Lyric and Love

I came across an undeveloped roll of film a few weeks back, and finally sent it to be developed, not remembering at all what might be on it. The results were surprising, brought both joy and tears, and made me reflect on the projects I have had the honor to be a part of, the ones I have dreamt of and other forgotten memories. Most of the pictures were from the groundbreaking for the renovation of the Lyric Theatre in Lexington, KY, a place that is so near to my heart, that my eyes fill with tears now thinking about my time there.

I had just moved back to Lexington, my home, and had been magnetically drawn to the Lyric, in its then-dilapidated state. Well, obsessed is the more appropriate word. It was just over the tracks from the neighborhood I grew up in and is on the edge of the downtown where I spent most of my teen years dancing with the Lexington Ballet. I remember the day I saw it again, for the first time in a fresh light; like one of those moments in the movies, as if it had some special glow around it and a voice saying “I am here; do something about it.”

And so, without really knowing how, or why, I did.

I probably annoyed most people involved with the project at the time. I know I confused them all. I called every number I could find, repeatedly, until someone, anyone, would meet with me. I searched the city records, read every old document, every meeting minute that I could find regarding its crazy history. I created full documents of programming ideas. I researched other Lyric Theaters across the south, showed up at every meeting open to the public and some that weren’t. I did what you do when you fall in love. I did everything I could to get close. I basically said, “I just want to be involved! Please!” At one point, I actually remember being told, “Alright, if you want to get involved in this project, you better have a tough skin. You are young, you are white and you are female. It’s going to be difficult.” To which I replied, “I know.”

Fast forward two years later and I had a key to the building. I ran front of house. I created and managed the first volunteer program of over a hundred volunteers. I set up the concession area, and I set up and managed our first box office. I helped curate, name and hang the first exhibit, and even helped sew together the pieces of the community quilt that now hangs in the lobby. I fought for a position on the Friends of the Lyric board, on which I proudly served. I remember every show, every crazy incident, every cold night walking to my car after we had closed up, every odd light that came on and went off with our fancy timer system and every smile along the way. And after working full-time hours with no pay until they finally offered me one of the first paid positions, I also remember the day I quit. That story is a story for another day.

All of this to say, what prompted me to write today is another project that I had dreamt about, a building on the corner of Louden and Limestone on the north side of Lexington.

I saw today that it looks like there are people in town who have also turned their attention to the building and want to make it a local market and creative business incubator (Knight Cities Challenge Finalists). I saw the announcement and a great sadness welled up inside me and all I could do was weep. Seems a bit contradictory, no? I’m not sure. For me it goes back to my feelings about the Lyric.

I also used to drive by this building, which had a similar glow about it, I would say hi to the building and tell it about its beautiful future. Sound crazy? Well, that’s what love does to you, makes you see the potential. As humans we are one of the few, if not only creatures who can see potential as another dimension of reality and then decide to act to realize that potential.

Just as I wrote a letter outlining my hopes for the future of the Lyric before one stone had been put back in place, I say this to the group with their eye on that building. I hope you do justice to the people of the north side. And not by sticking in something that you think needs to go there, the newest fad (which heads up, is actually a little past its prime already) of maker spaces and incubators. I hope this is not in the name of “creative placemaking” a term that insinuates there was no “place” there in the first place. I hope you ask the people what they want. And not just the people who are like you. But the other people who live in that neighborhood. Like the kids that stroll down my mom’s street with no particular aim except to find some trouble or the elderly man who I have only ever seen sitting on his porch. Or even my mom, who homesteaded that part of town, when very few white people would venture there, who works two jobs to make ends meet and could tell you a thing or two about the state of our young people. My chest swells again, thinking about my dreams for that building, as a central community hub to be a safe space for teens to play basketball indoors, for arts, culture and movement classes and a mentorship program to help people find out what they really wanted to do in life besides hang in the streets. I envisioned a place of beauty that would make people proud.

Yes, I had very different ideas for the space. And different ideas don’t mean they are bad. I think again it’s the same as love. Ever notice how it seems that someone becomes more beautiful and more desirable when they are loved? Same thing happens to places and buildings. I sent love to that building every day for many years, and someone felt that vibe. And so if anyone wants to do something in that building, I just hope that the motivation is nothing other than love.