We recently connected with Ebony Noelle Golden and have shared our conversation below.
Ebony Noelle, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today What’s been the most meaningful project you’ve worked on?
I’m currently engaged in some of the most meaningful work I’ve ever undertaken. It began several years ago when I was working on what was then the largest art and culture project of my career, 125th & FREEdom. At the project’s end, I was left with many questions, which for me is a positive sign. Lingering questions indicate that a story or process has more life and potential opportunities to explore.
Following that performance process, I entered a period of contemplation about what might come next, uncertain of where it would lead. Soon after, I received confirmation that I would receive resources to continue work that, I didn’t initially realize, would grant me access to the resources and communities necessary to pursue this project. Over time, it became clear that the project, titled ‘Watering (W)hole,’ was a multi-year, site-specific exploration of the connection between land, water, and Black people, and what it means for us to live in right relationship with the natural and supernatural world.
This endeavor has been a profound course of study, leading to a deeper understanding of my identity and ancestry. It has even initiated a homecoming. Though I began ‘Watering (W)hole’ in 2009, I finally visited my grandfather’s grandfather’s land in Deep East/ DeBerry, Texas in March 2025.
What is ‘Watering (W)hole’? Essentially, it’s a cultural campaign comprising community activations, research, performance, devising, and the production of theatrical ceremonies. It’s a deeply embodied dramaturgical practice of memory and a learning ceremony. To date, it has brought together over a hundred people – artists, healers, organizers, students, teachers, farmers, friends, and community members – from the South to New England, the East Coast, and the Southeast. These individuals share a curiosity about what I call an ‘engagement cosmology,’ focusing less on the ‘Watering (W)hole’ project itself and more on remembering and practicing their own interpretations of our relationship with the planet.
The ‘Watering (W)hole’ experience has been a deeply humbling journey. I’ve learned to hold on tightly to certain things and let go of others. I’ve navigated spaces of surrender and spaces of intense forward momentum. This has involved large theater commissions, time spent on farms and in cemeteries, rivers, and lakes, and interactions with people already deeply engaged in this work, as well as those newly initiated into considering our disconnection from the planet.
For me, this is an opportunity to remember and to advocate for environmental justice and climate reparations with spiritual depth and nuance, within an eco-womanist framework. This dynamic requires us to wander, world, wild, dream, and co-create with both built and natural landscapes the world we envision.
I want to add that I am currently reading Bell Hooks’s ‘Appalachian Elegy.’ Early in the text, she describes her people in Kentucky as rural, mountain dwellers with a close connection to the wild. This concept of wildness, wilderness, and freedom is something I’m contemplating deeply as I develop ‘Watering (W)hole.’
How do I, as an individual, exist within a universe, a cosmos, that constantly reminds us of our origins? Despite human attempts at control, the celestial bodies demonstrate daily that we are not separate from, nor more powerful than, the stars from which we come, the coexisting planets, and the oceans that mirror the fluid within our bodies. We are, in essence, one celestial body.
This nuanced understanding challenges many of our beliefs and ways of living, yet its truth is undeniable. Therefore, this project, this re-attunement, is profoundly meaningful to me. It places me in the uncomfortable position of truth-telling, revealing my own disconnections, however slight. It allows me to truly come home to myself, to rewire my governing rhythms, to speak my truth, even if it causes discomfort, knowing that I am held within the larger context of the planet and the universe.
I am part of a community of believers who seek the intimacy of connecting with the earth – putting our hands in the dirt, submerging ourselves in water, walking in the sunshine, and feeling its warmth on our skin. We are children of the sun, fire, earth, wind, and water, longing for that space of surrender, vulnerability, and power. This ‘Watering (W)hole’ project is meaningful because it has called me back to myself in profound and nuanced ways, for which I am grateful.
Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.
I am a city-born, southern, Black woman, a proud descendant of self-emancipated sharecroppers who migrated from rural East Texas and Louisiana to Fort Worth, Dallas, Houston, and Los Angeles for economic and educational opportunities. I am a theatrical ceremonialist, culture worker, public scholar, and entrepreneur who wields ecowomanist and Black feminist practices—often invoking messy, magical, and medicinal methods to support movements for cultural wellness and social justice. My approach to art-making, strategic design, teaching, and organizing is steeped in Black women’s activism, experimental performance, and the socio-spiritual power that resides in the communities with which I organize. My work embodies the power of art and collaboration as drivers of the movement for liberation. I founded a culture consultancy called Betty’s Daughter Arts Collaborative in 2009 that work with purpose driven/ justice-centered organizations nationally. I founded Jupiter Performance Studio in 2020 as a space to study Black cultural, spiritual and performance traditions as well as produce and present theatrical ceremonies.
I devise theatrical ceremonies for reclamation, re/memory, revival, and revolution. Ignited by my family’s stories of land loss and reclamation, my choreographic, visual, poetic, and experimental theatrical ceremonies venerate the cultural and spiritual technologies of southern, rural Black folks. By centering historical and contemporary ecowomanist, ethnographic, and environmental methodologies and movements for climate reparations and liberation, my current body of work illuminates how “generative apocalypse” upends regressive political, environmental and economic systems to make way for a more just society. Fueled by messy, magical, and medicinal rituals for Black liberation, thriving, and climate intimacy, I imagine my work as a gathering ground, where portals of possibility conjure communal, personal, and planetary evolution.
Since 2017, I have been developing ‘in the name of the m/other tree’, a body of work that uplifts wisdom, healing practices, and earth-affirming rituals of southern Black women and femme healers. In 2024, The Apollo and National Black Theatre in New York, NY co-produced and presented my theatrical ceremony–The Divining: Ceremonies from in the name of the m/other tree. This work, as well as much of what I create, is a multi-disciplinary immersive experience. The Divining unfolded on the streets of Harlem and the Apollo Stages at the Victoria Theater.
The next episode of this theatrical ceremony, ‘again, the watercarriers’, centers on women mystics over the age of 60, the primordial mothers described in Yoruba cosmology as the Iyaamí, and my own maternal lineage. again, the watercarriers will tour in 2025. My work has also been presented at the Weeksville Heritage Center, Brooklyn, NY (2023); Double Edge Theatre, Ashfield, MA (2022); The Shed, New York, NY (2019); and BAAD! Bronx Academy of Arts and Dance, Bronx, NY (2018), and has been profiled by The New York Times and National Endowment for the Arts.
Let’s talk about resilience next – do you have a story you can share with us?
I can share many stories that illustrate the resilience I’ve had to cultivate. However, I believe the expectation of resilience placed upon me, and many others, is often excessive. As a human being, a Black woman, navigating the various facets of my life, I encounter conflicting narratives. The assumption that I can effortlessly juggle every responsibility, simply because I’m pursuing a fulfilling life aligned with my dreams and purpose, is a heavy burden. Managing this constant pressure to be resilient is taxing because resilience often demands a performance of strength that doesn’t always align with the reality of the moment.
It requires upholding a higher standard of integrity than others may be held to. Sometimes, we must overperform integrity in environments where it isn’t valued. It means shouldering more responsibility than we ought to. I say “we,” but I’m also speaking about myself. This notion that Black women, or communities, are inherently resilient, or that survival necessitates extraordinary feats of endurance, feels like a deception.
There’s a significant toll when you’re expected to bear immense responsibility while simultaneously upholding the moral integrity of a situation. It’s an arduous path. One of the most challenging aspects of my life is this expectation of resilience amidst pandemics, systemic oppression, and disparities in pay and funding for ventures in the arts and business. The idea that resilience is a prerequisite in our current context, given the legacy of this country and the industries I navigate, feels like a deception.
Yet, resilience is a tool I’ve honed over years of striving to live life on my own terms. But I’m not proud that ancestral strength is sometimes the sole force propelling me forward when I long for rest.
My last production demanded an inordinate amount of resilience. The New York art scene, beautiful and powerful, is also a challenging ecosystem. Navigating the questions of artistic vision, process, and achieving one’s dreams requires solitude, prayer, and meditation. When the universe grants a dream, the subsequent realization requires immense effort.
This realization involved multiple iterations of plans, ideas, scripts, ensembles, budgets, and grant applications. It meant discerning the true intentions of others and navigating institutional complexities. All this unfolded over years, demanding a tremendous amount of life force.
Perhaps ‘life force’ better encapsulates what I’m describing than ‘resilience.’ The capacity to collaborate with strangers, to secure funding on hope and prayer, even within a well-funded commission, demands a great deal. Stepping into the role of an executive theater producer is not for the faint of heart. It consumes an immense amount of life force, which ebbs and flows. It reveals personal blind spots and compels uncomfortable maneuvers. It requires saying yes and then no.
It raises the question of whether one truly comprehends the investment required to pursue one’s dreams. How much are you willing to give to dream-weave, dream-cast, and make those dreams a reality for yourself and collaborators? Those involved in bringing my dream to fruition sometimes lacked a full understanding of its scope. Onboarding people to a journey that isn’t truly theirs can be complex.
Often, the path is unclear, directions hazy. Clarity about who truly belonged in the process, who grasped their role beyond mere participation, and who could hold that understanding in its aftermath emerges only after completion. The fundamental questions are: Who replenishes the life force of someone who must consistently project strength? Who bears the weight of the difficult decisions the resilient individual must make? Where do those who are expected to be strong turn for comfort and care? Why can’t we simply be vulnerable, fall apart, and “crash out” when overwhelmed? Sometimes, that’s precisely what I desire – to completely collapse! But the stakes are high. The investment is significant.
Over the years, I’ve understood why I consistently return to challenging projects that demand immense life force. Ultimately, my path is divinely ordained. My life would be a tragedy if I were forced to walk someone else’s. The outcome of each project, production, or collaboration reveals the necessary medicine for those who need it. I am a messenger, not the message. I am not a saint, but I can create performances, rituals, gatherings where we witness each other’s divinity and vulnerability and more importantly, I witness my own. Thank you for allowing me to share so deeply about this.
What can society do to ensure an environment that’s helpful to artists and creatives?
To answer this question, we must conceptualize what constitutes a thriving creative ecosystem. The reality is that thriving creative ecosystems already exist for some, depending on their circumstances: location, social network, access to resources, and financial support. Therefore, “a thriving ecosystem” might be too simplistic a description; perhaps we need to consider multiple ecosystems.
For someone like me, based in New York City, a thriving ecosystem requires the ability to sustain oneself with a single job. The reality for most creatives in NYC is that they need multiple gigs to make ends meet, forcing them to divide their energy and attention. This is not thriving.
I often urge people to consider the stability enjoyed by some within the creative ecosystem and to advocate for that same stability for all artists. If an office administrator has a 401k and comprehensive healthcare, then every artist working with that organization should have the same. This isn’t about thriving; it’s about the bare minimum conditions for dignified work.
However, in our current reality, a thriving creative ecosystem must address the fundamental needs of those working within it. We must begin with the ground level, because many of us lack the capacity to experience life with basic dignity. If administrators can easily afford rent, vacations, and transportation, then artists contributing to the same creative space should have the same access to these necessities.
The core issue is the massive pay discrepancy between administrators and artists. As I often tell my artist colleagues, and even my clients and collaborators, there is no creative economy without creatives. There is no theater industry if people aren’t creating theater and performance. It should be considered unconscionable that those who produce culturally specific work lack basic essentials. Strategically, it’s unsustainable. A thriving ecosystem cannot exist if its creators are struggling to survive.
Therefore, the elements of a thriving creative economy are dignified living and dignified work. Dignified living encompasses fundamental human rights: affordable housing, food, leisure, and healthcare for oneself and one’s family. If artists’ lives are in disarray due to financial insecurity, a thriving creative ecosystem is impossible.
Access is also crucial. Countless artists possess scripts, choreography, scores, and other works that will never be realized due to lack of access. A thriving system provides opportunities for new voices, new possibilities, and new individuals to progress from emerging to established to advanced. Furthermore, we cannot rely solely on foundations and philanthropy to sustain this ecosystem. Many organizations – theater and dance companies, for example – depend entirely on grants and sponsorships for survival. An ecosystem cannot truly thrive when its artists are treated as second-class citizens.
Another vital element of a thriving creative ecosystem is the freedom to create. While some creations may be harmful or not in the public good, there is immense power in the ability to bring something into existence. Suppressing that creative drive hinders the ecosystem’s vitality. As I mentioned earlier, though challenging, creating work that fulfills you is a powerful experience. Society must support experimentation.
This support requires funding and space. Consider the cost of rehearsal space in New York City. This may not be universal, but my experience is that it can demand a second job. If you lack access to affordable, long-term rehearsal spaces, studio time can cost hundreds of dollars per day. If you need to rehearse for ten hours daily, that could easily be $100. Five days a week becomes $500, and a month’s rehearsal can cost $2,000. For those with such disposable income, this isn’t an issue. But that reality underscores that there are multiple creative ecosystems, with varying levels of access and resources.
We must address access, quality of life, economic disparities, and the emotional and spiritual well-being of artists. Just as some cultures prioritize the health of the land, water, air, people, children, elders, healers, mystics, we must ask: How are the artists doing? What are their unmet needs and unheard concerns? Paying attention to the well-being of artists will reveal much about what society can do to truly support us.
Contact Info:
- Website: bettysdaughterarts,com and jupiterperformancestudio.com
- Instagram: @ebonynoellegolden and @jupiterperformancestudio
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/ebony-noelle-golden-766a34251/
Image Credits
#1- Headshot: Melisa Cardona
#2- Photographer: Marcus Middleton
#3- Bleu Santiago
#4- Milena Dabova
#5- Paul Notice
#6- Paul Notice
# 7- Journey Brave Photography