Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Ceilidh Kane:

don’t worry, this human being is every bit as ridiculous as she looks.

Ceilidh Kane flew into Denver last Friday and is subsequently the reason why I’ve been having way too much fun to update this blog for nearly a week.  She is also the reason why I ended up at a “moustache and PBR” party in Moab, UT.  For which I have still not forgiven/thanked her.

Ceilidh: “Thane, look what I brought for you!”
Thane: “you don’t know what you’ve seen!”
me: …?

A little backstory:  I first met Ceilidh in 2008 when I was working at sam’s pizza in Northampton.  She was a student at smith at the time, and had come in to perform a song that she had written in tribute to Mark Firehammer’s chest hair.  I decided we would be friends.  She is a crazy arist and visionary in her own right and is one of the first people with whom I ever talked about my inklings of starting an art bar.  Later, when I ran away from Northampton to spend time in her cabin off the grid in Vermont we got closer while building 1/4 of an oven and one really good swimming hole.

What else can I possibly say about Ceilidh?  She’s wonderful, she has a great senese of humor, I think you two should be friends.  Oh, but if you’re ever trying to flirt with anyone or pick anyone up, don’t take Ceilidh with you.  Everyone will assume you are dating, and you’ll scare off all potential ladies, and then she’ll blame you for scaring off all potential dudes.

I realize that I still owe the internet a post about Boulder and Denver, but in the mean time to hold you over, here are some beautiful things that exist in this country that you can take pictures of from a moving car:

check the sunroof on this whip.

if you crave more pictures, I’m going to put them all on facebook right now.

Chapter 9: Minneapolis

So I had the wonderful opportunity to check out Minneapolis with my wonderful host Chantz Erolin

this guy = !

I was there for a total of 48 hours and I feel good about packing in a ton.  Let me say this: Minneapolis has it going on.  For real.  As soon as I got in Chantz took me to a Hip Hop festival, where I saw a ton of local twin city talent as well as Talib Kwali (my mom said she didn’t know his music, so here you go mom)

I can’t give Chantz enough props for making me feel welcome and connected in this town, he’s super plugged in to the hip hop scene and interested in the community around the art form.  Not only that, but he was kind enough to introduce me to Philip Bither, the Performing Arts Curator from the Walker Arts Center who I was able to sit down and have breakfast with.  I I really dig on what the Walker is setting out to do, and on top of that, the place is huge, respectable and gorgeous:

this is the view from the Sculpture Garden, which is also dope.

We were able to talk about what it takes to run a successful performance arts program that engages the community and a little bit about alterative and emerging arts spaces. I wasn’t able to actually explore the Walker because the only day that I wasn’t hanging out at hip hop festivals and poetry readings, it was closed, but I was able to check out its ample Sculpture Garden.  Check out this art:

very. large. spoon. also: cherry.

I wish I had more time in town so that I could have hung out with some folks from Bedlam, where I totally would have applied for this job if I had known about it earlier.

I also got to drop poems at two different venues: once at Balls Cabaret and once at Hamline College, and to round it all off, I got to do a bit of bar hopping, where I took no pictures, but Chantz did beat both his aunt and me at darts.  Oh, and you should totally check out his work with Audio Perm and Art School Girls.

WAG.

Poem 3: On a Villainous Day

the sunshine is brighter than the devil’s white
toothed smile.  It is clear that the mountains are
pleased with the sky, and smiling in secret.
I distrust the sky, it’s a matter of time before it slides
its hand into the mountains’ back pocket, and they both dip
into an alley, and they are honest
about where they have been, but not what they’ve been doing.
The sun feels fine about turning away, and letting the dark cool
night give them space to touch each other.

words.

at a sculpture garden in Minneapolis MN

 

advice from brooklyn

 

Chapter 7: Santa Fe

Santa Fe was not even on the map for this trip, but after driving through the night from texas, and passing the mark of being on the road for a total of over 4,000 miles less than a week into the trip we…we got a little tired.  So we stopped in Santa Fe for a few days to recharge the battery (that’s a metaphor, mostly).  And Santa Fe treated us really well.  Here are some pictures of things that are on the walls in Santa Fe bathrooms.

at the Matador

 

this combined with mirrors at an reality-skewing 27 degree angle almost made me hit the floor…and this was at breakfast

The camping in Santa Fe was gorgeous, we spent most of our nights here at Black Canyon Campground near Hyde Park, or as the locals say “oh, up by the ski lodge.”  It may sound posh, but this was some of the most backwoods camping we’ve done all trip, which was cool and all, except for when it was raining.  We did do one posh night of camping at the KOA campground, but showers were a necessity at that point.  Look at this:

 

look at this natural beauty!

yup…still beautiful.

Highlights of Santa Fe include: getting to “kick a piece” (as craig says) at Poets Battle and Jam at Better Day Café (where the dank burrito is complete true advertising), writing a on the spot poem about Santa Fe, checking out 2^nd St. Brewery, dollar tacos at Junction, and The Matador: the divest dive bar I’ve ever loved so much.

 

All and all we spent four days in Santa Fe wandering around, making a few friends, and cooking over campfires.  It was a nice breath of fresh air, but I wasn’t looking to build an art bar here, and thusly wan’t looking around at the art scene.  Even without looking for the arts here, I couldn’t help but notice that this city is full of public sculpture.

pretty sure this is Prometheus, but even if it isn’t it’s still badass.

 

this comes up to my chest.

Also, getting to hit up a poetry open mic felt really good, since it had been a while.   And just for good measure I checked out the bars.  I know this much, if I had decided to start an art bar in santa fe, all I’d need to do is throw in a functioning dart board and I’d be filling a niche that no one else in that town is tending to.  When I realized this I had an overwhelming compustion to play darts that left me restless, so I drove to Denver to search for a dart board.

spoiler alert:
Success.

Poem 2: Misconception

What am I doing in Santa Fe
where the sky wants to rub
it’s whole blue belly across
the entirety of the landscape to feel the hills
rub like the rumble strips on the side of the highway

where am I going searching for a tortilla to give new language
to the word tortilla that I could never find in New England,
impossible as maple syrup

outside of New England.  Why am I wantering around Fiesta
like wonderbread in an exclusively whole wheat aisle when what I really want to be doing
is love, and love,
and loving you.

Chapter 6: Whatever Texas, I’m over it.

I don’t want to talk about my trip to Texas.  I drove for 20 hours and ended up in Santa Fe.

 

 

Chapter 5. Hot Springs, AR

On our way to Hot Springs, we got lost.  The check in center for where we were camping closed 2 minutes before we got there.   We were both tired, and we seemed to be up a creek with no paddle.  So we randomly plugged in a nearby state park, hoping that it would lock it’s gates at 8pm like Mt. Mitchell in Asheville (seriously, what the hell Mt. Mitchell?) and blindly meandered roughly northernly from Hot Springs.  And then there was an ART CHURCH.

 

I really wish the internet had better pictures of this place.

That’s right: an Art Church, an old church that functions as a gallery, a performance space, and a set of studios in a once-condemned church that was purchased for the price of the stained glass doomed to be hauled out of it.  Awesome.   We met Alex and Erin who were just about the nicest folks in the world, fine artists, and avid campers who were able to give us multiple options on where to camp.  I can’t even describe how inspiring it was to find this place when we thought we had nothing going and the satisfaction that comes from being right about a hunch that I could saunter into anything called an Art Church, cry “sanctuary” and be given sincere help.

…and even if they couldn’t have given me sanctuary, I could have received these beautiful hog heart lamps.

We got to camp just in time to set our tent up in the last half hour of daylight (something Arthur and I are becoming pros at).  We headed into town to check out Hot Springs, a city not even on our radar, but a convenient stopping point between Asheville and our frantic rush to Texas; we figured that we might as well look around.  We started with a drink at Maxine’s, a former brothel house  where one of the town’s three hipster-bartenders informed us that we had arrived a day late for the poetry open mic, so we caught a bite to eat at a fusion restaurant (fusion of what, I do not know.  Seemed like Mexican food to me, but the waiter told us they didn’t have guacamole because they’re “a fusion restaurant” and instead offered to light cheese on fire on our table with 151, he concluded our post meal chat with a “Namaste.”  We tipped better than we should have).   We also had the distinct pleasure of walking past 478 motorcycles because of this:

it’s blurry because it emphasizes the idea that motorcycles are fast, not because I’m a bad photographer.

 

Just to give it due consideration, I don’t think I’ll be heading back to Hot Springs to start an art bar.  The town just seemed too small to support it, I counted maybe 10 people that didn’t have a motorcycles to every 30 that did, and the town still didn’t feel crowded, we were able to get fast service at the Pancake Shop the next morning, despite the theoretical two-wheeled inundation.  I do regret not being able to participate in their gallery walk the next day, and missing out on the poetry reading.  Hot Springs does have something going for it to be sure, and I’m over the moon about the existence of the Art Church, if you’re in the area, you should drop in tell them how awesome I think they are, and to check out bath row, where all the gangsters used to come to relax.  true story.

Chapter 4: Asheville

Fact: Asheville is awesome: a great artsy town with some A+ breweries.  “wait a sec kevin, how do you know it’s an artsy town?”  Look at this sign:

I’m just saying a city that doesn’t have an abundance of Shark Jugglers would never post a “No Shark Juggling” sign.

Love it.  Despite the fact that many businesses there advertise with Papyrus, I still thought highly of the number of public performance spaces.  And also:  people were just damn friendly.  I definitely feel like I could fit in here, if by beard culture alone.  I really enjoyed getting to catch up with Bruno Seraphin, and I was sad that I only had one day to really check out the town because I was in a rush to get to Texas.  “Rush to get to Texas Kevin, what for?”  Don’t worry, I’ll get there.

“you’d love it kevin, it’s such an artsy town!” “what do you mean?!?” This is what I mean.

Like I said, I only had one day to hang in Asheville, so I only got to check out three of their local brewpubs (of which I believe there are a total of 8).  I started off with a Pale Ale from Wedge which is one of the coolest brewpubs I’ve ever been to.  Asheville and I have a mutual friend, Al Fresco.   All the seating for this place was outside, and between the sculpture and the setting sun and the picnic tables and the food truck, the whole thing gave me the impression that myself and everyone there had just put on a kick ass carnival and were mutually celebrating our success.

it’s better at sunset with a dry breeze…and a beer.

Next I went to Jack of the Wood where a large greenman face stared down at me from behind the bar, and a old time bluegrass jam leveled out the atmosphere, which I decided to round off with some fried pickles and an IPA.  At this point, I’m sure my mom is worried about me eating healthy on the road…fortunately Arthur is a foodie and berates me every time I eat something fried or non-whole wheat.  (seriously, there are days this kid eats only fruit and quinoa)

Bruno and I finished off the night at the Thirsty Monk where I had a Bells Two Hearted Ale which was beer glory beyond the appreciation of my palette at that point.  Then Arthur and I had some vegetarian dishes served by unreasonably cute waitresses at a place I can’t remember the name of…not sure whether to blame that one on the beer or the waitresses.

I left with an entirely favorable opinion of Asheville, but I won’t be returning there to build an art bar.  Here’s why:  while Asheville has pretty much everything I was looking for (a larger population, a solid artist base, a vibrant downtown) it still felt saturated.  Eight brewpubs!  and that’s just local, that’s just who’s brewing their own suds.  I didn’t have time to explore much of the art scene (priorities) but there were more galleries than I could shake a stick at and plenty of open public performance spaces.  Point is, Asheville, like Northampton, just doesn’t seem to need an art bar right now.  I believe that it would be a great city to move to potentially, especially if I could get a job working with an existing arts organization to further build my resume.

Then Arthur and I drove to Hot Springs, Arkansas.

Chapter 2: Camping in the Carolinas

After spending a brief period of my morning on the beach where I spend almost every summer of my childhood, my companion and I drove out to Mt. Mitchell State Park.  Which is stupidly beautiful except for the fog.  The fog out here is as ubiquitous as heart metaphors at a bad poetry reading.  I spent most of my time staring at a white mist that obstructed the beautiful mountains, until my heart felt like it was a mountain peak obscured by a opaque atmospheric whiteness…regardless we were able to set up a great campfire and eat a three course meal before breaking in our tent for the first time.

[awesome picture of our delicious dinner]

Today we made our first trip into Asheville, NC.  Although I’ve only been here for three hours, Asheville is recommending itself highly to me with perks including, but not limited to:
an awesome bookstore that gives me three coffees for $1.87, cool outdoor public performance spaces, promises of multiple beer bars, and two human beings who have already called me “brother.” been here for three hours.  Thanks, Asheville.

[soothing picture of me at the beach]

Also in recent news, we’ve redirected our travel plans from New Orleans to Hot Springs AR, because hot springs are awesome and I’ve never been.  Photos as well as more information on what I think of Asheville to follow.

[enticing picture of me having fun in Asheville]