Beth Meadows Pool III acrylic and varnish on canvas 18x24" 2012

I've written before about my love of swimming. Almost a year ago now, I was reunited with swimming consistently in a pool when I joined the YWCA in downtown Knoxville.

Something I haven't mentioned about these paintings is that I'm not looking at anything when I'm making them, which is not typical of most of my paintings. I usually look at photos, but these are based on memory. As I made Pool III, I thought about the pool I know best right now- the one at the YWCA.

At first, the canvas was mostly gold. When I added black on the left side, I really liked it, so after a week or so, I added more all over and scratched into it under the lights, letting the gold come back through.

My painting professor in art school, Michael Brakke, always said that the removal of paint from a canvas is just as important as the addition of it. Everytime I scrape, scratch, or wipe away paint from a canvas, I think of him.

Painting a series gives you boundaries in the art-making process, a thing I'm not used. I typically paint on all types of materials and everything's a different size. While it's been nice to be confined to certain rules I've set up for these paintings, those boundaries also became somewhat irritating. Sticking with it, however, pushed me in certain directions I may not have gone in and it became a challenge I appreciated.

Looking at this series as a whole, I'm happy with the outcome of this painting.

Sidenote: Do you recognize the light fixtures? Here's a hint.

...no, not even close, but I did screenprint for the first time today in six years. I suck at it! but am also really excited. It's so repetitive, it will be easy to improve quickly.

I used a little Speedball Kit I got a couple of years ago. I've had the screen ready for about six months, and today, I did my first run.



All I can say is that the unfamiliar is really daunting to me. I am really fearful of things I don't know how to do naturally (Oh, wait. That's everything.). I learned screenprinting at UT, but doing it on my own always seemed like too much.

Good thing I realized today it's super easy.

There's a moral to this story somewhere.



Can you guess who my inspiration is for this print? I'll give you a hint: she's adorable.

Managing an architectural salvage program for a non-profit may seem like one of the coolest jobs around (It is. I boast.), but I must tell you, every job has its dismal moments. There is a point when monotony rears its ugly head for every career, and the day-to-day can become painstaking. (I hope art never gets that way.)

But then that job puts you in a situation that reminds you why you're doing what you're doing, and new life is breathed into your work.

This happened the other day. I received a call from a man who had some doors he wanted me to see. On Monday, I drove out to his address in South Knoxville.

{Sidenote: South Knoxville is a hidden gem. It's just really something else.}

I passed his house a couple of times before I realized it was his; each time I did, I thought to myself, "My, that house is precious." Lo and behold it was his.



I drove down the gravel driveway, noticing a beautiful black and white chicken sharing a drink with a cat out of a water bowl. I passed two Saabs in the driveway, and the man directed me to pull around the circle garden with a fountain in the middle of it.



Some people I meet through this job are crazy. Some repeat themselves over and over again and don't listen to a word I say. But then there are some I just know I'm going to like. I know it right off the bat.

The man led me to the barn, chock full of old chairs, furniture, wood, doors, etc. He showed me this beautiful mantel that he had stripped and is currently trying to sell on Craigslist.






















Right past his barn were all the doors. "I pulled them out for you so that you could see them." Perfect.



His wife, came out soon after. As they pointed out everything, they discussed where they got each item and wondered out loud if they thought they should hang on to anything in case they wanted to use it some day.



Their home was her grandmother's, and they are renovating it.

"Want to come inside and see if there's anything you want in there?" the woman said.

"We don't have anything in there to give her!" the man said.

"Ok, I'll show you around anyway," she said.

"I'd like that," I complied.



Forty-five minutes later, after receiving the tour of all three floors of the house and and also her gardens, it was time for me to head on.



"Come back anytime," she said.

"Don't say that unless you mean it," I replied.

Sadly, I'll most likely never go back over there.



On these errands, people tell me to come back all of the time. Do they really mean it? I suppose I'll know when my hair is long and grey and I have chickens and gardens, and a beautiful old house, and a barn full of antiques.

I'm currently in New York City, arrived Wednesday morning and leaving bright and early Monday. I'm here with my friend Amanda, staying with Luke and Jess, friends who just moved here a couple of months ago, living the dream in Manhattan.


Beautiful Amanda

The first time I visited New York was by way of an RV with six other people. We stayed at an RV park in Jersey City. Great view of the Statue of Liberty from across the river and the most perfect spot to be murdered in a dimly lit bathroom late at night.

Together we spent 12 hours on Times Square on December 31, 2007. It was the worst, but we came, and we conquered.

The second time, I came with my friend Amelia. We did a lot of touristy things, visited friends, and ate a lot of good food.

This is my third trip and nothing like the first two.


Pratt gym

I'm here with a different perspective, taking in everything without the use of a hand held map or asking too many people for directions. I read on the subway. I eat delicious meals by myself and sink deep in thought and daydreams. I meet Amanda for an $8 afternoon beer to talk about our day. Later, we meet Jess and Luke for dinner at a restaurant they've discovered and want to share with us.

It's about time for that beer, but first...


Bobcat in Luke and Jess's bedroom on the Upper West Side

This trip is different because I'm trying to figure out if I could live here.

"Why?!?" my 23-25ish-year-old-self asks.

I never thought back then I'd be doing this, but I'm looking at art schools here. I've always thought about grad school, but never pursued it. I'm grateful this process has begun, to begin to figure out if this is for me.

It was a great decision to come here with all my questions. I've been given a wealth of information over the past three days by students, professors, advisers, and department heads of some of the top art schools in the country and world. I've moseyed through pristine, glittery buildings and crummy, gigantic, wonderful studios. I've seen woodshops, printshops, computer labs, darkrooms, and in-house galleries.

Common threads run throughout each school's spiel. Each wants to see a cohesive body of work from their applicants. They want students who are ready, mostly somewhere in between recent undergrad and a professional artist (this is me). They want to see great images of their best work. It's good to see work that spans across different mediums as long as it isn't too scattered.



They tell you how much you are going to work, how tight-knit the students become, how students dabble in their own curating, converting any space they can into galleries. They all speak of studio visits by established artists, curators, galleries, and how important those meetings are over time.

Most of the people I've spoken with graduated from an MFA program in New York. Some are honest, telling me they haven't painted in years. Some said they realized a long time ago they'd never make it as an artist, but are content working in an art-related field.

I've been given me a lot to think about.

The words that have resonated the most with me go something like this: It doesn't matter how fancy a school is or how much guidance is given. Once you are inside their walls, it's all about what you can do. Art school can't make a person an artist. You either have it or you don't.

My appointments are finished, so tonight and this weekend should be fun, relaxed, and inspiring. When Monday rolls around, I'll be ready to come back home, anxious to pick up with everything that needs to be done, and by that, I mean, I am dying to paint.