As an artist, life is about persevering when times are tough. Sometimes you can’t make a living, but you still do it because it is a part of who you are and how you want to show up in the world.
I worked on this story when I was experiencing that firsthand. When Hurricane Helene blew through Atlanta, a tree took down electric power lines and caused a fire in the basement of our College Park home. We were safe, but we lost everything in the process.
Claudia Maturell
Tri-Cities fellow, photographer, and creative
I felt like everything was being taken from me. But when I was working on this story—talking with people, taking photos—those moments were transcendent. Nothing else mattered except what was happening right then, the conversations we were having, the people, their stories.
That is what I hoped to show in these six stories: the resilience of the artists and how art has been such an important part of their own lives.
Camisha Butler
Textile artist
Thread by thread: the merging of art and purpose
I’m a craft artist. There is this hard line between art and craft, but craft is really the merging of art and purpose. I like to make things that are useful and beautiful.
I’m from Atlanta, born and raised. My formal background is in fashion design. I’ve sewn clothing for most of my life; now I primarily weave tapestries and textiles on a floor loom. I focus on craft preservation, so I often use techniques like embroidery and appliqué to preserve these practices that people don’t do anymore.
My practice focuses on autobiographical things, my family history. I’m really inspired by my grandma. She taught me pretty much everything: how to work with ceramics, how to sew, how to embroider. She was the first person I saw make beautiful, artsy things just for the sake of doing it.
Craft is very much community-based and group-based. Craft is very political. In the past, we depended on each other; you went to people directly to make your clothes. But now we’re a society that centers independence, and as we progress and get more caught up in the way we live now, we get more disconnected.
I wish people would support more textile and fiber-based artists with mentorship, opportunities, and resources. There are lots of us, and we have a strong community. If these cities and institutions respected us as small businesspeople, it would be a lot easier.
I’m a high school art teacher, and a lot of my students don’t really think about college like we used to. But also, you’ve got to have a plan. I would like to make the world safe for them to say, “Okay, well, if you don’t want to go to college, you can still be a craftsperson. You could still be a master weaver. You could be a master ceramicist.”
I want to keep creating and evolving. One of my goals is museum acquisition. I love lecturing and talking about what inspires my work. I’m doing a residency at the Hapeville Depot Museum now and also working on a piece for the airport.
Kenneth Zakee
Multimedia artist
Medicine in the making
Art saved my life. I walked around on this earth for 64 years, but about three years ago, my leg was amputated, and it was a life-changing experience. And what got me through it is my art.
I’ve been doing art since I was a child. My inspiration and influence come from my people, my culture. All of my art reflects that: the songs, the dance, the athleticism, and the family.
I’m a teacher because I want to see people participate in art. The reason I started was because art heals.
I specialize in textile art and calabash art. I make everything from greeting cards and notebooks to wearable art and wall hangings. My art is layered, and if you don’t take the time to look, you ain’t gonna get it all.
I have a studio at the ArtsXchange in East Point and am also on their Board of Directors. It’s a place where people of all artistic endeavors can come and get a spark and some support.
What keeps me going and thriving is that I can be creative because I have been able to afford a decent living situation. And it’s because of support. Being here at the ArtsXchange has helped my career. They give exposure to artists, particularly the ones who are tenants here, like myself, through their events and programs. It’s a good name to be associated with because it has a good name in the community.
In good times and bad times, the cost of living is always a reality for artists. Income can be unpredictable. We need to have better government support and involvement with the arts. After all, we do pay tax dollars. These organizations are good, but there’s still a need for more art opportunities and spaces.
In these times that we’re living in, we need art more than ever because people’s creativity is at an all-time high. People are expressing themselves in many ways to deal with what we are subject to in our society. Art is a retreat for many people. And we need to promote those who are shining, who are putting the medicine out there. Art heals.
But I know for a fact, myself and others, we’re going to produce art anyway. Because that’s who we are, that’s who I am, and that’s what gives me peace: producing my art. The reason I started was because art heals. Art cooled me out! Art took me for a long ride in a car, and art provided some real good music for me. It balances me.
Right now, my art is at the library. Sometimes I get in some gallery shows, but for the most part, I do a lot of social media, and people come to see me in my studio.
Community Resources:
We have a community garden outside. If you want to get your own little plot and care for it.
They have open mic poetry readings, a Scrabble club, writer classes, and literary classes.
If you’re afraid, but want to sharpen your writing skills or write your own book, you got Sister Theresa Davis, that’s what she does. She’s an English teacher and has won a lot of poetry contests.
Alice Lovelace
Cultural worker
Art as activism: building a legacy of cultural change
The ArtsXchange was founded 40 years ago by myself and Ebon Dooley. I’ve been here for its whole existence.
There were three icons and their quotes that we modeled ourselves after:
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Paul Robeson: “The artist must elect to fight for freedom or slavery.”
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Florence Reece: “They say in Harlan County, there are no neutrals there. You’ll either be a union man or a thug for J.H. Blair.”
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Woody Guthrie: “This land was made for you and me.”
The ArtsXchange is the name of this facility, but our corporate name is The Southeast Community Cultural Center. Being a community cultural center has always been a part of our tradition. So we’ve never seen ourselves as an art center but as one of community and culture, because art is simply one component of culture. Our goal is to help change society, change people’s minds, and change people’s hearts. We are arts activists. We love creating art, but for a purpose.
South Fulton has long been a part of the county that has been under-resourced and underserved, especially in the arts. This is a place where we could serve, and there were people here who needed us. It just made total sense, and so it became our home. We are now into our seventh year here in East Point.
The value of art is its capacity to humanize us. What matters most to me is the process—art rooted in creativity. As people grow more confident in that creativity, they become more adventurous, more open to other people and other ways of seeing the world. Art opens us up and opens up the world.
Art pulls you into this sense of belonging, into something bigger than you that lasts beyond you, that was created before you and will live after you. And this is a way of making you a part of the world, if you’re open to it.
Art is not about being beautiful. Art is about being impactful. Art doesn’t have to be beautiful to help you. All art is a language. You’re not just looking with your eyes, you have to hear the dance; these movements mimic culture and life.
An artist tells their own truth. That truth is built through study: psychology, sociology, engineering, history, religion, science. Artists immerse themselves, drawing connections between what seems unrelated. If you can conceive it, you can create it. It just takes energy and organization.
As for myself, I identify as a cultural worker—writer, poet, performance artist, playwright.
I was trained as an organizer of people, ideas, and processes. I co-edit In Motion Magazine. I’ve produced shows, worn many hats, and led multiple organizations in Atlanta—from Alternate ROOTS to starting a teacher-training program at Georgia State University that used the arts to teach core curriculum.
Back in the ’80s, I taught in Hapeville when there was nothing there. Now I visit friends at the Academy Theater, and the city has transformed itself through the arts. It’s a testament to the power of the arts to shift an economy and improve the quality of life.
It’s a little bittersweet because I think East Point is a bit behind that curve. It has not yet seen the value of that kind of development. But they’re writing a new economic development plan, and we’re hoping to have some influence with the city to sort of push in that same direction of being arts-centric. I’m hoping that one of the solutions to the overabundance of empty housing in East Point is not gentrification, but actually some sort of project that’s a work-live space for artists. The impact of the rising cost of housing is all around us, but I think as long as people are working on a problem, there is much to be hopeful for.
Otis Damón
Milliner, HATMOGUL
Crafting identity and community
I’ve been making hats and headpieces for 37 years. I’m a milliner, and I try to stay true to that. I started self-taught, then had three mentors—one still living, two have passed.
I made my first hat at 15, during a time I was contemplating suicide. The summer before 10th grade, I ran into a high school teacher on hall duty. She was head of entrepreneurship and fashion design. I felt comfortable in our conversations, so I confided in her. After that, she had me come to class every day during my lunch, and she taught me how to sew.
I’ve been in Atlanta 11 years, College Park for two. I moved here for my studio. The community’s still growing here. I’d love to see more real engagement. I grew up in the hood, so I know what community looks like.
I have 162 hat molds and seven vintage millinery machines from 1874. All my designs are custom. I always use velour or suede. I’ve made hats for movies and for artists like Alicia Keys, Patti LaBelle. But I always had another job. I never did this full-time until I moved here. It’s a hard business. Amazon’s a blessing and a curse because now people can buy $30 hats. I try to educate people on why I use the fabrications that I use. It’s custom; it’s made for you. Some get it, some don’t.
I think everybody can wear hats. Usually, people come to my studio or call for a consultation. I get their head measurements, photos of what they’re wearing, their color scheme. I even check their social media to get a feel for who they are.
It’s unfortunate that the people who look like me sometimes don’t support each other’s businesses the way we should. And that’s why a lot of Black businesses fail. We don’t have generational wealth. I see white artists getting grants all the time. We don’t. I’ve tried working with organizations here, but I think they’re full of it. Some places just rent space to artists without valuing the artist. So I look back home in New York and use my resources from there. And it’s sad because I live here; I should be able to be of service to my community here.
I’d love to see us collab more. Business classes for artists would help. The strike wrecked the film industry: People are moving in with family, struggling to pay medical bills. Every day God gives me, I just try to show up and do my part as an artist, a milliner, a Black man in this crazy world.
Soon, I’ll offer classes, maybe start with embellishments. Something real easy.
Aleisha DuChateau
Ceramicist, Utility Objects
A woman, her kiln, and a dream
I got my kiln in 2020 when I started doing this full-time. I was working three odd jobs—bartending, working as a concierge, and volunteering at an art center in the ceramic studio, where I learned a lot of skills that I use today. And then when the pandemic hit, I thought, “I need to just dive in and do this full-time.”
I went to school at Georgia State University, where I studied photography initially. But then I got into ceramics and fell in love with it because it’s more tactile.
I ended up getting a pottery wheel as soon as I graduated. It was something I really loved, so I just kept doing it and figuring it out, and now it’s my job!
Being a full-time production potter was a little scary because it was something that I had dreamed of doing, but I didn’t know anybody in Atlanta who was doing it. It’s a one-woman show, all by myself for now, but I will have people come in and help soon. I also offer kiln firing services to local artists because it is really difficult to get a kiln installed in a house. It’s an investment, but it’s really the heart of ceramics.
All my pottery is handmade on the wheel, and even though the pieces all look the same, they all feel different and unique. I’m inspired by Japanese art and culture, and really like the Wabi-Sabi-ness of making imperfect things. A lot of the clay I work with, I keep raw. I like the tougher, grittier clay because I feel more connected to it.
I’ve been in East Point for about seven months now. It’s nice because it still has that industrial feel—there are blue-collar workers, truckers, and industrial warehouses. Growing up, my dad was in the truck driving and forklifting field, so it feels familiar here. I’m hoping East Point will continue fostering more artists, especially since I hear it’s growing, and more people are moving here.
Festival season is coming up for spring so I will be really busy working and doing pop-up markets. I also work with small businesses, including Press Shop ATL in Summerhill and The Victorian Atlanta, a plant store and a coffee shop in East Atlanta Village.
Chris Tsambis
Filmmaker, musician, artist
Courage and vulnerability in self-expression
I started storytelling to myself because I was bored sitting in the back seat of my parents’ car. I lived in New York, I grew up in the Bronx, and I was on the George Washington Bridge the entire time of my youth. I just remember being stuck in the car seat and daydreaming; that was the core of art for me. I did it because it entertained me, brought me joy, and stimulated my mind. What is the point if there’s no joy?
I work a lot with PushPush Arts’ SeedWorks artistic development program and incubator. I’ve gotten to meet a lot of artists, and this awareness of finding a community was new to me. It was the first time I felt comfortable saying that, too. I’ve always been hesitant to belong anywhere. I’m kind of an anarchist at heart, and I never wanted to be put in a box. There are so many other people supporting creativity here, and it’s a nice symbiotic thing where everybody’s helping each other out.
I’ve been a musician — songwriting and guitar playing — for many years. But professionally, I mostly am a filmmaker, at least those are the skills I use to make a living.
I was going through a personal shakeup when the writer showed me the script for my latest project, Sweet Citrus. The film itself is about doing the same thing over and having the courage to try and reconnect even after you find yourself with an open wound. The central conceit of this metaphor is that you keep doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.
To me, it was very much about how do you just keep doing this, even though you’ve seen bad results and you’ve had bad times? You have to keep putting yourself out there and showing your vulnerabilities, because as much as it hurts, life’s not really worth it if you can’t be vulnerable. What are we fighting for, if not the right to be vulnerable and authentic and honest?
There is a gap in supporting artists and providing resources. As an artist, it’s always my goal to keep the cost of running business low, so that I can pick and choose where I want to sell my soul and not have to say yes to every opportunity. That’s why affordable housing is so important: It allows me the opportunity to choose. Because it’ll suck the enthusiasm of your passions away if you have to compromise your integrity over and over.
I think it’s an important part of the human experience to be able to follow your curiosity and create. The inarguable value of art is a community of people who know themselves and can express themselves.
Editors: Christina Lee and Heather Buckner
Fact Checker: Julianna Bragg
Canopy Atlanta Reader: Mariann Martin
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