Detroit symbolizes a lot of things to all kinds of people-everyone from squatting artists to wealthy entrepreneurs have moved to the city during its post-Recession rebirth. But there are gaping scars where the city’s defining features once were: the population’s shrunk to less than half its peak, once booming factories are abandoned, their jobs gone, the city’s finances are almost non-existent and services like trash pickup, police, and now water are either absent or tentative for many residents.
This vacuum definitely makes life challenging, but it cuts two ways: a lack-of also means that empty spaces number in the tens-of-thousands. To outsiders anyway, these vacant structures- offering ideal spots for artist lofts and space experiments- may seem like the cheapest thing since Wonder Bread, hence the onset of another artistic boon.
Even if it seems like houses are practically free in Detroit, they’re not, actually. Unless we’re talking about Write A House– an organization that buys, renovates, and gives (yes, gives) homes to low-income writers. Casey Rocheteau‘s poetry (her second book, The Dozen, drops in March)- which employs lush recollection and self-reflective meditation to confront her own experience and processing of racism, and turns an exacting sight on white supremacy, heteronormativity, and the patriarchy to slay the “simple motherfuckers“- won her the first writers’ house in 2014. She recently passed the full year mark since her move from Brooklyn to Detroit.
You’ve lived in Detroit for a year. What’s changed?
There are a lot of ways in which my life is similar. I’ve done a lot of traveling in the last year, I think that’s one of the biggest things. I’ve left for short periods of time pretty frequently and almost every time I’ve been like, ‘How fast can you get me back to Detroit?’
What was it that you missed?
Detroit’s just so open. Going back to New York for the first time since I’ve moved was especially jarring. I forgot how much people are on top of each other.
What’s your neighborhood, Banglatown, like?
I’ve definitely met a lot more of my neighbors in the last year. I did this event for the Porous Borders Festival which is sort of about the neighborhood itself, and then I’m working on a project with Power House Productions, doing interviews with folks in my neighborhood. That’s been really interesting, actually, I’ll just sit down with my neighbors, ask them questions, and I don’t really talk too much. I just listen.
I’m starting to get the way people in the neighborhood operate. There’s one person who we’ve all identified as a ringleader in break-ins. My neighbor invited him to their bonfire on Devil’s Night, just so that he wouldn’t wreak havoc. That’s almost like neighborhood policing, but it’s not overt and it doesn’t make me uncomfortable.
It’s just saying, ‘Come hang out with us… and don’t rob anybody. Or burn anything. Cool.’
Is your neighborhood diverse?
Yeah, it is. I live one block from the second Write A House. That whole street is Bengali, and we have these house sitters and my friend who’s staying there now, who’s also black, the first day he was there, this Bengali kid rode up to him on a bike and said, ‘Are you stealing from that house?’
My friend looked at the kid and was like, ‘Yo, why would you ask me that?’ The kid just giggled and rode away on his bicycle or whatever. I think people mostly get along, but then there are these interesting cultural interactions.
There are a lot of artists in the neighborhood, and organizations for the arts, in particular. I was at a meeting with a group of folks who were figuring out what Write A House was planning for the tax auction. For the most part, they’re youngish artists, all white, who were very concerned [the organization] was going to move more young, white artists into the neighborhood. And that was strange, because Write A House hasn’t done that.
I was like, ‘Here’s the thing: what are you trying to stop? Because you’re already here, which is a signifier that it’s safe for people to live here, so why are you focused on Write A House as the proponent of this?’ And there were no answers to that. There are certain neighborhoods that have changed drastically in the last five years. I think there’s a worry that this neighborhood is somehow going to get encompassed in that.
How has home ownership changed your life?
The house is becoming a part of me. I’m figuring out how to snake the drains. Nothing’s gone terribly wrong, but there have been a few things with maintenance. I have to worry about yard work, and I don’t have a gas mower, I have one of those blade grass-cutters. So it was an Amish-style summer.
Part of me feels like, I’m a real grownup now. It’s comforting to have that sense of security, and also the feeling that I never want anything to happen to it. It’s sort of a new paradigm for me, to actually care so much about the space itself.
Now that you don’t have to pay rent, do you have more time for poetry?
I don’t know if it comes out of not having to pay rent, but there’s opportunity that I didn’t have before. I have time to write elsewhere too and to think of new ideas. Over the summer I wasn’t teaching because school was out, so I was just doing small-scale contracting projects and was still able to do everything I needed to do and finish my second book of poetry.
The manuscript that I first sent, I changed so drastically after I moved into the house, and luckily my publisher didn’t freak out. The freedom I have is really about time- not having to work full-time to support myself, and I could actually work full-time on a creative project that I wasn’t immediately getting payed for.
Would you advise other artists to move here? Do you have any caveats?My caveat is generally: ‘Don’t ask me.’ People get funny about Detroit. I have friends who are like, ‘How’s Detroit? What’s it like? Can I move there? Can I have it?’ I’m like, ‘No.’
Also, it’s not mine to give. Also, I can’t tell you if you’d feel safe there. So my caveat is: if someone’s already thinking about moving, just come to Detroit. Experience it for yourself before you make any kind of decision. Don’t ask me. Just because I live here, doesn’t mean I’m an expert. It would be irresponsible of me as someone who’s very new here: ‘Yeah, everyone just come through, they just give away free houses.’ Because that’s not actually the experience of most people who move to Detroit.
Credits
Text Nicole Disser
Photography Ian Brown