BAFTFT 5: Carrboro Blues

Written by Jessica George

I had difficulty writing my column this time around, my lovely readers. The reason is that although I am throwing myself into as much as I can here in this new place, I still am feeling a bit shipwrecked in Carrboro, North Carolina. It’s small, much smaller than any town I have tried to work my way into before and it is proving to be unexpectedly harder than I’d imagined to find my way. Before I let myself easily slip into any overdramatic and bittersweet nostalgic rant about missing New Zealand, I’ll take us back to two months ago, when I first arrived, all wide-eyed and excited for a new challenge. In doing this, perhaps I’ll remind myself of the good things about my current situation that my brain has recently left out of my daily thoughts.

Being new in town, especially a town with a small population, makes you feel like you’ve got a brand across your forehead letting everyone know that you are indeed a recent addition to the local community. I’m not sure exactly what the brand would say. Maybe something like “stare at me for quite some time until we both feel awkward,” although that seems too wordy for even the biggest of foreheads. To avoid this feeling in new places, I make a valiant attempt at meeting people and finding ways I can continue to involve myself in what I enjoy: art, music, writing and for those of you who know me well, sometimes baking delicious treats. In Carrboro, I made sure to do exactly this and in finding a job at an art gallery in the downtown area, I felt very fortunate. Grand ideas for art shows have been flooding my head for the last couple of months, even a New Zealand art show is in the cards, at least in my brain. It just needs to make that large leap to reality.

Settling in at the gallery, I wondered what sort of responsibilities I would have in my new job. Tidying the storefront? Probably. Maybe even a window display or two? Yes! What I hadn’t anticipated was walking in a parade, and what I got, was walking in a parade. What a crowning moment in my move here! I hadn’t even lived in the town for over a month and I was already being asked to walk in Carrboro and it’s neighbouring town’s (Chapel Hill) holiday parade. My boss had asked if I would walk alongside other local business owners and employees as a representative of a local business initiative here in town. I gladly accepted. Upon hearing the news, my optimistic and endearing parents even made a trip over from Charlotte (about three hours away) to see their daughter taking the town by storm, but what they got was a little different than that.

I arrived on the morning of the parade, ready for my debut as the town queen, but had forgotten that the coat I was wearing, although quite stylish from waist up, was featuring a giant yellowy stain along the bottom half. Nevermind that! I was determined to wave to my adoring fans even if my appearance was a little... rustic? I looked around for my fellow local business enthusiasts but saw no one. What I did see, amongst the giant, elaborate floats, teaming with children in scout and martial arts uniforms, was a small red wagon packed with boxes with a few red and green balloons tied to it and leaning up against it was a humble looking white banner. After lurking around the wagon and banner for awhile, three men appeared, one in an R2-D2 hat, another in a very tall Russian style hat (or what I imagine to be Russian style, I’ve done no further research into this), and another on a customised bicycle. I was informed that no one else was coming and that the wagon was filled with biscuits (Southern style bread, not cookies) and coffee for us (and all the people who didn’t show up). I was quite happy to hear about the free biscuits and coffee but not quite as elated about the lack of people and parade-oriented things, like a float or a vintage car and confetti. Soon I learned that we would be handing out flyers to the eagerly awaiting onlookers. My job specifically became the puller of the wagon which contained the flyers. Many minutes later and with a full belly of savoury biscuit, I was walking down the main street of Chapel Hill, passing college students and families whom all had a similar slightly bewildered look when they saw our ragtag group. The wagon, still filled with breakfast items and boxes of flyers was curiously disguised by a slightly dingy green blanket, which left people only to wonder why I was pulling a blanket-covered wagon, toting a few sparse balloons. People shouted, “May I have a balloon?!” The answer was “no” because without its balloons, the red wagon was even less festive than my yellowy coat. It wasn’t the dream parade I had envisioned but at least it was strange enough to be amusing. Despite all this, my parents are still very proud. They’re good like that.

After surviving the surreal experience of the parade, I have continued my work at the gallery and helped to hang two exhibitions. The hanging process usually includes a lot of work and then a lot of drinking with the artists. A fun experience I hope to continue to be a part of. It’s thrilling to look at completely empty white walls and then to have the freedom to plan and execute an arrangement of artwork on them. Seeing the exhibition opening attendees gather around paintings and dig through their minds for witty or insightful responses to what they’re seeing is pretty great as well; although, that can all backfire when you have a man talking at you about pixilation for 45 minutes.

In my endeavours outside of the gallery, I’ve managed to get out to a few bars, see local bands and try to mingle with the townsfolk. On one such mingling occasion an absolutely lovely woman, came up to me and queried, “Honey, where are you from?”. It’s always a pity when someone who feels the urge to call a person of their own age “honey”  does it in a patronising way. When I answered that I live in this town, she went on for quite some time about her liberty and right to judge me as a newcomer. At least she didn’t have a pitchfork, chase me up into a barn and then ask her friends to come around to start a bonfire with the walls, so I must thank her for that next time I see her roaming Main Street.

In looking at what my days have consisted of while in Carrboro, I recognize that they’ve been filled with art and music and meeting new people, so I know that to feel sad about my situation is not fully justified. I do however also know that the transition I am going through most definitely will result in strange and uncomfortable feelings. Moving from a city, where the streets are usually smattered with people into the wee hours of the morning (yes, even hookers and drug dealers count) can make a small town seem empty. The spaciousness of this town can become difficult for someone who is used to finding comfort in the anonymity of a sea of humans. Usually, I look for inspiration in people, whether it is a specific individual or a large population. Now, I have to search a bit harder.

I miss seeing street art in Auckland and being inspired by it. I miss buildings towering around me, but I have to adapt to the changes here instead of sinking into a nostalgia induced coma. I do fall into lovely moments of a connectedness with nature here. There are old highways lined with majestic trees and horses grazing in vast fields. Every now and then I’ll take my Holga camera out and snap a few shots. Slowly I am catching glimpses of what a pleasant life could be like here for me - one where I am inspired and inspiring others. For now, I just have to continue to adapt to this drastic change in my surroundings. If anything, the lonesome expanses of the South have given me a great deal of fodder for my music career. Watch out for my new album, “What the hell am I doing here?!” coming out in Fall 2010.

Photos by Kate Fanfani