I live in an old mill town which straddles a large river in New England. Cobblestones line my favorite streets and I can check the time on a century-old clock tower which once ruled the lives of mill girls and canal diggers. It's entertaining to look out my window onto the main street at the people walking by speaking many different languages and all engaged in their own daily dramas. Do they ever think of the people who walked on those same stones 150 years ago? I like to. 

I want to know what these people would think of each other. What would an Irish mill girl think of the high schoolers I watch every day? Would she ditch her long dress for skinny leg jeans and a lip ring? Or would she run back to her room at the boardinghouse? If she did, her bed would be gone and replaced by office equipment for the National Park or one of the other organizations housed in the old buildings. Do the Angkor Dance Troupe members ever wonder who else danced in their studio in the house's attic? 

What if an old factory owner showed up to one of his mills for a surprise inspection and found it converted to trendy loft apartments and artists' studios? What would he think of the whitewashed walls in the condos and the artists making money for themselves in their creative pursuits? Where are the deafening looms? Where are his crates of linens ready to ship down the river?

The past and present of this city would probably clash in the minds of most people. I see our present community of immigrants and creatives as simply a modern version of the old mill town, with a few tweaks of course. Labor laws and housing reform have changed the morale of the town a bit, luckily. People still come to this town looking for a new start. Some come from other countries, some, such as myself, come from just far enough down the road to feel like an outsider at first. Different motivations and incentives brought us here, of course. People once came here as indentured servants or faced rampant discrimination once they arrived. Now, some people come here as refugees or asylum-seekers from painful pasts and this is their chance at a better life. Theirs are fascinating stories, and they are important parts of this city's history and future. But there's another reason people come here which intrigues me even more.

Lowell was planned as a mill city. Our location on the Merrimack River was perfect for water-powered mills which would produce functional and artistic textiles for decades. Housing was planned around the mills to enable longer work days- days which revolved around creation of products. Workers toiled over looms and machinery for hours, and then saw their hard work shipped off to towns they would never see for use by people wealthier than they would ever be. They produced beautiful fabric for the economy because they had no other avenue for work. 

Jump over a century (to avoid hearing of the mills shutting down, the local economy collapsing, and a painful few decades of damaging criminal activity) to the year 2010 and people are once again creating art in Lowell. Not that everyone stopped with the mills of course, but now there is a truly staggering number of creative professionals concentrated in this city. And now, they're creating work that they enjoy instead of what the mill-owner decrees, and they're benefiting financially from their talents. Most importantly, they're contributing significantly to the revival of this struggling city. 

The creative economy has become a buzzword around here, but when it fits, it fits. Theaters, museums, galleries, small businesses, and community groups host artists of every medium imaginable across the city. And these aren't just hobbyists (although anyone who cares enough to take time for arts or culture counts toward this group in my book) or fair-weather crafters. These are people developing and selling creative products once again in a city which once produced enough cloth to circle the Earth twice annually. 

Interpretations of Lowell's motto, "Art is the Handmaid of Human Good” have changed over the years. With its original intention, it means, “Skill walks hand in hand with the good of the people.” If people worked hard at the mills and used their skills for the betterment of the town, they benefitted as a whole. Now, many of us interpret it differently, closer to, "The arts accompany/contribute to human good." This new interpretation (and others with similar meanings) have been embraced by many in the city as a call to invigorate the community with arts and culture. And it's working.

But why are creative people seemingly attracted to this old mill city? It's not just Lowell either. Many New England cities and towns which are former homes to mills now have growing creative economies and communities. Is it the architecture? The slightly haunted feel of ours streets? Their vicinity to flowing water and efficient roads? The established downtowns? Or is it something else? 

I'm not sure, but I'd really like to find out.