Standing in her Dillsboro studio, potter Zan Barnes can’t help but smile. “If you told me in high school that this is what I’d be doing, I’d have laughed in your face — absolutely not,” the 32-year-old said.

A second-generation potter, Barnes is tucked away in her own little Zen den. Next to her at all times is Zelda, a rescued Great Dane as gentle as she is large. The wooden structure is long and winding, with a low-hanging roof, where blocks of clay, buckets of water, countless shelves and finished items reside — all under a grove of trees, a stone’s thrown from the main house of the Riverwood Shops along the Tuckasegee River.

Two short years ago, Fay Grant was living on the other side of the country, a professional music editor for film and television shows in Los Angeles’ bustling entertainment scene. It was a different world altogether from the sleepier mountain town of Waynesville, where she and her husband Ben now make their home. 

She doesn’t regret the move. 

Something was missing from life in L.A. She wanted to do something different, something that made a difference. So, Grant took a few months off for a road trip across the country, and that drive, she said, “led me to The Tote Project.”

Just mere feet from a bustling South Main Street in Waynesville resides a cocoon of creativity. 

With a steady stream of vehicles rushing by, one enters Jenny Bucker’s studio as if to step into a portal of a calmer ambiance. Vibrant, intricate paintings hang from any available wall space, while the sounds of Simon & Garfunkel’s “Scarborough Fair” echo throughout the cozy abode. Meandering around the rooms, the source of the song is not only located, but so is the person immersed in the melody, who faces a blank canvas ready to be adorned with the colors of the imagination.

Maine is a long way from China.

And for Amy Putansu, that distance is a testament to her life, passions and career.

“That was a whole new level,” she smiled. “I was in heaven — it was incredible.”

Ken Czarnomski has always loved sketching and writing, but as a department chair for the sustainability and construction management programs at Asheville-Buncombe Technical Community College, his projects consisted mainly of razor-straight lines and technical engineering language. There wasn’t a lot of room for freehand sketches or colorful commentary. 

After retiring, Czarnomski began looking around for ways to pick up some of those hobbies he’d left untouched as a working professional. At the same time, he wanted to find a way to give back to his community, Haywood County. So, he started sketching hiking maps.

General Grant knew from a young age he was an artist.

“I was gifted, it was a gift from The Creator,” he said. “He gave me multiple talents and I was not afraid to experiment with them. Through my experimentation, I’ve become very good at this and have able to make a living doing it.”

By Michael Beadle

Luke Allsbrook has a voice as soothing as his paintings.

He explains his craft with the calm of someone who has spent hours in solitary reflection, emerging from nature with gifted insights. Whether it’s a vast stretch of beach, a mountain pasture or glowing houselights in a suburban home, there’s an invisible breeze hushing peripheral noise as you enter his world of oil paintings.

By Sarah Kucharski • Staff Writer

Deep in the mountains that surround Jackson County’s Tuckasegee community, the sound of metal on metal rings out with a sharp ping as blacksmith David Brewin begins to shape a steel rod.

The rod, heated in a propane power forge, glows red, its tip approximately 2,000 degrees. Brewin deftly raises and fells his hammer, steel bending around the anvil’s curved edge and forming a graceful curl.

By Michael Beadle

For Victor Raul Moraloza, each day is a gift.

From being a high school wrestling champion to surviving a grenade explosion in the Vietnam War to treasure diving off the coast of Colombia to creating award-winning metal sculptures that are sold all over the United States, Moraloza has always been willing to take that gift and do what he could with it.

By Sarah Kucharski

John Nickerson is a very exacting man. Tall and solidly built, he moves with efficiency, his speech measured and pointed as he explains how he came into being a glassblower.

“I don’t do this to make tons of money. I do this because I can’t stand working for anybody else,” he said.