Leaving the Ring of Fire for the Hills of Appalachia
The Shadowbox Memoirs; chapter 3
Two years prior to my departure, I started having open visions of North Carolina. I would be walking along a Seattle street and suddenly, the light would alter. The trees and the plants warble, the motes sparkle. The sky shifts and subtly changes, clouds part and the blue above expands. The streets and the cars and the people fritz and fade and reappear, sunnier, descending into strangeness acting like an ordinary day in North Carolina, and I was there. And as suddenly as it changed, it would change back. I would be back.
I was very clear what this was. I was entirely, consciously aware that the eastern lands were calling me back and I was also entirely aware that I wasn’t listening.
I wasn’t leaving.
Living on the ring of fire felt like I would never die. I felt superhuman. I was home.
Charged by an endless supply of ecstatic energy shooting straight into my feet whenever they touched ground, the Earth sustained me. And as I didn’t have a car, that was all the time. The reason why I didn’t have anything and I didn’t care was because I didn’t feel the need for anything. I had a couple of relationships that kept me connected to humanity - that was fine. I ate some meals - that was just dandy. I worked and made money - sure, great, that was necessary.
My key ring was a key and a ring and most of the time, I didn’t carry it at all.
I just walked and existed and was sustained by the glorious power that is living on top of ancient, active rivers of molten fire. But that fucking open vision of fucking North Carolina kept fucking interrupting my just fine walks and one day, the big one came and I surrendered to its information.
I was at Maple Leaf Reservoir Park in our neighborhood, which hosted a stunning view of the mountain (Rainer, Tahoma, Mother of Waters) and I quite suddenly saw myself large, beside her.
I stepped once and over her, my foot landing in Kansas. I stepped again and I was in Carolina. I waited there for a bit and then I leapt across the pond and landed in London. This all happened in an instant and I could no longer deny that my path to becoming a professional artist was leading me through my old stomping grounds, the place I had run from, the home of my family.
So as quickly as I could make it happen, I left.
And I hated it. Any possible arrangement of words does not exist to express how much I loathed living in the United States South. How it suffocated me. How my lungs constricted, and I could no longer breath deeply. My lungs declared the toxic air and refused to take in any more than was strictly necessary for survival. The sky hung low, like if I jumped up I would hit my head on it, so full of sunshine there was no room left for my existence.
My skin crawled, inescapable the invisible walls closing in on me everywhere I went. I was in a chronic state of claustrophobic freak out that nothing except leaving would soothe.
But you wouldn’t know it by knowing me. I’ve always been adept at keeping my freak outs internalized. I’ve also always been adept at thriving despite conditions, an aspect of myself I am immensely grateful for, and so, I got on with it - the reason I came. And the reason I came was to start my business as a professional, astrological artist, so, I said, start my art business, I shall.
The year was 2015 and I had moved in with my parents in Charleston while deciding where to live. My love affair with espresso was new and exciting. I found my coffee shop on week one. Several months later I encountered an artist on Instagram named Ghidaq Al-Nizar who painted with espresso, and my inspiration was officially lit! I would drink one shot, and dip my paintbrush in the second and the exploration began.
I went to the coffee shop every day to paint, and experienced the first major flood of inspiration I was able to channel into a prolific flow. Prior to this, the inspiration that flooded me had no where to go; I ground my teeth, dug my hands into the dirt and into fists and to no end, no respite from the gnawing yang. But here, the people in the coffee shop fueled my art, gave it somewhere to move towards; direction, purpose…connection.
I have created art for others since I was a little kid; it is my primary love language. I would give the pieces away as soon as I finished, and then start on the next piece for someone else. I have never, in my core essence, been a closet artist. I am a performer. A commission artist. I am an artist of the people. The wound that I experienced from Levi hit so deep because it challenged my core, in the place where I give love.
You see, and I understand this now, self expression has never been my primary motivation for making art. Catharsis, sure that happens, but at the end of the day, it’s not why I paint. It’s more like self expression and catharsis happen in order for me to move into the flow of my own personal genius, in the place where my heart loves, to express one simple, spiritual truth to others.
Beauty.
And this sweet time in the coffee shop at the beginning of my career, is a gold mine of clues now, as to how I operate as an artist, and how to keep my candle burning. It’s to be with people. It’s all about people. People are my inspiration, and if I hide myself away because of this wound that I am honestly still working with, then my flow dries up.
And of course, the other thrill of the coffee shop is, well it’s the coffee! Painting with espresso excites me in so many ways:
to find pigment in everyday life and divert it to the canvas
to find a pigment that also offers aroma and an altered state
to find a pigment beloved the world over is to find an instant best seller
to find a pigment that requires collab with another person making it fresh and expertly to use on the spot, creating a structure to work within like meter and rhyme
resulting in new avenues of expression that wouldn’t have otherwise occurred
to find a pigment who plays back
to find a pigment as alive as me only older, trickier and much more well traveled
to find a pigment perfectly lovely in it’s original state, all of its original states
to find a pigment so many people have danced with before me, oh the intoxicating joy of the coffee bean!
Note: alkaloids from the coffea bean absolutely absorb through the skin. The roaster at my coffee shop gave me a cup full of “coffee resin” he’d collected cleaning his roaster. Dark and sticky, he thought it’d be fun for me to play with ~ he was right. But after a few days of wondering why I felt as heavy with unproductive euphoria as a laudanum addict, I realized I’d been absorbing the intensely concentrated alkaloid resin right through my fingers!
And it would be espresso not long after that led me to the next stop along my southern journey - Asheville.
After a few months, I knew it was time to move out of my parents house. An old friend invited me to stay with her in Asheville for a couple days, so I borrowed my parents car and headed north. On the first morning in Asheville, I set out to find a job and a place to live, and found myself in the most inconvenient foul mood. So I thought, I’ll just go to the coffee shop and paint and when I feel better, I’ll get back to the search.
I walked into the Battery Park Book Exchange and right up to one of the most beautiful women I had ever met. I ordered an espresso and we started chatting while she pulled my shot. I told her I was going to paint with it, I told her I was looking for a place to live, she invited me to stay the night at the artist community where she lived and just like that, I had a place.
The next day I landed a nanny gig without even trying and Asheville had made it abundantly clear that I was invited. And though I still couldn’t catch a full breath in my chest, it had eased a little in this town, and I could see my right way forward. A few weeks later, I had moved to Asheville for what would turn out to be two sublets until I made it to my permanent residence on the downstairs floor of the Montana House - just outside the free pile and the community bathroom.
