Anastacia Reneé, Faith Scott and Natasha Ria El-Scari in 2019 holding a picture of ourselves from 2009 as we celebrated the premiere of a play Anastacia wrote while we were in our WWW writers collective (photo courtesy of Natasha Ria El-Scari)
My grandmother was an avid seamstress and shared with her grandchildren her experiences with a group of neighborhood women who would gather once a month when they were young mothers and wives.
Each woman would host one gathering over a year’s time. These 12 women all bought one dress pattern. Each month, after the women shared the one pattern, they would sew their dresses in their limited spare time. At the end of the month, they gathered, all wearing their new dresses, and it allowed them to get 12 new dresses a year with only purchasing one pattern. They would drink Ripple, dance, eat and talk about technique and process!
My Nana said these were some of the best memories she had creating with other women, and it was just smart economics. She said she learned just as much as she taught and that unbreakable bonds were formed. I never got tired of her telling us that story, particularly imagining my grandmother dancing wildly in a dress that had all the different creative components to it. “None of our dresses looked the same. Some were shorter, some were longer, some changed the sleeves or the zippers, but we all did something different and creative, we had a good time.”
What I learned from Nana was that art was typically a mix of time alone and time within community, but only if you created it.
I am an artist who creates first in solitude. My gentle and vulnerable seed-planting moments are just too much to share in the elements. I create almost in secret. I wasn’t aware of this behavior until I married my current husband, also an artist. He creates out loud and will even create in real time on social media. This is something I could never imagine doing, but it is a trait in him I admire. Not only does he create publicly, but he will also share publicly that he is working on something new, even if it is nowhere near completion. Ironically, he is incredibly shy in public and doesn’t care much for large groups, while I am invigorated by receptions, conferences and gatherings.
I needed to examine where my privacy about my work came from and how I also truly flourish when I am in community. No matter where I have lived, I have always had a room dedicated to my books, papers and computer. I have a desk and a good chair. This started when I asked my mother for a desk for my 15th birthday and my father gave me a computer with a computer desk. My room was part sleep/dress and part workspace. This continued in college and even while I was raising young children, who seemed to take over any space without an electric fence. Even today, my office is my secret hideaway. Eventually I bloom and want to share with others.
In 1996 I met an amazing group of mostly male poets, all Black, from Kansas City and throughout the country who came to KC as a part of the Hallmark hires to attract vibrant and talented African American artists for their famed card line. From that, The Black Poets Collective was formed. I didn’t finish college until a few years later, and when I returned home from graduate school with a husband and young son, I deeply craved writing and a creative community. For over a decade our lives were completely intertwined with performances, publications, education, activism and more. We ignited another generation of poets who continue to create today. We deeply challenged each other, and the impact of our collective can be felt today.
I have not only been in many collectives; I have also created them. I am a proud member of Cave Canem, a 300+ international powerhouse of poetry that started with the sole purpose of gathering Black poets to create and workshop groundbreaking work. Created in the 1990s by Toi Derricote and Cornelius Eady, the retreats and organization continue to thrive. cavecanempoets.org
Each Cave Canem fellow works alone and then rejoins their specified group during a weeklong workshop. My group comprised eight poets and six esteemed faculty; it was mind-blowing and necessary. Poems that started some of my collections were birthed during my fellowship. Fellows spend one week for three years before completing their fellowship.
WWW was a writing group that was intimate — it only included my friends Anastacia Reneé and Faith Scott. We were all busy mothers and wives but one Friday a month we met after work, brought home-cooked food and worked from 5 p.m. to most times 5 a.m. It was electric. There is no way I would have ever completed my first novel without their help and insight. We all finished work and published it during our time together. It was small and mighty. I also created Black Space Black Art, a collective for African American visual artists to create and exhibit in community with each other.
I am a true believer that all artists need space and time to create, but mostly equal amounts of solitude to birth the art that is inside them and the solidarity with others to cheer, challenge and ignite us to new heights and ultimately to get it out in the world. If you are feeling stuck in the creative process, consider whether you need to find your alone time or your tribe; your creative practice will thank you for it.
