The Story of Art of Atlas

Art of Atlas began one night in 2015 on the couch at a friends house. I had an art show coming up in Kansas City, and wanted a name different than the one I was born with. And maybe even had a feeling of a dream I couldn’t see yet. As we were listing off things I loved, and things I was discovering to love, “Art of Atlas” stumbled out and stuck.

What simply began as a name printed on business cards became a pursuit into the understanding of what it meant, and what I was meant for. So much has happened since then. Enough to prove over and over again that what makes me live, and what gets my heart beating again comes back to two things: Art, and The Greater Outdoors. It’s how I navigate through everything. 

From elation to depression. A chronic illness, and its isolation. To a breaking heart’s search for home, creativity leads me through broken things until I get to the new, incredible view on the page, or somewhere out there. Art of Atlas is built from story, and wilderness. Like I am.

I remember camping alone at Twin Lakes, Colorado in 2017. My friend John-Scott dropped me off for a week and a half or so and I had no car, no service, and one battery charge on my phone. I’m not sure there is something I love more, and fear the most than being alone. Quiet space allows the swirlings in our hearts to surface, and this can be a scary place. And a place I think most of us avoid at all costs. I’ve learned that if I let these emotions be wanted, my best artwork is created right here in that space. I’m comfortable here, as long as I’m moving my way through a painting. But what’s inside a man when he’s outside with himself? When not even art is a distraction?

I’ve had Lyme disease near a year at this point, and been denying the way my body is breaking down at 27 years old. I’m supposed to be strong, active, and invincible. And I tried to be for as long as possible. Lyme steals everything you love and what you’re capable of, and I’ve been watching it all slip away. I can’t hold onto my life any longer, I am devoured by tiny monsters.

So there I was camping alone, not even Levi was with me this time, for almost two weeks to waste or to be wise. I had my journal and pen, and tried to write each day and never miss the sunset. I’m not sure when my love affair with golden hour began, but this sure did encourage it. I had a date with the sun every evening, and it was in these conditions that an idea began, “I wonder if I can write a book.”

Every day I was thinking about Art of Atlas, and the poetry I felt in me. How I felt fathered by mountains, and how my own art has formed me. I was thinking about the emotional terrain of every man, and how difficult it is for us to connect with ourselves, let alone each another. I was thinking about campfires, and camping with brothers, and how no other context in life can facilitate the connection around the glow of such light. I was rained on, covered in more rainbows than I’ve ever seen. If anything could prepare me for the future up ahead, this was the closest thing that could. It’s been a wild few years since then.

Now in my early thirties, I am still immersed in writing the book while navigating the plot twists in real time. I’m still dealing with Lyme disease, hopefully through the absolute worst of it, but still hindered in the mystery of what’s taking so long. And along the way were lessons of love and tragedy, more adventure than expected, less enchantment than suggested, and I’ve been impacted in ways I would have never predicted.

Through the rugged trails of this mysterious life, the currents of creativity encourage my moving forward. And as for the great outdoors, and my furry companion Levi Rasputin, their wild taps into mine. As I’ve been immersed in the pages of writing some sense of a memoir with art, another dream has naturally been born. I think it’s time to launch a brand that offers a similar kind of inspiration like the kind I am always searching for.

And I think it’s a pretty special thing to have our stories collide through a T-Shirt. 

Thank you for supporting a living artist. And his dog.