Dear Reader,

I’ve spent a little over a month now trying to decide what important message, adage, or moral I want this letter to say. I’ve typed, and typed, only to delete countless times now. Heavy is the head that wears the crown of Managing Editor of a publication with less than 500 monthly readers, it seems. For on this last transmission for 2024, I feel compelled to leave you with some kind of strong and pointed message to carry with you into 2025 –– something that seamlessly abridges individualism with community arts; Two topics that have been at the center of numerous stories we have published. Alas, I am unsure what to say at this point, given the tremendous body of work we have so proudly built this year –– it simply feels superfluous.

Like all forms of art, to write is to draw blood from a stone –– To create something from nothing. It is almost a divine power that sits within all of us, occasionally provoked enough to stir up an internal storm of emotions and thoughts that simply must be translated into something. And like all other forms of art, writing is in a league of its own. With sculpting or painting, the artist must train themself to have a steady hand like no other; With music, the artist must develop an understanding of the mathematics that compose music, but must also develop a mind to break from those traditions. But with writing (with perhaps the only exception being poetry) an artist always has an intent –– a message, and a clear one at that. Whereas a visual art piece is ultimately painstakingly sculpted to convey any flavor of interpretation, writing is painstakingly sculpted to ultimately convey a very specific, predefined idea.

I’ve spent several years in my career at different companies performing the task of copywriting. And while it pays the bills, it doesn’t usually satisfy my penchant for writing. That’s because copywriting, often, but not always, feels shallow and purposeless in contrast to writing something I would consider true art. While it might be my own original words, copywriting is shaped entirely by, well, a “copy” –– the parameters set by someone else, often a brands liaison, a marketing team, or a sales division. Yet if suddenly every description of hiking shoes disappeared from the internet, not much would change. But if every great American classic disappeared from every shelf of every public library in America, we’d be in real trouble. 

And I fear that we are heading precisely in that direction. I’ll spare you all a generic, morals-driven political diatribe that has been reprinted a thousand times in a thousand different publications. We all know how this ends, even if some of us will take every opportunity to avoid facing that ugly truth. And to be clear, I don’t believe the play-by-play tactics for disarming and disrupting a fascist zeitgeist exist anywhere within the pages of most classics like The Great Gatsby or Joy Luck Club. But to have the intimately crafted ideas of infinite forebearers –– some still living and others dead by hundreds of years –– at our disposal is a privilege we take for granted almost every day.

In 2014, American novelist Ursula K. Le Guin was awarded the National Book Foundation’s Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. Le Guin wrote famous 20th-century classics such as “The Left Hand of Darkness,” “A Wizard of Earthsea,” and “The Dispossessed.” Many of her works explored concepts of class inequality, authoritarianism, race, and gender. Perhaps unsurprisingly, her shit-flinging acceptance speech for the 2014 National Book Foundation award remains one of the most sacred soundbites to me as a writer:

“I think hard times are coming when we will be wanting the voices of writers who can see alternatives to how we live now and can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine some real grounds for hope. We will need writers who can remember freedom; poets, visionaries –– the realists of a larger reality. I think we need writers who know the difference between production of a market commodity and the practice of an art. Developing written material to suit sales strategies in order to maximize corporate profit and advertising revenue is not quite the same thing as responsible book publishing or authorship. [...] Books, you know, they're not just commodities. The profit motive is often in conflict with the aims of art. We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art –– the art of words.”

Perhaps it is pompous for me to state this, but I believe (and hope) that a grass roots, community-driven, and open-access project like Art Grove Newsletter is one of those vehicles that can inspire change in this rapacious system. A core principle that guides each and every one of Art Grove’s issues is that while our writing discusses art, our published works are dualistic in their artistic exploration –– readers get to learn about an artist’s worldview while also getting a glimpse into the writer’s brain. We do not maintain a consistent voice… there is no “copy.” Our stories are just as worthy of being called art as the art works they highlight.

I am extremely proud of all we have accomplished in 2024, even if it took a few delayed issue releases. To name a few accomplishments:

1. We officially obtained fiscal sponsorship, allowing us to begin fundraising and proceeding toward full 501(c)3 status in the near future.

2. We doubled the size of our monthly team, taking on Sarah Gill as a Staff Writer and Marissa Molina as our Social Media Coordinator. We are so thankful for their hard work and contributions to the project every month, which they do completely for free!

3. We forged critical partnerships with numerous organizations across our home city of Richmond, VA, including Quarry, the Richmond Public Library, CultureWorks, and several others. We are also so thankful to Ben Mich and The Earl Mich Company for producing 100 Art Grove Newsletter stickers at no cost to us! 

4. We held interviews with dozens of artists across the United States, widening our coverage of community arts initiatives to new cities, including but not limited to: San Antonio, TX; Austin, TX; New Orleans, LA; San Francisco, CA; East Orange, NJ; Frederick, MD; Kansas City, MO; Hopewell, VA; Asheville, NC; and many others!

5. We held our first in-person event at the Richmond Public Library in October! Our “Artists Gathering” attracted a large and diverse crowd of community members who were eager to meet more members of Richmond’s creative community. Thank you to everyone who came out, and we hope to see you at the next one soon!

All these accomplishments, however, pale in comparison to what I believe is our greatest accomplishment and highest honor yet. Earlier this year, when Betsy told me that a friend of hers was interested in writing for us every month, I was ecstatic. Frankly, it’s a lot of work to put each issue together, especially for no paycheck. Before Sarah came along, I was not only building every issue but writing most articles too. Anyone who has ever written about art will attest to the classic supposed Frank Zappa quote that “writing about music is like dancing about architecture.” It is challenging. Art journalists have the burden of finding that perfect point of harmony where creativity and voice work in lockstep clarity, never obscuring the message while still maintaining intrigue. Add that to a monthly frenzy of putting together a Google Site, a MailChimp email, and an Instagram post, and you have a lot of work on your hands.

But Sarah has made every difference in this project, and if it’s not too cavalier to state, the project has made a noticeable difference for Sarah as a writer too. I have watched her stories continuously improve month after month, and with each submission, I watched as Sarah gradually pulled herself out of a dark period of writer’s block into an awe-inspiring stride that I wish I could force every person to witness. Her bravery and confidence in her own voice has compounded in leaps and bounds since then, transforming Sarah from a self-depricating person with less belief in her talents into someone confident enough to say “yes, damnit, I am an artist,” and prove it. Watching this transformation has been one of the greatest honors I have ever felt, all while knowing that our project contributed to it, even if just a little. And if you want to hear about it from the artist herself, well good news: She wrote a beautiful piece for us this month that does exactly that.

But to tie things back to the dark future mentioned earlier that awaits us in a few days’ time, we have published another piece that reflects on radical transformation. Katherine Goforth’s postulation on what lies ahead in 2025 and how to resist it is a true exploration of community arts, touching on some of the most foundational principles that define the practice. While it might not be as cheery as Sarah’s piece, I believe it will provide just as much hope for the arts community.

I do not know what awaits us artists when January 7th, 2025 rolls around. I wish I could peer into a crystal ball and build a plan around my premonitions. But I cannot, and so I will continue to do what I can to make this world a little better than when it found me. Perhaps Art Grove is the best way for me to do that, even if the impact is small. No good deed goes unnoticed. And I hope others see the opportunity that exists in Art Grove too, like Sarah did. Because we are a community, and we all grow better together.

Like Le Guin said:

“Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art –– the art of words.”

Tootle-oo, for now, and a Happy New Year to you all,

Tom Jakob, Managing Editor