EMP, a new art space on a secluded block near 1st Mariner Arena, is not as cryptic a project as it might seem. An amorphous artist collective runs the place, and FDS, the title of the first visual arts show in the space, doesn’t do much to clear the fog. But look past the acronyms—EMP was just an early in-joke that stuck, collective members say; FDS stands for “Fuck Doing Shit”—and what lies beneath is a scrappy, ambitious enterprise.

The gallery, which opened in early October, was launched by the EMP Collective, a group of artists, musicians, writers, filmmakers, actors, and like-minded friends that formed in 2010. (At the time there were nine members; because they like to embrace new members, they say it is difficult to give a precise number now.) They intend for the gallery to be as eclectic as the collective, with everything from writing workshops to a film series to visual art shows to theatrical and multimedia performances. And they’d like EMP to be a place where artists of different backgrounds come together to collaborate. About 50 people—including actor Tony Hale, of Arrested Development, who happened to be walking by—attended the Oct. 7 opening for FDS, an exhibition of works by collective member Nolan Cartwright. The group hopes this is a sign the gallery will help enliven a somewhat desolate section of the city.

“It has a lot of potential,” says Artistic Director Carly Bales. “It kind of makes me feel like if other people were given this opportunity, we could transform the hell out of this place.”

The opportunity for this group, primarily composed of twentysomethings with other full-time work—ranging from stage managing to marketing to various forms of freelancing—came in the form of a grant from the Downtown Partnership of Baltimore (DPOB) as part of its Operation Storefront program. The program is designed to match individuals or groups seeking space with available first-floor spaces, in an effort to bring businesses and pedestrians back downtown. The collective heard early this year that they were one of roughly a dozen that made the cut, out of about 100 applicants. The base grant was $10,000. The collective was also able to negotiate a reduced rent rate for one year with the help of DPOB, and received financial help in fixing up the space. The building is a former shoe factory built in the 19th century; it has been empty for years. While its lovely cast-iron facade remains, basic elements like solid flooring and electrical outlets were missing.

After several weeks of cleaning, rat extermination, and construction, the space—a large two-room affair with arched windows looking out onto Redwood Street—is well-lit and welcoming, though still raw. The wood flooring, some of it scavenged from piles of wood in the building, is mismatched and the walls where the art hangs range from concrete block to unfinished drywall to half-exposed brick. The collective members are ecstatic. “It was always kind of a dream, a place where we could kind of take over,” says Marketing Director Katy Dubina.

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