First Annual Seminole Street Artist's Colony and Exhibition

So, at yoga class this morning, I had an idea.

This summer it'd be cool to see the Seminole house brimming with creativity. Friends who'd like to join can help fulfill my father's dream of offering the house up as an artist's residence.

The thing about the house is, it can cast a kind of narcotic spell on the creatively inclined. Some rooms are polished and furnished and ready for movie watching and brunch. Others are missing chunks of themselves, with puffy pink stuff coming out of places, tiles in need of white gunk, patios in need of a French floral paint job-- and the third floor could use, in one place in particular, a floor. The master bedroom, the place where we could hold an exhibition-- what my dad has always referred to as 'the gallery'-- needs a good sweep and sanding but already has track lighting installed. It would be cool to tile one wall like it was the Paris Metro, I think.

What it also is, is a symbol: a microcosm of the city itself.

The house gives me the same feeling that industrial areas do, that unfinished air of potential that makes you hungry to create. You know that feeling? There's just this buzz in the air that makes you want to get out your camera or pencil or start a dark room and lose yourself for days.

So, I was thinking, if a friend or friend of a friend wants to come but isn't sure what that would look like, they can picture this: a stately old house that's like living inside a grandiose but half-realized idea; jazz, blues, Patti Smith, Anita Baker-- some kind of good music playing all the time; planting a garden with tomatoes and basil; periodic trips to Eastern market; family style dinners; yoga; painting parties; waking up early to have green tea and sit by yourself looking out the window; entire days spent writing a short story or taking pictures; filming interviews or leaves or feet. Trips to Canada and Belle Isle. And, you fill in the blank...

Then, maybe meet up with artists in the area, filmmakers, whatever, and plan a big creative party/ exhibit/ gallery opening and put our art on the walls.

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What I'm thinking, too, is this: our house is only so big. Even a party could only hold so many people. If I don't know you but you are interested in this idea, maybe try to put something together with your community as well... if you aren't in Detroit, have an arty event in honor of Detroit-- put up pictures of Detroit on your living room wall, have books about the city on your coffee table, and play some Motown. If you are in Detroit, maybe we could all try to do something around the same time: have art exhibitions in our houses and document them through blogs. We could even try to have them around the same time, as a series of festivals, of first Friday art happenings to go along with all the other summer events that Detroit hosts. It'll be like the thousand concerts that take place on Summer Solstice in Paris. We can electrify the city with summertime music, art and creativity and take pictures. A way to show Detroit differently, one event at a time.

Why We Migrate

My parents met in the Detroit Public Library. It was a rich era. Their co-workers were all on fire with creative potential. Mary had wisdom and tampons at the ready if any woman was in need, and made fried chicken that could cause you to eat your fingers by accident. Garth was preparing to take his stylish demeanor off to Rochester to start an internationally renowned dance troupe. My uncle was on roller skates in the basement, finding titles, as diligent then as he would be as a doctor of psychology years later. The sky was the limit. Love was in the air.

Years have passed. My parents left to pursue careers in fashion and photojournalism, and raised me in California. The city has changed for the worse. Lately, the draw of family and memory has trumped the South of France or Tuscany in their minds when they think of where they'll retire. They're hoping, now, to return.

While the world has looked on Detroit as the nation's badge of failure, I've been taught to regard it with nostalgia and romance. There are murals, veggie-laden farmers and kosher butchers at Eastern Market, where my grandfather used to go to warm his hands over coffee after carrying ton after ton of steel. Richard Avedon photographs are now on view at the Detroit Institute of Art. The folks at the Chaldean store will, after a few months, begin to look you in the eye and help you navigate tubs of olives, honey-toned flaky baked goods, imported fava beans and bulk spices. The Avalon bakery will sell you coffee with pizza for breakfast. Art students roam the alleys with cameras and sticks of charcoal. The owner of Cyprus Taverna in Greektown once dreampt of singing opera. My father's best friend Rodney will tell you a joke... especially if a six pack of his favorite cheap brew is involved.

Sure, the houses are falling down. In fact, our house in Indian Village has seen better days. But guess whose parents' lived there before he grew up and became a famous author? Hint: He wrote Middlesex. If it's haunted, this house's ghosts are happy omens; beacons of good faith for the people who enter into its raccoon-infested walls. (Half-kidding).

Few places on earth have made me feel so artistically energized. And for the record, the grocery stores are not, as the media would have you believe, on lockdown. Try biking from the center of town to a new Trader Joes to buy some pita chips and a five-dollar Reisling if you think I'm kidding. There is poverty, yes. Crime, absolutely. But the city is much more full of color, culture and spirit than most people have been led to realize. Which is why I'd like to invite you to come see for yourself!

This is my idea: think of an art project. Save up a bit of cash. Come to the motor city for a while and be creative. We'd like to host an exhibition or festival at our house some time this summer to celebrate the city. This blog is an invitation.

I'd like to spend the next few months writing about what Detroit has to offer, to help encourage and inspire people about its richness. My father will provide (some of) the photographs. If not this summer, at some point, take a moment to check this city out. It could use the positive attention.