Summer Summits

Apologies for the cobwebs you may see hanging from this page. It’s been a hot second since this blog has gotten some fresh text, and as I’ve said before, the main reasoning for slumps in posts is mainly due to periods in my life without traveling, as this is what inspires my purest and most enjoyable form of writing.

However, the end of my summer was jam packed with family gatherings, chasing eclipses, mountain peaks, and a lot of good music. I’ve also had the extraordinary privilege to teach poetry and tie dye art, as well as assist in clay arts for eight weeks as an instructor at The Village of Arts and Humanities at my new home in North Philadelphia. That time spent teaching helped prepare my mind for the final few semesters of my a clinical counseling master’s degree.

One of the great experiences I had between witnessing the full solar eclipse with family in South Carolina, touring through Asheville, NC and a stopover at LocKn music festival in Virginia was summiting the highest peak East of the Mississippi; Mt. Mitchell, located in Black Mountain National Forest in North Carolina. With a full load on my back it took me just over four hours on the climb up, and just over half that on the way down, stopping to setup camp on the descend.

The summit of Mt. Mitchell was quite the paradox, because while some like myself were just arriving from a day long hike, others had opted to drive up to the parking lot that sits at the top of the mountain. While they took pictures and ate concession stand food, I sprawled out on one of the flat spots to catch my breath and take off my hiking shoes. I stayed up there for about an hour, just enough time to take in a three hundred and sixty-degree view of the sunset across the Great Smokey and Appalachian Mountains.

At the top I thought about all the different people at the top of that mountain, how we all came from different walks of life, but managed to meet at this one moment. Some may have taken the easy route, some of us the harder, potentially more fulfilling route. Whatever the path, we all have the opportunity to experience the great awe of what nature has provided us, and we realize this is an innate pursuance, to explore the beauty that surrounds us.

The one thing about being on the road and being away from technology, the news and masses of people is you see yourself and everything for what it is, without some blurry political lens or amped up coworker trying to convince you one way or another. You get to view your own life from a literal distance, and this often is the best way to see clearly. If your able to successfully separate yourself from devices and other attachments back home you may realize you can still be happy without them, and that truly, you lack nothing to do so.

How I made 45 Euros With Colored Pencils

When I was sketching in the backyard garden at a coffee house in Copenhagen this summer I never thought I’d be selling that same drawing weeks later in order to fund personal finances. I didn’t think that about any of my sketches that summer, but funny enough I ended up selling almost everyone of them for some quick euro during the last two weeks of my summer trip, which ended in Galway, Ireland.

So how did I find myself desperate enough that I resorted to selling my personal collection of sketched boats, buildings and landscapes? Well, prior to my landing in Galway I spent two months circumnavigating mainland Europe from the West (Paris) all the way across to Istanbul in the far East.

Thank goodness for cheap hostels in Eastern Europe and my good Turkish arkadas (friend) who let me stay at her flat for what seemed like weeks. That, and eating frugally, surfing random couches and hitching rides had me saving as much money as I could, but for a kid making the bulk of his money as a server, there wasn’t much to begin with. The beauty of travel is you can always make it work, sometimes you just have to cut corners, off your passport, in order to make a fire in the woods.

Got some help on the hitch

Back to Galway. On the streets of this Irish town brimming with creativity, consciousness and culture, everybody seems to do what they enjoy because it makes them happy. They live simply and they live comfortably. This made selling my artwork, literally on the street, much more accepted and even popular to some.

When I went out that first day I chose a spot on the main street (appropriately titled ‘shop street’) that I had been scouting a few days before, which no one seemed to occupy. One reason it remained vacant was most likely because it was just before the entrance of vendor’s row, an alley stretch where sellers with legit booths pay to have a place.

This was a tricky spot, because those vendors closest would ask me to take my business elsewhere. Luckily for me it only involved moving my blanket a few inches to the right to allow passer-byers to walk by comfortably. It didn’t feel right to move completely when hundreds of other sellers stake their ground on that same street daily. I just happened to be the one closest in proximity to their disconcert. In places like Galway, negotiating with the locals is just as important as having notable art work to sell.

Out of the ten or so completed sketches I had from earlier in the trip I used six or seven to display for sale on my blanket. It also just so happened Galway had three or four different print shops downtown so it was very affordable and accessible to make prints for those sketches. They also came out pretty awesome looking.

Besides just the potential money profit, there was much I learned and benefitted from while selling my work including making new friends, gaining worldly knowledge about people and places and witnessing a whole host of entertaining street performers including musicians, magicians, jugglers and balloon artists (shout out Alber!).

Aboard the gypsy train with flat mate Dylan

One trick I liked to pull was pretending to be an outside observer looking at my art. When I would find someone stopping to look I would walk up next to them and say, “Hmm, what do you think?”

Everyone seems to be just a little more honest when they don’t think they’re talking to the artist themselves. My funniest interaction came from an Irish lady. She stopped to take in my art and I began the conversation, pointing to my art, “Hmm, so what do you think?”

Lady, “Eh, looks like shit if you ask me.”

Me, “Yeah. Rubbish ain’t it?

Lady, “Looks like a child drew those sketches.”

Me, “Like someone just gave a box of crayons to a six-year-old huh.”

Lady, “I wonder what  they were thinking.”

Me, “Well, probably just trying to make some extra cash. I’m pretty broke these days.”

Lady, “huh. What? You drew these?”

Me, “Yes.”

Lady, “Oh my lord. I’m, so, sorry laddie.”

Me, “No, no thanks for your input.”

Lady, “Well, it’s just...”

Me, “Really, it’s ok.”

Lady, “Well, bye now.”

Me, “Bye.”

Not everyone was blown away by my stuff, but many still liked it. On my last count I sold seven different sketches, ranging from 3 to 7 euros a piece over the two weeks I was out selling. I probably went out every other day for those two weeks, for two hours at a time, sometimes sharing my space with a Spanish friend who was selling her macramé bracelets. 

Turns out, almost every buyer I sold to was American, except for an Irish man, who was living in New York City. My profession may not be an artist, but it's certainly a hobby, and the fact that I not only made new friends, but was able to get at least a slice of Napoli pizza each day made it all worth it.

The Spot