Minneapolis-based artist Heather Friedli brings together painting, snow sculpting, and storytelling to explore movement, identity, and our relationship with the land. Her new mural, Re-Indigenized, now brightening The Commons in downtown Minneapolis, was created with support from a People for Parks Fund Grant. In this Community Profile, Heather reflects on her artistic journey and how play, culture, and connection shape her creative practice.

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Let’s start at the beginning. How did your journey as an artist take shape? Were there early experiences or places that set you on a creative path

I feel like I’ve always been an artist. I came from a very creative family, my great grandfather was a Native American pictorial scene painter, so that legacy really took root in me from a young age. I was the kid who was always drawing. In elementary school, I remember entering a coloring contest where I painted a unicorn and it won an award and went on to compete in some other places. And so ever since then, getting that kind of early validation, I’ve always been excited to share my work.

You lived and experienced so many different places. How have these different locations impacted the way you see the world?

Culture and place are things you carry with you wherever you go. I spent part of my childhood in Los Angeles, surrounded by color, energy, and a mix of cultures that constantly sparked creativity. That environment shaped how I see the world and the palette I work with today—bright, layered, and full of contrast. Later, when I moved to Detroit, it was a completely different experience. My mom’s friends in L.A. came from all kinds of backgrounds, so stepping into a more homogenous, affluent environment was a real cultural shock. Think My Fair Lady. It made me more aware of how place shapes perspective, and I think my work reflects that balance, holding both many worlds at once.

You’ve spent time creating in the wilderness, including your thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. How did that kind of immersive experience deepen your relationship with art and self-expression

It was right after the Great Recession, and I was searching for direction in my work and in the world. On April 2, 2010, I set out on the Appalachian Trail to experience the South, its people, and its small rural communities. Hitchhiking, camping, and meeting people along the way gave me a new perspective on connection.

A decade later, I revisited that journey through my artwork, weaving together the landscapes and the people who shaped it. I’ve also spent time on Minnesota’s Superior Hiking Trail, finding that same rhythm of moving slowly through a place, listening, and feeling part of the ecosystem. Those moments of stillness and endurance in a place remind me to tell the story of a landscape but also the people that are there now and the people who were there before.

You’ve described your painting process as a kind of “dance with the land.” What draws you to nature as both a subject and collaborator in your creative process?

For me, art and movement are inseparable. When I’m outside hiking, paddling or just taking in a landscape, I’m on what I call an “art-venture” and it’s a full-body experience. I’m actively observing and feeling my surroundings through physicality. When I go to paint or sculpt I move, in big or small ways, to sort of relive that experience. It becomes a physical or cerebral dance with the land, emotions, and memory. Additionally, a snow sculpture can be big, so as you’re moving around it you find that you are putting your soul into the piece through movement. 

You’re known for both your paintings and your snow sculptures, a pretty unique combination. What is it about working with snow that speaks to you?

In California, we never had snow. I had always dreamt of a white Christmas or snow in the valley, but the closest I would get is the fake snow they used for movie-sets! Experiencing snow in Detroit marked one of the most important transitions of my life, it felt so magical and freeing. As an adult, it’s become playtime, it’s a way for me to reclaim childhood wonder and nurture the part of me that loves to play. 

Snow sculpting is also a very communal medium. Whether you’re working with a team to sculpt a huge piece, or people are coming up to you while you’re working and wanting to ask questions or even participate, it very easily becomes a community event and a way to connect deeply with other people.

Your new mural at The Commons, Re-Indigenized, is powerful both visually and thematically. What inspired that piece, and what message do you hope it conveys to people who encounter it?

The seed for Re-Indigenized came from living in a Los Angeles apartment complex that had a tiny garden. Just a couple plants growing in-between the concrete. I was impressed by the landscaper that would take care of it. I started secretly planting pinto beans in the garden and taking care of them. That taught me that even in the most urban, concrete environments, life would find a way to grow. That resilience really struck me.

Similarly, the mural is about survival and renewal. It celebrates Indigenous Futurism, how nature and Indigenous culture continue to thrive despite colonization and industrialization. I wanted the imagery to feel hopeful, to serve as a reminder that beauty persists in urban or industrial spaces. Public art is one of the most direct ways to share a message. You can’t ignore it; it meets people where they are. I love that it invites everyone to pause, reflect, and ask their own questions. For me, that exchange between the artist, the work, and the community is what makes public art so powerful.

Your work weaves together family heritage, Indigenous history, and the land. How does it feel to bring that intersectionality into your practice?

Sometimes I feel those themes don’t show up in my paintings as strongly as I imagine, but they come through more clearly in my snow sculptures, which are often rooted in heritage. When I paint, I see including Indigenous elements and native plants as a subtle way to tell deeper stories. It’s not overt, but it invites people in and then maybe they start to sense the history, culture, and resilience held in the land. My heritage—Chicana and Odawa—shapes how I see the world, and it naturally flows into my art. It’s not something I consciously insert; it’s just who I am. Every brushstroke, every sculpture, carries that lineage forward. It becomes a practice honoring ancestors while also imagining the future.

How has mentorship shaped your creative journey, and how do you approach mentoring others?

Mentorship has been a guiding force in my work from early on. At the Maryland Institute College of Art, I studied textiles and was drawn to both the tactile nature of fabric and the vibrant energy of the fibers department. The professors there were incredible, strong, inspiring women who taught me to follow intuition, embrace the physicality of making, and focus on energy over medium. Their guidance wasn’t about rules or outcomes; it was about exploration, process, and discovering your own voice.

That experience shapes how I mentor today. I see mentorship as a conversation, not a transaction. I try to share my journey honestly and I really listen. One piece of advice I give aspiring creatives is simple: take an hour each day to make something. Don’t worry about judgment or outcome. Just create.

I also love teaching “art and wine” classes because they create a space where people who don’t normally see themselves as artists can explore and play. It’s a no-judgment zone, all about joy, experimentation, and the process itself. 

When you’re not creating, how do you like to spend your time?

Walking has always been my reset. As someone who has literally walked from Georgia to Maine, that probably isn’t surprising. My family and I love getting outside together, and my dog Tilly often tags along on my “art-ventures.” Some of my favorite places to recharge are Afton State Park, Battle Creek, Theodore Wirth Park, and The Commons, which is such a peaceful green space right in the heart of the city. 

I’m also involved with Minnesota 50501, where I do communications and media work. Activism feels like another form of creativity and connection to me, a way to stay engaged in community and the world around me.

Finally, what keeps you inspired—what continues to fuel your creativity and sense of wonder?

I think of art, like snow sculpting, in seasons. Inspiration ebbs and flows, and that’s natural. Whether it’s painting or making costumes for my kids, what keeps me going is variety; dividing my time between different mediums and projects keeps things fresh. Mostly, I stay open to the moment. You can find inspiration in the smallest things if you’re paying attention. When you’re mixing things up while also being grounded in your body and aware of your surroundings you’ll find that the world is always offering something to create from.

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Through every medium she touches, whether oil paint, snow, or public walls, Heather Friedli brings a deep reverence for land, culture, and play. Her work invites others to look closer, to feel movement and memory in the world around them. In her practice, art is not separate from life; it’s how she walks through it—curious, connected, and always creating. 

You can explore more and connect with Heather Friedli at friedliarts.com.

Image Credits: Minneapolis Park and Recreation Board, Heather Friedli Arts & Team Kwe