From the Ravine to Root Division: A Journey of Creativity & Leadership
How a lifelong artist grew an organization, built a community, and is refocusing her creative path.
Note from author: In 2013, I was wandering through a board-matching event, looking for an organization that resonated deeply with me. I walked by Root Division’s booth and stopped in my tracks. In front of me was Michelle Mansour—the Executive Director I’d cold-called years earlier for an informational interview, back when I was reaching out to leaders who embodied the love of community and passion for art I’d dreamt of building my career around. She remembered speaking to me, and I remembered her humble warmth and incredible vision. That moment sparked a five-year board membership and a 12-year friendship with Michelle that I now treasure.
Root Division's mission is to empower artists, promote community service, inspire youth, and enrich the Bay Area through engagement in the visual arts. Over the past two decades, Root Division rose as a beacon for sustaining arts in an increasingly sterile city over that time. As the tech boom grew in the Bay Area, many artists were pushed out, unable to afford to live or produce work in San Francisco. Root Division emerged as a vital ecosystem of art, providing subsidized studio space, rotating exhibits, and arts education in the community to keep the creative spirit of San Francisco alive.
And, for the past two decades, Root Division was synonymous with Michelle’s name. There were no defined lines between donors, artists, supporters, or personal friends—it was one community who believed in the power of the mission and the person leading it. This is the story of the woman who joyfully, brilliantly, and authentically grew this organization.
Finding My Creative Voice
I grew up in Ohio at the bottom of a cul-de-sac, where our backyard opened into a ravine. Those woods became a window to curiosity and wonder—a place where mud, sticks, and leaves transformed into entire worlds.
Even then, I loved creating. While other kids asked for dolls or video games, I wanted art supplies—anything that I could experiment with. I also loved collecting shells and rocks and building sand sculptures at the beach. There was something magical about taking simple materials and transforming them.
I grew up in a family of health practitioners and scientists, so for a long time, I assumed I’d follow the medical school track. I excelled in math and science, attracted by the problem-solving they demanded. But as I moved through school, I realized that it wasn’t precision that inspired me—it was the wonder, the curiosity, and the experimentation that I found so compelling.
While other kids asked for dolls or video games, I wanted art supplies—anything that I could experiment with.
The Art of Curiosity
In high school, a charismatic art teacher became a pivotal figure, encouraging me to explore a variety of art materials and processes. As I applied to colleges, I looked at programs where I might combine art and human biology, like medical illustration.
I visited the University of Michigan and Loyola, both known for their medical illustration programs, but when I visited Northwestern, I fell in love with the campus. I also quickly realized that I was more interested in the beauty of the body and its organic processes than creating anatomical drawings. I declared my major in Art Theory & Practice right away, knowing that my heart was in art–not just as a technical discipline but as a way of seeing the world.
After college, I continued to explore the intersection of art and science via the natural world. I became deeply interested in seed pods, fractals, and microscopic imagery, particularly the mysterious beauty of cellular forms. This early work reflected my fascination with transformation and the tension between the known and the unknown. These topics would become a major theme in my work, long before I fully understood its personal significance.
My heart was in art–not just as a technical discipline but as a way of seeing the world.
Becoming a Teacher by Accident
After graduating, I found my way into teaching almost by accident. I started volunteering at a children’s art center and discovered a surprising talent for working with young people. I never thought I’d be a teacher, but once I started, it felt right. It was this perfect blend of creative problem-solving and human connection, a chance to share my love of making with others.
I learned a whole new meaning of education while teaching art at Francis Parker, a K-12 independent school in Chicago. Each grade had a central subject, and the arts were highly valued. Second graders learned to make Japanese brush paintings; fourth graders developed exhibits for an onsite Egyptian museum. We even transformed the art room into an abbey to create illuminated manuscripts for our fifth-grade medieval studies unit. What I loved most was that I could teach while learning new things myself – I learned more about Greek mythology while helping 10 year olds develop props and costumes for their own Greek play production.
And then there were the harder moments, the ones that stick with you long after the school day is over. Several students lost parents or siblings during that time– to cancer, accidents, and other tragedies. It was a powerful reminder that sometimes art is the only language we have for bridging the void between loss and grief.
It was a powerful reminder that sometimes art is the only language we have for bridging the void between loss and grief.
Building a Creative Community
When I moved to San Francisco for my MFA, I stumbled into what would become the cornerstone of my life’s work, joining the founders of Root Division as they built a creative community from the ground up. They started in 2002 by producing pop-up exhibitions, but ultimately the vision was to provide discounted studio space to emerging artists in exchange for volunteer service in the community. They brought me on board in 2003 to develop the Youth Education Program, where I would recruit, train, and place artists to teach free classes in after school programs. I remember showing up to our partner schools, and the kids would run up to me, shouting, “Hi Art Lady! Do we have art today?!”. Those moments confirmed the impact of what we were bringing to the table.
By 2004, we had worked hard to establish a space in the Mission with 15 studios, and in 2006, the organization faced an inflection point for evolving leadership. It was either step up or shut down, and I chose to step up–moving into the Executive Director role in 2007.
Over two decades, I helped shepherd Root Division from a scrappy collective with $800 in the bank to a thriving arts organization with a budget of over $1M. But our successes went far beyond growing our space, team, and budget. We went from 1-2 after school sites to reaching over a thousand students each year. It was about building a community–creating a space where young people could find their voices and see themselves as artists.
There were many times when the work was exhausting and uncertain. In 2014, we learned that we would be losing our space, which was essential to our mission and had been our home for 10 years. I had been carrying the positivity torch and was faltering, thinking “Maybe this is it. Maybe we’ve done all we can.” It was at that moment when a board member (and studio alum) surprised us with a generous matching pledge that challenged and inspired the rest of the board to meet what felt like an impossible fundraising goal. We rallied and successfully led a capital campaign of over $1.2M, moving into a beautiful 13,000 square foot building in SOMA. I remember signing that lease and then greeting the artist cohort at the new space. It was like releasing a pack of puppies into a giant field! The energy, the excitement, the possibility—it was pure magic.
Now, after 10 years in the new space and a total of 21 years with Root Division– teaching and mentoring artists and building others up– I’m now in a place where I can focus on reconnecting with my own creative voice. After the incredible time growing Root Division, I have passed the torch and am focusing on my art again.
The energy, the excitement, the possibility—it was pure magic.
Refocusing My Creative Practice
Looking back at my own creative path – painting and printmaking at Northwestern, the personal inquiry at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, the development of my practice in graduate school– all the steps led towards a process of search and discovery. I became interested in the interior space of the body and the mysterious ways that cells multiply and accumulate. Shortly thereafter in 2002, my mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It was bizarre, looking back at those pieces after she got sick. I’d been painting what ended up looking like cancer cells before her diagnosis – it was like I had been painting the disease before it even happened.
Following my mother’s death in 2005, the space of the works opened up. I began incorporating symmetry as a way to signal the delicate balance between sickness and health, faith and knowledge, body and spirit. The clusters of cells became organized into strands–cross-referencing prayer beads, inspired by the rosaries of my mother’s Catholic faith. This shift marked a move away from purely scientific exploration toward a more spiritual, reflective practice, creating pieces that were both meditative and intensely personal, and capturing the tension between the known and the unknowable.
While I’ve been developing this body of work for over a decade in the gaps between meetings, grant applications, and community events, I’m looking forward to more focused time in the studio. I'm ready to push myself artistically and see what’s next.
I began incorporating symmetry as a way to signal the delicate balance between sickness and health, faith and knowledge, body and spirit.
Continuing the Journey
I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but I know I will continue to support artists, arts education, and the creative ecosystem. I believe whole-heartedly in the power of art to transform, and I look forward to it personally as well as in the collective journey.
Thank you for reading this story from UPLIFT: Human Stories of Impact.
To learn more about Michelle and her work, you can follow her on Instagram @michellemansourstudio.
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