I've had an art show up in downtown Knoxville this month that I'm taking down next week. It's at Kate Moore Creative and Jennie Andrews Photography studios at 123 South Gay Street. You may still be able to pop in there to see it during normal weekday business hours Monday through Wednesday of next week.

The final product of this show was really surprising to me, as I had a different idea for it, even a week before the opening. Changing my mind right before a show, however, is nothing new. I intended to make simple graphite drawings of buildings, but the idea to make multiple xeroxes of those drawings didn't come until about 4 days before I hung the show.

The originals- graphite drawings

I still didn't know what the outcome would be when I began hanging it. It took me about 7 hours to install, maybe 2 to 3 hours physical and 4-5 hours mental (because I am A} mentally inept or B} a creative genius. The jury's still out on that one)

So I made these small graphite drawings of buildings which was a welcome relief to me. Through them, I fell more deeply in love with this mysterious thing called art, which has all ready cast a spell on me. Graphite on paper is the equivalent to young autumnal* love. I became lost in the simplicity, the honesty, the vulnerability of it.

I drew buildings on the Knox Heritage and East Tennessee Preservation Alliance endangered lists- beautiful dilapidated buildings, schoolhouses, and homes. I wanted to "give them a voice," so to speak, so I put speech bubbles above them.

I decided to leave the originals blank, being satisfied with them visually and conceptually (you can see one of them here), but I also wanted to add text, so I decided to make multiple copies of them at Kinko's.

***

Over the past few years, I've been recuperating from an emotional low that hit me right after college. (I mention it a lot. I apologize if it becomes annoying) It had been building up for years before then, and so it makes sense that it would take years to heal from. In an effort to reclaim a sense of emotional well-being, I have filled journals with thoughts, read numerous books, talked to generous and loving people, and even researched online how to cope with pain, suffering, and stress...

***

I decided to put these two things together- the dilapidated buildings and the research I found online, statements or words people can say to help them cope with pain or suffering. From there, I began looking up quotes from famous people on the subject of pain. I filled in the speech bubbles with these words on the xeroxed pieces.

***

It might be presumptuous of me to assume what a building would say if it could speak, but I soon realized this was more for me than the buildings. Making these was a way for me to cope with the fact that there's nothing I can do to help these buildings. I have no money, no power, but I can draw, that's it.

Also, I hate to even say this as I hope people would realize it on their own, but it's meant to be tongue-in-cheek. Everyone knows it sucks admitting you have a problem with anything, but when you come out of it, (it might take some time, but) you can finally laugh at how desperate you once were. And it's funny because I find the websites on coping to be just as depressing as being depressed (Here is an example). It's all just too much...

So anyway, here is my artist statement and more photos of the show. And thank you, thank you for going to see it if you did. You are the bomb.org.

Of course, there were mason jars ;)

*Autumn love is far more romantic than summer love, at least in my book.

A friend of mine and fellow blogger called me out last night for not blogging last week, thus breaking one of the rules I set out for this blog in the beginning. I appreciated it very much and found his prodding encouraging, as I still don't know what to think about this whole blogging thing anyway.

I began this as a way to stretch myself as an artist, to talk about the artwork I'm making, etc., but the problem is that most of the time, the things I want to write about have nothing to do with art. I hesitate to treat this like some sort of diary or a place to push my agenda about things.

I'd like it to be more like those happy, cute, sun-shiney design blogs out there, where everything posted is sleek and beautiful and makes readers feel like crap because their life will never look or be like that.

But the truth of the matter is that that's probably not going to happen, and what I and any artist knows is that writing about life is writing about art. Everything that passes through my life is reflected in what I make; making things processes all the information going in.

I'm scared, though, to be too honest here. I like the fact that people read this blog, even if they are just being nice to me, and I don't want to scare anyone off with things that aren't sun-shiney and bright.

The stupid thing is, if you know me, you know that I don't really have a filter for the things that I say, and also, that I am melancholy by nature. So why have a blog that is the opposite of my actual demeanor? To tell the truth, I've been trying the bullshit theory- that even if things aren't going well, project to people that they are, and they'll believe, and through the art of deceit, you will gain success. Or something along those lines.

***

I've been beginning a lot of sentences with the phrase "To be honest" recently. In seeking out and fighting for the life that I want to live, I have to catch myself lying all of the time, I have to go back to people and say, "You know when I said this, well, I actually meant that," or "You know when I didn't say anything then, I wish I had said this." In trying to be more truthful in real life, I want to do that here as well, so I hope you'll bear with me as I try this with some amount of grace, because to be honest, I'd like to let some f-bombs fly, which I know most people wouldn't mind, but I know many that would.

***

So when my friend called me out for not writing last week, what I really wanted to say was, "You know, last week was pretty terrible, and if I wrote about it, it wouldn't have been sun-shiney and bright, and does anyone want to read about me hitting a low point anyway?"

And as those words leave my fingertips, I'll get into it, because maybe it will help things get a little better. Maybe.

So the truth is, last week was rough for several reasons. For one, a deep friendship has become severed because of a disagreement, and I don't know what to do. It's painful and has made me hermit-ish and quiet. But I went out last night and enjoyed spending time with people I would like to know better, and as a result, feel more like a human being.

Two, my wrists and hands are in pain, so much so that if I don't take several advil a day, I can't sleep or do any work, and I'm really scared that the pain won't go away and am worried because I don't have any time to lose as I prepare for an art show in November. But it's making me slow down and think about changing things/ ideas which is good.

And, I saw a man that I've been pining over for quite some time holding another woman's hand. And instead of running the other way like I wanted to do, I shook her hand and said, "It's nice to meet you." And even though I like him very much, I've known all along he wouldn't be good for me. So it's fine in the grand scheme of things, but it hurts a little. Ok, more than a little.

And, I've been working 12 hour days and weekend nights, which is hard, but good, because if I "fail" at pursuing art, I have to know that I tried as hard as I could. And I'm realizing, in the end, I may have to give it up, but not yet. I'm still crazy (or stupid) enough to keep going with it. I'm going as fast as I can (which seems like a snail's pace) moving forward, and I get pangs of "What the h am I doing?!" but I beat the crap out of those thoughts because I've learned you have to be ruthless when pursuing a dream.

And there's more, but I'll stop there.

To be honest, I don't know if I feel any better, but the good news for today is, (besides this post) I'm not working, and that will be hard, but very very good.

On Saturday, I was in a wedding in Memphis. I arrived there Friday for a bridesmaids' luncheon and went to the rehearsal dinner that night. The next day we had to be at the church at 2 for the 5:00 wedding. There was much excitement, much hustle and bustle, and I knew it was going to be a fun weekend.

However, I knew that there would be sadness in the midst of it all as well. 

A family friend passed away last Thursday evening and his funeral was held the morning of the wedding. In one day, I sat in two different churches under two very different circumstances.

I realize the situation could have been more dire for me personally. It could have been my wedding day, or it could have been my father who passed away. Even though I had distance from each situation, I still felt so much sorrow for my friend who lost his father and, at the same time, so much joy for my friend who was getting married.

The older I get, the more I see joy and sorrow run side by side.

Also, the older I get, the more sentimental I become. This weekend made me reflect on the distance I feel from certain friends that will always mean so much to me, but who I rarely speak with or see anymore. Those friendships have run their natural course, I know that, but there's a connection I'll always feel toward the friends I knew when I was younger.

Now I more easily accept that some friendships are only for a season, I even expect it. It doesn't mean I like it, but I get it now...

... by the way, none of these thoughts have to do with the fact that three of my best friends just moved away. Nooo. Nope.

{here are some old photos I dug up this past weekend}
















{^ hiking in the Smokies}



{^ Easter Sunday tradition}



(^ Halloween- a knight, a unicorn, a dragon, and a ballerina)






















{^ I'm the kid with the worm on her overalls. I don't even know.}

I've been having trouble writing recently. I keep starting posts and not finishing them. My words feel forced, and I can't find the right words to express anything.

During this mental block, here is a list of some things I wish that I had the eloquence to write about, to hopefully ignite a journalistic flame.

1. my most recent painting about a man and a woman and their similarities to Cyclops and Athena

2. how I am about to go part time at Knox Heritage starting next week and how this makes me anxious, nervous, and extremely excited

3. how I hope that more time to work on certain projects does not turn into me lazing about my apartment with Juicy

4. my recent infatuation with intelligent, kind, and respectable men rather than my former infatuation with... the opposite...

5. how surprising the depth of my sadness is that my neighbor Hunter and his dog have just moved

6. how tornadoes have got me thinking about my masked materialism

7. how my last trip to the mall was transformational, how it resulted in me going on a jog instead of drinking beer, and how I can't get my mind off a particular purple BCBG dress (bizarre)

8. how I really want shoes that are "architectural" (also bizarre)

9. wondering if one can be fashionable and not materialistic at the same time

10. the BS that is existentialism

11. moving to a bigger city

12. how another friend moving away has gotten me thinking about my past inability to be honest with others/myself, and my current gratefulness to be in a healthier emotional state

13. how the selling of my grandfather's lakehouse feels like him dying again and also like closing a door to my childhood

14. how wanting to lead a simpler life has me wondering what that means for all the boxes I've filled over the years with the intention to make scrapbooks

15. how trivia night might be the most productive way to drink beer

16. The lore of Juicy- how she came to me, why I love her, and why she makes me not want to have children

17. the intricacies of being friends with males (and by friends I mean just friends)

18. How the moving away of friends means the probability of new people to enter my life. I wonder who the lucky ones will be...

19. How I've been incessantly listening to dance music, the reasons and implications of this (listen at your own risk/don't judge me)

20. How, like John Mayer (who I used to make fun of my freshman year roommate for listening to, but now I admittedly really like), I desire for myself and the people I love to be able to say what's on our minds and in our hearts.

On that note that makes me feel a little vulnerable, here's to future eloquence.

I made the mistake of reading the Wikipedia entry for John Wayne Gacy on Sunday. I guess it wasn't a mistake. I knew what I was doing.

I've been listening to Age of Adz constantly since I saw Sufjan Stevens last November. I finally got around to reading some of the lyrics to his songs Sunday afternoon. They are so intense and full of emotion, songs that mostly revolve around the story of the self-proclaimed prophet, Royal Robertson, a schizophrenic who estranged himself from everyone he knew, even his wife and children.



What is so fascinating to me is that even after knowing that most of the album is about Robertson, it is still powerful, it impacts me deeply, and I relate to it in an uncanny way.

Sufjan Stevens has done the same type of thing before. One of his most beautiful songs is about one of the most horrific stories. I didn't know the extent of Gacy's crimes until I read about them on Sunday.

I haven't been that engrossed in reading in a long time. I am usually completely ADD when text is in front of me, but I was glued to this story.

Why is it that we become so engrossed with stories such as this? The accounts that should make us cover our eyes make us wide-eyed. Truman Capote became relentless in capturing the whole story for In Cold Blood. Knoxville followed the trials for the torturing and murders of Channon Christian and Chris Newsom. Dr. Helen Morrison, who interviewed Gacy during his trial, actually kept his brain after it was removed post-execution. We are obsessed with knowing what kind of person would do these things, what their life was like before, and how far over the edge they fell.



Gacy as a boy

I don't really have an answer, and I'm not sure if I'm looking for one. All I can think is that we become intrigued knowing someone could take the anger or sadness that is in all of us to such a level. If we are honest, we understand, to our horror, that if one thing was different about our lives, it could have been us.


In my best behavior I am really just like him. Look beneath the floorboards, for the secrets I have hid.

I borrowed Magnolia from a friend the other day because I had never seen it. After reading about Gacy, I couldn't bring myself to watch anything that would add to my deep melancholic state. I'm not going to watch it (for now) and though I had been toying with the idea, I finally decided not to see Black Swan. I'm sure Natalie Portman's performance is award-winning and I'm sure it is good art, but I know these things won't overshadow what else watching the movie will mean to me. I know being an artist means exposing myself to all forms of art, but I also know my limitations. Am I a pansy? Maybe that is partially true, but there is more to it that I won't get into at the moment. For now, the tragic images and stories of reality are enough for me to lament over; right now, I can't purposefully add more.

In other news, I'm ready for winter to be over.