Art, Aging, and Equity in Las Vegas’s Historic Westside
Andrea, an energetic woman in her late 60s, is passionate about crochet. She’s wearing a stylish hat she made at Doolittle Senior Center in the Historic Westside of Las Vegas, where she was born and raised. Three years ago, Andrea came here to learn crochet. Now, her schedule is packed with classes—one per day, from dancing and stretching to her favorite: crochet on Fridays.
Andrea discovered her creativity in retirement after 42 years working for the county. Her life choices were about creating safety and ensuring her kids had opportunities she didn’t. I met Andrea at a creative aging program led by Vogue Robinson, Nevada’s former Poet Laureate. Vogue’s four-week series, funded by the Nevada Arts Council, combined poetry and paint pouring. Although the program was capped at nine, 14 people signed up within a day, and Vogue welcomed them all, adjusting her plans.
The first day of Vogue’s class was Andrea’s first time using paints or writing poetry, which surprised me considering all the creative experiences I had growing up. After speaking with several participants, I learned this was the norm for all of the students. None had arts education in school—no art, creative writing, or painting.
In marginalized communities, especially Black communities, access to arts education has historically been limited. However, creative aging programs like those at Doolittle Senior Center are working to fill that gap, providing older adults with opportunities for creative expression, skill-building, and community engagement. This is the story of how one such program is making an impact in Las Vegas’s Historic Westside.
The Historic Westside: A Legacy of Art & Resilience
Why did these women have such limited access to arts education? Like many in her community, Andrea’s lack of arts exposure is deeply rooted in the systemic inequalities that shaped the history of the Historic Westside. Some of the students were born and raised in the Historic Westside, while others migrated from the South and Midwest for warmer climates, jobs, and more progressive racial attitudes. In the 1920s, Las Vegas casinos restricted patrons to Whites only; Black people could only work there and were excluded from community life, attending shows, and obtaining business licenses.
In response, the Historic Westside became a haven for Black residents, featuring its own Las Vegas Strip, the “Black Strip.” By the 1940s and 50s, the area thrived culturally. Notable jazz artists like Sammy Davis Jr., Louis Armstrong, Nat King Cole, and Chubby Checker visited after performances at segregated casinos. In 1955, the Moulin Rouge opened in the Historic West Side as Las Vegas’ first integrated casino.
Whispers of its golden era remain, but today, despite its rich history, the Historic Westside is stricken by poverty that comes along with systemic oppression. Cultural initiatives, art galleries, and beautiful old churches can be found alongside a housing crisis, drug epidemic, and high rates of violence. But for longtime residents, the neighborhood remains a source of pride—a place with deep roots, rich memories of community care, and a profound sense of home. Outsiders see this area as one to be avoided, because rarely do they understand the historic and cultural significance of this neighborhood and the people who have stewarded it.
“These folks have lived through some of the most intense protests of our generation,” Vogue said of her students. Their families needed to focus on survival, so career choices were pragmatic. One student, Cynthia, told me of her grandmother who picked cotton, which she saw as an extension of slavery. Cynthia later became a caregiver for seniors and children. Another student, Vicki, joined the military as a way to leave her hometown, discovering her own sense of freedom through cooking for others, which she did until retirement. When I asked if nurturing people through food was her artform, she lit up.
They had limited educational opportunities, but that doesn’t mean their families didn’t want more for them. Arts education is still a privilege gate kept from marginalized communities. As a teacher in both inner-city public and high-tuition private schools, I saw how certain students were allowed to think freely and take creative risks while others are told to fall in line and follow the rules. The arts are still the first programs cut when funding is limited, despite overwhelming research that shows that access to arts education improves attendance and test scores in every area.
Making Up for a Lack of Access to Arts Education
Andrea started school at a segregated school.
“In Elementary, we went to all-Black schools with Black teachers. Our teachers went to the same churches and grocery stores. It was an actual community. We got away from that when they started busing.”
Busing was a failed attempt to desegregate schools by sending children elsewhere. But in Las Vegas, the local school district decided there was no reason to bring white students into the Historic Westside. In May of 1968, the NAACP filed a lawsuit against the Clark County School District demanding that they diversify schools in West Las Vegas. The Supreme Court of Nevada sided with the NAACP, and the school district started its Sixth Grade Centers.
“The white kids only came here for 6th grade,” Andrea tells me. “Our babies were bussed for all our middle and high school years. The white students didn’t have to come here for obvious reasons.” Once Black children arrived at white schools, they were met with racism.
“We were treated like second-class citizens. My exceptional brother was placed in shop, automotive, and mechanics. My mother told them, ‘Oh no, my son is going to be in calculus.’ And he was, but they assumed that the Black kids couldn’t learn.”
Watching these women engage with painting and poetry for the first time was profound. The room came alive as they discussed one another’s work.
“Black folks, nobody really cares about you and your feelings. We must work. Discrimination is part of your everyday life,” Vogue said. Emotional needs were an afterthought. “No one asked these women if they felt loved or cared for. If you do, they say ‘my mom did the best she could.’ They aren’t keeping score. But if you don’t keep score, you’re not paying attention to how you feel either.” This cultural background makes writing and sharing poetry especially confronting.
“For them to look at each other’s paintings and ask what they think or feel is a great space for dialogue. You don’t get that depth of conversation unless you’re in a setting where it’s required, like art school. I let them talk about each other’s hearts. They were so engaged.”
The inequities in educational experiences live on in the memories of the women at Doolittle. I asked Andrea what might have happened if her peers had access to arts education. “They might have been the next Vogue,” she said, admiring her creative aging facilitator.
Doolittle’s creative aging program had 100% attendance. All students came to every class and stayed around 30 minutes late for each session.
Vogue introduced the group to various Black writers like Lucille Clifton, Lorraine Hansberry, and Langston Hughes. None of the students had heard of these authors. This discovery was monumental—being introduced to artists who looked like them allowed these women to feel connected to a tradition of Black creativity, one they had been excluded from in their educational experiences. Many people are still taught to view the work of white authors as the pinnacle of great writing. “Education needs to be inclusive. When you’re working with populations who didn’t have access earlier, you want to show them artists who look like them,” Vogue states.
Creativity as a Tradition in Every Community
Creativity manifests differently in every community. In most folk traditions, art is functional—embedded in everyday life. The only ‘art’ class these women ever knew was Home Economics, where they learned to cook and sew. Andrea remembers her mother turning flour bags into a beautiful dress for church, a testament to resourcefulness and creativity.
I also spoke with Cassandra Lewis, the coordinator for Doolittle Senior Center, who grew up in the Historic West Side. She’s younger than the rest of the women I talked to, and by the time she was in high school in the 70s, she had the option to take ceramics, jewelry, painting, and drawing classes as electives. While she too felt the need to take a more dependable career path, she understands the value of the arts and the creative aging work she’s helped bring to Doolittle.
“Poetry was new for many of the women in this program. To put their emotions out there is helping them see new parts of themselves. No matter what race or generation you come from, we all have a desire to create. Art is something you can start and enjoy at any age,” Cassandra said. Here, the arts provide more than just creative expression—they offer a therapeutic outlet that develops new skills and builds community.
Andrea, who wrote her first poem about her mother, reflected on her resilience and life experiences in Vogue’s class. Through this program, Andrea discovered a new way to share her family’s history with her grandchildren. For the first time, she had the opportunity to reflect on her life and express her emotions creatively.
Closing the Gap in Arts Education for Marginalized Communities
Providing older adults with access to the arts is more than just a creative outlet—it’s a way to empower individuals, preserve cultural history, and promote healing. As we continue to expand arts education in underserved communities, we can help older generations reclaim their stories and express their identities through art. Creative aging programs are just one of many opportunities we have to provide access, especially to those who didn’t receive these kinds of arts experiences in their youth.
The success of Doolittle’s creative aging program highlights the unmet need for arts education in Black and marginalized communities. The perfect attendance speaks to the deep hunger for creative expression, which was denied to these women while they were in school. By providing access to the arts now, we can help them share their unique stories while engaging in self-reflection and healing through the creative process. This is something we all deserve, but access to these programs remains inequitable. Many great programs exist that we can support and bring to historically marginalized communities. It’s up to all of us to do our part to close the gap so everyone has access to the transformative power of arts education.
Shereen Choudhury (they/she) is an artist, author, and arts educator who has been teaching for over 17 years. Shereen’s love for creativity and desire to create more access in the arts led them to pursue a master’s in education with advanced specializations in the visual arts. Shereen has since taught in K-12 schools, communities, and currently serves the Arts Learning Specialist at the Nevada Arts Council. Shereen believes that everyone is an artist and everyone deserves access to the revolutionary healing power of the arts. In their spare time, you can find Shereen building their creative community, making music, painting, and teaching yoga.
