Natasha Ria El-Scari with a display of works at her Natasha Ria Gallery (photo by Jim Barcus)
In which the author shares her decision to close the Natasha Ria Art Gallery after a successful seven-year run
In the early 1980s my great uncle, Alex Harris, owned a building near the corner of 31st and Troost called the Conference Cove. There, my grandmother had a store of her own where she specialized in highly decorated and highly sought after Black dolls in all hues of the diaspora. My grandmother had heaps of supplies hiding behind the counter spaces, and, to my standard, quite disorganized. In this chaos she delighted the faces of African American women and girls as she placed careful details on their dolls. This is especially important to me now that I am on the advisory board of the “Portraits of Childhood: Black Dolls from the Collection of Deborah Neff” exhibit at the Toy and Miniature Museum.
Over the last year I knitted a king-size blanket for my eldest nephew and his bride-to-be in their wedding colors. I’ve applied for two prestigious grants (and didn’t win), have had numerous solo readings and performances as well as performances with my husband, Kevin Church Johnson. I’ve worked diligently on my new meditation album (the fifth) and my seventh book. I’ve been busy and active in the mom role, both with and without my husband as he went on tour for six weeks as a drummer for Tech N9ne in the late summer. I also work at my spiritual community, the Center for Spiritual Living Kansas City, a vibrant and inclusive spiritual respite which also houses my Natasha Ria Art Gallery. With all of these fires burning I realized that balancing this, with a full-time job at UMKC, was beginning to take a toll on me. I was one exhausted newlywed.
The weight of the martyr lies heavily on the woman in the African American community. As keepers of the culture, so many of the projects, occasions and celebrations lie in our hands. This doesn’t exclude the arts, education and even the corporate world. So emphatically you can imagine how deciding to close my gallery was not difficult for me but instead for the community. After all, I had been a seven-year brick and mortar business that was amplifying and celebrating the art of historically ignored groups.
So much has happened over the years at the fully immersive watering hole I created along with Warren Harvey in 2018. We started the gallery as the El-Scari Harvey Art Gallery and after a few years amicably parted ways; I rebranded and it became the Natasha Ria Art Gallery. Some of my accomplishments include representing convicted felons and currently incarcerated artists, artists over 50 and artists with no formal education, alongside those with elite art backgrounds. I’ve hosted numerous artist talks, Gallery Grooves (live music celebrations), book signings, paint parties, parties, literary memorial readings, Work of Art classes (in conjunction with InterUrban ArtHouse), Cave Canem Regional Workshops, AWP (Association of Writers & Writing Programs) off-site readings and more!
In this intimate space art sold consistently, even now. Curious passersby became collectors through my interest-free payment plans. Several artists received five-figure 1099s for multiple years, while only my mother and daughter worked side by side with me, as volunteers. My sister, Adrianne Clayton, became the co-curator as we tag-teamed during random hours to change exhibits and plan for new ones. It was amazing, beautiful and essential.
I don’t remember the day Nana closed her shop at the Conference Cove, nor do I ever remember her being “unbusy” or unsatisfied. Instead, I saw her continue to create, invent, make money and turn inward. I don’t know where all the dolls are now, I just know that when she was done, she let go. My grandmother would say, “if you are unhappy in Buckingham Palace then you should leave Buckingham Palace,” and I never thought I would see the day a Black woman not only walked in but also walked out of something that no longer served her.
It’s hard when so many African American businesses are short lived, but what I know is that my life is not one of sacrificing myself indefinitely for the greater good of everyone else. When I sat with my mother and asked her advice (which she rarely gives), she told me that if anyone hadn’t made their way to the gallery by now it wasn’t my fault, it was theirs. She said maybe there was a lesson for them that they should never assume something will always be there.
As I step into this season, this womanifesto lifestyle of radical self-care, I am saying “no” to myself first. “No” to extreme ambition. I am pausing on serving others and finally allowing my creative work to find completion. My full-time position as director of the Women’s Center at UMKC is enough and I am resolute with walking away from what no longer serves me fully and completely.
