I made this painting just after The Poltroon Hard at Work. I wanted to express the idea of being consumed with thoughts of someone else. In this case, the girl sitting on the sofa is being haunted by thoughts of the girl on the ceiling. It's called Living Ghost to convey that she is not being haunted by a spirit but rather someone still alive. This implies a rift between the two girls, the possibility that renewal is there, but the presence of difficult circumstances, rendering the situation hopeless.






















Living Ghost
acrylic on canvas
2011
about 4'x 3'

Most people know this experience, especially when romantic love is lost. It can be agonizing learning how to let go of a relationship over time.

The same agony can happen over a broken friendship, and may even be worse because of how unexpected it can be to lose someone you never thought you could "break up" with.

The painting expresses the idea of this more than the feeling.

The magazine in the table is this:


















Judith Eisler made the painting on the cover. She was my drawing teacher one semester of art school.

And the Corgi is, well, I want a Corgi.






















The space reflects the type of place I'd like to inhabit one day.

Questions or comments about this painting are welcome, either via the comment section below or by emailing beth@bethmeadows.com.

I've discovered the beauty of full spectrum light bulbs. How I didn't know about them in my first 26 years is beyond me, but now I can actually see what I'm working on in my studio, at long last.




















My only complaint is that they are ridiculously hot. This wouldn't be that big of a deal if I had a/c in my studio, but I do not.

I'm thinking I could strip down and start treating this place like a sauna, maybe pushing me toward my art-nasium* idea.

But seeing that I don't have heat either, these little puppies are going to do me right come wintertime. Is that almost here?

*more on this later, most likely

I'm leaving New York tomorrow morning. Why am I not out on the town? Weeeell. I've spent enough money this week; it's time to stay in.

I'm sitting across from Luke, who is also on his Mac, and we're drinking wine, listening to music, humming along. He's in super-programing mode. I'm blogging. I'm ok with this ending.

I went to the rooftop of his and Jess's building to take photos of the sunset, hence the new banner at the top of this page. Here are some of the other photos (enjoy the self-portrait.):













One of my favorite parts of this trip was visiting the High Line. I thought it was incredible. (Click the hyperlink for the history)

In short, the elevated railway was abandoned in 1980. The city was going to tear it down, but a group of people, the Friends of the High Line, wanted to preserve it.






Hui and me.

And when we went, there were crowds, CROWDS of people up there. I was trying to figure out if the High Line connected people to anything, but no, not really. It's merely a destination, drawing people there because of what it is, not because of where it takes you. I was mesmerized, so impressed, for the visionaries of that project, the architects involved, to see how successful it has become.






























I didn't need hordes of people to tell me of its success, however. I wish I could have been there with a few friends or alone. Bare feet, walking through a shallow pool of water, looking at the sparkling Hudson River in the distance.


Amanda, quintessential American

I'm grateful for this trip. I'm ready to get back to my precious baby kitten and my studio, however. And I kind of want to go swim in a stream in the Smoky Mountains sometime soon.

It's time to process all of this sensory overload.

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.

The Poltroon Hard at Work (Athena and Cyclops)
by Beth Meadows
acrylic on canvas
2011, about 3'x2'

currently on display and for sale at Old City Java


pol·troon (pälˈtro͞on): Noun: A coward.

This painting features a girl and a boy listening to records. The male is in fact the poltroon, rendering the title sarcastic. The girl is turned away conveying distance, but she sits close, showing a hesitant affection. She is alone even though she is with him.

On the walls are two paintings, one of an owl, a symbol of Athena, and one of Cyclops with two cats.

The boy is Cyclops. He lives alone but has two cats, possibly the only creatures who can tolerate him day to day. He masks his insecurity and loneliness with pompous masculinity. He sees less with his one eye, making him unperceptive, ignorant.

The girl is insecure but it takes effect differently than the boy's. She longs for him even while knowing he isn't right for her. She is the owl, or Athena, unrealized. Over time, the girl will take on attributes of Athena as a result of experiences like this.

On the surface, all seems well.


Please contact beth@bethmeadows.com if you are interested in purchasing this painting or a limited edition print of it.

I'm currently showing paintings at Old City Java, located at 109 South Central Avenue throughout the month of June. If you're in Knoxville, please stop in and see them.



A little about how the show came about:

At the beginning of May, I self-willingly went part time as the admin assistant at Knox Heritage in order to paint more. As difficult as a decision like that is, it was also necessary and important for me to make. It felt like jumping off a cliff, and most of May was like a free fall where I wasn't sure if my parachute would deploy or not, or if I even had a parachute at all.

May ended up being great. I worked ridiculously hard, and it ended up being successful. With the beginning of each month, however, I'm afraid it will keep feeling like a free fall.

My grand plan regarding art was to take a break from showing in order to focus on producing, but after receiving an email in mid-May from Java's owner about potentially showing art there, I booked myself a show for June.



As stressful as I knew it would be to prepare for a show in three weeks is, it was necessary. Without a deadline, I am pretty worthless in the realm of art-making. With this deadline, I ended up making three large new paintings and several small ones in a short amount of time, most likely breaking a personal record. It made me slightly crazy, but it was worth it. After hanging the show last week, I took a break for a few days. Now, a week later, I feel lost without a deadline, so I'm figuring out how to handle that.

A little about the show itself:



If you go to Java, the first room you'll walk into holds paintings from this year, and the second room holds Mason Jar Paintings from this year as well as large paintings from 2010. If you like what you see, check back here for more detailed explanations of some of the paintings. And keep in mind; they're all for sale.



In the meantime, here's my artist statement:

THE ARTIST



Originally from Memphis, Beth has rooted herself as an artist in Knoxville since Attending the University of Tennessee. She received a Bachelor of Fine Art in Studio Art with a concentration in drawing. She is a co-founder and co-manager of 17th Street Studios, a work space for eleven artists in Fort Sanders. Her primary medium is acrylic on canvas.






















THE WORK

The Preserves Series:

Painting mason Jars on salvaged wood is inspired by my position as the Architectural Salvage Coordinator for Knox Heritage. Each is a tribute to the valuable work of historic preservation.






















Paintings on canvas:

My favorite time of day is dusk. It reminds me of being outside as a kid
    the way telephone wires and trees become silhouettes against a glowing blue sky
    how a train horn blowing in the distance is wonderfully haunting
    the emergence of tiny flickering lightning bugs
    streetlamps and porch lights switching on
    and how grateful I was to be called inside before darkness fell.
When I paint, I think about the connection between childhood and adulthood. Though circumstances change, we experience joy and pain with each day, no matter what age. We grow and mature but sometimes discover we are not very different from when we were young.






















CONTACT

Email: beth@bethmeadows.com
Website: www.bethmeadows.com
Blog: www.withbearhands.com
Shop: www.etsy.com/shop/WithBearHands

My sister made me curtains recently. They're pretty cute.



We've talked briefly about starting a business together, one where we make beautiful things and sell them. I would be the artsy side and she would craftsy side.

When I daydream about this, I imagine us living at our grandparents' farmhouse (which is for sale) in Dancyville, just east of Memphis. There we would run a kennel for rescued dogs and cats and we would make things and collect things all the live long day.

My brother-in-law would be there, too, of course, and he'd help with furniture building because he is good at things like that. My other sister would come in on the weekends to hug cats and play the clarinet for us. Juicy would have acres of cotton fields in which to roll around.



Our studio would hold a sewing machine, a screen printing area, easels, paint, papers, fabrics, etc.. We would make the storage room outside in between the house and the cotton fields into a wood shop. People would come stay with us, cook with us, clean with us, make things with us. They could take a dog for a walk each morning.



There is a room off the porch of the farmhouse where an old desk and wooden toys and a pad of paper and pencil are kept. I love that room. When I was younger, I could be by myself for hours and it was like minutes. Who knows what I thought about, dreamed about. I think it was training for all the time I'd spend being alone once I was older**, though I'm not as good at it now as I was back then.



Inside the house, in the living room, my grandmother displayed antique purses and make-up cases. I'd hold them, covet them. My grandfather, a former dairy man, collected all things cow-themed and all things dairy. I didn't know the extent of his collection until they put the house up for sale and began cleaning out rooms- bookcases full of cow shaped cream pitchers, butter molds, and milk bottles.



I share this love for antiques, old things beautifully crafted, with my grandparents, I'm sure I get that quality from them, but mixed in is a certain contemporary flair. I am a thrift store fiend (more on that later), so also with our studio-bed and breakfast-kennel, I would have a room stocked full of my findings- vintage clothes and shoes, tinted cut glassware, wooden boxes, mason jars, metal filing boxes, the list goes on.





I'd collect and all of us would make.

And we'd sell everything via the internet and make buckets of money to buy our rescued dogs leather collars, and to make lavish meals for guests, and to send each of us on trips to play with orphans in South America, Africa, and India. And I'd finally get to go to Japan.

A simple life is all I want.

...but I also want the city.

*Sally, from Peanuts in A Charlie Brown Christmas
**I don't mean this as much in a pathetic way, but more being factual about the life of an artist.