By Kate Mothes for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Mike Moen for Minnesota News Connection reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration
In Norway, the hardingfele, or the Hardanger fiddle, is deeply woven into the nation's cultural tapestry. From the earliest known iteration made in 1651 by Ole Jonsen Jaastad, the instrument originates from its namesake region, the western district of Hardanger, where it was traditionally used to play wedding music, dances, and other songs.
A Hardanger fiddle looks at first glance like an intricately ornamented violin, with a fingerboard and tailpiece often inlaid with mother-of-pearl, ebony, or bone. It is more lightweight, however, with four slimmer strings, ink decorations on the wooden body, and the scroll at the end often carved into the likeness of a dragon or wild animal.
Another key element of a Hardanger fiddle is the addition of sympathetic strings, which sit in a layer below those that the bow touches, vibrating when the instrument is played and adding a richness to the sound. "You are playing, generally, two notes at once whenever you play a Hardanger fiddle," says luthier Robert "Bud" Larsen, a side effect of the instrument's flat bridge.
Larsen, who is based in Brainerd, Minnesota, was introduced to the art of fiddle-making and restoration with the help of local violin-maker Gunnar Helland. Helland had emigrated to the U.S. from Norway in 1901. After stints in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, and Minneapolis, he established a shop in Fargo, North Dakota, to carry on his family's craft tradition.
"Our family moved into the same building where Gunnar had his shop," Larsen says. "We hung out a lot, and I was very interested in what he was building. When I was in the seventh grade, he gave me an old violin and helped me through the process of restoring it."
Larsen's lifelong love for the instrument was born. Over the next several decades, he would build at least 40 Hardanger fiddles and restore more than twice that many.
Preserving, and Evolving, Tradition
Troyd Geist, state folklorist of North Dakota, is a big fan of traditional culture and history. He focuses not only on the heritage of traditional arts but also sees the potential for craft to contribute to health and a sense of wellbeing. He heads an apprenticeship program where a master artist is paired with a younger person in order to pass along knowledge.
Geist is fascinated by how U.S. makers have gradually evolved the Hardanger fiddle over time. Though the instruments have maintained many of their recognizable features, their designs have become distinctly American.
"For instance, the fiddles in Norway would have different rosemaling designs and different flowers that they really focus on," Geist says. "And the head above the fret is often carved, in Norway, like a lion or a dragon. They do that here, too, but they also carve, instead of a lion or a dog head on the end of it, a buffalo head."
Larsen and others in the community who are passionate about the Hardanger fiddle liken the craft to being similar to language.
"We know that a language that is not willing to change will soon die," says Larsen, who was a linguist in Papua New Guinea for more than 20 years before turning to fiddle making. "If people say a language should be prescriptive and you should write it the way the dictionary tells you to, and speak it that way, then the language will die out because it can't change. And that's the same with Hardanger fiddle music. Because new music is being written, and it's being used in different genres as well, it will stay with us for a long time because the music has learned to adapt to people's interests and cultures."
Both Geist and Larsen agree that it's important to continue to teach others how to make the fiddles, which can sometimes take a novice apprentice up to two years to complete. Some makers seek to protect their secrets, but "if you're not willing to share broadly and freely, the tradition is going to die," Geist says.
A Generational History
First comes the making of a fiddle and then, of course, comes the playing. Arts Midwest's GIG Fund recently supported an event at the Historical and Cultural Society of Clay County (HCS) where more than 220 people attended a concert performed by the Fargo Spelemannslag.
A spelemannslag is a group of folk musicians, often dominated by fiddles.
The wintertime concert featured a song written two centuries ago by Eirik Medås. "Eirik's direct descendant, a high school student named Elsa Ruth Pryor, played a new song that she wrote herself, on a Hardanger Fiddle that she made herself," says Markus Krueger, programming director of HCS.
"Minnesota and North Dakota are the two most Norwegian states in America. For a lot of people in our community, this is the music of their childhood that they remember their parents and grandparents playing," Krueger says, reflecting on the significance of the event. "It's a symbol of Norwegian culture and heritage, and even more than that, it's a symbol of Midwest culture."
The concert featured performances by Bud Larsen and Loretta Kelley, the president of the Hardanger Fiddle Association of America. It was a meaningful showcase of a living tradition, passed down through generations.
"The immigrants brought their fiddles with them, and they kept playing them in America, says Krueger. "They kept making them in America. We still make them and play them today."
Kate Mothes wrote this story for Arts Midwest.
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By Marilyn Odendahl for The Indiana Citizen.
Broadcast version by Joe Ulery for Indiana News Service reporting for the Indiana Citizen-Free Press Indiana-Public News Service Collaboration.
Assembled on a soundstage at Huntington University last week, Gov. Mike Braun, legislators and community officials were optimistic about the potential for more soundstages, more cameras, more lights, more action coming to Indiana as the state positions itself to become a go-to location for film and movie production.
The governor was in Huntington for a ceremonial signing of Senate Enrolled Act 306, which makes Indiana’s film and movie tax credits transferable and, therefore, attractive to out-of-state filmmakers. Leaders at the event said the new law will help grow the state’s digital media production industry, creating new jobs and bringing new money to existing businesses.
Braun did not see Indiana’s wooing of Hollywood as simply a star struck pipedream. Recounting a conversation he had had earlier this year, when Angelo Pizzo, who wrote and produced the film classics “Hoosiers” and “Rudy,” “was bemoaning” that he could no longer make movies like that in Indiana today, Braun said SEA 306 would enable the state to capture an opportunity that is coming.
“The hardest thing in business and in government is not to get stuck in a rut where you just think the same things are going to work in the future,” Braun said, noting that as a business owner, he was always “looking for new horizons, new things that needed to be done.”
Braun continued SEA 306 will help Indiana seize the moment and possibly exceed expectations. “We’re here,” he said. “We’re all dressed up and ready to go and you’re right at the forefront of what I think is going to be a great industry.”
Several states, like Georgia, Louisiana, Illinois and New York, have tax credits geared toward filmmakers and production companies. However, studies have shown movie tax credits, even when they are refundable or transferable, generate little, if any, economic boost. The subsidies offered as tax breaks to film companies have been found to increase movie productions, but the activity has had only a marginal impact on the states’ economies and, in fact, some states actually lost revenue. Moreover, the number of jobs created has been small.
Michael Hicks, professor of economics at Ball State University, was skeptical the now-transferable tax credit would entice movie producers and directors to start filming in Indiana. He said movie and television production companies choose sites for the attributes, such as scenery, that the particular location offers. Cost does not really factor into the decision-making process, when film professionals are identifying places to make the movie or episode.
Also, Hicks said, any movies that are filmed here will likely not have a huge or lasting economic effect on the state. The making of a movie does not spur new construction of hotels, restaurants or venues where people can gather, he said, so any increase in sales that local businesses notice when a film is being made in their community will evaporate when the production crew packs up and leaves town.
“You’re taking a lot of money out of the public coffers,” Hicks said of the film and movie production tax credits. “Other taxpayers are paying for this. They’re either paying for it directly or they’re subsidizing services that somebody else is using and what that ends up doing is generating a lot of costs for very little additional benefit.”
Enticing filmmakers to pick Indiana
Bill Konyha, president and CEO of the Regional Chamber of Northeast Indiana, is optimistic that SEA 306 will give the Hoosier State a starring role in motion pictures. He envisions not only production companies coming here to film, but also, eventually establishing a permanent presence by building movie studios in the state. All of that activity, he said, will create an economic boom by bringing jobs for local residents.
“It’s not a goal that’s going to happen tomorrow …,” Konyha said, “but it’s the opportunity to turn Indiana filmmaking back into … a meaningful, important industry.”
Senate Enrolled Act 306, which passed during the 2025 legislative session with bipartisan support, amended a 2022 state statute that established tax credits for films, documentaries, commercials, television shows, music videos or other similar media production. The Indiana Economic Development Corp. is charged with confirming the eligibility of the applicants and determining the amount of the tax credit.
Under SEA 306, that tax credit is now transferable to another individual or entity. A single credit may not exceed $250,000 and the total amount available between Jan. 1, 2026, when the law takes effect, and July 1, 2031, when the statute expires, is capped at $2 million.
Konyha explained transferability is the key to attracting movie making to Indiana. The 2022 statute was not enough incentive, because the benefit of the tax credit was limited to only those investors or companies based in Indiana. With the new legislation, he said, out-of-state film companies will be able to sell the tax credits to entities that actually pay taxes in Indiana and then use the equity from those sales to invest in film projects.
“The problem is the film companies are mostly out-of-state, and the tax credit that’s available is an Indiana tax credit,” Konyha said. “It has no value to anybody from out-of-state. So it has to be able to be sold or transferred or syndicated to have value for them.”
Supporters of SEA 306 pointed to Huntington University and its department of digital media arts, where students learn the behind-the-scenes film-making skills of recording and lighting, cinematography, editing and producing, and screenwriting. When the COVID-19 pandemic wiped out the internship opportunities in Los Angeles, two digital media arts faculty members, Lance Clark and Matthew Webb, created Forester Films, a film production company connected to the university, to give their students hands-on experience.
Forester Films has written, filmed and produced two movies, “A Carpenter’s Prayer” and “Tea on the Beach,” and is finishing a third, “Overhill Manor.” Clark, dean of the arts at Huntington University, described the films as “faith and family friendly” and said they tackle difficult topics like alcoholism, depression and dementia.
To make the movies, Forester Films has relied on industry professionals and Huntington alumni, while the students worked as interns. Clark said the actors, directors and crew members who have come to Indiana to shoot the three flicks have loved the community and enjoyed working in northeastern Indiana. Also, he said, business owners and local officials have been accommodating and helpful in offering locations to film.
Clark believes the transferable tax credit will lure filmmakers to Indiana. Most likely, large movie companies will start by filming a scene or two in the Hoosier State before undertaking a complete production here, he said. Independent film companies, he said, may be more comfortable to start doing entire movies in Indiana.
Forester Films raised about $2 million from donors and investors to produce its three feature-length motion pictures. Clark said his production company will be “first in line to apply in 2026 for the tax credit” and he anticipates other filmmakers will be lining up as well.
“It’s already helped us talk about financing for our next features, because people that are investors, they like to hear, ‘Oh, there’s a transferable tax credit,’” Clark said. “I think serious filmmakers have a good shot at it here. So it’s already helped have great, great conversations.”
Unsupported economic claims
Clark and his students created a set on the digital media art department’s soundstage as a special backdrop for Braun’s ceremonial bill signing. They filmed the governor walking to the desk, which was draped in black cloth and displayed the state seal, sitting down, signing the bill and then holding it up for the audience to see.
Production was quickly halted after the first take had started. The crew had discovered that the main prop – a ceremonial copy of SEA 306 – was still in the car. The second take appeared flawless.
Huntington Republican Sen. Andy Zay, along with his GOP colleagues, Sens. Travis Holdman, of Markle, and Kyle Walker, of Lawrence, authored SEA 306.
Speaking at the ceremonial bill signing, Zay said Indiana has a rich film history with movies such as “Breaking Away” produced and filmed in the state. SEA 306, he said, will change the tax culture so that movies can again be made in Indiana.
“The credit that we are passing begins to make those opportunities a reality moving forward,” Zay said. “So this is a great step of legislation, of work, where we sign something that doesn’t end something, but we sign something that begins something anew.”
Zay then pointed to Georgia as an example of a state that has seen its movie industry blossom with the introduction of tax incentives. He claimed the Peach State is realizing a return of $6 to $7 for every $1 spent through the film tax credit.
A 2019 policy brief examining the economic impact of the film industry on Georgia’s economy tells a different story. The report from Kennesaw State University blamed “incredible multipliers and dubious data” with inflating economic claims that movie making had a $9.5 billion impact on the state in 2018 and created more than 92,000 jobs.
Instead, the report found, Georgia has approved more than $4 billion in tax credits between 2008 and 2018, while the film industry has contributed about $3 billion to the state’s $588 billion gross domestic product, which represents 0.5% of the state’s economy. Also, the industry directly employs about 16,000 workers, but the report highlighted that assuming every film job is the result of the tax credits, the cost equates to $64,000 to $119,000 in tax credits per job.
Most importantly, the tax credits are hitting Georgians in their wallets. The report noted the $800 million in tax credits given to filmmakers in 2018 represents about $220 per household that Georgia residents could have spent themselves on goods and services in their state.
Hicks, the Ball State economist, called the film tax credit “Republican socialism,” because the GOP is giving money to businesses. The consequence, he said, is the state will be giving a tax break and have less money to spend on roads, bridges and emergency response systems to warn about floods.
“I guess I’m just a little puzzled on the economic argument for desiring some sort of economic activity that doesn’t pay taxes,” Hicks said.
Marilyn Odendahl wrote this article for The Indiana Citizen.
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By Jonathan Feakins for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Judith Ruiz-Branch for Illinois News Connection reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration
"It's a bit of a grandma-core hobby," Tierney Brosius admits.
But whether at her children's soccer tournaments or organizing an "Entomoloknitting Circle" at the Entomological Society of America's annual conference, Dr. Brosius has found that insect-themed needlecraft can serve not just as an artistic outlet, but as an organic, social means of science communication.
"I love insects in fashion; they're often used [for] being pretty, but also scary," she explains. "And I think that fashion designers often reach to insects because of that duality. There's tension there."
For the past decade, Dr. Brosius has hung her hat-and a growing collection of bespoke, hand-knitted vests-as a professor of biology at Augustana College in Rock Island, Illinois. But she's also built a budding reputation as the entomological fashion maven under the moniker, "Dr. Beetle."
Her Instagram account documents sartorial projects that include a vest festooned with Salt Creek tiger beetles (the subject of Brosius's PhD), or a cocoon-style coat that commemorates 2024's double cicada brood.
Her artistic outreach, however, extends beyond the closet. Inside Augustana's Hanson Hall of Science, a 40 foot-long wall now hosts a vibrant, larger-than-life "Beetles of Illinois Identification Mural." Every species pictured-in all of their exoskeleton-ed wonder-were collected by Dr. Brosius and her undergraduates over the course of a single field season.
Wendy DesChene, an artist and professor at Auburn University in Alabama, collaborated with Dr. Brosius to create the mural. She met "Dr. Beetle" years ago while touring Augustana with PlantBot Genetics, a "satirical biotech company." As their friendship grew, including on-brand gift exchanges (Brosius once knitted her a pair of moth mittens), DesChene proposed working together to make a mural a reality.
"As an artist, it's hard to find scientists who don't belittle arts, or don't think of us as a true partnership," DesChene says. "I really wanted to work with somebody who I know as a peer, and who treats me and what I bring to the table as equal."
Dr. Brosius, meanwhile, had no such hang-ups. "I think that's why I interact with artists that deal with insects," she says. "They invite people to be curious. And that fear and hesitation can unfold into this sense of wonder: 'Oh my gosh, I never knew.' Even a drain fly, right? The silliest little thing ... but if you really get up close, they're like little teddy bears with wings."
The professor is especially fond of watching these transformations happen in real-time, in the class she teaches for non-majors. These are students who often enroll in the hopes of simply snagging a required biology credit, but who leave with a newfound love for nature's more chitinous creepy-crawlies. A few have gone so far as to become professional entomologists themselves.
"And I think that's what's so great about insects," she says, "because it's a great analogy for life: you can be a little tense and fearful, and it's probably because you don't know enough about it. Once you start to peel back the layers, that fear can fall away. And you're left with appreciation and love."
Jonathan Feakins wrote this story for Arts Midwest.
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