BUILT BY HAND: Why art may be the civic tool we’ve been overlooking

In a rural Colorado town, a group of kids set out to help decorate a gazebo.

That was the plan.

It didn’t stay that way.

They started building. Experimenting. Solving problems. Inviting friends. What began as a small project quickly grew into something the entire community wanted to be part of. Parents reached out—not because they were looking for a program, but because they could see something happening they didn’t want to miss.

There was no formal recruitment strategy. No large-scale funding. No finished blueprint.

And yet, something was being built—something real.

For Erin Ries, founder of Rocky Mountain Arts, that moment revealed a different way of thinking about art. Not as decoration. Not as enrichment.

But as infrastructure.

Rethinking What Builds a Community

When we think about civic infrastructure, we tend to think in concrete terms—roads, buildings, systems designed by professionals and delivered to the public.

But what happens in places where those systems move slowly, or don’t fully arrive?

Ries’s work suggests another approach: start with people.

In projects like the community-built gazebo in Norwood, Colorado, and a large-scale mushroom and columbine sculpture in nearby Nucla, art becomes the entry point—not the finishing touch.

There is no fixed plan from the outset. The design evolves as people engage with it. Decisions are made collectively. The process is as important as the outcome.

The result is something that feels fundamentally different.

Not installed.

But owned.

From Participation to Ownership

Traditional civic projects often invite the public in near the end—as users, sometimes as stakeholders.

Art-led projects flip that model.

They begin with participation.

Young people work alongside artists. Community members contribute ideas, labor, and problem-solving. The structure takes shape through collaboration rather than instruction.

And that changes everything.

A structure built for a community can be appreciated.

A structure built by a community is recognized.

People see themselves in it.

What Art Teaches That Systems Can’t

There’s another layer to this kind of work—one that goes beyond the physical result.

When people build something together, especially something that will exist in a shared public space, they learn skills that are difficult to teach in any formal way.

They learn resilience—because things go wrong.

They learn teamwork—because progress depends on it.

They learn how to navigate uncertainty—because there is no set answer.

These are not just creative skills.

They are civic ones.

Scaling the Idea

Ries’s approach doesn’t stop at small-town projects.

Alongside her partner, Chris Myers, she co-founded the Telluride Fire Festival—an immersive, community-centered event inspired in part by their experiences at Burning Man. What started as an ambitious idea has grown into a major cultural happening, combining large-scale art, fire, music, and performance.

Even at that scale, the philosophy remains the same:

Participation over presentation.

Collaboration over control.

Community over spectacle.

A Different Kind of Infrastructure

Art, in this context, isn’t separate from civic life.

It’s part of how communities form, adapt, and sustain themselves.

It creates spaces where people connect—not just physically, but socially. It offers a way to engage with place that doesn’t require permission, credentials, or waiting for systems to catch up.

In a time when many people feel disconnected from traditional structures, that matters.

Closing

The gazebo in Norwood still stands.

Not as a perfect object, but as a record of effort, collaboration, and shared ownership.

It wasn’t delivered to the community.

It was built by it.

And in that difference is a larger idea:

Maybe what holds a place together isn’t just what’s built.

It’s who builds it.

→ This article is part of a larger feature on Erin Ries and art as civic infrastructure. Read the full story in the latest issue of Studio Tour Magazine.