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Robert Reza Greer Sr. of Downtown on Life, Lessons & Legacy

We recently had the chance to connect with Robert Reza Greer Sr. and have shared our conversation below.

Robert Reza, a huge thanks to you for investing the time to share your wisdom with those who are seeking it. We think it’s so important for us to share stories with our neighbors, friends and community because knowledge multiples when we share with each other. Let’s jump in: What are you being called to do now, that you may have been afraid of before?
Right now, I’m being called to fully stand in my voice — not just creatively, but publicly. For years, I shared my work in pieces… behind the scenes, under other names, or quietly from the background. But this season is asking something different of me. It’s asking me to lead. To create openly. To speak with authority as an artist — not just a contributor, not just someone with talent, but someone with truth.

And that used to scare me. I was afraid of being misunderstood, afraid of how visible healing really is. But now I’m more afraid of what silence was costing me before. I’ve seen what happens when you tell the truth out loud. And I want to live in that.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Robert Reza Greer Sr. — I’m a multidisciplinary artist, poet, designer, and the founder of True Story Collective, a creative house centered on healing, transparency, and artistic expression. I use photography, illustration, spoken word, and apparel to tell stories that resonate with real people navigating real transformation.

True Story Collective exists to create space for people to tell the truth — even the hard parts. I’m building a brand that encourages transparency, nurtures reflection, and helps people find language for the things they’ve been carrying. Whether it’s through poetry, visual art, social media, or conversation, I want to offer people a bridge — back to themselves, to each other, and to hope. This is about more than art. It’s about creating space where honesty becomes healing, and no one feels like they have to journey alone.

Okay, so here’s a deep one: Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
Before the world told me who to be, I was fire — imaginative, expressive, and in motion. I was a kid with a camera, a pen, and a heart full of reflection. I wrote poems before I knew what to call them. I took photos that felt like memory. But no one around me said, “This is your gift.” There wasn’t space or structure to nurture that voice early on — so I started performing versions of myself I thought would be accepted.

Even as an artist in community spaces, I found myself trying to meet an invisible standard — instead of walking in my own truth. But something shifted. I began to return to who I was before the edits. I created True Story Collective to make space for honesty, healing, and storytelling — not just for me, but for others who’ve been silenced or shaped by survival. Especially young artists. I want them to know their expression is power.

Now, I’m rooted. I’ve broken loops that kept me small. I lead from within, not from expectation. My journey is no longer dependent on validation — it’s about alignment. And my work? It’s ministry, it’s medicine, and it’s movement.

When did you stop hiding your pain and start using it as power?
I stopped hiding when I realized silence wasn’t serving me.
It wasn’t feeding my purpose,
wasn’t building the bridge I needed to walk across.
I was creating from surface —
but the real stories lived deeper.
And I didn’t want to just perform anymore…
I wanted to live through the work.

It wasn’t one moment — it was a slow burn.
A stretch of months where I got tired of shrinking,
tired of being almost honest.
I started writing from the middle of the storm.
And I realized — my voice was never meant to whisper.

Now, I create to connect.
I write the words I need to hear.
Sometimes I say “heal” and realize
I’m really saying it to myself.
My pain became power the moment I stopped hiding it —
and started offering it up as light.

I think our readers would appreciate hearing more about your values and what you think matters in life and career, etc. So our next question is along those lines. What’s a belief or project you’re committed to, no matter how long it takes?
That belief is the heartbeat of everything I’m building—True Story Collective included. I’ve lived through enough loss to know that the things we carry inside us can either weigh us down or free us. And I’ve chosen freedom. I’ve chosen to pour the weight into my work—to write it, speak it, wear it, and build space for others to do the same.

To me, being an artist is more than creativity. It’s a commitment. A call to be a light in a world that’s often dimmed by chaos, disappointment, and disconnection. My belief is that when we share our stories—when we’re honest, even about the hard parts—we give other people permission to be honest too. And in that space, healing begins. Not performative healing, but real transformation.

So no matter how long it takes, I’ll keep showing up. I’ll keep designing truth into fabric, turning poems into bridges, building safe spaces where people can say the hard things and still be held. This isn’t about going viral. This is about becoming whole—and helping others do the same, one story at a time.

Okay, so before we go, let’s tackle one more area. What will you regret not doing? 
If I leave this world without giving everything I was born with —
without singing my full song,
without finishing the poems in my marrow,
or helping someone else believe that their pain has a purpose —
then yes, I’d regret that.

I’d regret every time I held back out of fear,
every time I quieted my voice to make others comfortable,
every time I let exhaustion or heartbreak convince me to quit.

I would regret not building the thing that only I could build:
a sanctuary of truth, testimony, and transparency.
I would regret not living as the artist I needed when I was young.
I would regret not showing my children that your gifts aren’t for hiding.

So I won’t wait.
I am here.
And I will leave it all on the table — my art, my voice, my healing.
Because that is my legacy:
I did not let it die inside me.

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