Photos by Ryan Stopera (black table arts team); Caitlin Abrams (interior)
on, Keno Evol, and Al Sanders
Black Table Arts founders Azia Washington, Keno Evol, and Al Sanders.
Black Table Arts’ new brick-and-mortar cooperative sits on a sunny slice of Minnehaha Avenue barely seven blocks down from the Third Precinct. The organization’s founder, artist and writer Keno Evol, says that wasn’t necessarily on purpose—but seeing as that precinct is a major reason their physical space exists in the first place, it wasn’t really an accident either. Evol and partners Al Sanders (his best friend since childhood) and Azia Washington decided early in the unrest that they needed to create a physical space to harness the energy and further the narrative of the moment. Barely seven months later we’re standing inside their elegant, comfortable, finished space. Occupying the entire first floor of a two-story commercial brownstone that used to house a window repair company, Black Table Arts’ community-driven co-op includes a modern coffee shop–style main gathering room, a Black-focused bookstore open to anyone, a recording studio, community computers, and a conference room, among other things. But the best part is that, true to Black Table’s mission of being an arts and collaboration access point for the entire community, memberships are pay-what-you-can. Here’s what else Keno Evol had to say about Black Table Arts.
The genesis
Black Table Arts has been around since 2015. We have a history of gathering Black artists really at the intersections of civic engagement, community organizing, and artistic practice. What does it mean to gather, think about how we want to affect our local communities, and get better at our technique?
Why now?
This space, this cooperative structure, came out of the uprising in May. It is sort of telling that we’re located on the same street as the Third Precinct. We see that indirect connection with our value of creating something new, creating an alternative. Let’s not assume that there’s not another way of solving the issues that affect our lives, because there is. We come to those answers by way of our community’s imagination, and art is, for me, the place in which that happens.
Their patrons
Black folks in Minnesota. Emerging artists, established artists, artists who don’t know if they’re artists. The conference room is named after Toni Cade Bambara, who thought about the artist as a social worker, so there was no disconnect between what you create and who you are a community with. We think that’s especially important because there’s so many threats to Black life. We have certain resources that we can provide for ourselves in ways that either the police can’t or the state can’t, which, again, speaks to that cooperative nature.
Why Longfellow?
I grew up in south Minneapolis. My roots are here. And, of course, the uprising, this is the site. This is the site of so much grief, but it’s also the site of ideas and artists. We’re in close proximity to, I think, 30 different arts organizations.
public work space
The coffee shop–esque communal work space at Longfellow’s Black Table Arts
The hope
On a really basic level, I’m just excited to see Black folks laugh in public and unapologetically talk about our grievances and our joys and our ideas, but also continued education. So that’s what Black people ought to really focus on, is artistic education and political education, and programs that center those things.
The power of mentorship
I would love for Black Table Arts to bridge young people who are going to make mistakes with folks who have made mistakes. Mentorship is everything. I mean, literally, I certainly didn’t get the first grant I applied for when I first started Black Table Arts. I had it in writing, and those folks were like, “This is great. Also, here’s feedback.” So, yeah, I would love for this place to be a place of feedback. Mentorship feedback, having good counsel for young Black artists or young Black entrepreneurs really makes all the difference. That, too, goes hand in hand with education. At the end of the day, we would need mentorship in education and to think about what our values are. I’m excited to see young people get connected with folks who can give them, perhaps, some good advice. Young people have something to tell us too.
The necessity of community
You see collectives getting together on the street that are actually outside of the nonprofit sector, outside of public office. You see organic community relations showing up for each other. You see a clothing exchange at 38th and Chicago. You see the Free State of George Floyd. These are all things that are outside of the state and outside of public office, outside of the grant programs that we applied to. That’s a beautiful thing because in those spaces, we sustained each other. People want to care about each other, and people believe in good things.
