When she was a child, Reyna Hernandez’s favorite subjects to draw were Shrek and Tyra Banks. Now thirty-six, the award-winning artist and teacher takes on projects that reflect her own identity. A member of the Ihaŋktoŋwaŋ or Yankton Sioux Tribe, Hernandez depicts her culture in the form of massive murals. Prominently depicting Indigenous women and star quilt patterns, her vibrant art makes it hard to look away.

This summer, as part of the Indigenous Voices of the Americas program at the 2024 Smithsonian Folklife Festival, Hernandez created a mural that was no exception. Her piece depicted an Indigenous figure positioned in the traditional style of European reclining nudes. Glowing with neon hues of pink and blue, Hernandez further subverted viewers’ expectations by placing the figure in front of a background of Indigenous star quilt patterns.

The influence of Hernandez’s matrilineal line of star quilters is ever-present in her work, as she blends the traditional aesthetics of Indigenous Plains art with her own contemporary style.

“I grew up watching my mother’s star quilts come together,” she says. “To witness the color and pattern choices she was using and the way that she broke up space within the compositions in her quilts was really inspiring to me.”

Star quilts are considered a sign of honor and generosity among the Oceti Sakowiŋ or People of Seven Council Fires, sometimes known as the Sioux. Quilts are often given to loved ones to mark monumental life events such as births, graduations, and funerals. They depict the eight-pointed Morning Star, which rises and sets with the sun and represents rebirth and renewal.

When she placed her mother’s quilts—so culturally and spiritually significant—beside her own drawings of nineties pop icons, an adolescent Hernandez struggled to consider her own art as a serious creative path. It wasn’t until Hernandez secretly read her older brother’s poetry notebook that she realized that creativity comes in many different but equally powerful forms.

“Seeing my brother’s creativity with words inspired me to keep working to tell stories through my drawings.”

It also led Hernandez to a belief that an insatiable creativity is one of the many commonalities among Indigenous youth.

“I’m not sure if it’s a response to the range of intergenerational experiences or because of the ways we’ve had to come together to rebuild our communities and culture, but I see it.”

Knowing that a natural creativity exists in many Native people, Hernandez chose to pursue a form of art that necessitates creative collaboration of many: murals. She witnessed at a young age the unique power that collaborative art has to promote communal healing and reclamation. After her uncle’s tragic death in a car accident, it was the practice of star quilting that saved her mother and grandmother in a time of terrible grief. Yet Hernandez doesn’t shy away from mentioning quilting’s painful past.

“Quilting was introduced to Native women by missionaries during the boarding school era, so the fact that Native women have incorporated Native symbols like the eight-pointed star is such a beautiful example of resilience. The way that Native women have taken over the art form and made it their own is so powerful. You see that resilience rippling through the generations in different forms of creativity.”

Hernandez’s murals are a physical representation and celebration of this same perseverance. Covering the facades of community centers, schools, and cultural associations, her murals are not only giant but radiant too. Using the brightest shades of acrylic paint she can find, and the best on-sale paint brushes she can buy, she turns brick walls into public exhibitions of culture, color, and creativity.

Hernandez’s creative process is just as much about community organizing as it is about painting. When she and her muralist partner, Amber Hansen—a non-Native assistant art professor at the University of South Dakota—are approached by an organization to create a mural, their first step is hosting community workshops. Locals discuss their cares and concerns while Hernandez listens for common themes. These discussions have a direct impact on the compositions that Hernandez decides to paint.

Her first mural, Eunkíčhetupi (Come Back to Life) (2019), emerged from community discussions of motherhood and concerns about recent floods that plagued Vermillion, South Dakota, where Hernandez currently resides. The result was a mural depicting an Indigenous mother breastfeeding her children while giant waves, in the style of Japanese artist Hokusai’s The Great Wave Off Kanagawa, crash in the background. The mural’s title is a term derived from the Lakota language which roughly translates to “Come back to life,” an apt name for a mural depicting the resilience of Vermillion locals in the aftermath of tragedy.

Her murals predominantly depict Native women, rejecting the stereotypical image of Indigenous people as stoic figures of antiquity.

“The way that I want to portray Indigenous women is as free. We have the freedom to experience joy, and we can do whatever we want and be empowered doing that. Often we’re made visible in the context of historical trauma which is important to talk about, but I think it’s important to remember that we’re also empowered and happy and that we laugh a lot.”

While Hernandez appreciates art’s ability to comfort, she is especially interested in its ability to facilitate something equally as important: discomfort. It isn’t always easy, she says, getting people to accept the new picture of Indigenous women that she paints. Displaying images of Brown bodies in public spaces has elicited uneasiness among non-Native people, she continues.

“Black and Brown people constantly see Lewis and Clark murals and white bodies portrayed in visible spaces, and we’ve always been able to identify in some way because that is what we’ve been exposed to. Now we’re flipping the script on that, and people in the dominant culture aren’t able to identify and make a connection to art that portrays Brown bodies. They will say things like, ‘This isn’t about us,’ but in reality, it is. You just have be willing to see that it’s about you, too.”

Despite her commitment to portraying Indigenous women as joyful and free, Hernandez recently found herself in a creative rut that she attributes to taking herself too seriously. She found her way out by discovering inspiration in an unusual place: a youth summer camp.

The Oscar Howe Summer Art Institute, hosted by the University of South Dakota, aims to foster the next generation of great Indigenous artists. When Hernandez was offered a teaching position, she almost didn’t take it because she felt she didn’t have anything creative to contribute. Despite her initial hesitancy, Hernandez has found herself profoundly moved by the freedom with which her students create. In particular, she has been reinvigorated by their ability to create powerful art with joy and humor.

“They don’t take themselves super seriously all the time, and I think that is something that I forget a lot. The kids have reminded me that I can have fun with this.”

Just as she embraces the nuance within herself, Hernandez hopes to depict the varied experiences of Indigenous peoples within her art. Despite her art primarily depicting Native people, she argues that her art plays an important role in illuminating basic human truths such as love, loss, and belonging that tie us all together.

“We have really bad, really good, and really nuanced experiences. What is most important to me is bringing those nuanced experiences together and opening up a space for us to exist in many ways.”

Lauren Hogg is a writing intern at the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage and a senior at Georgetown University, majoring in American studies.