For much of my life, the arts have been my very freedom—that which led me to find God, to find myself and, in so doing, led me to see the beauty of our shared humanity. As a child growing up in the Bahamas—a place where aspiring artists’ dreams were crushed daily—this could never be a viable career. But even as families, educators, counselors and the like repeatedly discouraged this route, I always knew I wanted to be an artist. I understood the value of every art form and the unexplainable freedom it could provide. This dichotomy of art and healing was always at the forefront. The arts gave me breath amidst my parents’ divorce, through depression, through trauma and abuse, and quite literally kept me alive when I thought death was the only way out. The arts saved my life. After experiencing such powerful freedom through my faith, my soul was burdened to ensure that others found their liberation through the power of the arts—through dance, through theatre, through voice, through music, through process, through structure, through breath. 

Individual freedom will always breed communal freedom; it is contagious. So as I find freedom in my breath and my voice, it is my duty to create that for the community. My deepest passion and mission is to fearlessly create and curate works that catalyze freedom, healing and transformation, and to build, equip and develop artists to walk in the fullness of their gifts and callings. As an artist, a curator and an administrator, I know that the structure and process are integral means of giving space for others to first find their breath, and then their voice. 

I breathed when I said yes to stepping into a leadership position at Congo Square Theatre in March 2020—the very beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. Looking back, it seems almost ironic to take on such a significant job at a time when the world was shutting down, but it was so divinely ordered. When I saw Congo Square, its artists, Board and staff, I saw myself in a way that I had not in a very long time. I had spent years leading and serving in either predominantly white or multicultural organizations and yet, I never felt truly seen, heard or understood. It was not until I stepped into Congo that I felt it all. I felt a peace, but also a great burden to ensure that these Black voices were heard unapologetically and this Black institution was preserved and fought for constantly. 

I breathed when I said yes in the middle of this year’s racial uprisings because we needed to keep breathing for the sake of the generations to come. Blackness could no longer be a matter of convenience in this industry. Blackness could no longer be a matter of convenience in this world.

I breathed when I said yes to becoming a pillar for this sacred Black company, and for every Black artist and person who would be impacted by our work. I broadened my back into bedrock—a foundation on top of which Black voices could be elevated and strengthened and rooted and pushed higher. I breathed so that the Black body could too.