Meet Goldie Patrick

We recently connected with Goldie Patrick and have shared our conversation below.

Goldie , so good to have you with us today. We’ve always been impressed with folks who have a very clear sense of purpose and so maybe we can jump right in and talk about how you found your purpose?

I am grateful that I have had a tremendous amount of support, collaboration and guidance in not just “finding” my purpose; but, also understanding and accepting my purpose. It really starts at home for me. I am born and raised in Detroit, Michigan to an incredible family. My parents were on a mission to create a Black family that was sealed in the values of education, pride, respect and love. So my siblings (I have two older brothers and an older sister) would spend time pouring into me and teaching me so much about the world and myself. They learned this from my parents. My parents who used their loving marriage as an example for all of us on what respect looks like, would utilize the kitchen table as a place to discuss and debate the world as we saw it and understood it. I was eager to talk and share and slow to listen. Everyone knew this. Rather than just criticize me, my family pushed me to learn to tell the story and listen more intently. This was the beginning of my learning about the power of storytelling. Throughout my life, in school and throughout my community, I would have friends and mentors and other family members support my passion for storytelling. I loved theater and poetry as young as 7 years old. But my teacher didn’t stop there. She showed me how this art I loved was politically useful and powerful. And throughout high school and college I tapped deeply into that power. My passion grew from just theater and poetry and performance to studying hip hop theater intently. It was the bridge of my passion for art and my pride in my culture and identity. It’s what I lived for. I created a student group at Howard University called FRESHH for female students similar to me, who loved hip hop culture but were disappointed in their lack of representation. We did epic things together. This proved my elementary school teacher right, there was political influence and power in the art I loved. After college, I continued to seek and grow in spaces that affirmed my belief in art as a cultural and political force. I could feel when I was on the right path. And, feel when I wasn’t. In 2012 my flirtation with spirituality evolved. I went from causally admiring the wisdom of those who practiced African Traditional Spirituality, to finding my way to my own truth there. The work I was called to create was still hip hop theater but now with a more specific spiritual alignment to it. As I grew inside the African traditional spirituality community—specifically Ifa, more and more of who I was was clear to me. More and more of what I had and was experiencing made sense to me. In my becoming, I earned the honor of learning more about my purpose. Today, I walk with names that remind me of my purpose as whispered to me by spirit (and Orisa and beyond). It’s an honor and a gift. It’s also a reminder to never forget that I am here on purpose for a purpose. And, as I always say, “I never want to pretend to not know what I know”.

Thanks for sharing that. So, before we get any further into our conversation, can you tell our readers a bit about yourself and what you’re working on?

I am a woman named after and for three generations before me. My covenant to write is sometimes for the womxn before me, who have stories untold, and names erased. I have a strong tie with them; they speak, I listen, and write it all down. I am known by many names, “Sister Goldie” for my community work. Ifayosola Osunjaiye for my spiritual practice in Ifa. I’m a verse-based performance artist and writer, who writes as healing and testimony to mine and my ancestors’ survival. I am a descendant of Nigerian and Cameroonian Africans enslaved in South Carolina and Alabama. All these people and truths live in everything I write. The assertion of my diasporic identity punctuates my covenant to write of and between, both past and future: ancestor and child. I write to counter the forced silence and invisibility of Black womxn and girls. As a nurturer to the next generation of writers, I spent years leading hundreds of Black girls through rites of passage, where theatre and poetry were our blueprints. My work is responsibility and privilege, both offering and obligation.

I center Blackness and spirituality in my work which ignites the potential of my work as a generator to healing and social justice and of intergenerational community healing. With caring intent I take pride in stewarding stories of my own as a writer and of others as a director. I have worked for over two decades as a writer, director, producer, educator and cultural worker. I am the product of Detroit poetry scenes, Black theater collegiate legacy, and the small Black and brown lead hip hop theatre movement from the 2000’s. In these spaces I was invited and encouraged to explore my voice and aesthetic. Most importantly I was inspired to fully charge my work with my social and political themes. My art is to be a vehicle towards revolution and transformation. I once was haunted by the warning “Jack of many trades, but master of none”. Until I learned the proverb in full is, “A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than master of one.” This is my truth. I am a multi-hyphenated artist out of necessity and obligation to my many skills. Skills I have spent years studying and working to refine and connect. My art is the active demonstration of the intersectionality of my love for these things. I have sat intentionally in every seat at the table and it grew my compassion and collaboration.

For close to a decade I conjured up, led, and produced through a small theatre company, FRESHH Inc Theatre Company. I would often sit on grant panels where large white institutions received millions of grant dollars to “diversify” their season with one Black play. Many of those theaters didn’t have any full-time Black women on staff or on their board. This felt performative and ineffective. So I started FRESHH, to respond to the false notion that Black women weren’t in theater and were hard to find. We had an all Black woman team for every production for over five seasons. A Black Technical Director, Stage Manager, Acting ensemble, playwrights and directors. And then we taught and mentored more Black women into these roles. The audience members became board members of our theater company. Our shows sold out almost every run; with diverse audiences from our community. Because even though we were Black women centered, that center extends far and wide. I believe this to be true about any disenfranchised group and community. If you make space for them to be centered, and to have a voice to tell their stories, and see themselves, then you widen your world. This fuels my passion to reshape what ‘mainstream’ theater looks like.

Though I devised, directed, and worked with the education program, I didn’t produce my own plays. I wanted to save the experience for other Black women playwrights. Our small grassroots theatre co-produced my play, HERstory: Love Forever, Hip Hop, about women in hip-hop, with The Kennedy Center. I was producer, director, and playwright. During the run, droves of mothers and daughters, sorority sisters, community organizations and more, filled the Kennedy Center. We sold out the run. That’s when I knew I had uncovered something powerful. The success of “HERstory”, was also an indicator that it was time for me to invest in my career with the same tenacity that I had invested in my community. So I decided to reemerge in the fullness of my storyteller self as a playwright.

But, I was too old or too inexperienced for many opportunities I wished to pursue. Oftentimes when folks use “emerging” or “early career” they tie it synonymously with age. And, at 42 years old, that often puts me just out of their consideration and purview. So, I self-produced when I could. I think of my career as emerging because prior to now, my work wasn’t widely shared and there was little value for a voice such as mine. A loud voice speaking against the norm. An unconventional voice addressing topics that historically have been silenced or taboo to discuss publicly. But, I never stopped writing. I was merely writing without exposure or writing and producing in smaller sacred unconventional spaces. And, I have no regrets. In order for me to build the worlds I knew I wanted to bring to the stage, I needed to know as much as I could about the characters, their worlds, to be fluent in their joys equal to my understanding of their challenges. I wanted to believe in them beyond the page. My experience as a cultural worker informs my work deeply. I write about the communities I spent years working with. I am writing rituals that I perform in my ile from Harlem to Osogbo, Nigeria. I’m not just studied, I’m experienced. I believe that allows me to take compassionate risks. I’m an example of the writer who comes back to the page after the corporate job, after the ended marriage, after the confrontations of Saturn’s return and finds herself still hungry to write the plays and tell the stories she believes herself born to tell.

My work centers the liberation of Black people, throughout the diaspora. And my niche inside of that are the stories of Black women. I’ve written and explored Black love in fluid iterations, the school to prison pipeline for girls, colorism, Xenophobia as well as spiritualism in my recent works with an emphasis on culturally relevant and specific conversations and themes with deep dramaturgical insight. I am focused on illuminating life inside our joys, pleasures, and magic. What is the play that can make the audience most uncomfortable in hopes that they confront the worst of themselves and best of themselves equally? This is what I ask when I write. I want to make the audience unable to turn away from the ugly and difficult. But in hopes that they would also discover how to heal and move beyond those things. My strategy is to write plays that foster meaningful connections so that the audience is my co-conspirator in the world I’ve made. Whether that means they have negative assumptions about my characters or see themselves in what’s happening on stage. It must be real to them. Even the magic of the spirit world.

I explore writing testimony and prayer as the play. I write to explore the duality of being divine and human. I take the ringshout and remix it. I take the Yoruba Orisha and place her in the Bronx in 1989 and make her a b-girl. I want the work to excavate the deepest parts of our humanity, that’s often hidden under our titles, class, education, race, gender etc. I am excited about continuing to bend the genre toward my personal aesthetic of spiritualism and to invite in more communities to experience the power of ritual hip hop theater. I believe in the power of the story. In the most difficult of times, where I question how I will pay rent, or if I have enough money to travel to work, or if the payment from a gig will come in time, there is a story in me that I can’t ignore. I am currently preparing for the launch of a new book set to come out in 2026. In the meantime, I am publishing ideas and inspirations through my newsletter and a new poetry book. I can be found satisfying my love for public speaking as a host for conferences, panels and seminars or leading lectures and workshops on hip hop, Black feminism and Black theater.

Looking back, what do you think were the three qualities, skills, or areas of knowledge that were most impactful in your journey? What advice do you have for folks who are early in their journey in terms of how they can best develop or improve on these?

My ability to build and hold space:Whether I’m on stage, in a classroom, or leading a conversation, I’ve learned that the power isn’t just in what’s being said—it’s in how the space is being held. I create environments where people feel seen, where ideas can land, and where dialogue isn’t just performance, but transformation.

Advice: If you’re early in your journey, pay attention to how you make people feel when you speak or host. Are you just delivering words, or are you cultivating an experience? Study the greats—not just what they say, but how they move a room.

My deep cultural fluency & storytelling instinct: I am of and for Black culture. My background in Hip Hop, theater, and community work has shaped how I tell stories and how I engage an audience. I understand that language isn’t just words—it’s rhythm, breath, history, and energy and intent. There is responsibility in communication.

Advice: Know your why and your who. What story are you telling, and who are you telling it for? Make sure you’re not just informed—you’re immersed. Read, watch, listen, and stay rooted in the cultural narratives that shape your voice. Consult and advise elders, those who have been where you are hoping to go and those who you are a reflection of or student to. Ask yourself—who are you in service to? Your story doesn’t exist in isolation. Honor your lineage. It will also keep you humble.

My adaptability & improvisational skill:One thing about me? I stay ready. Whether it’s a panel, a live event, or an unexpected shift in conversation, I trust myself to respond with clarity, grace, and a little bit of flair. That comes from years of experience, but also from my background in performance and facilitation. I have never fit neatly into labels, nor have I ever been just one thing. I am a writer, a director, a host, a poet, a professor, cultural worker, a mentor, a producer. I have sat in every seat at the table—not to prove my worth, but to understand the full ecosystem of my craft. This multi-hyphenated life isn’t a distraction; it is a strategy. My work demands that I know more than perhaps the next person grouped with me, but that can’t be what I focus on. Instead I owe it to myself to focus on me.

Advice: Flexibility is everything. You can rehearse and plan, but real mastery comes from knowing how to pivot. Get comfortable thinking on your feet—practice responding in the moment, refine your instincts, and never be afraid to lean into play. Don’t let anyone tell you that you have to choose one thing. Mastery isn’t about limitation; it’s about intention. Honor all your skills and find where they intersect to create something uniquely yours.

At the end of the day, the best speakers and hosts don’t just deliver information—they connect, inspire, and leave people better than they found them. That’s always my goal.

One of our goals is to help like-minded folks with similar goals connect and so before we go we want to ask if you are looking to partner or collab with others – and if so, what would make the ideal collaborator or partner?

Absolutely. I am always looking for partners, collaborators, and co-conspirators. I am especially looking to connect with, event partners & organizers.

I love speaking at conferences, festivals, panels. Dynamic conversations and cultural engagement are my forte. I am ready to host, moderate, or speak in spaces that prioritize truth-telling, joy, and critical dialogue.

When it comes to teaching or lectures, I love visiting colleges & universities. I want to be in conversation with the next generation. We are in a time of political, social, and cultural shifts, and young people are navigating what it means to stand firm in their values while building something new. I want to share what I’ve learned about art as political leverage, the radical nature of joy, and how Hip Hop—before it became global pop culture—was first and foremost a movement. Even when the politics were joy and fun in the face of oppression and poverty. Or even when the politics looked different. When the feminism was boasting about pleasure and sometimes stealing back equality. I have a soft spot for HBCUs of course. 

A dream of mine is Essence Festival or platforms that center Black women and their Allies. I want to hold space for big and small rooms of Black women to talk about hope, inspiration, and the wellness of wholeness—not just surviving, but thriving in a way that is fully embodied.

And of course, I want all the opportunities possible to partner to write. So blogs, magazines, newspapers-even blogs. I want to be challenged to examine the world through my view and write like June Jordan, like Susan L. Taylor and write with a spiritual guidance. I of course always wasn’t a reason to write and share poetry. I adore the legacy of Audre Lorde. So I would love to be invited to write or read my poetry and to remind people that poetry is not just a luxury but a necessity. I want to perform poetry that makes poets remember why they love language and non-poets believe that poets are as vital as politicians and doctors.

So yeah, basically, anyone ready to build something that transforms and liberates. My work is about pouring in, emptying my cup, and filling it again—whether through writing, speaking, directing, or creating space for others to do the same. If that resonates with you, let’s talk.If you’re reading this and thinking, ‘Yes, let’s build’—connect with me. You can reach me, visit my website at www.goldiepatrick.com, or find me on Instagram at @goldiepatrick. Let’s make something that matters.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://Www.goldiepatrick.com
• Instagram: @goldiepatrick
• Linkedin: Goldie Patrick
• Youtube: @goldiepatrick7195