Why I Built the Harlem Collective
By Jarvus Ricardo Hester | Founder & Artistic Director
I didn’t start Harlem Collective to impress.
I started it because I was tired of watching brilliance die in basements.
I’ve been the kid kicked out of school.
The man sleeping on someone’s floor.
The artist people clapped for—but didn’t call back.
And yet, Harlem never forgot me.
There’s a rhythm here—steady, ancestral. It doesn’t always scream, but it never stops calling. When the world pushed me out, Harlem called me in. Not just the place, but the spirit. The history. The urgency.
What you see now—the shows, the podcasts, the magazine—is the result of God, grind, and grief. This didn’t come from a five-year plan. It came from waking up with purpose and pain in the same breath.
I wanted to build something my younger self could have worked at.
Belonged to.
Been seen by.
Because talent isn’t rare in our communities.
Opportunity is.
You see, I wasn’t lacking potential—I was lacking safety. A space where being Black and brilliant and queer and ambitious wasn’t a contradiction. A place where young voices weren’t told to wait their turn while they watched mediocre gatekeepers protect the status quo.
So I stopped asking for permission.
And I made a sanctuary.
The Harlem Collective was born out of a spiritual command, not a business strategy. I knew if I could create one space—just one—that truly honored the beauty and multiplicity of our people, everything else would follow.
And it has.
Today, we run three core pillars:
- Harlem Boys Choir, where young kings find their voice and their worth.
- The Harlem Chamber Orchestra, which doesn’t just accompany performances—it accompanies dreams.
- The Resident Artist Program at Harlem’s Black Opera House, where emerging African American opera singers don’t just rehearse—they rise.
These aren’t side projects. They’re sacred work. And Mood Magazine is the playbill of it all—a platform to showcase the voices, places, and possibilities we uplift every single day.
We make shows. We make tours. We make podcasts. But most of all, we make room. For the misfits. The prodigies. The ones who almost gave up.
And here’s what I’ve learned:
When you give someone a platform rooted in love and not pity, their entire life begins to bloom.
Our work isn’t charity—it’s resurrection.
Every event we throw, every cover we print, every story we tell is a kind of testimony. A declaration that we are here, we are worthy, and we are building what we were told we’d never have.
I’m not interested in being impressive.
I’m interested in being useful.
So if you’re reading this and you’ve ever been overlooked, underestimated, or underfunded—welcome. You’re the reason we exist.
We built this for the ones still in the basement.
And now we’re coming up the stairs—loud, brilliant, and unbothered.
This is the Harlem Collective.
We’re not waiting. We’re building.
And we’ve only just begun.
