“I stand back and take it all in. It’s a hell of a view despite the grime. God only knows where the hazy film comes from, but like clockwork it reappears, typically a year after its last cleaning, demanding individual, piece by piece attention. It sounds worse than it is, though. I don’t mind this job, actually. In fact, I look forward to it, and I’ve been waiting for a rainy day like today to take this project on. “

“When all of the funeral was over, when the last memorial was acknowledged, and when Christmas had come and gone, I came back to Atlanta to an experience I had never known before, grief. I began an intimate relationship with this multi-dimensional feeling. It was a relationship that at times would hurl me so deeply into despair that I could not speak without crying. The nights became endless. In the hushed still hours after midnight I felt most alone. I became wound up in a tight cocoon of self-pity.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve taken this route. This is the old-timey way my family traveled when I was a kid before the construction of I-575. That beeline takes you north of Atlanta through Jasper, Ellijay, and Blue Ridge. The scenic pathway I’m on, Highway 19 or 129 (depending your direction), is a steep, curvy, two-lane road that tops Blood Mountain, one of Georgia’s highest peaks, before winding its way back down again. Along the way it cuts through the Chattahoochee National forest, passing state parks, hiking trails, and turnoffs to tourist havens like Helen, Georgia’s Swiss-style alpine village, Dahlonega, site of Georgia’s nineteenth century gold rush, and Cleveland, home to Dr. Xavier Roberts’ BabyLand General, birthplace of the Cabbage Patch Kids, all cultural experiences to behold.”

“Hunky dory. I just had a piece of toast, you know, so I could take my meds. You did say I needed to eat something first, didn’t you? I mean, isn’t that right? I think I remember you saying that when you refilled my pillbox. Now I’m just having a second cup of coffee with Hoda and Kathie Lee as they wrap up the Today Show. They’re still taping from their very own living rooms if you can believe that! WHAT A WORLD, I say! What a world! What’s happening downtown?”

“Actually, I’m excited. Mama and Uncle Kenny have let me tag along on their adventures in the past, usually with Aunt Paula in tow, but they’ve never planned an adventure for me specifically. Mama’s been talking about this place, Rodney, some Mississippi ghost town with an old Presbyterian church she wants me to see, and Uncle Kenny is all about some burned out plantation house. Mama’s made him our driver for the day because he’s the only person she trusts to get us there and back. Unsurprisingly, it’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“This motley crew is all that remains of what was once a large circle of friends, family, and coworkers who gathered weekly for Happy Hour (or “Chapter Meeting” as they liked to call it). They’d congregate at their preferred watering hole, the bar at the local Ramada hotel, perched high on the Natchez bluffs above the Mississippi River, to commune and laugh off the stresses of the week over cocktails, and sometimes, when enough drinks were had, some dancing.”

“Since I was a kid I have preferred the company of women, so naturally, it’s their example I have faithfully followed. While my brother was content to march off with my cousins to shoot things, I was lingering in the kitchen watching the activity and listening to the ladies. For guidance in achieving a dark roux, feeding a crowd, stocking a bar, and decking the halls, I’ve deferred to the experts, the women that came before me, Junkins & Hudnalls. And like Mama, those ladies were all about church, too. They dependably showed up to prepare communion, deliver Wednesday Night Suppers, play the piano in Sunday school, visit with the shut-ins, and organize toy drives at Christmas.”

“Much of my creative inspiration is born from the contrast between my two homes, Natchez and Atlanta. As someone who has lived many years in both places now, I often feel as though I exist in the space defined by their differences because I am of both. I see both. I understand both.

Their differences excite me because they beg the question, “What’s Southern? And who decides?”

“My grandmother, Ruby, would have supper ready when we pulled into the driveway, and the six of us would sit down to a hot meal. My grandmother’s table, even on a weekday, always had cornbread or yeast rolls, vegetables cooked with bacon (or bacon fat), and a meat dish as the centerpiece. My brother and I adored her and lived for her cooking, and both of us lovingly remember the food of her table, especially at Christmas, as dearly as Santa’s spoils.”

“The Natchez City Cemetery is a picturesque spot. The vast expanse covers rolling hills lined with monuments, and there are many varieties of flowering plants, old-timey antique ones planted long ago. Of all the unique and grandiose architecture erected in Natchez across the centuries, the city cemetery is arguably as magnificent. I maintain it’s one of Natchez’s greatest local treasures and worthy of preservation. The headstones, masonry, and wrought iron fencing vary greatly from stately to unassuming. In the old sections most stones list far off places of birth, places oceans away, recording the endless chain of immigrants that defined 18th, 19th, and 20th century Natchez by making it their home. All of this is worthy of capturing on film, but today we are here for blossoms.”

“Despite my excitement about the challenge ahead, there was one potentially significant hurdle, I had not actually painted in years (nearly eight), nor had I even attempted to create art professionally as a non-student, like, ever. Sure, I sold work in the past, had pieces in a few shows, done a little something for a friend or two, but I had not engaged in a regular, focused studio-practice since graduate school.”

“I’m not supposed to be here. Natchez, Mississippi was never part of the plan. It just wasn’t our intention, neither Mama’s nor mine. I should be on a campus somewhere teaching drawing and painting to the masses, earning the greys in my hair. It’s what I trained for (and am still working to repay), but alas, I’m here.”