FEATURED WRITER 2022  

 I grew up in the closest place on earth to my mythological namesake—the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. To this day, when I smell the decaying sweetness of the oak leaves in the fall, when I hear the chorus of the spring peepers, when I see the startling flash of the white-tail deer, when I feel the chill of the night dew settle on my skin as I watch the full moon rise—bigger than I would have imagined, I know I am home. I can see the stars there, in those lonely mountains, trace the lines of the Milky Way, regain a sense of my smallness in the universe.

         I miss them.

         I am supposed to share with you my inspirations for writing, my process. But who can trace the breath of the soul, watch it inhale and then exhale—breathing out words, images, patterns, connections? This is a mystery to me. I see a fly, dead in the maple syrup bottle. Why do I choose to linger, examining it? Why does it transform before my eyes into a thing of beauty? Why do the heavens part, and I am allowed a glimpse of that terrible Beauty and Death seen long ago on a quiet Mediterranean night? I do not know. I know only that our souls cannot exhale if they do not first inhale, if we do not make it so they can breath in deeply of life.

         I am at Greenville Technical College to pursue an associate’s degree in nursing. This is a very practical decision, but one which I still question. I see dual impulses in my consideration of nursing: there is a nobility in walking alongside a fellow human as they are forced to confront their physicality, as we all must at some point; there is also the practicality of a skill set always in demand.

         But I remain conflicted.

         I have only just recently discovered that I can write—by that I mean write in such a way that other people want to feature me in their literary magazine. Is this a sign?

         When my oldest son was little, perhaps only eight or nine, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He paused, then said seriously, “I don’t know, but nothing too risky.” Those words feel like they are my words, his inheritance from me. They ricochet through my mind, first soothing me with their safeness, then condemning me with that very same safeness. Never have I taken the risky way. Never have I dreamed. Terence McKenna, a man who spoke powerful words, said, “This is how magic is done. By hurling yourself into the abyss and discovering it's a feather bed.”

         If only I can bring myself to jump.

FEATURED ARTIST 2022

Tanya Johnson began her education in the spring semester of 2020 studying Graphic and Web Design. She plans to attend USC Upstate in the fall of 2022 to finish a degree in Fine Arts before pursuing an MFA. Her first art class at GTC was History of Graphic Design; the professor (Mark Roper) made a lasting impression on her. The combination of personal narratives presented alongside the actual work yielded a more nuanced understanding of expressive possibilities. According to Tanya, the concept of imagery that could impact social change began to saturate her world view and was a radical awakening, “Things haven’t been the same since…”. The classes that were part of the Visual Arts curriculum introduced Tanya to traditional media-based classes such as drawing, painting, sculpting, making her aware for the first time that these were learnable skills. She describes the thought-provoking ideas, techniques, and mentors that were so available to her as inspiration. For Tanya, the ability to consider work from multiple disciplines produced by a diverse set of artists has been invaluable. This spurred her in novel directions and fresh failures, gradually accumulating into something she is exquisitely proud of. She credits Amber Eckersley, Associate Professor of Photography, for providing a rich and supportive learning environment in which students interact and critique each other’s work and also for introducing her to the range of conceptual artists necessary for artistic growth and development.  When asked what in life has had a major impact on her, Tanya answered “A sustained curiosity about the world and being loved despite myself.” 

Here is Tanya’s artist’s statement: 

I grew up in an insulated community on the western slope of the Sierra Nevada’s. It was an austere place, where bare bones littered the gray cracked clay.  The sun would throw the exaggerated umbra of the red rock sentinels casting temporary reprieve from the arid heat. When the light gave its final spectacular gasp of the day the shade lengthened into nights of cold darkness so dense that only the backbone of the galaxy could penetrate.  The social culture that claimed authority over my personhood was not ideal for a child that did not conform to their ideologies.  I inhabited a world of contrasts and the memories I have from that time are fragile, vile, and buried under so much desert dirt.   

I made a way out and time passed.   

As I began to make intentional imagery themes of detachment, resilience, and mortality kept appearing.  I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew it was the best work I’d ever done.  As many artists have discovered, injuries can be hidden but the pain does not dissipate, the work will betray secrets with no regard for personal preservation.  I was encouraged to continue working with creatures that seem inconsequential in life and unnoticed in death.  I have found the interpretations vary wildly as each viewer is looking through a personal lens of preferred truths.  I will continue to investigate the unexposed and unavoidable lacerations of the human experience.