Check Out Michelle Marie’s Story

Today we’d like to introduce you to Michelle Marie.

Hi Michelle, we’d love for you to start by introducing yourself. 
In 2008, I awkwardly began an open mic night at this placed called the Cedar Center in Lancaster, CA. I say “awkwardly” because it wasn’t easy for me to be extroverted at the time. I’d also began working with the people running the entire building, including the art gallery. 

I’d actually been a member of that gallery several years before, but it wasn’t the most friendly or welcoming place unless you were older and Caucasian. The open mic took a while to get going because of the nature of the AV at the time. There wasn’t a ton of community-based options for events. 

I had no idea the impact that open mic was gonna have on me or anyone else. We were running pretty steadily for several years. During that time, various open mic participants would draw during open mic, or even simply bring art to show me. There were so many local artists with nowhere to show their art because they felt unwelcome everywhere. 

Eventually, I’d started telling local artists that they could bring their art into open mic and either put it by the stage or set it up on a table to the side. As this was going on, a war was brewing with the people who were running the building and the gallery. We had a children’s theater school on the premises. The woman who put it on began noticing that there were a couple of people selling drugs where we were hosting all-ages events. 

She had photographic evidence, and attendees of the open mic confirmed that, yes, people were selling drugs. We went to the board of directors who oversaw the complex, and they chose to ignore it. The people involved with selling drugs happened to be the son of the property manager and his lady friend. 

Because I was supporting the theater school’s owner in addressing the drugs, the property manager and a couple people from the board of directors, showed up one night to open mic. They made it clear that they were looking for reasons to shut open mic down. They told me that if I continued to support the claim about drugs on the premises, that they would shut open mic down. 

The threat sent me reeling because open mic had already planted roots and was a vital aspect of this community. I ended up going to the City of Lancaster for help because board affiliates wouldn’t leave us alone. The board had already been on the city’s radar for strange financial issues. As the City of Lancaster began digging deeper, I created an alternate board of directors. The current board was protecting the property manager and his crooked family. In between open mic and the theater school, we couldn’t let it go. 

Our newer board was conceived of open mic attendees and schoolteachers. We had to protect the kids, community, and building. Since this newer board was in opposition to the original board, hell broke loose. Those people put a chain on the entrance to the main hall where open mic was held. My open mic community wasn’t going to stand for the unfair treatment and I still managed to get in. The police came and convinced me to let open mic go for that night. 

What I haven’t mentioned yet is that as our community was battling the original board, I met with the SWAT team at the Sheriff’s Station because of the drugs. They had been investigating a drug ring from San Diego to the AV and who knows where else. They ended up busting a drug den on the morning after open mics run-in with the police. The corrupt family was finally gone, but the original board still kept coming at us, and I still fought. They allowed awful things on that property, and instead of stepping down, they publicly attacked my character and the characters of the others who tried to help. 

What didn’t kill me made me angry. I’d walk down the street and get called names. The old board lied to their members about what happened, so everyone hated me. These people even had a news article printed, calling my friends and I a “gang”. Both boards had lawyers, and the whole ordeal continued for a while. My friends and I refused to engage in the public hate because we were actually actively working with the community. 

The city ended up taking over the building due to the previous financial issues. I then started butting heads with the city because they wanted me to charge an entrance fee at open mic. We eventually compromised, and they set up a snack table to make a few bucks. 

Fast-forward a year or 2 and the art gallery in the complex was empty, since the city was gonna renovate the building, I asked if I could open a community gallery for a few months until it closed. My friend joined me, and together, we opened the first all-ages and uncensored community gallery. We finally had a place to put the community artists who brought their art into open mic and more. 

Parts of that gallery was wall-to-wall with local art. We hosted live bands and hosted workshops. My gallery partner brought in musical instruments for community members to play. The whole complex was alive with local artists, dancers, performers, and musicians in between us at the gallery and the theater school. Open Mic was still going strong, and it was beautiful. 

After a few months, we closed, as promised to the city. Open Mic momentarily moved to our local Moose Lodge. I was still bumping heads with the city though, because they were so disconnected from the needs of our community. A couple of my other friends joined my gallery partner and I, and we became a community arts organization. They’re all extraordinary people who I’ll love until the day I die. 

As time went by and we got closer to the complex re-opening, the city wanted to thank me for my community work, and offered my new crew and I, the art gallery for a small fee. As we were trying to establish the possibility of maintaining our community gallery, the curator of the local art museum spoke with the city, and they took over the space instead. 

They also called themselves community, and we could do nothing. I tried working with the curator to help establish a more community feel but wasn’t taken seriously for very long and left. The organization that my friends and I created started doing pop-up community art shows in different local places. Even though we felt alienated from the city and local museum, we were still allowed to have a room in their community gallery to show true to form community art. 

We were still hosting workshops, various events, and offering access to music instruments. Open mic was still going strong as well until it wasn’t. We would get unruly people sometimes, have to break up fights or kick out bullies. On one particular open mic, a young woman with a baby in a stroller was being followed by this guy. He wouldn’t leave her and the baby alone, so I kicked him out and banned him. 

That same guy called the city a couple times to complain, threatened to sue the city if I didn’t let him back in, and lied. Next thing I know, my city rep is telling me that I have to let this bully back in. 

There was quite a few teenage girls of varying ages at open mic, and we were a safe space, so I refused. I held a peaceful sit-in at the next open mic because I couldn’t just let this guy back. The cities Chief of Security came and started yelling at me to just let the bully back in. As he was yelling at me, I could see these young girls looking mortified. They went up to the Chief and tried explaining that they were only 14 and wouldn’t feel safe with the bully back in. 

The Chief then yelled at them to get away from him. I told the city that I needed an open mic community meeting to discuss this issue, but they still tried so hard in forcing me to start open mic. When I kept saying that it was supposed to be a no-bullying, safe space, the city brought in the art museum staff to run my open mic. The normal crowd and I marched to the park in solidarity against the city and the bully. We had open mic under a gazebo that night. 

Since the city was so persistent in letting that bully in, I refused to go back. The city and museum ended up taking over the open mic I built with my own heart and soul. 

We tried having open mic in different areas, but it was never the same. We only lasted about a year after that before ending. However, the city and museum continued running what once was my open mic. 

Our arts crew still hosted a few pop-up art shows, but it was difficult. When I’d post on social media about the lies the city said over time, I’d get a call and was threatened that I’d lose everything I did with the community. Some of the museum workers would lie about our events, and I’d get calls about that. Everything was too much. Our crew worked really hard, and I was getting so tired after years of fighting for galleries and open mic. We eventually stepped back and took a break. 

Then, in 2019 I believe it was, we were offered the opportunity to host community events in another gallery, to help out. Our first community show in the new space was amazing and filled with life. Covid then took the wind out of our sails. Half of our crew had bailed, and only my initial partner and I were left. We set up art installations facing the windows during lockdown because we didn’t want to waste the space or the opportunity to show wonderful local artists. 

After the gallery reopened, it was hard to get back on our feet. However, the entire gallery was now dedicated to community. We started having meetings cause we needed help, and we ended up with amazing volunteers. The gallery was really coming to life! 

Our little arts crew completely disappeared, leaving only me. I was scared at first, because I’ve spent so many years fighting for artist equality. My generalized anxiety diagnosis appeared sometime over all of these years. Leaving the initial complex was so hard because so much of my love went into it. As I write this, there’s tears in my eyes. I thought the city was helping us as a community, but they’d only taken what I helped to build. I’m not angry any more because those who needed love the most got it from me and still do. 

Now, I’m watching all of the kids over the years at Open Mic; they have their own kids. I still get hugs when I go to places. Though I lost that part of my life, what I gained could never be taken from me. 

The gallery is doing great now; the volunteers are beyond words incredible. Our community meetings are packed with ideas and concepts, and every opinion matters. I’m the director, and our curator is phenomenal. We’re open every weekend with varied workshops through the week. There’s also live music again. 

I’m always reluctant to share this story because, to others, it reads as “drama,” but it was so much more. I was broken time and time again to only come back stronger. Now, our gallery is the beating heart for all kinds of local artists, and it would be nothing without our beautiful, frustrating, and perfectly imperfect AV Art Community. 

I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
The road was anything but smooth. Prior to ever volunteering, everything had already been so difficult. By the age of 22, I’d already survived a sexual assault and childhood trauma. The time spent with open mic and doing community work, before all of the battling, had been the best time of my life. Creating a safe and open environment for others to also share their stories and be open about who they were made coping bearable. 

After all of the battles at the Cedar Center began, they ripped away the only peace that I’d ever really had. Those few years of open mic and volunteering made me feel whole, where there once was a giant, gaping wound. 

Everything I’ve done has been directed primarily towards other broken people. By this point, whoever actually read my story knows what I outwardly battled, but they don’t know what it did to my already struggling mental health. 

For several years after open mic began, I had a new family, whereas my blood siblings treated me like an outsider. After everything began going downhill again, it took all of my hope with it. Truthfully, open mic and that art gallery made me feel alive, and when all of these self-centered people were exploiting the building and everything with it, I went right back into depression. 

There was no way in hell that I was gonna lay down and die like I’d done so many times in the past. Several years after everything, and after I’d lost open mic, I’m terrified of people. I’d never quite felt that same sense of peace that I had in the beginning ever again. Everything I’ve done since then is still for those broken people and lost souls. I’m still tackling ego-maniacal jerks in the art community for those who need community and art genuinely. 

Even as I’ve written all of this, I can picture people from that same arts organization say that I’m lying. I can hear the City of Lancaster say that they “tried to help”. I can almost bet money that someone will take this to the art museum and use it as a means to try and kiss ass. 

You know where none of these people are me? Because they all still have money, relationships, and tons of friends. In my eyes, they all messed with the lives of so many of us who had nothing and still battle tooth and nail for absolutely everything. Their egos are the only things damaged here, along with any financial exploits. I’ve never gotten to tell my story because to others, it’s merely “drama,” even though it all literally gave me generalized anxiety disorder and a whole other form of PTSD. 

Obstacles? Yeah, there’s been a few. I’ve got the battle scars and medication to prove it. Those whom found their own sense of home, love, peace, community, and acceptance with me though? I’d still do it all over again. 

Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
Though it’s my community work that I take the most pride in, I’m also an artist, poet, and play a couple instruments (not great). I’ve shown in quite a few places, whether local or out-of-town. Oddly enough, I was also on a silly reality T.V. show, but my art was on there, too. Thereafter, my art was featured in “Bizarre” magazine. 

I don’t often show locally, though, even at my own events. My art is very dark, and that’s not a very big thing in the A.V. 

In terms of your work and the industry, what are some of the changes you are expecting to see over the next five to ten years?
I’m still hoping that as long long as I’m in the A.V., I can still crack the redundancy of pretention. Even though our gallery is very blatantly not about “skill” in the traditional sense, we still get shunned. I still get shunned. Not many of these people have ever heard my story or what I’ve gone through, and they’re very disrespectful and rude. 

To them, I’m loud, rude, scary-looking, and I’m too “adversarial.” 

I’m fine with that, though; I think it’s funny. However, as long as those mentalities exist in our little big art world out here, others have to suffer through it as well. 

Pretention holds no place in a community gallery, as our core belief is “acceptance”. I just want to see as many “outsider” artists evolve as I can. As long as I’m breathing, I’ll keep doing everything in my power to prevent others from having to go through the awfulness that I have just to have a voice. That’s the goal. 

I don’t know what will happen or change, I’m just hoping for less pretention and more love. Genuine love. This gallery should always be “home”. 

Contact Info:

• Instagram: avcommunityartgallery
• Facebook: AV Community Art Gallery