How public art is building safer, stronger neighborhoods in Detroit
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Asked to conjure up an image of "outdoor art," most people will picture an oversize abstract sculpture sitting on the lawn of an institutional building. But in Detroit, art that is integrated with the city’s buildings, lots, alleys, homes, and streetscapes is an integral part of the community — a vigorous, and even essential, part of daily life.
Art that merges with the landscape brings human presence, safety, and physical activity into the city’s spaces. This kind of art triggers more than one sense: It is something you move in, touch, and, in some cases, even eat. In Detroit, a spread-out city of single-family homes that is difficult to traverse and pockmarked by vacancy, these artistic interventions are an uncommonly powerful nexus of community life. They create welcoming traffic, as well as opportunities for neighbors to interact and work together. And rather than being a temporary show, in the style of a traveling exhibition or ephemeral installation, this is art for the long-term. It is for a city with a future.
This is unfolding in a residential neighborhood north of Hamtramck, sometimes called Banglatown for its large Bangladeshi population. Here, the Power House Productions community is nesting.
Gina Reichert and Mitch Cope are Detroit artists who bought a home here in 2002 in what was once a corner store. Over the ensuing years, the foreclosure crisis hit hard and put the community in a precarious spot. "The neighborhood could go either way," Reichert said.
Art that merges with the landscape brings human presence, safety, and physical activity into the city’s spaces. This kind of art triggers more than one sense: It is something you move in, touch, and, in some cases, even eat. In Detroit, a spread-out city of single-family homes that is difficult to traverse and pockmarked by vacancy, these artistic interventions are an uncommonly powerful nexus of community life. They create welcoming traffic, as well as opportunities for neighbors to interact and work together. And rather than being a temporary show, in the style of a traveling exhibition or ephemeral installation, this is art for the long-term. It is for a city with a future.
This is unfolding in a residential neighborhood north of Hamtramck, sometimes called Banglatown for its large Bangladeshi population. Here, the Power House Productions community is nesting.
Gina Reichert and Mitch Cope are Detroit artists who bought a home here in 2002 in what was once a corner store. Over the ensuing years, the foreclosure crisis hit hard and put the community in a precarious spot. "The neighborhood could go either way," Reichert said.
The couple began to purchase vacant homes in the area at auction, and they have since built them into a multi-faceted artistic community. The one dubbed the "Play House" has become a community performing arts center. The "Sound House" began as a recording project and continues as a public recording studio. The "Squash House" is being converted into a venue for play and gardening, with a venue designed specifically for squash, racquetball, and other games. The "Skate House" will merge with the Ride It Skate Park to create an indoor/outdoor skating facility. The original "Power House" produces its own electricity from solar and wind power, while modeling the broader power of self-reliance and problem solving. And the "Yellow House" is where visiting artists and residents can stay and work. Reichert and Cope still live in the same home, now with their young daughter.
Artists buying houses for creative ends is not a new story, and Detroit in particular has a long legacy of public and place-based based art: nothing bothers Reichert more than erasing what’s come before. But Power House does have a unique texture to it. Unlike The Heidelberg Project, the famed found-art installation on a residential street that began in 1986, Power House is not about creating spectacle. Instead, Reichert said, "It is about integrating in the cultural fabric of the neighborhood here." Both Heidelberg and Power House hinge on the fundamental resourcefulness of artists using what they have on hand to create a new public narrative – and a new way of life.
Artists buying houses for creative ends is not a new story, and Detroit in particular has a long legacy of public and place-based based art: nothing bothers Reichert more than erasing what’s come before. But Power House does have a unique texture to it. Unlike The Heidelberg Project, the famed found-art installation on a residential street that began in 1986, Power House is not about creating spectacle. Instead, Reichert said, "It is about integrating in the cultural fabric of the neighborhood here." Both Heidelberg and Power House hinge on the fundamental resourcefulness of artists using what they have on hand to create a new public narrative – and a new way of life.
Welcoming neighbors and strangers
In many ways, the project’s current renovation, the "Jar House," is about being a good neighbor and citizen. The Jar House will be the public front door of Power House Productions, providing space for community information and a starting point for visitors. Power House has attracted widespread notice, and outside guests frequently come for tours of the neighborhood. The Jar House could be the space where the tour ends, where guests are invited to settle in, ask questions, and discuss what they’ve seen.
But as Reichert said, the Jar House is "also a way for people in the neighborhood to come through with their questions, ideas, and concerns." To date, that has happened casually, when neighbors happen to run into Reichert and Cope on the street. It’s worked well enough for a while, but it’s important to create a clear and distinct space to welcome those neighbors and allow them to become invested in Power House projects. The organization hopes that it will be able to hire an administrative assistant to be a regular face at the Jar House.
Power House’s relationship with its neighbors opens up a tricky issue that place-based art creates: How do you balance the public and private, especially in a residential neighborhood?
"We get people who want to do bus tours," Reichert said. "Do we say no [because it will disrupt the residents]? How do we say yes to their interest, but maybe do [a tour] in a different way?"
At the same time, Reichert wonders if she is more concerned than she needs to be about privacy: "I’m always a little bit surprised when [the residents] want to talk to, well, strangers." Many seem to take pride in the interest their neighborhood has generated. Their sociability doesn’t make privacy irrelevant, however: Folks may be open to talking to visitors, but may not want a picture of their house on display. They may not mind tours, but want a heads up before a big one comes through. Maybe they’d even like to be a part of the tour in some way; there is a big food culture in the community, especially around gardening, and residents may want to sell concessions to the guests.
These are the conversations that Power House must navigate as it evolves. And they are not happening behind closed doors.
"We’re figuring these things out in a public way," Reichert said. Power House is helping to build a sustainable artistic presence in the neighborhood, but these conversations can stitch together the community fabric among residents, too.
There is something inherently democratic about this sort of art.
"We want to show what arts and culture can do," Reichert said.
In many ways, the project’s current renovation, the "Jar House," is about being a good neighbor and citizen. The Jar House will be the public front door of Power House Productions, providing space for community information and a starting point for visitors. Power House has attracted widespread notice, and outside guests frequently come for tours of the neighborhood. The Jar House could be the space where the tour ends, where guests are invited to settle in, ask questions, and discuss what they’ve seen.
But as Reichert said, the Jar House is "also a way for people in the neighborhood to come through with their questions, ideas, and concerns." To date, that has happened casually, when neighbors happen to run into Reichert and Cope on the street. It’s worked well enough for a while, but it’s important to create a clear and distinct space to welcome those neighbors and allow them to become invested in Power House projects. The organization hopes that it will be able to hire an administrative assistant to be a regular face at the Jar House.
Power House’s relationship with its neighbors opens up a tricky issue that place-based art creates: How do you balance the public and private, especially in a residential neighborhood?
"We get people who want to do bus tours," Reichert said. "Do we say no [because it will disrupt the residents]? How do we say yes to their interest, but maybe do [a tour] in a different way?"
At the same time, Reichert wonders if she is more concerned than she needs to be about privacy: "I’m always a little bit surprised when [the residents] want to talk to, well, strangers." Many seem to take pride in the interest their neighborhood has generated. Their sociability doesn’t make privacy irrelevant, however: Folks may be open to talking to visitors, but may not want a picture of their house on display. They may not mind tours, but want a heads up before a big one comes through. Maybe they’d even like to be a part of the tour in some way; there is a big food culture in the community, especially around gardening, and residents may want to sell concessions to the guests.
These are the conversations that Power House must navigate as it evolves. And they are not happening behind closed doors.
"We’re figuring these things out in a public way," Reichert said. Power House is helping to build a sustainable artistic presence in the neighborhood, but these conversations can stitch together the community fabric among residents, too.
There is something inherently democratic about this sort of art.
"We want to show what arts and culture can do," Reichert said.
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