Hurricane Helene: Lessons from Annette’s Art, Resilience, and Life’s Transformative Journey

My friend Winslow is the brain child of my monthly column for The Laurel of Asheville, a local magazine focused on promoting the arts. Winslow, having finished my book, connected us and suggested that not only should they feature my book in their December issue, but that I should use my knowledge of overcoming adversity to connect with and interview artists affected by Hurricane Helene.

Annette was the second artist I interviewed.

I knew Chalkley, my first article, but have been excited to allow intuition and the universe to guide me to those I should feature --- and that's exactly how I came to meet Annette.

Waiting for my Uber to pick me up on a particularly cold December evening, the car park outside Whole Foods is empty and quiet. As my phone alerts me to my driver, Mark, arriving in 2 minutes, I can't help but think, "Maybe there's a reason I'm supposed to meet him?"

There sure was. Barely two months out of storm, my first question meeting anyone knew is my hope that they, their families, and their property are all okay. In Mark's quiet but measured voice he responds with, "No, my partner is an artists - and she lost everything."

My heart is shattered, but in that moment of pain, I have the tiniest light I can shine for Mark: I can feature her and their story in The Laurel of Asheville's March issue.

We set up a time for me to visit them at their home, and proceeded to spend three hours talking. Sharing. Listening. The column only allows for 600 words - and I felt the depth of that conversation deserved more - so I expanded on that article for you to read below. You'll also find way's to support her and find her art online to buy.

I for one can't wait until we buy our house and commission her to draw her incredible photograph like pencil art of Nelson Mandela to hang in our home.

Annette's Holistic Art Sanctuary before Hurricane Helene

Annette’s thoughts were consumed by worry as the hurricane bore down on Florida. It was 3 am when she was already on the phone with her two daughters, both in Florida with their own children, as well as one of her 10 siblings, Ruthie, in New York. Annette had lived through Hurricane Catt 3 and was no stranger to the anxiety that came with the raging storms, but this time, her heart was torn with concern for her kids and grandchildren. She checked outside frequently, trying to remain upbeat for her daughter’s sake. The dark, swirling night surrounding her felt strangely similar to the blank canvases she often faced in her studio—unknown, eerie, full of potential.

By 7 am, the storm had travelled immense distance, and it was now her daughter who was deeply concerned for her. “Mom,” her daughter said, her voice trembling, “the eye of the storm is over you.” Annette’s heart sank, and the fear she’d been holding at bay now came rushing in. The trees outside began snapping under the force of the wind, and an urgent evacuation alert blared through her phone. The Swannanoa River, normally a calm presence in Biltmore, was swelling, creeping its way up the road toward her house. Luckily, her home sat on higher ground and remained untouched, but the sense of dread only deepened.

Her art gallery in Black Mountain was not so lucky. Annette had spent five years building a sanctuary where art, yoga, music, and food intersect. The normally tranquil creek behind her gallery had transformed into a powerful, destructive force, flooding the first floor and leaving nothing untouched. Annette’s thoughts immediately turned to her artwork—the originals she had created with love and dedication. She had spent months cataloging the pieces for insurance purposes, documenting her decades' worth of work. The realization that her art, her heart’s labor, might be lost was almost too much to bear.

Despite the disaster, Annette was given a small reprieve. The I-40 East had opened, and she and her partner, Mark, rushed toward Black Mountain. The gallery sat at the confluence of three creeks, and Annette’s mind raced as she imagined the devastation waiting for them. “When [I] first saw it, [I] turned around and walked away. [My] heart was just so [torn]” … decades of accumulated art materials and works that she’d poured her soul into every stroke and curve.

The artwork, the tools, the materials that had taken years to accumulate—either washed away, or buried in mud. Beauty in art is created through the discipline of sitting in discomfort, and now she would have to apply that very discipline to navigating the pain of loss and rebuilding.

Art had always been a form of release for Annette. She first began drawing at the park while her kids played, or when she would sit for hours watching one of her sons play baseball. When her eldest daughter got married and left home, she’d remembered that and gifted her mom thoughtful basket of pencils, papers, and erasers—a small but meaningful gesture that sparked a renewed intensity in her artistic journey. Annette realized that she’d always been an artist, even when she wasn’t consciously holding a pencil. The world around her, with its shapes, shading, and shadows, had always been a canvas in her mind. Art gave her peace.

Choosing to raise her children before attending college, Annette's youngest son reminded her of that promise to herself as he chose his own educational path.

“You should come to college with me, Mom,” he urged. And so she did, adding photography, pottery, and oil painting to her already Renaissance-like status. Her openness to following her heart’s calling led her to Asheville, where she spent years building her gallery into a sanctuary where people could come to heal and explore their own creative expression.

The floodwaters may have receded by the time they arrived, but the destruction was still overwhelming. The once vibrant, colorful space was now a brown wasteland of mud and debris. 

For three weeks, they painstakingly sifted through the wreckage, it felt like an archaeological dig. Paintings, ceramics, and drawings lay buried beneath the mud, each piece holding the potential for either heartbreak or hope. Every time a piece was unearthed, there was a mix of joy and sorrow—a chance to reclaim something meaningful or the crushing realization of further loss. It was a painstaking process, with so much at stake.

One of the unfinished pieces, and her favorite, Annette tragically lost in the flood.

The hardest part was reconciling her personal loss with the awareness of others who were also suffering. "I can’t feel horrible about it, because there’s so many of us, I was struggling," she said, reflecting on the empathy she felt for others affected by the storm. She finally drove through The River Arts District which offered her a fresh perspective on her situation. “We have a home,” she reminded herself, grateful for the resilience of her family and friends. The hardest battle is processing our own loss — even when others have lost far more than ourselves.

In the months that followed, Annette battled with PTSD, waking up to see mud at the foot of her bed—reminders of the weeks digging through the debris. But it wasn’t just the physical loss of art and materials that hurt; it was the emotional toll. “Art isn’t my career. It is my joy. But I saw that it could become a financial gift. To lose that much … I don’t know what I’m going to do now.” Annette explained.

In times like this, when suffering and loss feels overwhelming, look for the one shining light, usually in the kindness and support from others. It can come from an expected place, and sometimes like magic it comes out of nowhere. Annette would experience both.

The kindness of friends and family became her lifeline. A neighbor lent her keys to a truck to help rescue more salvaged pieces before the mud turned them into irretrievable ruins. A childhood friend in Texas inspired a GoFund me which raised $1,500 to support her recovery efforts. And her brother, a skilled electrician, put his business on hold to assist his sister in her time of need. His generosity, though seemingly small in the face of such loss, made a profound difference for Annette.

To her, it felt like being one of the starfish washed up on the shore, only to be thrown back into the ocean.

Annette’s vision—her dream of creating a holistic sanctuary for artists and the public—has not been extinguished by this tragedy. Like the Medici family supporting Michelangelo, perhaps the storm will match her with the right patrons keen to rebuild Asheville. I hope so— because her vision is the kind of beauty we can all use.

There is resilience in Annette. Her journey, though marred by loss, has been defined by the unshakable belief that art can heal, transform, and ultimately rise from the ashes. Just as she picks through the mud and salvages what she can, Annette will rebuild—not just her gallery, but the dream that has carried her through life’s storms.

The path ahead is uncertain, but Annette is a living testament to the power of resilience. Through grief, through loss, and through the challenge of rebuilding, she continues to find peace in her art, always with one eye on the horizon, and the other on the canvas of her life.

You can follow her on Instagram or visit her website.

Outside her home that ended up becoming her Art Refugee Camp