The Black Women Building A Black Arts Movement In Their City

In a city as culturally vibrant as Toronto, a quiet revolution is unfolding. Led by Black women in the arts, a dynamic movement is redefining creativity, community and cultural stewardship in a cultural landscape often defined by exclusion. Pop-up galleries and heritage museums become spaces of institutional advocacy, where these leaders are dismantling systemic barriers, amplifying marginalized voices and building infrastructures that ensure Black art is seen and thrives.

I spoke with a few pivotal figures in Toronto’s art scene over Zoom calls—Alica Hall Executive Director of the Nia Centre For The Arts, Imani Busby Founder of The Gift Shop and Media Pass, Karen Carter Executive Director of Toronto’s Museums and Heritage Services, Julie Crooks head of the department of Arts of Global Africa and the Diaspora at the Art Gallery of Ontario, and BAND Gallery Co-Directors Claudia Pensa Bowen and Joséphine Denis alongside Programming Administrator Lamesha Ruddock. From these conversations, a blueprint emerges: one rooted in resilience, collaboration and an unshakable commitment to legacy.

Creating Spaces Where Art Meets Community

For Alica Hall of the Nia Centre for the Arts, Canada’s first multidisciplinary Black arts hub located in Toronto’s historic “Little Jamaica,” the work begins with resourcefulness. “My role touches every aspect of the organization,” Hall explains, which includes fundraising to ensure the facility’s operation. However, the Nia Centre’s mission runs deeper. It’s where art meets culture, blending creativity with activism. “Asserting ourselves and our history in a positive light is an act of resistance,” Hall says, noting that Black artistry challenges stereotypes and systemic erasure. The Nia Centre empowers artists through residencies, workshops and exhibitions, but its most transformative work lies in bridging generational divides. “There’s been a disruption in dialogue between mature and emerging artists,” Hall observes, citing limited resources for earlier generations. By fostering intergenerational collaborations, the Centre rebuilds a continuum of Black creativity. “We’re ensuring artists today don’t feel like they’re starting from scratch,” she adds.

Imani Busby embodies the DIY spirit. Her initiatives—The Gift Shop (a pop-up market and incubator for QTBIPOC artists) and Media Pass (a platform for concert photographers)—democratize access to the arts by prioritizing accessibility. The Gift Shop disrupts traditional gallery spaces altogether. Since 2023, this nomadic incubator has supported over 60 artists, offering workshops on entrepreneurship, legal rights and pricing strategies in Toronto, Montreal, and Ottawa, the nation’s capital. Installations in public spaces like shipping container marketplace, Stackt Market, let art “stumble into people’s lives,” sparking conversations beyond elitist galleries.

For Julie Crooks, Head of the Department of Arts of Global Africa and Diaspora at the Art Gallery of Ontario, “Working in this sector is public service,” she says. Crooks, who helped acquire the Montgomery Collection of Caribbean Photographs for the AGO, stresses the importance of “surfacing hidden histories” while nurturing living artists. Mentors like Thelma Golden of Harlem’s Studio Museum inspire her ethos: “It’s about relentless dedication to Black artists, even when institutions hesitate.”

Karen Carter is a fixture in the city’s art scene. A board member and co-founder of BAND Gallery, and now Toronto’s Director of Museums and Heritage Services, Carter’s new role involves resurrecting Toronto’s overlooked municipal art collection—10 heritage sites and thousands of artifacts—to tell inclusive city stories. “Most people don’t know these collections exist,” she says. By reimagining spaces, including historic properties like Fort York, as hubs for themes like “conflict and sovereignty,” she aims to attract audiences alienated by traditional narratives. “Museums have a responsibility to tell all our stories,” she says.

Meanwhile, BAND Gallery (Black Artists’ Networks in Dialogue), co-founded by Crooks, Carter and others in 2009, works on a model of radical authenticity. “In white institutions, you mute parts of yourself,” says Director of Curatorial Initiatives Joséphine Denis. “Here, we thrive as we are.” Now led by gen-next, BAND prioritizes community over commercialization. “Art isn’t just institutionalized—it’s a way of living,” says Denis. Their programming—from pop-ups in unconventional spaces to partnerships with developers—reflects a nimble, needs-driven model. Within that space, Director of Operations Claudia Pensa Bowen believes there is freedom. “To create a space that is about care, preservation and expression was such a big part of our previous space, where people would come and just gather without me having to be part of it,” she explains. “It was something that meant the way that we set up the space and the way that we operated made people feel comfortable enough to take ownership of the space.”

When partnerships clash with their values, they walk away. “We have license to say no,” Denis asserts. This resolve is vital in a sector where Black institutions often fight for recognition. “We’re in a unique niche,” she admits. “Most patrons aren’t Black, so we’re constantly advocating for our value even though we’re closest to the community. That should matter as much as big institutions.”

Mentorship, Money And The Business Of Art

Black women leaders are dismantling the myth of the “starving artist” by equipping creators with pragmatic skills. At the Nia Centre, Hall’s team offers crash courses in taxes, grants and branding. “Society doesn’t see artists as entrepreneurs,” she notes, citing disparities in funding for Black art forms like hip-hop. For Black artists, these gaps are compounded by systemic inequities. “Finding your market is harder when your art isn’t valued like Eurocentric forms,” Hall notes.

Karen Carter pioneered a 70/30 revenue split favoring artists during her tenure—a stark contrast to standard gallery practices with a 50/50 split from sales. “We gave them a bird’s-eye view of what dealers expect,” she says. Pragmatism extends to pricing. “The market will tell you your work’s value. Hold pieces until their time comes.”

After launching concert photography initiative Media Pass, Busby connected 90 photographers with festivals—many landing their first paid gigs. One artist secured an international art fair through connections made there; others forged lifelong collaborations. “It’s about community, not just commerce,” Busby adds. “They need these tools to self-advocate.”

Navigating Systemic Barriers—And Building New Systems

However, funding disparities loom large. Hall recounts funders dismissing racism in the arts. “They’d say, ‘What barriers?’” She cites Canadian Heritage’s former refusal to support hip-hop programs as evidence of ingrained bias. “We’re constantly advocating for equity in grants and export strategies,” she says.

Carter also acknowledges an uphill battle navigating funding biases that often devalue Black art forms, while transparent data on racial disparities in grants remains hidden. When Carter requested demographic data on grant recipients, institutions dodged. “They have the numbers. They just don’t want to share them,” she says. This opacity fuels her push for mapping Toronto’s Black cultural ecosystem. “We need data to show our economic impact,” she argues. “Otherwise, conversations default to stereotypes.”

Systemic barriers loom large. For Busby, temporary spaces are both a practical and philosophical choice. “I want people to experience art without mental prep,” she says. Her Coloring the White Cube exhibit—where community letters critiquing institutional exclusion were mailed to galleries like the Royal Ontario Museum—epitomizes this ethos. “It’s about challenging who gets to define art,” she explains.

Meanwhile, Hall speaks to the difficulty of being asked to help manage community issues that impact artists but aren’t necessarily tied to the arts. Issues like housing insecurity affects artists like anyone else. “People ask, ‘Can Nia Centre fix this?’ We advocate, but we can’t manage it all,” she admits. Her strategy is to stay focused. “Progress means not switching lanes every two years.”

‘We’re Programmed To Nurture’: The Force Of Black Women’s Leadership

Whether accurate or not, there is a perception there’s a dearth of Black male leadership in the arts in the city and country. This perceived scarcity of opportunity has occasionally led to pushback. Hall recalls criticism for hiring an all-women team early on. “Men asked, ‘Why no men?’ But when leadership was at one point male, no one questioned it.” When asked why Black women dominate Toronto’s arts leadership, Hall ties it to diasporic resilience. “Women have always been keepers of culture.”

On the question of Black women’s impact on the arts in Toronto, she points to cultural legacy. “We come from strong women who raised us to carry communities,” she says. For the latter question addressing the disparity of Black men in art leadership, Carter attributes it to systemic discomfort with Black men in “leadership” roles. “Like it or not, the typical institutional machines are not comfortable with us showing up as our full selves, period,” she says. “But I think they are somehow more comfortable with women, and there are historical, psychological and social reasons that others have better language for than I do to explain.”

To these points, at BAND Gallery, a Black women-led gallery, curation is framed as care. “We’re not just institutionalizing art—we’re fostering a way of living,” says Denis of the collective powered by community, grants and donations.

Global Networks, Local Roots

The movement’s strength lies in its global-local balance. Julie Crooks credits mentors like Thelma Golden (Studio Museum in Harlem) and Gaëtane Verna (Executive Director at the Wexner Center for the Arts) for shaping her advocacy. “Their relentless dedication to Black artists paved the way,” she says.

CArt is an organization with a mandate to “connect local, regional, and international artists, dealers, collectors, curators, and academics who are interested in the exploration, promotion, and development of the arts sector across the Caribbean.” Launched by Karen Carter in 2023, CArt is an extension of the ethos of connecting communities, but with the diaspora in mind. Carter, who stresses collaboration over competition, expresses appreciation for how her global network—from curator, photographer and art historian Deborah Willis in New York, to curator, researcher and Director of Autograph (1991) Mark Sealy in London—inspires her local work. “We’re global people,” she says. “Our stories connect diasporas.”

“We’re part of a global diaspora,” says BAND Gallery Development Coordinator Lamesha Ruddock, originally from London U.K. On arrival to the city, one of the first things she did was attend an artist’s meet up at the old BAND Gallery space. “Toronto’s ecosystem is uniquely collaborative, and I think there’s more of an art scene or ecosystem for black artists here than in the U.K. where there are several heavyweight organizations that have been there for years but are slowly fading away.” The reason? “They aren’t responding to the need for co-production, the need for actually having black people in institutions, so it’s empowering to see so many black leaders in Toronto.”

The Future: A Movement With Roots

In Toronto, Black women are proving a few important things while also leaving a blueprint for other art movements to follow.

One. Art isn’t just a commodity—it’s the foundation of a more equitable world.

Two. The global Black arts movement isn’t a moment—it’s a continuum.

Three. You can put community first while partnering with people outside of your community, but don’t be afraid to walk away if that relationship threatens the integrity of your movement.

Four. Your movement could mean different things to different people. Never lose sight however of the original purpose of your movement.

Five. Build your movement with genuine intention and you’re community will follow.

By blending creativity, activism and entrepreneurship, these women are crafting a legacy that transcends galleries and grant cycles. From reshaping museum narratives to empowering artists as entrepreneurs, Black women are crafting a blueprint for cultural equity. “This work is about more than art,” says Hall.” It’s about survival, celebration, and freedom.” Yet, the heart of the movement lies in inter-generational solidarity. From Band Gallery’s mentorship of emerging curators to the Nia Centre’s elder-led workshops, Black women are ensuring knowledge isn’t lost. “We’re programmed to nurture,” Carter reflects. “It’s how we’ve survived.”

In a world quick to co-opt Black creativity, these leaders are ensuring their communities—not systems—remain at the center. The result? A movement that’s as resilient as the women driving it.