people are from?’ Kids would push you around. That certainly framed a lot of my thinking.”
Fraire worked in the steel mills himself during the summers of 1978 and 1979. There were ways to escape, however. “Our parents, and in particular our father, believed very strongly in the arts and culture,” says John. “We visited museums and art galleries in Chicago regularly, and attended free outdoor concerts when available.”
“He always wanted his children to be a part of the arts,” agrees Mark Fraire. “Each one of us had to learn a musical instrument to play, besides the piano. He said, ‘Music’s going to help save you in a lot of ways.’”
Humor as defense
Fraire was a 24-year-old college student at Western Michigan at Kalamazoo when he got a call saying his father had been in a terrible accident. He recalls it was Disco Night and quarter-beer night. He left immediately. Fraire arrived at the hospital room just before his father passed away.
Many questions were left unanswered. Why was a highly educated man working in the steel mills? Why Crown Point? What did he see in the war? (Both parents were World War II veterans, and his father never wanted to talk about his experiences.) “I went through therapy to have these kinds of questions answered,” says Fraire.
Fraire graduated and, after spending a few weeks teaching in Gary, moved to Chicago to try standup and improv. His mom was a natural wit, and, like many bullied kids, he used humor as a defense. He trained at Second City. “It was one of the few arenas which was culturally inclusive, to an extent,” says Fraire. His routine was about family, relationships and poking fun at himself. “I love to make people laugh, but I didn’t like the pressure to perform, and most comedy club shows go on past midnight, and I learned that not much good happens after midnight,” says Fraire. “If I was good, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
He gravitated toward theater management and, in 1989, received a Ford Foundation fellowship and began working with Milwaukee Repertory Theater, creating its community education department.
Fraire with his 80-year-old mother, Gloria, his wife, Rebecca, and son Emiliano in 1999.
In 1997, he moved to Madison with his wife, Rebecca Collins, who he met in college, and their son, Emiliano. He began working with the Wisconsin Arts Board, overseeing its grants program and community services. The capital city’s welcome left something to be desired: “I had a five-year restraining order against my neighbor for threatening to kill me because I was a ‘fucking Mexican.’”
Fraire earned his MBA from the UW-Madison in 2010. In March 2013 he became a grants coordinator for the Madison Metropolitan School District. A year later he moved on to Dane Arts.
Changing mission
The Dane County Board of Supervisors created the Cultural Affairs Commission in 1976 to “foster and celebrate creative expression among the citizens of Dane County,” validating the significant role that art, culture and history play in contributing to the quality of life in Dane County.
A few years ago, a consultant rebranded the commission Dane Arts. That name hasn’t completely taken hold, perhaps because the county still has a Cultural Affairs Commission; it’s appointed by the county executive and includes 10 citizens and three county board supervisors.
According to Fraire, it’s unusual for a county to have an office dedicated purely to the arts. “You usually have arts and recreation and parks under one umbrella, overseen by a manager who delegates all three. But not just the arts.”
“I think people are still trying to get a handle on what Dane Arts really is. And now they’re starting to,” Fraire says.
What he means is how it’s changing. “If we can raise the visibility of what we do, then we can help people better understand that what we’re doing is for all county residents, and that’s the return on this investment.”
To many, our cultural affairs commission is best known for its annual posters and calendars highlighting works by area artists. Less known to the public are its grants. In 2015, it awarded nearly $270,000 to nonprofits, schools, municipalities and individuals for projects related to the arts, culture and local history.
Fraire raised approximately 35% of those dollars from donors; the rest comes out of Dane Arts’ annual budget, which is approximately $484,000.
“One of the difficulties we have is that people think the arts should be free,” complains Fraire. “And one of the other problems we have is that these organizations often say free. ‘This show is free.’ No, it’s not free. There’s no cost, but somebody’s underwriting it.”
While grant-making continues to be central to Dane Arts’ mission, Fraire has pushed the agency to be more proactive.
Midwest Story Lab
Joe Parisi speaks at the launch of DAMA at Zion City Community Center.
“Mark has been perfect for the vision I had,” says Dane County Executive Joe Parisi. “I really wanted to find someone who would bring Dane Arts and art into the community, and have it [be] interactive and working with the community, and reflecting the community, particularly as our community evolves and changes.”
In other words, Dane Arts would no longer just sit back and wait for grant applications. It would go out into communities, seek out the dynamics of its diverse constituencies, listen and then effect change itself.
One reason for this is economic. “The arts literally have a very strong economic impact,” says Parisi. “We’ve seen studies, and had studies done, that show the dollars that the arts bring in.”
The arts also make Dane County a more attractive place, says Parisi. “We know that one of the things that [appeals to] people who we hope to have stay here and talent that we want to attract from outside — including businesses and young people who have startup companies — is quality of life. That’s all key to economic well-being.”
Fraire references techie millennials who are filling new towers downtown and on East Washington Avenue. “Do these kids move because they want to be closer to their financial institutions or their legal counsel?” he asks. “No. They want to move here because they want to be in the hub of where things are happening.”
Several new initiatives involve reaching out to the community. One program connects patrons and businesses with local artists, building on the “buy local” movement. Dane Arts is also working with municipal planners around the county, so that when new developments are considered, art is included. Fraire is currently speaking with the developer of the second Hub building, under construction at 510 University Ave., about adding local art into the development mix.
Builders, says Fraire, “don’t often think of art as a priority, and then they’re out of money and they have a building that has no art.”
Mural transformation
Of all the projects Fraire has shepherded, Dane Arts’ mural program is potentially the most transformative of all.
“When Mark first began with Dane Arts, I approached him about a countywide mural program,” says artist Sharon Kilfoy, who has spearheaded dozens of mural projects all over the county. In 2015, Kilfoy became director of a new program, Dane Arts Mural Arts, which trains local artists to work with community groups on art projects. The program has had a remarkable first year, completing seven new murals.
One key collaboration is with the Madison Metropolitan School District’s Student Achievement through Individual Learning program, which serves students with disabilities who need a smaller environment outside of the comprehensive high schools.
Midwest Story Lab
Students from West High School's alternative SAIL program interviewed their neighbors in the Hoyt building to create a mural depicting "Life at Hoyt."
The program is housed at the former Hoyt Elementary School building. Fraire says the kids did not want to participate when the artists first came in. “Wanted nothing to do with them.” But once artists Alicia Rheal and Emida Roller started working, the students came closer and closer, and finally joined in.
“These kids totally changed,” says Fraire. Behavior, attendance and outlook improved. Students at the UW’s School of Human Ecology are working with Dane Arts to study the results.
“This is an instance when we see that art is about so much more than picking up a paint brush and painting on a wall,” says Parisi. “That’s the vehicle, and you have a beautiful end product, but it really can be transformational. These young people discovered things about themselves that they didn’t know before, discovered talent that they didn’t realize that they had before and developed relationships.”
“We’re not trying to make them artists,” adds Fraire. “We’re trying to give them an opportunity to feel good about what they’re doing. Because, if that happens, you and I know that confidence gets built — and they think they can do better and more. No, I take that back. They know they can do better and more, and we push them to do so.”
Kilfoy says it is especially important work when it “extends over time.”
“Now we need to make sure that those who can support the work financially — so we can continue to expand it throughout the county — share our vision, too.”
And that’s another part of Fraire’s mission — having people understand the importance of supporting the arts. In an era when state funding is all but nonexistent and county funds are scarce, programs like the mural initiative can’t move forward without private-sector involvement. “It’s not going to come from public funds, says Fraire. “It has to come privately. This is a generous community. I think people will see the value of what we’ve been doing.”
Was his father right? Did the arts save him?
“Absolutely,” says Fraire. “They allowed me to pursue outlets that don’t follow the norms: understanding other cultures, understanding more than one language, the ability to think freely.”
