Art After the Storm

How Asheville’s River Arts District has rebuilt and revived just months after Hurricane Helene

By Katie McElveen

Ten months after Hurricane Helene devastated Asheville, North Carolina, the city’s arts district is open for business.

I discovered Asheville’s River Arts District—locals refer to it as the RAD—as I tend to discover things in a city: on a run, lost in what I was seeing and, soon, actually lost. But it didn’t matter. As my run slowed to a jog and then an amble, I slipped in and out of the studios housed in the old factories and industrial buildings that lined the street, watching potters as they smoothed clay with muddy hands, peering at painters as they dabbed and, just before I turned for home, standing as far as I could get from a blob of molten glass spinning off the end of a blowpipe. For years, every visit to Asheville included a stop in the River Arts District, but I never had the time to really dig in.

Today, I’m back in Asheville for the first time since Hurricane Helene tore through the region in October. Thanks to the Radical, a 70-room boutique hotel located in the RAD, I’m finally able to spend days—rather than hours—exploring the neighborhood. I could have easily divided my time between the RAD and downtown Asheville—they’re just a mile apart—but I wanted to fully take in this part of the city as a destination unto itself.

I knew that the RAD had been hit particularly hard by the storm, and the evidence was heartbreakingly real in the vacant lots, shuttered warehouses, and empty shops I came across as I walked. But what really struck me was the level of recovery: just ten months ago, these streets and buildings had been submerged in the swirling water of the French Broad River. Today, more than 70% of the businesses in the River Arts District have reopened, many in their old locations. And while empty and damaged spaces still remain, they haven’t been forgotten. Murals decorate the fencing that surrounds those vacant lots, optimistic signage covers buildings still in progress, and “we’re open” placards lead visitors to bustling galleries within structures still in process.

The Radical is a perfect fit for the neighborhood. It’s funky for sure—the lobby feels like a futuristic Paris flea market—but staff members are open, friendly, and welcoming, and make me feel like I’m part of a special club. Rooms have a similar vibe—super cool and trendy, but rooted in reality: nothing was complicated, everything was comfortable. I didn’t need directions to turn on the shower, turn off the lights, or open and close the blinds. Golden Hour, the hotel’s fine-dining restaurant, is equally straightforward, but with style. The elements that composed my lamb sausage entrée—a link of grilled chef-made sausage atop a brothy mélange of summer peas, black-eyed peas, and rice—hit all the right notes; fresh mint added unexpected brightness.

My first stop, as always, is the North Carolina Glass Center, where the heat and cacophony of a working glass factory opens into a gallery that holds a rainbow’s worth of vases, glasses, carafes, sculptures, lamps, and other works. Next, I make my way to the Clayspace Co-op, where I can look over the handiwork of a dozen or so ceramic artists. When I take the two bowls I’ve chosen to the cash register, the artist, Lindsay West, stands from the wheel that’s positioned behind the counter, wipes her hands, and smiles as she tells me that she is the artist who threw the pieces I’m purchasing. As West explains how the glassy emerald-hued pools in the bottoms of the bowls were formed—it’s ash from the wood she uses to fire the pottery—I feel an even greater connection to them.

Since I’ve finally got time to explore the River Arts District beyond the main drag, I begin to wander. I’m most surprised by the number of restaurants in the area. Some, like Ultra Coffeebar and Baby Bull, are casual counter-service establishments; others, like the Bull & Beggar, where I drank French wine and ate oysters, salmon rillettes, and, for dessert, a blueberry and plum galette, are serving refined dishes in casual settings. Either way, fresh, delicious, and creative food is readily available in the RAD, whether you’re looking to eat in or grab and go.

Studios are equally varied. Some, like those on Artful Way, are filled with jewelry, clothing, and bright leather goods and resemble tiny jewel boxes. I almost skipped Depot Street—a vacant lot gave me the mistaken idea that the street was empty—and I’m glad I didn’t. Bordered by a residential neighborhood, Depot Street is a mix of galleries, restaurants, a salon, and a few medical offices in buildings topped by apartments. At ButterPunk, I sip coffee amid families eating breakfast BLTs and scones; across the street at NorthLight Studios, I contemplate Nadine Charlsen’s large-scale watercolor of Paris. It may still find its way to my home.

On Clingman Avenue, I pause. One of the most notable pieces of pottery in my collection is a tray I purchased at an art show in 2019 from Akira Satake, an Asheville-based ceramicist whose unique interpretation of the kohiki pottery technique leaves each piece crackled with deep ridges of creamy glaze. I was fascinated, not just by the process but by the artist himself, who told me that his version of kohiki allows the fire to change the piece in unexpected ways, creating unforeseen beauty.

I had heard that Satake’s studio had been destroyed by the storm, but I didn’t know where he had landed. Until now. Though there was no signage, I’d stumbled onto his new location, which he was sharing with Rite of Passage, a slow-fashion label that constructs each piece on site. Though I’d just missed the artist, his wife, Cynthia, told me that Rite of Passage’s owner had offered them a temporary space in November but that it had worked out so well that in April they’d decided to make it permanent. Like Satake’s kohiki work, it was an example of the unintended beauty that can arise from hardship.