We recently connected with Chelle Marie and have shared our conversation below.

Chelle, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today We’d love to hear about a project that you’ve worked on that’s meant a lot to you.

In 2008, I began an all-ages, free, and uncensored open mic night that planted deeper roots then I ever could’ve imagined.

Before it came into fruition, I often felt like just another weirdo in a little big town outside of L.A.
It wasnt long before the droves of our vastly misunderstood creative community began piling in. Eventually, open mic became the mecca for self expression in the AV.
That’s when I realized that self expression was everything and that for most, our stage was the only place that loved us and wanted us for who we were. The talent was phenomenal, but it was the heart open mic exuded that stood out most.

All of that self expression that’s tucked away and shunned in little big towns like this was bursting.
at the seams. Even those who weren’t necessarily dealing with the same issues as many of us were, also found their place within the walls of open mic. That was the thing that ended up making our weekly event so special.

Everyone came together in support and admiration of one another. Open mic filled a gap I never knew we had and it changed everything, including the course of my life.

Chelle, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

Growing up in a conservative leaning town like the AV was a lesson in survival.
I’d had an awful time in school and my Mom still gets tears in her eyes when she tries to discuss just how hard it was.
Making friends was rough because I was awful at fitting in, but I did try at a point. I got kicked out of my first highschool for fighting. The highschool after that wasn’t much better. My home life was tough as well, because my Dad was abusive in multiple ways.

My connection with art really began with hiding in my bedroom to avoid the man. I feel that it’s important to emphasize the fact that art saved my life. I knew early on that art and music were gonna be the things that kept me going. I didn’t want to go to school and didn’t want to go home. Art was my safe haven and my imagination was freedom.

Because of the vital role the creative realm has played in my life, it put me on a path essentially “preaching” the word of art. Seeing how self expression seemed to save the life of so many at open mic, drilled it into my head that it’s where I belong. It’s my job to provide creative outlets in places where there were none, or where such few places existed.

The community gallery that I direct at now is an eclectic mix of community members. The gallery, just like the open mic stage, has become a home to many.
Though I’m aware of the irony in promoting art as life saving, among the whole “tortured” concept, I believe that we really do possess the ability to change things for the better.

The AV Community Art Gallery is an obvious representation of grass roots and it’s maintained by great people who speak very openly in our meetings.

Can you share a story from your journey that illustrates your resilience?

There was a whole thing where I ended up going to war with the people in charge of the place where I held open mic.

There was also a performing arts school in the building. The woman who ran the school began receiving complaints that there were issues with both drug use and prostitution on the property. I then discovered that inappropriate things were being said to some of the underage boys at open mic. Photographic evidence of illicit activities on the property appeared as well.
For whatever reason, instead of addressing these issues and putting an end to them, the building directors tried to shut us down and kick us out. Some city officials became involved as well, due to financial issues there before my open mic ever was.

Some community members and I formed an alternate “board” to oppose the current board members (at the time). Who we referred to as the “old board” served us papers to vacate the premises. We refused to leave as we’d been making an extremely positive impact with our community ventures.

We ended up with an attorney and the legal battle ensued. At the time, I lived close to that building. I’d walk home and be called names by “old board” associates. Since all of the illegal activity took place while utilizing the name of a once great art organization that had members, those people lied to everyone about what was taking place. Naturally, everyone believed them. I’m the “young, tattooed weirdo harassing older people”.
They even went to the local paper and tried to say that I was a gang leader. Inbetween the harassment, investigation, name calling, and attempts at saving our programming, my anxiety hit an all time high.

Though most of the older art community know of the battle, they only ever knew one side.
That’s when I felt the profound ugliness that rumors could cause. I had no choice but to stop caring what people thought. At a point, my psych had raised my anxiety and depression med doses. The “old board” even put a chain on the entrance to the building to prevent my open mic.
One of our performers grabbed bolt cutters and we began anyway.
We ended up doing a peaceful sit in for open mic that night. Our community knew the situation, because members of the old board would go in and harass people.
No matter what they tried to say or do, they couldn’t contend with my passion for this open mic. I ended up taking open mic to the backyard of my house that night.

The part that I didn’t mention was where I’d met with the SWAT team. As all of this drama unfolded and my sanity began slipping, the police had previously been investigating some people from our building for participation in a drug ring, going all the way to San Diego.
Needless to say, we did manage to put an end to that aspect of illegal activity. I’d also found a ton of documents that appeared to be shell businesses to exploit money from the non-profit status the old board had. After some time, we got those people out of there.
To this day I don’t believe all of those people to be criminals, but they most definitely misjudged me and failed to question lies being told to them.

That’s where the Scooby-Doo mystery part ends. This is where the actual soul crushing takeover begins.
The building itself ended up going back to the city. After all of the battling that I did previously, I put my faith in the entirely wrong place.
The second the city took over, they tried to get me to charge for open mic. Obviously, I adamantly refused. Not everyone could afford a door fee, including some of the homeless who joined us.

Myself and the city reached the agreement that they could sell concessions to turn a buck, without me compromising our integrity.
We proceeded for awhile just like that. The city was getting ready to renovate the complex and the attached gallery was empty. Fortunately, the city agreed to let myself and a friend, turn that gallery into a community art space for a few months until renovations began.

After years of open mic and people showing me their art, I’d begun setting it up during open mic, so a gallery felt like the natural next step. I’m not sure anyone could’ve predicted how awesome that community gallery would become for the short time it was open.
We had local artists come in and paint murals inside. The carpet was old and stained, so we splattered paint to give it a “Basquiat” feel. We supplied markers in the bathrooms, so that people could anonymously express themselves through art. There were local bands at openings, and ultimately, for the 3 months we were open, we hit the ground running.

Then after renovations began, open mic moved to a local Moose Lodge where bands played.
About 3 of my close friends formed a small organization to provide pop-up art and to help cover more ground. I was so grateful for them, after that whole legal battle, my spirit was dying. The gallery and my friends really put life back into me. While the place was closed, the city promised me that they’d give me a shot at having that gallery when it reopened. My crew and I were creating a business plan, but before I knew it, the city called to tell me that the local city affiliated art museum would take it over.
We already knew how that faction of the local art community felt about us. There’d been talk of my crew and I being labeled “hooligans” and “self-proclaimed artists” which by the way, I sure the fuck am.

I tried to be a part of the whole thing, but there’s a vast difference between the cities idea of “community” and actual, you know, community. At that point, I’d been very transparent publicly about my disappointment with the city and everyone involved. However, my social media was private, so any info that I shared on there, would’ve had to be leaked in order for the city to find out. My city rep called me and told me that they were upset about a social media post that I made.
I’d suspected immediately who would’ve done that, deleted him, and ta-da! No more leaking. He was involved with the museum. Someone from the city also called and threatened to shut down open mic if I didn’t stop sharing public irritations.
Things were ugly, but I maintained open mic a bit longer and my crew and I were allowed to have a room in what was supposed to be our gallery. Again, it was like pulling teeth to get respect. We held a couple events and the people working at the building were mean and would spread lies about what we were doing.

It got kinda quiet for a minute (finally) but a guy who I banned from open mic for following around and harassing a young woman and her kid, started obsessing to the city about it. They knew he was a bully, but because he wouldn’t stop calling them, they wanted me to let him back in. Naturally, I refused.

As per in the past, we had a peaceful sit-in. Everyone saw the guy harassing this girl with the stroller.
I explained to the city that this was an open mic community issue and that other girls weren’t comfortable with that guy there. One of the city security big wigs whom I met during the legal stuff came in.
He told me that I’d “better let the guy in” and I stood my ground. A couple younger girls went up to him and tried telling him that they didn’t feel safe, and the big wig literally yelled at them to go away.
At that point, I was shaking and I had an awful feeling. He tried to force me to start open mic like always, but I told him I wouldn’t as long as they insisted that the bully could come back.

Myself and the open mic community marched to the closest local park and had open mic there. The city had the museum run my open mic in the building still. They never gave it back and they never respected our plea to keep it safe.
After all of that, I tried keeping my original open mic up and running at a couple different places close to its original spot. We lasted about a year and a half and it was never the same. Performers were still going to my old open mic for the stage. That alone, opened a whole other wound for me. I legitimately love these people and it felt like a betrayal of sorts. My heart was finally broken and I had nothing left inside of me.
Years and years of battling for that open mic, and this is how it ended. I kept having my open mic at a local, artist run art festival, but that wasn’t often enough. I kinda just stopped going out for a couple years. Then, I took one final stance.

Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can provide some insight – you never know who might benefit from the enlightenment.

The concept about art that always seems to elude certain types of folks, is it’s effect on mental health.
We all know that there’s a nasty stigma in the country about neurodivergence. There’s artists who picked up art somewhere down the line, and people who aren’t self admittedly creative.
Those are the people who don’t generally have the background with facing adversity that many of us do. They can’t fathom the vitality of self expression. They haven’t experienced having their voice silenced or ripped from them.
Myself and many other creative types are survivors. Being a survivor means that we’ve experienced unspeakable things. Unspeakable being the part where the creative arts have to speak up for us. Breakdancing for instance, has saved the lives of thousands and thousands of street kids who come from gang member riddled families.
Obsessing over our art by ourselves late at night, prevented us from partying and overdosing.
There’s two prominent stereotypes about creatives that must be demolished. People say the art community is all boring old people or wild young people. They have zero idea how many of us land inside the middle or on the outer edges.

Every single battle that I’d ever faced while trying to hold community events is worth it. Every. Single. One.
For every stereotype, people who don’t pay attention, or have apathetic responses to human emotion, there is at least a handful of people who did not die, who could’ve. They say that death is the great equalizer, but art, regardless of how dark, also exists within that space. It’s not about the subject matter or quality, it’s that absolutely every single person on this planet can be an artist and it’ll always be the one thing that’s there, always.

Contact Info:

• Instagram: avcommunityartgallery
• Facebook: AV Community Art Gallery

Image Credits

Gallery event photo
1 pic of me
2 pics of my art