It's all in slow-motion.

She's in the passenger seat of a car full of friends. She looks out the open window across the sun setting over an expanse, her outstretched hand rising and falling against the wind.
Cut to skaters, grinding rails, soaring though the air.
Cut to scene at a club. His dark eyes meet hers across the crowded dance floor.
Cut to him in a navy hoodie, jogging through his suburban neighborhood at night.
Cut back to car scene again, she and her friends are laughing under a pink sky.
Cut to gym scene where he's punching a punching bag, sweat running down his face.
Cut back to the dance club scene. His hand is on her side.
Cut back to skaters.
Cut to him with her and friends, running across a football field at night.

Cut to cliche, bad-ass scenario in slow-motion.

I'm displaying some of my newest paintings at Otherlands Coffee Bar in Memphis February 2 through March 3. I've shown some work in Memphis before, but I consider this my official hometown debut.

The Opening Reception is February 2 from 5-8pm. I'll be there so please come out if you'll be in Memphis. I'd LOVE to see you.

Otherlands Coffee Bar
641 S Cooper
Memphis, Tennessee





P.S. Thank you, Miss Peaches.

That's not true, but

I've been checking out a lot of documentaries from the public library lately. The cold and my wallet have been inspiration.

I wasn't so sure, but it's becoming one of my favorite things. It's like school without tuition or papers... or reading.

I watched the first season of PBS's Art 21 about a month ago. I have this feeling we watched it in one of my drawing classes, but I can't remember. That's the thing with me and information- we love and then we lose each other.

One of the first episodes features Margaret Kilgallen. Even if I had seen her work while in school, it may have not mattered then, but it matters now.

She talks about seeing hand-painted signs for businesses around San Francisco. She loves their simplicity, their crudeness. She draws on trains and she makes massive murals of folk-inspired text and images on gallery walls.

It's a little troubling to realize someone else (over a decade ago) has all ready made the work you have dreamed of making. At the same time, it's a relief to know there's someone else out there that's a kindred spirit, that likes what you like and is a bad-ass at making what you kind of maybe thought about making (but probably never would have to the extent they did).

It's also exciting to think about what you can learn from art someone else has all ready made, how it can propel you like a pinball lever somewhere else.

***
I watched the documentary Beautiful Losers a couple of nights ago. Margaret was in that one, too. It included some of the same footage of her from Art 21. Why?

At the end you learn Kilgallen died after giving birth to her daughter.

(No)

I did some reading on the specifics. "Though diagnosed with breast cancer, Kilgallen opted to forgo chemotherapy so that she might carry a pregnancy to term.**" She died as a result in 2001 at 33.

A talented artist ends her career, her marriage, her life through sacrificial love.

(Sigh)

***

If she was alive, I would have liked to have written her a letter, maybe invite her to come to Knoxville. I think she would have liked it.



***

This came on while I wrote this.

*Also, this guy.
**Wikipedia

I'm supposed to write an article for a magazine, due tomorrow. It's for work, not art work, but salvage work. Instead I am here.

Writing, like making art, is one of very few things I've liked for as long as I can remember and still practice. I've written consistently in a journal since I learned to use a pencil and have all these filled diaries, hand-bound books, and journals friends have given me, placed in an old suitcase. With all the social networking going on today, it's enchanting to be able to write a thought privately.

Would I mind if someone read all of those books one day? No, not if it were the right person.

When I was a senior in high school, I let the right person read the journal I kept then. The combination of my ability to trust and his unflinching courage to know something deep about someone else was enough for us to fall in love, at least for a time.

***

The first time I wrote online was for a collaborative blog a few years ago. I fell in love with writing that way, knowing thoughts I formed were being read by others. Sadly, that blog seems to have run its course, or maybe I have run my course with it.

***

My thoughts often formulate as if I am writing a paper or writing to someone. They come together with a proper introduction and a body in which different points are expounded upon.

Although this is how I think, I couldn't sit down and write for myself when it came to anything outside of what I expressed in a personal journal. I had to write somewhere where I knew someone, if they wanted, could read it. It wasn't worth it to me to sit down and write if it was going to be in a book that no one would ever see but me. That's why I began this blog.

I like it but resent it too. Most of what I think about goes unwritten because someone could actually read it. I could write anonymously, but that seems very similar to writing in a journal no one will ever see. The point for me (for bloggers) is to express and for that expression to be received. Isn't that what everyone wants? Isn't that why Facebook and Twitter are what they are?

I still hinder myself, and maybe that's ok for now, but I'm beginning to ask myself why I do, and if it's worth it.

***

When I was younger, I was so shy, it hurt. I had a teacher tell me to yell in front of my whole class, trying to cure me of being so soft-spoken. I was like Todd Anderson standing in front of Mr. Keating's classroom in Dead Poet's Society. But real life is never like the movies. I could not YAWP there in front of my class.

That teacher was an idiot, by the way.

Writing (and painting) has helped ease a frustrating inability to express myself verbally. My YAWPs have been few and far between.

***

When I was in high school, I read a poem I wrote in front of my English class. I read it quickly but with vigor. I didn't look up until it was done, and when I did, the faces of my classmates were delighted, speechless. My face was flushed when I walked back to my seat. I was embarrassed but really happy.

***

I am really thankful for the ability to write. I don't mean to write well, but to have the capability and the desire to.

This gratitude is shaping into letter writing for me. I've recently bought stationery, postcards, even stamps to make my own. I also bought a pack of No. 2 pencils.

It's felt a little strange to sit down and write to someone that I don't need to thank for giving me a gift. In the first ones I've sent, I've felt the need to explain that I'm beginning to write letters. I assume the recipient, my friend, would wonder why I felt inclined to sit down and hand-write about the movie I just watched or the walk I just went on. I don't really know why I am, but I am.

I'm looking forward to the second round of letters I send, the ones where I won't have to explain what I'm doing, I can just go for it.

The acrylic painting Llama that I made for an opening in November 2011 is now available in print form.



I have 8 x 10"'s (click here) and 5 x 7"'s (click here) available on Etsy. If you're interested in a larger size, you may email me at beth@bethmeadows.com.

The prints are of exceptional quality, printed on archival cotton rag paper with light-fast inks, meaning they won't fade over time. They are also signed on the back and fit in standard-size frames.

The New Year is upon us and yes, I've made some resolutions. I know some people think it's pointless, but I think it's a great thing to do. I can always use some motivation and goal-setting to move forward.

My resolutions have to do mostly with making better decisions for a healthier, sounder life. Many things in life are ultimately out of our control, but there are little habits I've formed over the years that are getting in the way of the things I really want.

Maybe I won't get those things in the end. I can't be sure of that now, but day-to-day, I'd like to see if it's possible to chip away some of the bad and add on some good.

So here are some of my resolutions in no particular order:

1. Be a fastidious planner.

I've been reading the Artist's Guide by Jackie Battenfield. It's really great if you'd like to or are thinking about devoting your life to making art. One thing she talks about early on is making goals and then making a plan to reach those goals.

One way she keeps on track is by printing out and hanging up a whole year's worth of calendars in her studio so she can see them all at one time. I plan to do this in the next week.

Amongst many art-related plans I need to make and keep track of, I am also excited about planning some vacations this year, something I failed miserably at doing last year. This girl needs an ocean in her life! Fast!

2) No clothes or shoes buying, at least until June, maybe until December.

There are several reasons why I'm doing this, but mostly it has to do with wanting to manage money better and to plan at saving and buying things that are more expensive. If I keep frivolously buying clothing (I have a mild addiction to dropping cash I don't really have every time I go to thrift stores or Target), I will never be able to buy certain things that are more out of my reach. This also ties into Resolution No. 1.

3) No fast food in 2012.

You're probably thinking Ew, fast food is so gross. That will be easy. But, no, it won't be.

Fast food is delicious, convenient, and cheap, and in 2011, I formed a nice habit of eating it at least once a week, maybe more. I sort of blame my friend of the male persuasion for this (guys can get away with eating crap way more than girls/I can). I also blame my addiction to salt, but I'm ending my love affair this year, not only for my health, but also to ponder over where my food comes from and how important that is to me.

With that said, I will miss you, Chic-fil-A 8-count nuggets and McDonald's french fries.

I've made more resolutions, but I'll leave sharing just these three.

May 2012 be a blessed one.

The way I remember it, when I was a freshman in high school, I received a couple of very significant things and a couple of  insignificant things.

One insignificant thing was a really bad version of Meg Ryan's haircut in You've Got Mail. It's my own fault for going to A Great Cut to have it done, but hair grows, so it wasn't the end of the world.

The second insignificant thing I received was a noticable amount of weight gain, a result of being bed-ridden and given mostly brownies to eat. The reason for being bed-ridden was because of one of the more significant things I received that year:

A patch to cover a hole in my heart. I was told it was Gore-tex in material, but really, that didn't matter too much to me. What mattered was that after having my sternum broken in two and my heart man-handled, I woke up. That's really all you can hope for in a situation like that.

The second significant thing I received near the same time as my surgery was a yellow lab puppy named Honey. She wasn't just my dog, but I always put it together that we got her as a result of my open-heart surgery. Maybe she would be a good replacement if I didn't survive, and if I did survive, she would help me make it through high school, as my older sisters were going off to college one by one.

There I was, chubby, sporting a terrible haircut and a healing wound right down the center of my chest, with the prettiest, sweetest dog by my side. I was a lucky girl.

***



As I healed and Honey grew, we spent a lot of time together. Who can tell what a dog really thinks, but context clues pointed to the fact that Honey's favorite activity was going to Shelby Farms, a large park in Memphis. As soon as we'd enter the parking lot, she'd start whimpering to get out of the car. I'd let her out, we'd walk through the gate together, and in a flash, she'd take off for the nearest body of water. I'd walk along the trails while she ran vast circles around me. She never grew tired.



The same wild dog had a soft side. Many nights or mornings, she'd climb in my bed. I couldn't sleep with her through the night because she snored, but her affection was the sweetest. Or maybe she was needy. She'd follow us around the house all day. She always wanted to be near someone, and she always wanted a good pet. How do I know? Because every time you sat down, she'd get right next to you and put her nose on or under your hand. If you gave in to pet her, she'd wriggle slowly, tail wagging, until you were scratching her rear end.

She was never mean, maybe disobedient, but always loving and always sweet. Always.



***

This Christmas, Honey was 13 years old. She could barely walk around or get up and down. Many times she'd fall down or slip. No more walks with her or trips to the park, but she was still the prettiest and sweetest dog.

***

Last Monday night, my last night in town, my sister Ginny told Catherine and I that we should go in and sit with Honey on her bed, a palette my mom made her out of sheets and cushiony things in our dining room.

"You never know if she'll make it through the night," she said.

We walked in the dark room and all three sat around her. Honey woke up and we talked to her and pet her and told her we loved her.

I left town for Knoxville the next day, and two days later, Honey died.

***

When I talked to my sister Catherine yesterday, I asked her why we even bothered having pets. We are all completely devastated.

Today, after a night of sleep, I know my question yesterday was selfish. Honey gave far more unconditional love and affection than I could ever learn how to give. She was a dog worth giving a home and loving as best as we could.

But, oh! How badly we'll miss her.