I had the privilege of visiting an art gallery in the neighborhood of Girard in Philly to see a friend's art work. Before, when trying to check out new contemporary work in Philly, I would often venture down to Second Street and visit the galleries on first Friday. It's a tradition I love participating in, seeing all the young artists showcase works of sculpture of photographs. I always know what I'm getting into when I visit these areas on first Friday. And the art is good, contemporary, avant garde. Sometimes, I'm able to catch the occasional piece of Street art. But these artists have a particular type of art they usually showcase. Definitely experimental, definitely real. But sometimes, I get the sense that they were holding something back.

Enter my experience at the almost back alley hole in the wall exhibit at Girard. I'm led by my best friend down the dark streets of North Philly as we look for her artist friend. The extent of my knowledge of North Philly includes the edges of Erie and the forgotten part of downtown. I don't know where I am and I start to regret it. I'm not afraid, just a little confused. I start to get that weird sense of Philly-typical deja vu. At some point, everything in the city starts to look the same.

But we make a turn and suddenly my thoughts of the city's architecture are gone. This street is dark but it isn't empty. People are waiting outside this dingy hole-in-the-wall gallery. And honestly, I couldn't have described them as anything other than cool. The cool artsy types. We enter the building, a room really, and more people. Bodies upon bodies in what seems like a closet. The introvert in me is screaming but I take a deep breath and look around.

The walls and floor are white. Plaster? Maybe concrete? But all the art pieces are vibrant with color. My jaw goes a bit slack. No wall is bare, everyone is talking all at once, yelling really, and there's loud music playing in the background. It's stimulation overload but, the good kind. Art is everywhere, unfiltered and raw. Real. It's not trying too hard to be real either. All of these people come together. These are some of the faces of Philly. And I see some Arcadia students, too.

In the midst of all this art is a circle. I make my way close towards the opening, drums get louder and I see dancing, a vibrant interpretive dance. African drums and African dance. The woman dances in the center, her shirt saying “By all means necessary.” It's Malcom X but the dance is by no means exclusionary. People from the crowd join in, all shades and faces. People cheer, my friends smile. The art, the dancing, everything is alive. And I know I am a part of something special.