This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK).

“I come here when I need creative inspiration,” artist Leon Johnson tells me as we emerge from the subway into the beating heart of Harlem. Around us, market stalls sell dangly earrings, incense and African print paper fans. A mosaic depicting the jazz greats who left their legacy on Harlem, including Cab Calloway and Count Basie, covers the length of a wall. Out of sight, old-school beats pump out of a boombox. 

Stretching 45 blocks from Central Park to 155th Street, Harlem is one of the most culturally rich neighbourhoods in the world, its character shaped by waves of migration, particularly from the Caribbean and the American South. During the 1920s and 1930s, in a movement known as the Harlem Renaissance, an artistic explosion from Black writers, artists and musicians pinned this Upper Manhattan district to the map. The Great Depression, followed by decades of decline, signalled the end of an era, although Harlem’s legacy as a hotbed of artistic experimentation lived on. Nearly 100 years later, the historic neighbourhood is once again in the throes of a revival, thanks to a new generation of makers. 

Leon, a mixed-media artist who weaves his passion for 1990s hip-hop culture into his freestyle illustrations, is taking me on a walking tour of his favourite haunts. He’s swapped his work uniform of paint-splattered apron for a T-shirt emblazoned with one of his own graphic prints. Having moved here from the Midwest 16 years ago, Leon set up his studio near the Harlem River, drawn by the area’s energy and sense of community. “Being in Harlem has always felt like being part of a creative family,” he enthuses, as we approach Hats by Bunn, a boutique where he buys his dapper headwear. 

Mr Bunn himself emerges from the workshop at the back of the store, surrounded by racks and shelves crammed with a rainbow of pork pie and fedora hats. The Jamaican-born milliner started making and selling hats in Harlem in the 1980s. Despite growing concerns of gentrification, the neighbourhood he fell in love with then remains. “I don’t think too much has changed,” he muses. “Sure, a bunch of younger people moved here looking for cheap rent, but this area is still where it all happens. It will always be the core of the city.” 

From the old guard to the new, we duck into the studio of Milton Washington, a photographer documenting local street life with his iPhone. “Harlem has a super-high concentration of artists,” Milton says as he walks me through his space. Writ large across the walls are shots of his neighbourhood: flamboyant hats worn for Sunday church services, a woman adorned in African beads, and a gentleman in a natty suit shooting the breeze. “There’s artistic inspiration here and a honing of your craft that’s difficult to find elsewhere,” he adds.

Back on the street, Leon and I head a couple of blocks northeast, passing a mixture of shiny condos, red-brick tenements and handsome brownstone townhouses. A pitstop at The Edge Harlem, where the menu reflects the owners’ British-Jamaican-American heritage, rewards with jerk chicken tacos and homemade sorrel, a traditional Caribbean drink infused with hibiscus. 

Trace a finger back from modern-day Harlem to the birth of its second revival and you’ll arrive at Red Rooster Harlem, Leon says as we head back into central Harlem. Ethiopian-Swedish chef Marcus Samuelsson opened his restaurant in 2011, and it’s a boisterous dining room where the walls are lined with local artwork, including Leon’s own expressive pen and ink illustrations. Plates of crispy fried chicken and waffles, devoured during Sunday gospel brunches, have become the stuff of legend. It’s become an all-encompassing celebration of the creative spirit that gives Harlem its unique flavour. 

I bid Leon farewell and take the scenic route back to the subway station, popping my head in at The Long Gallery, a contemporary arts space showcasing under-represented artists, many from the local area. Owner Lewis Long shows me around while jazz plays in the background. He grabs his jacket and offers to walk a few blocks with me. 

We pause outside The Studio Museum, an esteemed gallery that’s showcased the work of artists of African descent since 1968. It’s currently closed, with work ongoing to expand what’s considered one of the most important incubators for the visual arts in the US. “Just take a look around you,” Leon says, pointing towards a horizon busy with the construction of new buildings, many rooted in the creative arts. “Harlem’s being brought back to life.”