Why The High Lonesome?

A few weeks back, I was asked why I chose an antelope skull as my logo- why I chose the name “The High Lonesome”, rather than using my given name to title my work as a whole. I realized that I haven’t ever explained that reasoning before.

The High Lonesome itself as a nom de plume just feels right. A bit melancholy in the best way. The feeling I get when I walk through ghost towns, or drive through a town whose boom is passed. That nostalgia for a time that is gone, and has no choice but to be remembered by the few lucky enough to have lived it. There is a feeling of kinship in the Time Gone By, the people who were, and the lives lived in the before. I look at it as my job to caretake the past, and it is a job that I place great weight in. The term High Lonesome is also a form of bluegrass most notably connected to Bill Monroe. It was also used to describe a good solid drinking spree. All of those things combine to form something that represents the general feel I hope my work has. When a person views my work, I gladly let my name take a back seat to the slogan I stand under, but know that I’ll shake your hand and introduce myself the first chance I get when I see you around.

The antelope skull was an instant choice when I thought about what “my” West looks like. Antilocarpa Americana, or pronghorn, as they are more commonly known, are found in the country that I call home. Western plains and prairies, under big wide skies. That feeling of being tiny, out in the open grasslands and windswept plateaus, that ancient country full of horse tooth outcroppings and sun bleached fenceposts. Using the skull of a pronghorn falls in line with the “what was”. A remanent of the past, a sentient watcher over an ever changing country.

The term “Western Ghosts and Tall Tales” was something that popped in my head one day as I sketched out ideas for work. There is nothing better than a good ghost story, and since I was little, I’ve been enamored by folks who can tell a tall tale so well you’d swear it must be true. Again, much like caretaking the past is my job, so is telling those stories, keeping the ghosts around. Between you and me though, I’ll cross my heart every tale I tell is true… It happened to a friend of a friends’ Grandpa, I swear.