I began 2012 wanting to collaborate more with other artists. The thing I've learned so far is how difficult it can be to make this happen because of conflicting schedules and also the hesitation to actually begin working with someone else. It's hard enough to start most projects when I'm left to my own devices, so add the dynamic of another person, and... you get the idea.

With that said, I decided to start small...

I have a shop on Etsy, where each week, they feature different shop owners who write about their products and show photos. Many times, the shops are run by a husband and wife duo (like these jerks). I find it inspiring as well as annoying because a) I don't have a husband and b) even if I did, who's to say he would be someone with whom I could collaborate.

In my dreams, I'm married to some wonderfully talented, good-looking man who would also be great at all things technological and financial. He'd also be able to take incredible pictures.

Each morning, we'd switch off making each other breakfast and then we'd go our separate ways. In the afternoon, we'd come back together and share the things we'd learned and make things together. Something like that, more or less.

As much as I might pine away for my elusive collaborating husband to be, I do not have one. However, I do have something I come home to that breathes. That's right: Juices O'Hulihan, aka Hammerpants, aka Juicy, my cat.

I have had portfolios made out of chipboard from college days stored under my bed for the past couple of years. It just so happens that chipboard, which is very much like cardboard, is one of Juicy's most favorite things to claw. Although my artwork was protected, she destroyed the chipboard out of her own personal enjoyment.

So this is what I come home to: not a handsome art-collaborating husband, but a beautiful soft and rotund cat who loves tearing cardboard to shreds. So I proposed a project to do with her which would feature her favorite mark-making technique: claw marks. She accepted.

I love drawing people, and I love drawing people that I love. I decided to make portraits of males that have held a significance in my life. Whether I love(d) them romantically or as a friend is not important. Some are still friends, some not, some I haven't seen in years, all have pushed me to be a better version of myself, whether they intended to or not.

I drew them on 11 x 14" pieces of acid free chip board and placed them under my bed, one or two at a time for a week. There, Juicy could work her magic.

 

Although it was not a malicious act, I realized it could be construed as such. Instead of denying that aspect, I decided instead to yell to Juicy from time to time, "Claw their eyes out!" Honestly, this had nothing to do with each of the individuals personally, just something to make me laugh, which it did.

I never had to prompt her to claw them; She did it of her own volition, and because she derives great joy out of the process, I enjoyed being a part of that.

Something weird is that she never did claw their eyes, and the areas she did claw seemed pretty consistent. It's all very strange and makes me curious about what's going on in that little brain of hers.

So there you have it, the first Juicy-Beth Meadows Collaboration.

This was always my original idea for the magazine images I've started collecting, but it's been hard to find exactly what I'm looking for. This being my first, I'm happy with the outcome- a good marriage between image and lyric. It's kind of like those e-cards you see with old-timey people saying slang or subversive things, but also different. You'll see! More to come...

Also, to spice things up a bit, if you like any of these pieces I post with the label artistic calisthenics, be the first to let me know via the comment box with an overly enthusiastic and highly encouraging comment*, and I just might send it to you**!

*or send $$
** some terms and conditions may apply, which I'll make up as I go along.

I'm back from Bonnaroo, and it's official. I want a hula hoop.

I'm wondering if it can be done in the privacy of my one bedroom apartment, just until I get the hang of it. I'll have to move some furniture around I suppose. Or if you hula hoop and want to hula with me, I could be up for that. I'm not ready for public displays of solitary hula just yet.

One day though, I could be that free-spirited looking girl with rock hard abs shaking my hips in the front lawn of my apartment building, looking as if there was not a thing on my mind. And then maybe I can take it on the road. One can always dream.

All this is to say, I did make it back in one piece, and I have many pictures and words to share. Stay tuned.

Animaniacs was pretty smart, and (because I am, too,) I loved it when I was a kid. They could say things that actually meant something, and it was entertaining.

I always think of this song whenever I hear the word pistachio. I also trace my adamant aversion to high fructose corn syrup and partially hydrogenated oils back to Yakko, Wakko, and Dot. Thanks, you guys.

I made It Don't Come Easy last fall for my show at the Birdhouse in November 2011.

I put a lot of things I had been thinking about in this piece. It references my business endeavors that fall under the moniker With Bear Hands, the 100 (well, 99) mason jar paintings I made last year, and also the inclinations I was having at the time to start making abstract paintings.

I wanted to make a painting about the things I've been working toward, the things I've wanted for so long, all the hours spent in my studio and devoted to art, where I want to go from here. I wanted to talk about how chasing a dream (that you can't even see) can feel terribly unnatural, like domesticating a wild animal. And even when things seem to be shaping up around you, how you still might feel the inclination to run off into the wilderness- naked, with no possessions- and never come back.

But making this painting was really enjoyable, and that's the curious thing about art (or maybe any dream). It can feel like it's going to kill you, and at the same time, the act of doing it can ease all amount of frustration.

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It Don't Come Easy
acrylic on canvas
2011
36" x 30"
$1500

8 x 10 prints of this painting are for sale here.

I've noticed a trend lately in my life. It has come to my attention that over the past year or so, I've been attracting men who can best be described as Honey Badgers.

In the beginning, I'm attracted to their honest personality. They're the kind of person who will say what's on their mind, and it's refreshing. They might be cynical and slightly judgmental, but, truth be told, they say what I'm probably thinking anyway but would never verbalize, and it makes me laugh.

There comes a point, however, when their demeanor takes a turn, and they say something like this:

I don't care what other people think of me. I say what I want, and if people don't like it, screw them. They can quit hanging out with me if they don't like me.

I'm not lying, about four guys have expressed this exact sentiment to me over the past year or so. The first time I heard someone say it, I thought, "Wow. How cool. I wish I had that kind of confidence." By now, however, the novelty has worn off, and I realize the fine line between honesty and tact.

The last time a guy said this to me was a couple of weeks ago, and his face morphed into a Honey Badger's as he said, "... I don't care anymore. I don't give a shit..."

It was awesome.

So I've been thinking about it a lot lately, asking myself some questions like:

If they don't care what other people think, am I foolish to believe they care what I think?  
How am I attracting these men when I actually do care deeply about what others think? 
Did something happen to them that made them this way?  
Were they born Honey Badgers? 

I like psychoanalyzing people, and men with the Honey Badger Syndrome have proved to be the most intriguing. You know what my research in the field has found? Do you know what they all have in common?

Each had something traumatic happen to them- a heart-wrenching break-up with a girl they were madly in love with, the death of a close family member, abuse.

I'm no psychiatrist, but if I had to put two and two together, I'd say their not giving a shit was all a ruse. Instead of showing grief or sorrow, they decided to become apathetic in order to cope with something they couldn't control- abandonment, love lost, whether romantic or familial. Their "revenge" for what they could not change became not caring.

To prove this theory even further, it makes sense for me personally because I've always been one of those dumb girls who likes to take care of broken men. I've never understood how, but nurturing females will always find the wounded male, and vice versa. It's as if we have a magnetic pull that draws us to one other. It's a catastrophic recipe, but for a time, the Honey Badger finds someone to love him, to take his mind off his hurt. It doesn't take long, however, for him to become restless, to remind himself that he doesn't give a shit, and off he wanders to lick his wounds or find someone else to love him for a little while. 

Whether my theory is correct or not, it's helped me deal with the fact that the Honey Badger can't be mine. I still give a shit for him, I hope the best for him (always), but it's easier to let him go.

Hopefully the next time one saunters across my path, I'll have the gumption to resist him all together, no matter how much watching him tear the head off of a cobra makes me (devilishly) laugh.

This is the second post in the series Single and Ready to Eat Pringles.

I don't like this because I spoon with Juicy. I love it because I spoon with Juicy, and I wish I could spoon with her til I'm old and gray. (sob)

By the way, I made a painting about spooning. I don't have an image on this computer, but you can see it here. It's called I Love You (Let's Spoon).

Fun fact: It is the ONLY painting I've sold during an art opening. I think it's because spooning is a universal love language. A lady bought it for her brother as a wedding gift.

I'm sitting in my friend Amelia's den, waiting for her to walk with me to the Public House for a night cap.

Her voice calls out from her bedroom, "Guess what trend I'm bringing back?"

My mind begins sifting through the possibilities, but she enters the room before I can form an educated guess.

She holds up a pair of worn out leather boots. "Timberlands."

"Noooo." I say. "No."

We laugh and she asks, "Will you be embarrassed if I wear these?"

"No... I just don't want them to catch on."

"Oh, it's going to spread like wildfire," she says as she wraps the long laces around the the back of the high top and ties them back in front.

"The ole wrap around... you know what I'm talking about."

I do know what she's talking about.

***

They actually don't look that bad on her, but nothing ever does.










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If you're curious about the evolution of Timberland fashion, I encourage a little image searching. Very interesting. Below is an example (from this website) Seems like they've stepped up their game.