Love Letters to 1612: reflecting on the change & community built by an artist-run space approaching its 10th year

We often hear about the how or why of running a space, but rarely how that changes and relates to our lives. These letters, written by co-founders Jessica Bingham and Alexander Martin, are addressed to Project 1612 as it approaches its tenth anniversary. (For more information about Project 1612, including a list of past exhibitions, check out this link or our Instagram. 

Project 1612 is an independent, artist-run project and short-term residency now located in Morton, Illinois. It is co-curated by Jessica Bingham (she/her) and Alexander Martin (she/her) and exists in the backyard and garden of Bingham and her partner Zach Ott (he/him). (Originally, it existed within a detached garage in Peoria, Illinois in August 2015). 

Project 1612 seeks to serve and support early and mid-career artists looking to experiment in a non-traditional exhibition setting, while also allowing Bingham and Martin to build and maintain their curatorial practices. It is, without a doubt, an art project. Since opening, Project 1612 has hosted traditional and experimental artists, working in painting, photography, video, performance, installation, sound- and time-based work, and viewer participatory projects. The short-term residency lasts 4-6 days. Artists end their time with an ephemeral exhibition, open to the public on the last day.

from Jess:
Dearest Project 1612,

You have been a place for me to grow these past nine years. A place made between friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers. You have become part of the community, built upon the bricks laid by the artists who came before us. 

Nine years ago, you existed as an idea in Peoria, IL. I proposed the concept to my husband Zach, one evening after a day surely spent in the studio, if my memory serves me right. I had been learning about DIY artist-run spaces in grad school and was yearning to build my own.

I’m such a homebody, always looking for ways to further my relationship to home.We had been in ours for a year, give or take, and the unused garage in the back seemed like a perfect place for an arts studio. A place for many, a place for artists, a place to share. Unsurprisingly, my sweet and supportive husband agreed to my idea of converting the two-car unfinished garage to an art gallery and, even more importantly, to host a monthly artist residency program in our home. The idea was spoken and so I began formulating a plan, eager to share my thoughts with my new friend Alex.

Alex and I met just months before, in the entrance to Heuser, the art department on Bradley University’s campus. After the passing of quiet hellos on a late August afternoon, our lives began to blend. As eager graduate students, we saw joy, hope, and wisdom within each other. After months of classes together, we began to grow a deep and meaningful friendship, and on a dark night after an evening class, lit by the soft light in Alex’s print studio, we discussed plans to bring you to life. I shared my ideas, and Alex shared hers. You became an official collaboration.

The ideas weren’t quite solidified when we began the Kickstarter campaign shortly after that evening, and to be honest, your name was meant to be a placeholder, but it stuck. Project 1612: the idea, the goal, the dream was put out on the internet and socials, spoken in our circles. We began raising funds for you to become a reality. Our supporters believed in the idea, but more so in us as artists. With the funds we raised, we built your walls, patched and mudded the holes, painted you a fresh white, and hung lights from your rafters. My family helped load supplies from Lowe’s to home, my dad taught us how to mud and sand, my mom joined for moral support—it truly was a group effort that many wanted to see through. By August, you were sparkling and still grungy, in all the best ways. Your cement floors and dark wooden ceiling were left untouched, adding to the aesthetic we were looking for, while your walls were slick, sturdy for artwork and ready for exhibitions by artists near and far. What an honor it was to share the space we spent all summer making. 

On August 9th, 2015 we had our first visiting artist, Sara Peak Convery, and her exhibition. We were all beaming! That first year, we hosted one artist per month. We were not able to pay artists at that time, but we did as much as we possibly could to make the model appealing, including on-site lodging, meals, and transportation when we could. Honestly, it was incredible to share space and time with as many artists as we did, and I’m grateful for our enthusiasm as young grad students. Alex and I jumped right in and adjusted when/if we needed to. One thing we failed to consider early on was the brutal Midwestern winters and intense summer heat. As the first year wrapped up, we took all we learned into consideration on how to best accommodate artists moving forward. So many artists have graced your walls, performed on your raw cement floors, and challenged us to grow, adapt, and improve as the years unfolded.

In 2018, we added a new member to our group: my daughter. The welcoming of a baby in an in-home artist residency was another moment of pause and consideration. Then, we moved locations completely, and I mourned you then. Some days I still do. The garage was perfect in so many ways, but motherhood, career changes, and the COVID-19 pandemic drastically altered our approach to you. My family moved to a smaller community outside of Peoria, and we paused the on-site portion of the project to focus solely on online content, which ended up being ideal as we all learned how to navigate the pandemic.

When the world paused and the uprisings started, we turned to you as a way to process and support our community. Out of the chaos came the first Project 1612 Pay-What-You-Can ART Sale. We collected artwork from artists near and far, secured an outside location, took all necessary COVID-19 precautions, and hosted an art sale to raise funds for two community organizations: Girls Light Our Way (GLOW) and Peoria Guild of Black Artists (PGOBA). The sale was a huge success, and we raised a little over $2,700 to split between the groups. We’d go on to host another sale, and another this coming November—they bring so much joy to the community and spread the importance of living with original art.

The next couple years brought more changes: another new baby, a new space, and also some semblance to years prior the move. We began to host visiting artists again, but in a paired down-way, so we can manage between family, work, and art practices. Now we host two artists a year, and with thanks to Big Picture Peoria—a grassroots NFP organization that focuses primarily on promoting and paying artists—we are able to offer funding to artists as well. Paying artists was always a dream of ours, but it was not an option early on. Another significant change is where the exhibitions take place: no longer in a semi-polished garage, but outside in our backyard and garden. I was worried initially about how artists would respond to this major shift, but as artists typically do, they came through with love, excitement, and curiosity.

And so, Project 1612, you have been with us for nearly ten years now. Ten years of wonderful conversations, art exhibitions, and friendship. We are thrilled to be moving into a decade with continued support and interest from artists and our community. To celebrate you, we are planning two exciting milestone exhibitions and can’t wait to see what the future holds for you, our dear Project 1612.

With love, Jess

from Alex

To Project 1612,

What are you? A space? A collaboration? A collective? An idea? There are so many things that you are to me, so many things that you have been. A decade can be a long time, and so much can happen. You have changed, as I have. I have grown, reprioritized, experienced terrible loss, learned to exist in my truth, discovered secrets about myself, and learned to rest and what I need to live. I believe you have done the same. A collaboration born of friendship, inspiration, and excitement, to me you represent the reality of change, life, and growth. 

Ten years ago, I was fresh to Illinois and beginning my graduate school career. Everything here was different. I was no longer surrounded by the hugging embrace of the Appalachian mountains. I was miles away from friends and family, both chosen and blood, and in an environment where no one knew me. Although scared, I was empowered by this new chance to exist in truth in a new context and began the long journey of exploring who I am, while also navigating the confines of academia. In this new space I met Jess, a source of energy and inspiration who took her path as an artist seriously. As a fast friendship developed, your shape began to take form. A conversation in the studio was your inception. Jess’s determination and belief in you created the Kickstarter not even a day later, and after we shared it, the funds were raised and your physical creation began. A labor of love. Your initial form: a detached garage turned studio and project space.

Your initial phases were a reflection of our lives at the time. Jess and I worked hard in school and for our careers, and we often pushed ourselves too much. As a space, you bore the burden of this, hosting a show every month. While wonderful and exciting, that was not a pace that is necessarily sustainable or healthy, but we all did it. You became something powerful. A representation of dream and collaboration, of making leaps of faith to attempt ideas. And it worked. It worked beautifully. The amount of shows curated, the things you experienced, took so many beautiful forms. My connection to Jess, her husband (an often hidden hero and collaborator), and their family grew. We have become lifelong friends, and friendship weathers change and growth, just as you did.

There was a new collaborator in our midst. Jess’s daughter Finely, who, true to the little star she was to become, decided to enter this world during an artist's time with you. I had finished grad school and was navigating the world for the first time as not a student, and Jess and Zach had just grown their family. Our lives were all changing, and because of that, so did yours. Learning to slow down is so important. No longer a show every month. We said goodbye to your initial form. There was grief, and there is often nostalgia, but what you are is so much more, and in this time of change we learned that. Jess’s move to Morton, just outside of your initial home of Peoria, meant that you had to adjust yourself. This, along with the pandemic, really put an emphasis on figuring out how you were going to exist at all.

The focus shifted to highlighting artists in the virtual space. You became a reserve of information, a space of celebration for the community that supported you. During the pandemic, you also became a space to not only make art accessible to all, but to raise funds for worthy causes. When the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor led to the worldwide BLM protests, and so many pleas from my community to stop killing us, you used what you knew to support in any way you could. Now you were a resource too.

I write this letter to you in 2024, ten years after I moved to the Midwest and nine and a half after your inception. How do you exist now? You have tapped back into your roots and are once again exhibiting artists while continuing your community work. Jess, Zach, Finley, and now Logan (your list of collaborators grows) have become family. Our pace of life has changed, what we value and how we live has changed, and you reflect that. Two artists a year, this time with funding! Shows in a beautiful backyard garden, responding to the space created by Jess and her family. Your walls have become fences, your drywall sod, your windows garden beds. The way artists interact with you has changed, the way they show their work has changed, and it has become a wonderful mix of art, home life, and community. You still represent that initial dream, and your form reflects our lives as they are now.

I feel a connection to you, not just through creating and working with you, but through the evolutions and forms you have taken, the journey to figure out at your core what you are and what you do. It is a mirror of my own journey, from the uncertain queer boy with a lot of ideas and a fear to express them, to the confident, rested, woman and artist I have become. My journey has made me think about the core of my being: who I am in new spaces, who I am alone, and what my interactions with the world are. I have the same thoughts about you. What are you at your core, what do you represent, and with change, what do you become? To me, you are an idea built on a foundation of collaboration, community, and accessibility. An idea that shares the voice of artists with everyone, not just the ivory tower of academia. An idea that changes in relation to what is needed. An idea that no matter what happens, will always exist in one way or another. That is the beauty of being able to change form. Thank you 1612 for existing, and thank you for showing the world that change is good and that it is a way forward. The plans we have for the future and the forms you will take are as exciting as ever, and the impact you can have, how you can show the world what art and community look like, is always growing.

Love, Alex