The new pyramid

Bricks crumble down the sidewalls, revealing the building’s aging skeleton. It looks somewhat abandoned from the outside, the sort of place you might drive past a hundred times but never give a second thought. It sits on the corner of Patterson and Seventh streets in Winston-Salem in the historic Goler Heights section of downtown, away from the busier scene of bars and shops and usual din of the city. Sunlight angles down from the west, holding the bricks and windows in a glow of copper light. The doors are kept locked and, from the sidewalk on Patterson out front, the place seems perhaps as quiet as the bodies that were once embalmed within — this used to be a funeral home. The dead no longer reside there; now new life fills its rooms.

The building that is now Electric Pyramid Studios sat empty for a few years after the Clark S. Brown & Sons Funeral Home moved to its current location next door. A group of artists who made up the now defunct Electric Mustache Studios at Krankies downtown found themselves in need of new work space after the decision was made to close the studios at the popular coffee house for its restaurant expansion. After a long search and moments of feeling dispossessed, in September 2014 artist Rachel Endsley found the place that would become their new home.

In the few years since, Electric Pyramid has grown from the original group to its current capacity of 13 artists who rent studio space. It’s a mosaic of art and personalities, ranging from visual and mixed-media arts to fashion design and jewelry-making. And while the renters have made all renovations themselves and spruced the place up, there is still the looming specter of ghosts and a level of implied eeriness, one that seems to add to this eclectic collective.

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“One of the first nights I was here working alone, I heard footsteps on the stairs,” painter Laura Lashley recalled. “It was weird. A few other people said they’ve heard similar things, but I haven’t heard anything since that first night.”

Through the main door, a giant, broken mirror hangs on the wall at the far end of the great room-cum-gallery-cum-yoga space. This is the studio’s latest renovation, intended to provide a place for its artists to show their work to the public and to assemble for meetings and hangouts. In the center of the mirror, thick jags of glass meet and reveal an old advertisement for Tuxedo Club pomade. Artist Jennie Earle Hopkins felt that the mirror was too much a part of the history of the place to simply be thrown away, and across the shattered glass she has repainted the old advertisement’s emblem around the sharp edges, turning what was once a broken mirror earmarked for the trashbin into a piece of art that everyone will see as they enter.

The original debris the previous occupants left behind has been cleared out and replaced with artwork that is everywhere, from small works in progress leaning in hallways and community storage corners to completed, commissioned works waiting to be sent out. The Pyramid stands three stories tall, with individual studios spaced out among the floors, packed densely enough to fulfill a sense of community yet leaving ample space for necessary moments of creative isolation.

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In the basement, mixed-media artist and carpenter Andrew Fansler occupies most of the space with tools used to build an array of sculptures amid the smell of sawdust and wood stain mixed with basement earth and brick dust. A few dim lightbulbs speckle the ceiling, providing enough light to work by, but not so much to lose the charming sense of eeriness. Quilter Kaitlyn Neely has taken over an adjacent room in the basement — the very room once used to embalm the departed — with a 12-foot quilting machine. Fabrics lay on a long table off to the side, near an old sink once used to prepare the dead for their caskets, its function now purely decorative.

The narrow staircase that leads to the main floor creaks and moans, the very stairs that have been the cause of debate as to whether or not the building is actually haunted.

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“It was a little unsettling at first,” Hopkins recalled. “Part of me always wished there would be something strange to happen in the building. Then one day I was here working by myself and I heard footsteps coming up the basement stairs. I went down and opened the door to look and these four chickens came bolting up the stairs. I freaked out and immediately called Laura [Lashley] and told her. She said, ‘It’s cool, they’re just shooting a movie down there.’ So, I sort of calmed down after that. Nothing’s really happened since.”

The main floor hosts five studios, a community kitchenette with a mini-fridge and microwave, storage rooms and the gallery at the main entrance, near artist and musician Ezra Noble’s studio. The front room has spurred on a new level of creativity for how to maximize space and a goal for bringing the artists closer as friends and colleagues.

“It sort of came about because we felt we weren’t putting the space to good use,” Hopkins said while standing in the new gallery room. “We knew we eventually wanted a place to be able to bring our friends to and host pop-up galleries, and this room was just being used for storage really. Now that it’s cleared out, we also use it for things that sort of bring all of us a little closer together. We have yoga here a few times per week for any of us who want to join. We’re constantly coming up with new ideas of how to bring us all closer.”

Hopkins’ studio is on the other side of the main floor. Through a room occupied by Christina Tyler, an artisan jewelry-maker, Hopkins studio is tucked away in the corner, next to vintage clothing designer Jess Matthews. A small desk stands under a long window on one end, a shelf full of old InStyle, Oprah and Garden & Gun magazines sits by the wall opposite. No room for an easel or large drafting table.

“I usually end up doing most of my work on the floor,” she said. “It allows me to move around a little easier.”

Hopkins keeps the studio pristine. On the wall near the door, one of her collage pieces hangs in the glow of pale light that drips through the large window. With only a few lines drawn in, the captivating image of a woman wearing a Native American headdress is made with clipping and scraps of paper. The canvas bursts with pastel colors and birds fly forth from the woman’s breast.

The rest of the studios reside on the top floor. Laura Lashley, a painter and muralist, rents a large corner studio at the front of the building. Empty canvases lean up against the walls, facing her long drafting table, waiting to be completed and sent to those who commissioned them. Lashley stands in front of her easel adding the final touches to a commissioned painting.

With pallet in hand, she draws the brush across the sea of blue, painting the gentle strokes that make up the petals of her popular floral designs. Dried paint covers the long table beside coffee cups that hold brushes and tools. The windows remain open and the warm spring airs fills the room, blowing the lacy drapes around in the breeze. The thought of what this building once was vanishes in the studio. Bookshelves line the wall, knick-knacks and potted plants fill a corner. Lashley’s murals can be seen around Winston-Salem in such locations as Small Batch, Bailey Park and Arts Based Elementary School.

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A few steps away down the hall, graphic designer Kat Lamp sits behind an L-shaped desk. Two monitors sit before her, which she uses to make most of her work. Lamp has designed concert posters for such acts as Andrew Bird and the Avett Brothers, and copies hang in frames on the wall to her right. Under the glow of a bright lamp, she leans over an old photo of a man from the 1800s, painting psychedelic colors across the bleak face and gray background. A stack of similar photographs lay beside her, all waiting to be a part of her latest project titled “Room Noodles.”

“The name comes from an ’80s cartoon short I liked when I was a kid,” Lamp said. “I started this series shortly after the [presidential] inauguration as a means to channel my depression and outrage into something meditative and fun. The ‘Room Noodles’ cartoon felt like the appropriate metaphor for the process of creating the paintings.”

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In the cartoon, the room noodles would visit frightened children during the night and bind up, tickle and banish the monsters in their rooms.

Music drifts from down the hall and in through the open door, emanating from the large room that hosts three other artists, including Ian Dennis, Tony Fonda and Shawn Peters. Just below the electronic music, the thumping needle of Ian Dennis’ sewing machine vibrates through the old floors. Dennis designs stuffed creations — animals, monsters and science-fiction characters — some of which hang on the walls surrounding him. A stack of fabrics and stuffing lay close at hand on a table, among desks full of completed creations that will be sent out after a few final details.

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On every floor, across every square foot of Electric Pyramid, art is being created. While some of the artists seem to have gained more success and have since quit their nine-to-five jobs to pursue art full-time, any animosity or tension seems to be non-existent.

“Doing art full time is the dream,” Hopkins said. “I do have another job, but it’s nice to come and go here as I please.”

“A lot of us do work outside of here as well,” Dennis agreed. “We’re all always creating, whether it be in here or out in the community.”

Distraction seems as if it would pose a great problem with studios in such close proximity to each other, but the relationships among the artists at Electric Pyramid have grown deep enough to prevent friction.

“When I had my space at the Krankies location, it was a lot harder to get things done I think,” Dennis said. “I would be walking through the coffeeshop carrying a 9-foot-tall stuffed robot to my studio and everyone would sort of just stop and stare. It would almost make me a little embarrassed, that feeling of being judged or something. But here, everyone is doing something. No one is put off by the weird things we all do.”

An open community can be helpful at times, though Lamp’s new studio upstairs provides her with a larger space where she can take comfort in the new addition of a door and the ability for intense focus and privacy when needed.

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“Before we built the walls downstairs, everything was just sort of open,” Lamp said. “Jennie [Hopkins] and Kaitlyn [Neely] had their space sectioned off with tape. People would just cut through other people’s spaces and start talking and of course I love seeing people and so I would stop and start hanging out. That was difficult. But now that I have a door, it’s a little easier to close myself off and focus when I need to.”

While distraction remains an issue for any creative professional, it has somewhat become a form of collaborative inspiration for the artists.

“I think there are only a few of us who do art full time,” Hopkins said. “Most of us have other part-time or even full-time jobs, so it can be hard to find motivation and keep regular hours. But all the time I’m away from here, I’m always thinking about how I need to get in and do some work. The rent forces me to come as often as I can. And when I see other people are here working, it makes me want to get over here and be a part of it.”

Because each renter holds a key, they are free to come and go as they please.

“It’s easy to come here and work when I’m feeling inspired,” Lamp said. “But when I’m not, it’s really hard. I’ll come here sometimes and find other people working and I try and catch it, you know. When you see others at work, you just want to be a part of their creativity. It just feels so alive when people are here at work.”

“Absolutely,” Dennis agreed. “You make time for it as best you can. Sometimes I’ll be here every night for two or three months. Then life stuff gets busy and it starts to slip. You see your friends around town who have space here, and it’s great, but all that means is that neither one of you are working. It means no one is here. And you just want it to be filled. Not just for security reasons, but for everyone else’s sake almost.”

The closeness that these makers have with each other comes from not only sharing in the same profession, but most of them are close friends outside of the studio as well.

“We’re all kind of excited today,” Hopkins said. “Some of us get together to play cards and have dinner at Laura’s house on Sundays. And it’s beautiful out so that means we get to eat outside today!”

The group laughed among themselves, demonstrating the level of airy friendship that extends beyond these old walls. Each artist brings something unique to the space, sharing and growing from one another’s ingenuity. The artists not only find inspiration while here, but also, perhaps most importantly, during the hours spent with each other simply as friends.

Every wall, every room, is alive with an electric pulse of color and creativity. A building full of artists doing the work they love. In a place that was once used to care for the deceased, something great has blossomed; out of death has come boundless creative life. While there is a sleepy look to it from the outside, an endless world of art is humming within the Pyramid.