Casey Kristofferson doesn’t want anything given to her because of her last name. So she’s worked hard to establish a life without having her Grammy-winning parents — actor/songwriting icon Kris Kristofferson and musician/Native American activist Rita Coolidge — being the reason for her success.
On her own, she is a songwriter, dancer, teacher, holistic-health practitioner, and single mom. Casey and her children live in Old Fort, in the home she and her younger daughters’ father, her former husband, inherited. When her oldest daughter, 20-year-old Hana, a theater student at UNC Greensboro, visits, she sleeps in the upstairs bedroom. That space, dominated by a large mirror and ballet barre, showcases one of the family’s main passions.
The house and land were owned by Casey’s father-in-law, Hawk Littlejohn, the legendary Native American flutemaker. Situated on 26 acres, it once sheltered Littlejohn’s pet wolves, including one named Gele, who Casey lived with while growing up. The property has a pond, a barn, and a corn crib, the latter structure renovated into an alternative-health clinic. There’s a Native American graveyard just off the backyard, where her in-laws are buried.
It’s all a short distance from Black Mountain, where Casey, who’s certified in the rigorous Cecchetti method, runs a ballet studio at Black Mountain Center for the Arts. She is also the Beginnings and Wellness Director at River Arts Ballet, a school in Fletcher.
Besides dancing, the 42-year-old is ready to continue her songwriting career. She used to play in a group with Amy Nelson (whose dad is Willie) and Cathy Guthrie (Arlo’s daughter), and knows she must scale back on her long work days in order to write.
Casey sat in her living room recently, sipping from a ceramic mug with her kids playing in the next room, to answer questions about moving around, ballet, and life with a famous last name.
What was it like moving to Old Fort?
I think when I first moved here [in 2003] it was more than a culture shock. I didn’t know if I’d last the first year. Then I ended up getting into the community of Black Mountain and working at [the traditional-instrument store] Acoustic Corner and realizing how unbelievable this area is for the arts. I’d so much rather be here than Los Angeles.
Did you feel any pressure going into music?
Yes, absolutely. I feel it right now. I feel idle at the moment because I’m not writing. It’s really intimidating, partially because I’m a perfectionist, but also being related to people who I think are prolific writers. I have a lot to live up to if I do songwriting. I don’t want to do anything that is mediocre just because I’m somebody’s daughter. If I’m not happy with it, I’m not doing it. To put something out there that I’m not proud of, I’m terrified. Absolutely terrified.
Where will you do your writing here?
Probably in the living room. I don’t want to do anything close to where I sleep because I’m kind of an insomniac. If I bring art into the place where I’m trying to sleep, I won’t ever go to sleep. The music would never stop. All I do is dream about ballets and hear music in my head.
Was it hard growing up with famous parents?
Yes — it is hard. When I married my first husband, I took on his name immediately because I never wanted anyone to know who I was. The hard part is not having your anonymity. People treat you different and have expectations about who you are as a human being, or think that you have special treatment. Fame doesn’t equate to any kind of financial security. People think that as artists you must be rolling in money, and it isn’t that way. It’s feast or famine, and it’s like that for many of them. My family is really humble. They don’t live an extravagant lifestyle.
How did you get into dancing?
My dad took me when I was about four years old, and I’ve been dancing all my life. He’s a ballet dad. Ballet is so much fun and so beautiful. All of my girls dance. I think it is an incredibly beautiful art form that requires a lot of discipline. I’m grateful for my health-science background so I can incorporate some balance in there because it is so demanding.
So how different is being a ballet teacher than performing?
A lot of ballet dancers fall into teaching … but you’re either passionate about it or you’re not. You have to really love teaching and that being your whole life. When I fell into it a friend asked me to step in to teach an after-school program. I was like, ‘Yeah, I’m not a teacher. I think you think because I’m always in a leotard and pink tights I can teach, but I can’t do that.’ She was like, ‘You’ll be fine’ — and I wasn’t. I was awful at it. Those kids ate me alive. It was really hard. In the first year of trial and error I decided to go back to school to become a teacher, and became certified [in] Cecchetti.
I notice the tattoos — how many do you have?
I’m covered in tattoos, which is also a challenge in classical ballet. One of my legs, my back, and my chest have tattoos. When I was 18 years old and wasn’t performing, it was my rebellion against ballet — I decided I wanted to be a tattoo artist because I was in school to be a visual artist. For about a year of my life, I was tattooing. For the Nutcracker and other classical ballets you have to completely cover them. You’ll notice my hair is short, too. This is the first year that I haven’t had to paste a huge fake bun on my head and cover all my tattoos.
So, no Nutcracker for you this holiday season?
Not this year. I danced with the Asheville Ballet doing The Nutcracker for many, many years. Since my husband and I split up, I have been dancing a little with River Arts, but I’m actually going to be writing music and running my school. When I’m dancing in productions, or they are dancing in productions, there isn’t room for anything else. I think we’re okay taking a little break for a minute and not having the black toenails [from hours of practice].”
For more information about Casey Kristofferson’s classes, visit blackmountainarts.org or riverartsballet.com.