Teri Henderson is a Leading Voice for the Local Creative Community

If you want to know what’s happening in the Baltimore arts scene, look no further than Teri Henderson. Over the years, the 34-year-old Texas transplant has emerged as a leading voice for the local creative community, from her time as a staff writer at Bmore Art and gallery coordinator for the publication’s Connect + Collect space to her current role as arts-and-culture editor at the Baltimore Beat, where her weekly event roundups have become a vital resource.

With a warm, inquisitive style, her writing focuses on the overlooked stories of Black, brown, and queer artists, as does her curatorial work, like this month’s “All Water Has a Perfect Memory” exhibition at Current Space, and January’s upcoming “Layers: The Art of Contemporary Collage” at MICA. Be sure to also follow her Black Collagists, a digital archive, as well as a physical book, dedicated to the multifaceted medium.

Growing up in Texas, how did you come to appreciate the arts?

My mom always had art in the house and made sure that my brother and I were always in museums. The Modern Art Museum in Fort Worth, or the Carter Museum [of American Art]. …

In college, I took a world religion and visual arts class, and if I hadn’t met Professor Elwell, I would not be doing what I do today. At that point, my goal was to open an art gallery, but I didn’t really think that I could write about art until taking his class. I also tried to make art, and I was just not good at it, but this felt natural to me. Still, I never thought then that I would become an art critic. …

And then as a child of the internet, on MySpace and LiveJournal, I was just always archiving images, making galleries, finding joy being around art. I was thinking the other day about Black Collagists and how I’ve been doing this kind of thing without knowing what it was for decades now.

What is the magic of collage to you?

Sometimes it’s hard to afford to make art. Studio materials are expensive. Classes are expensive. But collage is a very democratic medium that allows anyone to participate in it. It’s a really fun medium. It’s tactile. It allows you to be present and grounding. It can be very meditative. …

There’s a very basic definition of collage—using disparate or even discarded materials to make something new or whole. And for Black people, Black creatives, especially in the United States, there is this tradition of making something out of nothing, like soul food. With collage, you can have scraps of paper and create something that is magnificient, that allows you to connect not just with the material but also with who you are. And you can always collage over it. There are no mistakes. …

There are some forms of their art that people will define as “craft,” which they use a negative connotation, as if it’s not as valid or relevant as an oil painting. And I disagree with that. This is a medium that does need to be collected, does need to be exhibited, and does need to be seen. I don’t have a fine art background. I didn’t go to a fancy art school. The quote-unquote art world is exclusionary and makes people feel like they don’t belong. But the collage community is so collaborative. People are like, ‘Oh, you make artwork? Come on!’ The amount of affirmation that I see is beautiful.

You moved to Baltimore for law school but got involved in the local arts scene through co-curating WDLY, a nomadic events platform for creatives of color, which some readers might remember from your Arts After Hours event at the Baltimore Museum of Art. How did this work eventually translate into writing?

In all of my work, I have just wanted to make space for people who might not have had it before. [When I started writing,] I knew Baltimore was a predominantly Black city, I knew the artists I spent most of my time with were Black, brown, and queer, and I wanted to make sure their work was documented. …

Just today, I saw Tromac, an artist I recently interviewed, posting about being on the cover of a newspaper and how good that felt for him. Sometimes it can feel like your work isn’t reaching anyone, but then there’ll be an affirmation from the universe like that. I’m proud of what I’ve done at the Beat. And the fact that it’s free is so important. We want it to be for everybody, in the same way that everybody can collage.

Does this approach translate into your curatorial work as well?

There’s a lot of overlap. When I first started two years ago, I thought that they were two distinct different things, but I’ve realized that a lot of my writing is just an extension of my curatorial practice. That’s what’s really cool about the Beat being an alt paper. It’s something that we’re building and that gives us a lot of freedom. Again, I’m trying to expand what people think art coverage should look like, who should be highlighted, what faces should be included. I’m even trying to push my own limits of, how do we show Baltimore in its multiplicity? How do we show a wide array of what a Black Baltimorean is? A hallmark of being a good curator is being a good storyteller, where people have their voices heard and honored, and that is what the Beat tries to do, too.

How does the internet show up in your work these days?

Oh my God, I’m always like, “I want to take a break from social media,” but it fuels my work. … And especially as a deeply introverted person, it provides a refuge and a digital community where I’m able to communicate.

The arts scene seems to be in the midst of an evolution. How would you describe this current moment?

I feel excited. So many spaces are closing, like The Crown is gone, but new spaces are emerging, and there’s this sense of solidarity as people organize around whatever the next thing might be. I’m really excited that Gatsby’s [in Station North] was bought by artists. I have a lot of hope because of the artists here. I just hope things stay affordable, so the artists can stay. I don’t want the city to lose its soul, which I feel is its artists, and the creative economies and communities that they cultivate.