I was flipping through Knoxville Magazine the other day, saw this ad for Ruth's Chris Steak House, and couldn't resist making a few adjustments. Can you tell what I added? I know it's difficult.
I told someone soon after I graduated from UT that I wouldn't move from Knoxville until the Metro Pulse featured me in some form.
Here is the link to my Metro Pulse interview from last year.
I guess I can move now.
Beth Meadows, Metro Pulse Triage Artist Sept. 16-Oct. 14
By Travis Gray
Posted September 15, 2010 at 9:52 a.m.
Why did you start painting?
As a kid, I had an overactive imagination and could play for hours in my backyard or attic without getting bored. I was also extremely shy. When I drew, I made up things I wished existed, underground worlds, even food packaging logos. It all may have been a way for me to express things I couldn’t verbally. I can’t remember a time I didn’t draw.
What kind of ideas inspire you to paint them?
Driving at night, good music, beautiful old buildings, Super Mario Brothers 3, and humorous things people say. These things combined with faint memories of childhood inspire most of my work.
How much does folk art play into your work?
I think about folk art only as much as people tell me my work reminds them of folk art. My style of painting is mostly influenced by children’s books, to be honest. In the end, both have a simplicity of color and shape to which I’m drawn.
On your website (bethmeadows.com) you can really see you growing more confident with what you’re doing year by year. What do you think you’ll be making next year?
There’s a series of paintings I am about to work on that may take me until next year to complete. Most will be set at night, somber, funny, and full of particular colors set against black and dark blue. I also want to paint people again, and for some reason, white animals.
I’ll Kill You With My Bear Hands is one of my favorites. What’s the story on that one?
I’m fascinated by the dynamic nature of words and how changing one word of such a harsh phrase completely changes it. I suppose the painting is funny, but what makes it for me is its title.
The MetroGnome painting you made, of him riding on a sleigh, is pretty great. Don’t you just love Metro Pulse?
Yes, almost as much as I do the MetroGnome.
Here is the link to my Metro Pulse interview from last year.
I guess I can move now.
Beth Meadows, Metro Pulse Triage Artist Sept. 16-Oct. 14By Travis Gray
Posted September 15, 2010 at 9:52 a.m.
Why did you start painting?
As a kid, I had an overactive imagination and could play for hours in my backyard or attic without getting bored. I was also extremely shy. When I drew, I made up things I wished existed, underground worlds, even food packaging logos. It all may have been a way for me to express things I couldn’t verbally. I can’t remember a time I didn’t draw.
What kind of ideas inspire you to paint them?
Driving at night, good music, beautiful old buildings, Super Mario Brothers 3, and humorous things people say. These things combined with faint memories of childhood inspire most of my work.
How much does folk art play into your work?
I think about folk art only as much as people tell me my work reminds them of folk art. My style of painting is mostly influenced by children’s books, to be honest. In the end, both have a simplicity of color and shape to which I’m drawn.
On your website (bethmeadows.com) you can really see you growing more confident with what you’re doing year by year. What do you think you’ll be making next year?
There’s a series of paintings I am about to work on that may take me until next year to complete. Most will be set at night, somber, funny, and full of particular colors set against black and dark blue. I also want to paint people again, and for some reason, white animals.
I’ll Kill You With My Bear Hands is one of my favorites. What’s the story on that one?
I’m fascinated by the dynamic nature of words and how changing one word of such a harsh phrase completely changes it. I suppose the painting is funny, but what makes it for me is its title.
The MetroGnome painting you made, of him riding on a sleigh, is pretty great. Don’t you just love Metro Pulse?
Yes, almost as much as I do the MetroGnome.
I didn't sleep very well last night. I'm with my family in Colorado for the week, and I am the lucky one that has had to change beds three times since I've been here (I'm the youngest. It's OK).
Last night, I finally had to share a room, but my roommate's snores were loud enough to penetrate through my earplugs, so I dragged my sheets and blankets out to the couch.
I still couldn't fall asleep which made me think of this drawing I did a while ago.
There's nothing to be afraid of
graphite, marker, colored pencil, ink, and varnish on paper
2005
about 3'x4'
I can't remember exactly when it started, but there was a time when I would wake up every single morning and lie awake in bed for hours before falling back asleep around 7. This was different than my experience last night where my lack of sleep was a result of being in an unfamiliar, somewhat uncomfortable place. It was anxiety that used to wake me up.
There are more details surrounding why this was going on, but it's a story too long to tell now. Looking back, I realize I was in state of increasing depression, but for many reasons, would not call it that. Instead, I thought I could will whatever was going on away, and I believed that it was my fault I couldn't sleep because of the way I was, that I was doing something wrong during daylight hours to deserve this. If I could make myself a better person, I would sleep. I know now, this only made my anxieties worse.
I remember all of this so clearly in 2007, after just graduating from college and living alone for the first time. It was agonizing, and in the early fall of that year, I named what was going on depression, and decided in October to go to L'abri in Switzerland to finally "work on it."
It's interesting to me to look at the above drawing and see how long I let myself live like that. I made the drawing about waking up at night in a state of panic (see the sillhouette of the monster in the closet) and how it was impossible to ease my thoughts at that time of the morning, and how merely waking up for the day around 8 or 9 am alleviated most of the trauma. I named it There's nothing to be afraid of because, even then, I knew my anxieties and fears were exaggerated. They weren't real, and trying to fight them off in the darkest hours of night was pointless.
Two years later in October 2007, I flew to Switzerland to stay at L'abri. Fighting off my fears there was anything but pointless. I decided to face everything that was going on and fight it to it's death, learning that fighting really meant giving up. I left there seven weeks later with the most clarity and insight I had ever had up to that point. I knew I still had a long road ahead, but I was granted a huge victory there.
A few weeks into my stay there, I went to bed one night on the top bunk in the same room as three other girls in Chalet Bellevue, and I slept through the night for the first time in years.
//////////////////////////////////////////////
More on the drawing:
The painting above the bed is from a page in Goodnight Moon, the pillow is the pattern from the bedspread in Popcorn, Wes Clanton took the photo that I used for this drawing, and it is of me in my bed from childhood that I used while I lived in Shelbourne Towers. I chose to make the bed a similar green as the pipes in Super Mario Brothers. The monster is actually from an old children's book where a dog thinks he's a lion. I can't think of the name of the book at the moment, but he is also in this screenprint I made.
He's actually very cute.
Last night, I finally had to share a room, but my roommate's snores were loud enough to penetrate through my earplugs, so I dragged my sheets and blankets out to the couch.
I still couldn't fall asleep which made me think of this drawing I did a while ago.
There's nothing to be afraid of
graphite, marker, colored pencil, ink, and varnish on paper
2005
about 3'x4'
I can't remember exactly when it started, but there was a time when I would wake up every single morning and lie awake in bed for hours before falling back asleep around 7. This was different than my experience last night where my lack of sleep was a result of being in an unfamiliar, somewhat uncomfortable place. It was anxiety that used to wake me up.
There are more details surrounding why this was going on, but it's a story too long to tell now. Looking back, I realize I was in state of increasing depression, but for many reasons, would not call it that. Instead, I thought I could will whatever was going on away, and I believed that it was my fault I couldn't sleep because of the way I was, that I was doing something wrong during daylight hours to deserve this. If I could make myself a better person, I would sleep. I know now, this only made my anxieties worse.
I remember all of this so clearly in 2007, after just graduating from college and living alone for the first time. It was agonizing, and in the early fall of that year, I named what was going on depression, and decided in October to go to L'abri in Switzerland to finally "work on it."
It's interesting to me to look at the above drawing and see how long I let myself live like that. I made the drawing about waking up at night in a state of panic (see the sillhouette of the monster in the closet) and how it was impossible to ease my thoughts at that time of the morning, and how merely waking up for the day around 8 or 9 am alleviated most of the trauma. I named it There's nothing to be afraid of because, even then, I knew my anxieties and fears were exaggerated. They weren't real, and trying to fight them off in the darkest hours of night was pointless.
Two years later in October 2007, I flew to Switzerland to stay at L'abri. Fighting off my fears there was anything but pointless. I decided to face everything that was going on and fight it to it's death, learning that fighting really meant giving up. I left there seven weeks later with the most clarity and insight I had ever had up to that point. I knew I still had a long road ahead, but I was granted a huge victory there.
A few weeks into my stay there, I went to bed one night on the top bunk in the same room as three other girls in Chalet Bellevue, and I slept through the night for the first time in years.
//////////////////////////////////////////////
More on the drawing:
The painting above the bed is from a page in Goodnight Moon, the pillow is the pattern from the bedspread in Popcorn, Wes Clanton took the photo that I used for this drawing, and it is of me in my bed from childhood that I used while I lived in Shelbourne Towers. I chose to make the bed a similar green as the pipes in Super Mario Brothers. The monster is actually from an old children's book where a dog thinks he's a lion. I can't think of the name of the book at the moment, but he is also in this screenprint I made.
He's actually very cute.
I am very pleased to announce this show. Very very pleased.
I read an article a long time ago that told me, as a female, never to say the words "We need to talk," to a man. I understood then to some extent. Those words can be daunting.
It's funny how much I took this advice to heart though, considering the article was in Cosmopolitan or something. I find myself trying to take the edge off those words as much as I can. I say instead, "Can I talk to you?" or "I need to talk to you." Is that easier for a man to take? I don't know.
It's a frustrating discussion because underlying this advice is the statement that men don't want a woman to talk to him about serious things. But if a man has respect for a woman and cares for her as a person, even if it's not on a romantic level, she should be able to say whatever she wants if it means communicating in a healthy manner. If he is truly a man, he should be able to handle it.
I have realized, however, that there is a phrase a woman most likely never wants to hear from a man, and that is this. After she opens up to a man in conversation, or tries to convey her feelings, the most frustrating thing he can say is "I don't know what you want me to say."
Out of all the appropriate responses he could have, I can assure you that this is not what she wants him to say. If you don't know why, we need to talk.
It's funny how much I took this advice to heart though, considering the article was in Cosmopolitan or something. I find myself trying to take the edge off those words as much as I can. I say instead, "Can I talk to you?" or "I need to talk to you." Is that easier for a man to take? I don't know.
It's a frustrating discussion because underlying this advice is the statement that men don't want a woman to talk to him about serious things. But if a man has respect for a woman and cares for her as a person, even if it's not on a romantic level, she should be able to say whatever she wants if it means communicating in a healthy manner. If he is truly a man, he should be able to handle it.
I have realized, however, that there is a phrase a woman most likely never wants to hear from a man, and that is this. After she opens up to a man in conversation, or tries to convey her feelings, the most frustrating thing he can say is "I don't know what you want me to say."
Out of all the appropriate responses he could have, I can assure you that this is not what she wants him to say. If you don't know why, we need to talk.
I'd like to invite anyone reading this to my art opening this Friday March 4, 2011 at Rala, 323 Union Avenue. Rala is located in between Reruns, on the southeast corner of Market Square, and Gay Street. The opening is from 5 to 9pm. I will be there from 6 to 9.
I made this collection of work specifically with Rala in mind. It is art for the home, small, made from salvage. There will even be a small table on display, built by Knox Janowick, refinished by yours truly, designed by both of us.
Everything will be for sale, and whoever buys supports:
If you can't come Friday, you will have a chance to see my work through the end of March, and then whatever is left through the end of April.
Table made using architectural salvage. Built by Knox Janowick, finished by Beth Meadows
I'd like to live beneath the dirt acrylic on salvaged wood
Preserves No. 21 on wood arcylic on salvaged wood
Laurel Theater salvaged tin and glass, graphite, marker, colored pencil on paper, wood
Dinner Party, photograph in salvaged window
I made this collection of work specifically with Rala in mind. It is art for the home, small, made from salvage. There will even be a small table on display, built by Knox Janowick, refinished by yours truly, designed by both of us.
Everything will be for sale, and whoever buys supports:
- me, the artist
- Rala, the great shop that supports artists and does the selling so we don't have to
- Knox Heritage, the non-profit I sell architectural salvage for
If you can't come Friday, you will have a chance to see my work through the end of March, and then whatever is left through the end of April.
Table made using architectural salvage. Built by Knox Janowick, finished by Beth Meadows
I'd like to live beneath the dirt acrylic on salvaged wood
Preserves No. 21 on wood arcylic on salvaged wood
Laurel Theater salvaged tin and glass, graphite, marker, colored pencil on paper, wood
Dinner Party, photograph in salvaged window
it just dawned on me that art making and backpacking are similar at times. in the midst of both, sometimes i stop and wonder why the hell am i doing this to myself,
like when you find yourself in the fetal position on a piece of chip board in the middle of your studio, mumbling, "noooooooo" because you've broken 15 pieces of glass trying to do your own framing (totally made up scenario. never happened to me)
or when you're screaming into the windy and foggy void with a thrashing trash bag in hand on top of Clingman's Dome (benjamin rucker),
but you keep doing it because you're crazy and you can't stop... i guess this could apply to anything one is passionate about...
i am passionate right now about art and i'm pretty ticked at it, too. it's killing me. but i'll keep doing it until my hands give out.
and with these thoughts, i bid you a goodnight.
goodnight
like when you find yourself in the fetal position on a piece of chip board in the middle of your studio, mumbling, "noooooooo" because you've broken 15 pieces of glass trying to do your own framing (totally made up scenario. never happened to me)
or when you're screaming into the windy and foggy void with a thrashing trash bag in hand on top of Clingman's Dome (benjamin rucker),
but you keep doing it because you're crazy and you can't stop... i guess this could apply to anything one is passionate about...
i am passionate right now about art and i'm pretty ticked at it, too. it's killing me. but i'll keep doing it until my hands give out.
and with these thoughts, i bid you a goodnight.
goodnight