Southern Gothic and Unemployment
Alright, here’s the deal—one spring, I found myself laid off and picking up a gig driving a fish truck for a summer. Yep, a big ol’ refrigerated truck stuffed with shrimp and oysters, hauling seafood from Raleigh to Savannah. Glamorous, right? Well, one day, mid-existential crisis, I decided to take a detour into Bonaventure Cemetery. Because, you know, when you’re questioning your life choices and asking yourself, “Why the hell am I driving a fish truck?” you might as well do it surrounded by moss-draped oaks and gothic gravestones.
So there I was, wandering through this surreal, overgrown cemetery with the shrimp truck chilling (literally) in the parking lot, and this scene just hit me. The angel statue, the cobblestone path, the creeping vines—it was like a visual metaphor for my mood. It was haunting, beautiful, and weirdly calming all at the same time. Naturally, I had to paint it.
Perfect for anyone who loves a little Southern gothic vibe, a touch of existential dread, or just digs moss-covered cemeteries that make you feel all the feels. Hang it up, and let it remind you that life’s twists and turns—even the fish-truck kind—can still lead you to something beautiful.
Because hey, sometimes the best inspiration comes from the weirdest detours.
Alright, here’s the deal—one spring, I found myself laid off and picking up a gig driving a fish truck for a summer. Yep, a big ol’ refrigerated truck stuffed with shrimp and oysters, hauling seafood from Raleigh to Savannah. Glamorous, right? Well, one day, mid-existential crisis, I decided to take a detour into Bonaventure Cemetery. Because, you know, when you’re questioning your life choices and asking yourself, “Why the hell am I driving a fish truck?” you might as well do it surrounded by moss-draped oaks and gothic gravestones.
So there I was, wandering through this surreal, overgrown cemetery with the shrimp truck chilling (literally) in the parking lot, and this scene just hit me. The angel statue, the cobblestone path, the creeping vines—it was like a visual metaphor for my mood. It was haunting, beautiful, and weirdly calming all at the same time. Naturally, I had to paint it.
Perfect for anyone who loves a little Southern gothic vibe, a touch of existential dread, or just digs moss-covered cemeteries that make you feel all the feels. Hang it up, and let it remind you that life’s twists and turns—even the fish-truck kind—can still lead you to something beautiful.
Because hey, sometimes the best inspiration comes from the weirdest detours.
Alright, here’s the deal—one spring, I found myself laid off and picking up a gig driving a fish truck for a summer. Yep, a big ol’ refrigerated truck stuffed with shrimp and oysters, hauling seafood from Raleigh to Savannah. Glamorous, right? Well, one day, mid-existential crisis, I decided to take a detour into Bonaventure Cemetery. Because, you know, when you’re questioning your life choices and asking yourself, “Why the hell am I driving a fish truck?” you might as well do it surrounded by moss-draped oaks and gothic gravestones.
So there I was, wandering through this surreal, overgrown cemetery with the shrimp truck chilling (literally) in the parking lot, and this scene just hit me. The angel statue, the cobblestone path, the creeping vines—it was like a visual metaphor for my mood. It was haunting, beautiful, and weirdly calming all at the same time. Naturally, I had to paint it.
Perfect for anyone who loves a little Southern gothic vibe, a touch of existential dread, or just digs moss-covered cemeteries that make you feel all the feels. Hang it up, and let it remind you that life’s twists and turns—even the fish-truck kind—can still lead you to something beautiful.
Because hey, sometimes the best inspiration comes from the weirdest detours.
