Detroit

Growing up in Michigan, a connection for Detroit was sewn into my upbringing. As a child my parents dressed me in frills and took me to Christmas programs at the Fox Theater. Whether it was The Redwings, The Pistons, The Tigers or, less than likely, The Lions, I always felt a sense of pride when a hometown team triumphed. When I grew a bit older I began exploring Detroit on my own; the music scene and art festivals drawing my attention. However, for as much as I grew within the city of Detroit, I always felt a subtle hint of disconnect interwoven between my roots of relation. As I was growing, the city seemed to be still, motionless against a backdrop of the undulating Detroit River. In fact, the only motion I saw was that of demolition cranes as they dissolved the old Tiger’s Stadium and other long-standing edifices.  For as much as I loved Detroit, I could not understand it. So I left. 

Nearly one century ago Detroit was flourishing like the rich abundance of fruit in fall. Detroit was producing a plethora of cars and industrial resources for the nation to harvest. The city was booming: jobs aplenty, Motown music motivating the masses. From 19—to 19—Michigan was as ripe as a golden delicious beneath the harvest moon. 

For those of us who dwell in the twenty-first century, such a reality of Detroit is only an image caught in black and white photographs; crisp moments in time captured by a click as fleeting as prosperity itself. More tangible evidence can be found scattered around the city: the few buildings of architectural grandeur that have somehow survived the wrath of negligence and decay. And it is there, beneath the bows of rubble and behind the dust sprinkled shadows that one can still witness the tenderly carved gables on old mansions, the embellished awnings and stoops that regally cascade from pillared porches. It is there that once can still observe the detail of Detroit: a majestic seed in the mitten of America’s fertile land. 

But such details are easily overlooked. Crumpled buildings, decrepit skeletons of once solid foundations linger on the foreground of most images in Detroit today. Broken glass fallen upon vacant lots like dew collected after a dark, disillusioned night. It’s easy to see the decay, the rot, the effects of a long-winded winter season. It’s also easy to use such sights as proof for a held perception. I did. I left Michigan five years ago and never looked back. I saw it as a dead city, a frost-ridden apple fallen from the tree with no nutrients left to offer me or any kind of growth. Often I would hear word from family or friends of the continuing degradation: another job lost, another business closed, another building abandoned. On short visits back, that’s all I saw, a surface level of stagnancy. And so my perception stood. 

For five years I chased change. In my eyes stagnancy prompted decomposition and so I attempted to stimulate myself as much as possible. I learned to be comfortable with moving around, or to accept the benefits of not being comfortable at all: the impromptu situations that challenge your creativity and resourcefulness.  I openly left that which I knew (or thought I knew), and looked forward to discovering that which I didn’t. With each step my experiences shaped, molded, and affected my perceptions. By exploring new soils, I replaced being intangibly lost in a familiar atmosphere for being bewildered in a tangible, novel one.  

The ironic part was that my perception of stagnancy was the only one that remained stagnant. With so much emphasis placed on the novel, I overlooked the importance of the familiar. Being grounded, rooted in a place is just as important as stimulation. Only with stable soils and rich nutrients can a plant grow and, eventually, thrive. 

Upon my most recent visit to Michigan, I proposed myself a challenge: stay. Longer. Long enough to give Detroit a chance. If I was able to find the beauty in smog-soiled cities in China or streets in India crammed with more cows than cars, then Detroit held a glimmer of grace. 

With the hard hits of the 2000 economic depression and the fall of the American auto industry, Michigan entered into a wintery phase of subdued growth sooner, faster and heavier than any other city in America. But, just as winter is followed by spring, thus is the cyclic evolution of cities as well. While houses in the Metro Detroit area continue to foreclose and store fronts are weathered rather than polished, all it takes is a side-step in any direction to see sprouts of promise. Those seeds that were planted long ago in a thriving city are now being nurtured after a long period of dormancy. One by one, artists, musicians, co-ops, companies, individuals and families are tilling the soil of Detroit’s grounds. They are are taking advantage of open land and resources scarce, but available. 

My first rediscovery of Detroit occurred on the last day of August 2011, my first day back from a nine-month trip abroad. As I-75 took us closer to the hart, the sun was setting and I marveled at the cantata of colors spread across the nearly-September sky. A bouquet of blossoms gifted from the heavens. The windows were rolled down, a whirlwind of old memories and new beginnings lock-stepped with a summer’s last breath. 

Driving down familiar streets, I began to notice unfamiliar additions: sculptures, statues, murals, gardens. They were placed so delicately that I almost overlooked them, my eyes easily drawn to the surrounding struggling structures. But once I noticed one, more and more became apparent. 

“Who is creating all this?” I asked my friend in the driver’s seat. “People. People with ideas,” he replied.

“Where does it come from?” He looked at me quizzically and I realized the broad nature of my question. 

“The resources. The funding. Are they students with school projects or artists with grants or-“ He cut me off. 

“Amelia. It’s everyone. It’s everything. But most are just people with ideas that are using whatever resources they find around the city: scrap metal, old wood, blank walls. They are creating something out of nothing.” 

We turned a corner and pulled into a parking lot surrounded by a chain-link fence and barbed wire. As the gate slid open, the first thing I noticed was the start of a few garden beds: works in progress. Lining the perimeter were old tires turned facedown and functioning as flower pots. In the far corner of the lot was an open structure of some sort, six wooden beams supporting an aluminum roof which sheltered a mass of brick and mortar. 

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the stilted shelter.  “Oh, that’s the Salty Dog!”

I was then introduced to Old Salty, a ----- work-in-progress that was progressing by the day. Again, it was produced by people with an idea and the ambition to use abandoned resources for creative endeavors. Once inside the building we had parked next to, I found myself awe-struck within walls that could have easily been mistaken for an uptown art gallery. Pottery and paintings, metal sculptures and woodcrafts, there was even an auto mechanic area and blacksmithing corner. Any inkling of an idea could become reality in that space. What was it exactly? A home. A studio. A workshop. Surely, an inspiration. 

That night I left Detroit in an astonished state. I had talked to dozens of people with production on their minds and progress on their pallets. During the rest of my time in Michigan I became more acquainted with the rising culture. Rooted in ambition, nurtured with compassion and followed through to fruition, I witnessed seeds of change sprouting all over the city. One of the endeavors that I became most acquainted with is OmniCorp, a co-op of innovative individuals that create, collaborate and communicate with the public….

This time, when I left Michigan, I left proud. Though I am continuing along my own journey, this time I will look back. I will look back to check in on the progression of ideas, the growth of so many creative endeavors that not only re-nourished my perception of Detroit, but are revitalizing the city’s spirit. I will look back to support those on the forefront of staging revolutionary turnarounds for a seemingly struggling city, now rich in positive intention. I will look back for inspiration. For, if such a change can occur in the most meager of circumstances, than surely it can happen anywhere.