Gallery 992 has always felt like more than just a venue.
For many, it was a sanctuary—a place where late nights bled into early mornings, where the music wrapped around you like an old friend, and the faces inside became family. I remember countless times stepping through its doors after midnight and being greeted by the warm hum of conversation and the first swell of a saxophone riff floating in the air. Some nights, it felt like stepping into another universe—one stitched together by sound, soul, and community.
That universe was shaken on March 10, when Kebbi Williams received a text message from the building’s landlord, informing him that Gallery 992 would need to vacate within 60 days to allow for planned renovations. The sudden notice threatened not just the physical space, but the heartbeat of a community that has gathered there for years.
Williams, who also organizes Music in the Park—a yearly event providing live music and cultural experiences for West End residents—founded Gallery 992 alongside community creatives to offer live music, performing arts, and creative gatherings to the neighborhood. A large part of the Gallery’s operational costs came from patron donations and grants as the flagship location for Music in the Park. Beyond the jazz nights, the gallery on Ralph David Abernathy Boulevard welcomed poetry readings, live-model drawing, and spontaneous collaborations.
It’s especially known for its Sunday night jam sessions that focus on experimental jazz over more traditional forms. Those of us who walked through its doors late at night knew it was a spiritual experience. Inside, I’d find myself swept up in the cozy chaos—musicians trading solos like secret messages, regulars embracing each other like long-lost kin. One night, I watched as a poet delivered sharp, rhythmic verses, only to be followed by a horn player whose improvisation lifted the whole room into motion.
Then there were the moments that felt like pure transcendence—when multiple horn players would lock in, their sounds rising in fierce unison over polyrhythmic drumming that seemed to ripple through the floor and up into your chest. The music would build until it became trance-like, wrapping everyone in its spell. I’d close my eyes and let go, drifting into the individual rhythms and melodies, each distinct but impossibly connected—like threads in an ever-expanding tapestry. It wasn’t just listening. It was surrendering.
The venue’s intimate, low-lit warmth made it feel like stepping into a living room where everyone was welcome. And often, there was the scent of Caribbean food from the back—jerk chicken, and stewed cabbage—filling the space with yet another layer of rhythm and soul. More than once, I watched someone dance mid-bite, balancing a plate as if the music and the food were one and the same.
Outside, the magic continued. The sidewalk became a second stage—a place where no one rushed to leave, where West End musicians and artists lingered to trade stories and make plans, their laughter mingling with the distant echoes of music still spilling from the gallery. It was where I’d catch up with old friends and meet new ones, all drawn into the gravity of this little corner.
“Anyone who has attended their sessions knows how impactful and memorable the late nights at the gallery are,” says Jerome Hambrick, lifelong Atlanta resident and the gallery’s social media manager. “It’s been a home for the community for years…It’s so intimate. It’s so friendly. It’s so warm. And a lot of the people that I call family and friends also go to that spot.”
Percussionist and event organizer Dallas Dawson adds, “There’s just been countless legendary musicians that have graced that space.” He also expresses concern about what’s next for the building itself, as the West End sees significant changes and shifts. “But I’ve seen this enough times where they kick the tenant out, and the building just sits vacant.”
Dawson points to larger structural issues. “It’s difficult to come up with that type of money and to be on the hook for that type of payment every month…without investors that care about art and in a community [that can] really can give monetarily.”
In the midst of considering what the next chapter of Gallery 992 may be, Williams plans to celebrate the venue’s life and legacy with a farewell celebration leading up to Atlanta Streets Alive. “We’re gonna have an event every night, film it, WRFG is gonna let us [play] live from Gallery 992 on the radio, from 3 A.M. to 6 A.M. every night for two weeks,” says Williams. “Then on May 18th is going to be the big Music in the Park, which we always have… stages full of music up and down the street [during Atlanta Streets Alive]. Then we’re going to do a parade going from [Gallery 992]… turn right on Lawton and then end up [at] Malcolm X Fest.”
One of the final nights I spent at Gallery 992 was part of their farewell festival—a bittersweet celebration of nearly a decade of art, music, and community. The venue pulsed with energy as Williams took the stage, his saxophone weaving through the air alongside longtime collaborators who had become close friends over the years. The music was electric, a fusion of jazz improvisation and soulful rhythms that encapsulated the spirit of the gallery.
As the night unfolded, the performances transcended traditional boundaries. A fire spinner took center stage, her movements a mesmerizing dance of flame and shadow. The flames traced arcs in the air, illuminating the faces of the audience with a warm, flickering glow. Her performance was both primal and poetic, embodying the transformative power of art.
Later, a pole dancer captivated the crowd with a display of strength and grace. Her movements were a seamless blend of athleticism and artistry, each pose telling a story of resilience and beauty. The audience watched in awe, the room united in appreciation of the diverse talents that Gallery 992 has nurtured.
That evening was a microcosm of what Gallery 992 represented—a space where music, dance, and visual art coalesced into a shared experience. It was a testament to the gallery’s role as a haven for creativity and connection, a place where boundaries dissolved, and community thrived.
I can’t help but think back to those long nights when 992 felt like the heartbeat of West End, and the music inside whirled like a storm of color and sound you could almost disappear into. Even as the neighborhood shifted around it, 992 kept pulling us back, anchoring us in something timeless. It was always more than music. It was communion.
Williams doesn’t know what will happen with Gallery 992. “We’re just gonna have to be scattered and do one-off jazz things…Hopefully, there can be a hub again.” He also expressed concern about the limitations of occupying a space not owned by the community. “It’s going to mean…the people who practice the arts, space-sharing, community, events, food, dance, painting, photography, poetry…they’re not going to have a home for a little bit of time,” he says.
Williams expresses the unfortunate aspect of the neighborhood shifting due to plans for development. “[We] greet the new neighbors with our beauty…but the new neighbors are constantly just taking over the old neighbors. So it looks like some of this old beauty has got to go. That’s basically what’s happening,” says Williams.
But there is still hope. When asked what the best-case scenario could look like, Hambrick says, “[Ideally, the] new space will just be even better than the first one, and we’ll look back and say this could have never happened if we had kept the old space being owned by somebody else instead of by ourselves.”
