Dr. Andrea Jacobo—creative wellness practitioner, researcher, and poet—spent years studying the science of how bodies move while her right brain staged a full-scale revolt. The first-generation Dominican American became an exercise physiologist, Zumba instructor, and yoga teacher, understanding intellectually that shaking your hips (aka shaking a$$) opens the root chakra where creativity and fear live together, but it wasn't until the pandemic that she finally stopped running from her own words. She started sharing poetry again at protests in the Bay Area, watching her bilingual verses heal herself and others simultaneously. The Memphis poetry collective We Keepin' It P gave her stages to stand on, though she still struggles to call herself an artist without formal training. Her dissertation on reclaiming space led her to a study proving what she already knew: declaring your testimony is healing, whether in political spaces or through art.

Rachel Maxann built her debut album "Black Fae" as a 56-minute expedition through the darkest corners of her mind, then emerged claiming her divinity. The Memphis-based vocalist and therapist structured the record like a depressive spiral. Not the sanitized kind that gets radio play, but the real thing that starts with intrusive thoughts and burrows deeper until you either learn something profound about yourself or don't come back at all. Her decision to bury "Goddess," the album's most triumphant moment, deep in the tracklist wasn't commercial strategy but psychological honesty: you don't start a spiral feeling invincible. Working as both musician and mental health professional, she channels the same empathy that helps her clients navigate self-doubt into folk songs that reclaim Black space in fantasy narratives, positioning herself as both healer and the healed.

DJ Rosamii—DJ, community builder, and founder of Bloom Haus Creative Group—found her calling through rebellion and rediscovery. Moving to Memphis in 2020, she stumbled into the local music scene while DJing for a boyfriend's show, quickly realizing she'd been hiding her true musical tastes from strict parents who wanted her to be a doctor or lawyer. What started as sneaking hip-hop past parental censors evolved into a full embrace of house and electronic music that made her want to dance all night in her room. Her confidence came from teenage angst and refusing to accept how people treated her—deciding early on to instill self-worth she couldn't ask others to provide. Now she reads crowds like a psychic, eavesdropping on conversations to sense the energy, building Memphis' most supportive DJ community while dreaming of creating touring black electronic festivals that reclaim the space her community originally built.