We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Sade Lythcott. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Sade below.
Sade, 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 March 2020, when the pandemic landed in New York, it left a lot of uncertainty around how our industry could survive such an unprecedented health crisis combined with socio-economic upheaval and an overall reckoning of how we, as communities, as a society, and as a country, could move forward. I would categorize the pandemic as the single most important and influential moment in my career. As the daughter of artists, activists and as a producer my instinct, was to lean into the uncertainty and see how I could use my voice and my position to support our sector and help our city recover. Very soon after the pandemic arrived, and all our institutions closed, I got a call asking if I would join the New York State Governor’s Task Force on Navigating the Reopening of Live Performance. (Just a note: Live performance was the last industry to reopen, and it was seen as the most dangerous and vulnerable because it required artists, actors, and designers to be in close quarters with each other, and with audiences as well.) I navigated my organization’s moment of crisis while also leaning into leading the state’s efforts to ensure we all stayed safe as a sector. I worked with incredible colleagues from the field to find a way forward.
Shortly after I joined a daily call that started right before the pandemic, called “Culture @ 3.” It was started by Taryn Sacramone, the Executive Director of Queens Theatre, and initially for other CIGs (Cultural Institution Groups). The goal was to navigate, before there were closures, what this health crisis might mean for New York City’s largest cultural institutions.
As we saw more closures, the focus shifted to addressing immediate needs: How do we secure PPE? How do we get our hands on hand sanitizers? But quickly, we realized this was a mass shutdown, and the implications of closing all these institutions were far-reaching. What did it mean for people’s collections, for living collections like zoos, gardens, dance, music, and theater companies who no longer had access to their buildings or their work? What did it mean for all the pending city funding, given that so many organizations’ budgets depended on it? The city was in a financial crisis because our economy had essentially come to a halt. The call that started out as a daily check-in at 3 o’clock and soon became a crucial forum. It joined leaders from the nonprofit arts and cultural world in New York City, as well as friends and members of government, to have open and transparent discourse about the needs of both the sector and the city. Taryn asked me to lead the reopening working group because of my position with the state, and soon invited me, along with Lucy Sexton, the Executive Director of New Yorkers for Culture and Arts, to co-lead the call.
My most meaningful project, though I had many in my role as CEO of the National Black Theatre, was advocating for and leading our sector through the pandemic. I found my voice and a pathway to give a voice to organizations that had been marginalized—particularly organizations of color—and ensure they had a seat at the table to help shape how New York City and New York State would come back.
Additionally, I chaired the Coalition of Theaters of Color for over 10 years. This is the largest coalition of theaters representing communities of color across all five boroughs. Through my advocacy, and the collegiality of the field, I was able to testify before the City Council. I was joined by colleagues who helped me advocate for equity in the deployment of resources and funding. One of my proudest accomplishments was ensuring that, despite the shrinking of the city’s budget and the ongoing civil and racial reckoning, the Coalition of Theaters of Color’s cultural initiative was not only maintained but saw an increase in resources. This was crucial because these theaters were serving communities that were hardest hit by the pandemic.
I would say that, for me, this is my biggest accomplishment. I still feel deep pride when I see all the organizations that I worked with, and how the city is continuing to recover. To see its vibrancy, and the new policies that have come out of all the hard work we put in as a sector during the pandemic to advocate for the needs of artists, is truly fulfilling.
Sade, 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?
I was born and raised in New York City, the daughter of artists and activists on both sides of my family tree. I was born into a life of creativity, deeply intertwined with service, a profound understanding of the human condition and our role in trying to make our communities a better place. My mother founded National Black Theatre in 1968, driven to use what she believed was the most powerful medium in the world—storytelling—to shape, heal, and reflect authentic stories of Black life. That was my backdrop my whole life.
But like any rebellious teen growing up in New York City, I ran as fast and hard away from the family business. I found my creative storytelling voice through fashion. While at NYU, I was scouted in Washington Square Park by a well-known designer who thought I had cool style. My first jobs, even as a high school student, were with major brands, including Levi The Gap, and Strauss. As a trend forecaster, I had the chance to travel, shop, and explore fashion, which, in many ways, found me rather than the other way around. I’ve always used clothes and style as a storytelling vehicle.
Fast forward to graduation from NYU, where I had a brief stint in television, working as an associate producer for the pop cultural phenomenon TRL. Through live television production, I got a firsthand front-row seat to the power of the media and pop culture—how they shape the narratives that end up in every household. That felt important to me.
I left TV thinking I would start a production company. However, I didn’t realize the hurdles women and people of color face when trying to have a seat at the table. I likely took for granted all the mentorship and access I had at MTV, especially from my producer on TRL, Deb Savo, who saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself.
While working at MTV, I was scouted again, this time on the red carpet at the VMAs. I was producing segments for TRL, but an editor from Teen People loved what I was wearing and asked if I had made it myself. That led to me having a monthly DIY column in Teen People about fashion and how to make looks your own. My career has been marked by so many miracles and friends who lent a helping hand. Some of those friends were big fashion stylists at the time, and while I was still finding my way, they employed me as their styling assistant on shoots for the covers of Vogue, Vanity Fair, and Harper’s Bazaar. I had the chance to work with some of the biggest talent in the world, including Beyoncé, Mary J. Blige, and Katie Holmes.
Style, for me, became a way to mix all my passions—travel, storytelling through clothes, and media. Through hard work, I truly fell in love with the artistry of fashion. The last artist I worked with as a stylist was Lenny Kravitz. My partner and I worked as his personal stylist for his tour. Working with Lenny changed my life. He is one of the most generative and creative artists, and his family comes from storytelling and theater. His mother, the legendary Roxie Roker, had worked with my mother at theater companies like the New Federal Theatre Company and the Negro Ensemble Company. Working so closely with Lenny felt like coming home. It brought theater back into my life in a way that I hadn’t valued before.
What made working with Lenny truly transformative was that it was the first time I entered a collaborative relationship with an artist, helping to articulate and bring to life their dreams and ideas. That synergy made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t felt before.
After leaving Lenny, I started my own swimwear line Lunazul Swimwear with my partners. I thought my creative career would stay in the fashion space, but it took a very hard left turn in 2008 when my mother passed away. The Board of Directors at the National Black Theatre faced a huge dilemma and a big transition. They asked me to step in for six months while they searched for a strategic partner or leader to fill my mother’s shoes—shoes that were impossible to fill. Those six months have now turned into 16 years.
Ironically, the work I ran so fast and hard from my whole life is the work I can say today I was born to do. The idea of creating platforms of possibility for Black artists to articulate and unleash their souls—from page to stage—to humanize our lives and connect us to one another is what drives me. Ultimately, theater does so brilliantly what no other medium does: it builds and sustains community, where people of all races, genders, and cultures can see themselves reflected in stories that help us all, regardless of background, feel a sense of belonging.
I feel incredibly humbled and grateful to work every day with artists and storytellers, to build community and shape culture through the eyes, hearts, and creative innovation of Black artists and voices.
Let’s talk about resilience next – do you have a story you can share with us?
The biggest example of resilience was navigating Covid as an arts leader. I worked to create pathways to give a voice to organizations that had been marginalized—particularly organizations of color—and ensure they had a seat at the table to help shape how New York City and New York State would come back. Joining the New York State Governor’s Task Force on Navigating the Reopening of Live Performance and Culture @ 3 to lead our sector through the pandemic was one of my most fulfilling work.
In your view, what can society to do to best support artists, creatives and a thriving creative ecosystem?
What society can do best to support artists in a thriving ecosystem is to understand that artists are essential to every economy, every society, and every community. Art is not a “nice to have.” Art is essential, and artists should be compensated as such. Art sits at the heart of our humanity, at the heart of how we understand the human experience. Without art and creativity, there is no way to relate to one another outside of consumerism, capitalism, or transaction.
The moral compass of the world has been shaped by creative ideation and artists since the beginning of time. Artist ideas, and their digestion of the atrocities of the world, our human condition, have been the North Stars of every culture and society throughout history. Yet, it is interesting how this relationship with art has evolved into a very transactional, two-dimensional one. Artists are often treated as miracle unicorns who should sustain themselves no matter what—this is a fallacy. People often say, “Let’s get those kids to perform; it will enhance the program,” without understanding that those kids are the leaders of tomorrow. Their ability to express themselves, to be challenged, and to think in creative new ways through performance and storytelling is what creates the conditions for a better tomorrow.
My hope and my wish for society to understand is that art is essential. Art must be taught and funded in our schools. It must be understood. In a city like New York, the creative economy is one of the largest contributors to the city and state GDP. Pre-COVID, it made up almost 15% of the city’s GDP, one of the largest in the country. What does that mean? The creative economy is how New York City exists—it is why it is singular and vibrant. The hundreds of billions of dollars generated by artists, who often work under conditions with pay that barely constitutes a living wage, is not charity. It is not a luxury. It is an investment in the future of cities and communities.
In a world that is growing through technology and economic expansion, it is critical to remember that at the heart of it all lies our human condition—why we were born in this time and place to contribute to the world. That heart is held in the hands of the artist. My deepest desire is to create sustainable ecosystems for artists, and that requires us to understand that all parts of the creative economy—labor, jobs, and small businesses—deserve to be treated as such. This is not entertainment for entertainment’s sake. This is root work. This is soul work. This is innovation work. This is the work of how we exist, how we hope to exist in the future, and how we matter to each other.
Art is how we push legislation and policy forward—by debunking and demystifying things like marriage equality through the stories we tell on stage, screen, and film. It’s about taking the veil away from demographics of people who fit neatly into white boxes of algorithms and saying, the kids in Appalachia, or in West Philadelphia, who may lack access to resources, but whose stories connect us to one another, have something to share. If their stories didn’t end up on Abbott Elementary or on stages like Dancing in Ohio, we might never know them. These stories and the art we create ensure that we have a civil, civic society where everyone gets a seat at the table and finds each other in one another’s stories.
The ecosystem includes the small costume shop in Queens, run by first-generation immigrants, who bring unique craftsmanship from their home countries to create some of the most beautiful costumes for the biggest stages in the world, like Broadway. We must ensure that they have the same access to resources and small business loans as any other small business. We should be seeking out all these spaces and pushing unions to understand that a diverse union is one that ensures a pipeline of great workers to sustain our industries.
An ecosystem looks at what the artist does and what they need to sustain themselves from a 360-degree perspective—and then invests in it. It should not be viewed through the lens of charity. Rather, it should be seen as an investment. We know from the numbers that every dollar invested in arts and culture multiplies threefold in output—through ticket buyers, audience engagement, and foot traffic.
This is what I want people to understand: Art is not just entertainment, and it is never art for art’s sake. It is both an economic engine and the soul of our people.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://nationalblacktheatre.org
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sade1111/
- Other: https://www.instagram.com/natblacktheatre/
Image Credits
Mark J Franklin
Timothy O’Connell