The Painted Piano Festival

Beauty is fascinating, in that it is sometimes hidden and tucked away in places we least expect it. In our modern society of art museums, prestigious films, digital editing, and a new era of social media “content creation” and filters, we can be mistaken that beauty exists in only certain capacities. It’s easy to overlook what’s right in front of us. Sometimes beauty is found in the grandeur: The exotic vacation, expensive travel, elitist art gallery, or cinema screen. Sometimes, beauty is created by us. Sometimes, we are the ones to see what something could be and cultivate beauty around its potential, no matter the location or infrastructure or initial judgements.

Thomasville, North Carolina, once a proud hub of the furniture industry, is often a book misjudged by its cover. At first glance, you would see a small town, abandoned furniture plants graced in kudzu and rust, buildings that have certainly seen their days, historic neighborhoods and streets that have also clearly seen their prime, and just enough stores, cafes, and local coffee shops to sustain the locals. Everybody knows everybody (and if they don’t know you, you’re likely 10th cousins or have at least 10 mutual friends), and it’s easy to pass through and merely see something that once was. Many would even call it an “Eyesore”.

Stay a little longer, and you just might discover something different. Take a stroll downtown, peruse the antique store, record store, all American made goods at BL Maker’s Market, kick back in Nature’s Cottage - the town’s very own organic, green spa - as you realize you’re actually in an early 20th century theater, enjoy southern hospitality as the waitresses not only serve you up a cup of sugary sweet tea, but also call you sugary sweet affections of “Honey” or “Baby” or “Sweetie”, and it’s totally platonic. As you walk downtown, take an extra good look at the storefronts.

You’ll notice an array of painted pianos.

I first noticed them about a year ago. I was marathon training and looped a long run downtown before dawn. It was dark, the streets were silent, and it was just the starry sky and me. That is, until I heard something in the distance. I heard what sounded like someone playing a piano. I took out my earbuds and listened. It wasn’t just a few plunked keys. It was something of absolute beauty. As I ran closer to the sound, there sat a homeless man in tattered clothing, completely engrossed in a festively painted piano. It felt like time stood still. As I ran by, I told him his music was beautiful and to keep playing. And that, he did. It was an unexpected gift and perfect soundtrack to a grueling 18 mile run. It was like life was breathed into an old town. As an artist, I absolutely loved the idea that someone thought to place a bunch of eclectic pianos at the storefronts downtown. Who would think to do this though? And why? This definitely piqued my curiosity. Almost a year later, I unexpectedly met the face behind it all.

That face was Priscilla Oldaker.

She is a singer, piano teacher, performer, and arts lover. We met by happenstance, but looking back, it felt like it was meant to be. In June, I sat outside The Blend Coffee Shop (also known as my digital “office”), writing a blog and editing photos. A fellow coffee shop regular joined me outside and we talked for a moment. Priscilla happened to be leaving, and overheard me speak of my writing and photography. She introduced herself and we connected instantaneously over music, art, writing, and the fact that we were both old souls. There was a warmth, classiness, and enthusiasm about her that I really loved. She shared about this upcoming festival downtown, featuring all the painted pianos in Thomasville. It was that moment I learned she was the mastermind behind the beauty I heard nearly a year ago during my run. Indeed, it is what we now know as the annual:

Painted Piano Festival.

My heart was warmed by the idea that someone desired to bring life and beauty to our sweet, small town. I’ve lived all over, traveled all over, seen gloriousness from the grandeur of Montanan mountaintops to European cathedrals, yet my heart remains fond of my hometown, Thomasville. It is forever my safe place, refuge, and place that, to me, has a beauty and lovely potential of its own. I was thrilled to meet someone like Priscilla, who echoed these same thoughts.

Born in Ohio, she grew up in a family that could be considered the American version of the Von Trapps. After their farm was tended to and supper was finished, her family would read the Bible, pray, and sing together. Priscilla’s mother was compared to Swedish opera singer, Jenny Lind, and the family would often travel on weekends and sing.

When her son was born, she wanted him to also experience the gift of music and learn the piano. Finances were tight as a young family though, so Priscilla (quite literally) took matters into her own hands. She taught him herself. Thus began her joy in teaching piano, which she has done for 24 years now. That joy has now turned into an annual street phenomenon, now known as the Painted Piano Festival.

“Several years ago, we visited a town that had some pianos out on the street that were beautifully painted. My daughter spent the afternoon playing them. It was just a magical afternoon. I really wanted to do this in Thomasville,” she said.

Priscilla’s vision resonated all over the community. Numerous people reached out to her, offering to donate pianos for the town’s project. Because of their generosity, the annual festival and music downtown is alive. Downtown Thomasville’s street closes, turning an old town into a mesmerizing world of local artists and food vendors, live painting, Disney princesses, lineup of late Miss Thomasvilles, complete in their tiaras, vocalists, and of course, piano players. Each year there is to be a theme, and 2024 was coined as the year of the Voice. It reminded me of my time in Europe, where the arts and street performers are integrated as part of the culture. For a few hours, Thomasville became just that. It traded its worn out clothes for a ballgown and became a magical world of its own. It just needed someone to see what it could be; dig up its hidden beauty.

And as Fyodor Dostoevsky, one of my favorite authors, was quoted in Italy,