After His Grandma’s Death, He Bought Back Her Longtime Home—and Opened a Gallery Within It

Multimedia artist Reggie Black’s bold hand lettering designs and abstract paintings have landed everywhere from Los Angeles billboards to gallery walls in Tokyo, Bangkok, and New York. But it’s his home city, Washington, D.C., where his story comes full circle. Black, whose works revolve around recurring themes of mental health and vulnerability, designed one of the city’s few Black-owned galleries in 2019. Now, he’s opening another gallery, or a "creative sanctuary," as he calls it, on the first floor of his late grandmother’s D.C. home.

Black’s grandmother, Molangee Guiyard, migrated to D.C. from Raleigh, North Carolina, in the early 1970s. Despite the city’s explicitly discriminatory housing practices against Black residents, in December 1973, Guiyard went from renting to owning her three-level row house in the Petworth neighborhood. It was there that she raised her nine children, including Black’s mom. When Black was born, he lived in the house with his mother and grandmother. Aunts, uncles, and cousins lived with them at various points as well. "It was always a house that at any given moment had 15 people in it," Black says. "It was kinda like that scene from Home Alone every day because we all lived together. It felt cramped a lot of times, like three or four people in one room, but it felt like love."

When Guiyard passed away in 2022, Reggie felt a duty to steward his grandmother’s legacy and purchase the 3,000-square-foot, sage-green row house, which stands in the middle of the block. Black now lives on the home’s second level. " I chose to move into my grandma’s room where she lived since 1973," he says. This room is situated above what is now the first-floor gallery, lovingly called Grandma’ House. The space’s inaugural exhibit titled, "At Home," is a collection of works by eight artists—many D.C.-based—exploring the complexities of home and family through narratives of joy, loss, place, grief, agency, identity, loneliness, nostalgia, and healing. It runs from February 16 through 18.

"In many ways, I am my grandma—the global appeal, my worldview, my style," Black says. "I’ve also always carried the weight. The moment she went down, the whole family looked to me to save the day and carry her lineage a bit further." I spoke with Black about the significance of his grandmother’s home, the logistics of buying and moving into it, and transforming part of the first level into a gallery. Our conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Priscilla Ward: What inspired you to purchase your grandmother’s home?

Reggie Black: Immediately after we buried my grandma in February 2022, two aunts of mine revealed some heartbreaking news. They took out a reverse mortgage on the property back in May 2008 in my grandma’s name, kept it a secret from the rest of the family for almost 17 years, and needed to immediately sort the financial obligation out with the bank, or the property was going to be foreclosed on and taken by the government.

In 1973, they weren’t allowing Black people to buy homes in D.C.—my grandmother bought this house through a white guy in a rent-to-own situation. Thinking about all of that, I just couldn’t let it go to waste. I couldn’t allow gentrification...or her legacy to be erased. I immediately stepped in—with several layers of hesitation and fear—and took on the property. My primary intent is to respect my grandma’s legacy, honor her sacrifice, and do what I can to keep Black wealth. But it was not an easy decision. 

A probate estate had to be established before I could legally purchase the home from the estate. This process took over a year. No other family member was in the financial position to buy it or even be considered. The property was acquired by taking a mortgage out; I officially purchased the home in April 2023.

I imagine the house holds a lot of family memories. Any that are particularly nostalgic?

We never coined it as a family reunion, but every family member in this house would gather annually on July 3rd to celebrate grandma’s birthday. This went on for 25 years. It didn’t matter where you were in the world or if you were traveling, everyone knew that they had to be here to report for grandma’s birthday. It was a special moment.

What was it like growing up in a multigenerational home? How did that function?

It was interesting. It was complicated. There was joy, laughs, good music, OG wisdom that I picked up reading through the lines of Black culture that taught me about the world. But on the other hand, there was jealousy, struggles in hierarchy, mental abuse, arguments, and fights. I think that’s what I used as fuel to go chase my ambition. We all respected grandma and got along out of obligation, out of respect for her, but I don’t know if it ever functioned.

It sounds like your grandma was a central force in the household.

Everyone respected grandma like she was Big Mama. Grandma was in the neighborhood keeping everyone in line. A lot of us found our religion from that. We were forced to go to church. Sundays were nonnegotiable; if you lived in this house, on Sunday mornings you had to wait until she was done with church. She was the matriarch. She looked over the community and was respected. There weren’t many other examples like her in the community.

So, why did you decide to turn the first floor of the house into a creative sanctuary, as you’re calling it?

I looked at the cost of spaces in D.C. and the lack of third places. More importantly, I was thinking about the power of ownership, about my responsibility to the dwindling number of Black homeowners in D.C., and how to remain a child of the culture and make sure the Black families that were here before can have a small piece of respect. I was also thinking about the artists who would like to show in a lot of places that don’t have the opportunity.

I imagine it’s no coincidence that the first Grandma’s House exhibit is devoted to the topic of home.

I was thinking about doing something here and my man Obi was like, "What are you doing with grandma’s house?" He pitched the idea to me and it resonated in a lot of ways, as I was considering putting together a show, creating some work on the loss of my grandma at the house.

Ironically, out of the eight artists showing, maybe five or six of them had recent deaths—one was coming from a funeral burying their grandmother, and another was in the middle of grieving their grandmother. It felt like we were all sharing the same story. It was weird. We had all of these weird energies about the importance of our grandparents or the complications of family and how these things are shaping us in the present. I just felt like it was the exact place that I was in and I wanted to make sure we did it here.

Beyond the gallery, did you have to make any updates to the home when you moved back in? 

It was a property that was lived in, but it wasn’t beat up. The home wasn’t damaged or destroyed. It’s just 50 years old. There was a refresh that needed to happen that I contracted out. I had the entire house painted, a new roof put on, the basement renovated, the exterior paint refreshed, and the kitchen and bathrooms redone. Just those things that over time have to be replaced. It was a very cosmetic lift; the original floor plan remains.

The home is three levels with a full basement. The first floor includes the living room, kitchen, and a gathering space where the exhibit is taking place. The second floor has three rooms and a full bathroom. The third has three additional rooms and a storage room. One of those is my office.

I feel like my grandma’s spirit kind of protected this house. She worked for 30 years at Sears, at 65 she retired, and three months after her retirement she had a massive stroke and sat in a wheelchair for the next 30 years of her life. I was the person who found her on the floor when she had the stroke. I was about to play basketball with a friend and I said, "Let me just run back in the house to change my shorts and do something." I walked in and saw my grandmother on the floor, mouth slanted. I’m about 15 at this age. I’d heard about strokes, but I didn’t know a lot about them. I immediately picked up the phone and called the ambulance. The more I sit and think about these things, I feel like I was always the chosen one. Grandma’s anointment was designed for me to have. 

Top photo of Reggie Black by Stephen L.A. Miller

Related Reading:

The Black Designers Who Were Largely Overlooked by History

Demar Matthews Wants to Bring Distinctly Black Architecture to American Neighborhoods