Isle of Printing (Bryce and I) packed up shop and drove to Brooklyn this last weekend for Prints Gone Wild! It's about a 14 hour drive or so, but we made it in one piece. We were slinging posters, making friends, eating bagels, drinking warm beverages, and walking long distances for three days, until we got into our rented gangster car (a chevy HHR) and drove back to Nashville in time to sleep a minute and then (in bryce's case) go vote. We did well at the show.
Right before we hit the road, however, we went into Manhattan to see such sites as The Burger Joint, Central Park, and FAO Schwartz's muppet factory. Okay, so it's not exactly a factory, BUT...I think it's almost as exciting to know you can order and design your very own personal muppet. You just pick from all the different eyes, noses, hair options, and colors...then pick out some clothes...and voila! a muppet to call your own.
One of the undisputed facts about New York is that it has good pizza. It's just true. However, though I agree, I hadn't yet had pizza that was mind-numbingly great, and would cause my tastebuds to mentally googlemap it's location to remember now and forevermore...until now. here we have Gromaldi's...(lets hope I'm spelling it right). They just do everything right, plus they have this great poster. I love it. That is all.

Continuing on the food tour: Bryce and I ate at the smallest (and perhaps best) hamburger joint...aptly titled: Burger Joint. It's behind a red velvet curtain, within a fancy hotel (Le Parke Meridian) in Manhattan. Right off the Avenue of the Americas. All the while, you're waiting in line, with this tiny mystery growing closer and closer around the bend. Once in the door, the menu is simple: burgers. You get your choice of the normal toppings, what temperature you want it..and then the fry option...and if you're feeling extravagant (and if they haven't run out of icecream)--milkshakes! While you're slinking in, everyone's keeping their eyes peeled for open tables...the restaurant is no bigger than one of those gas stations that just has gas and a coke machine...tiny, right? So, when a table gets up (and clears their own trash, at the risk of being heckled!) there are already 3 people swooping down on it. I feel like burger joint is a fair example of New York, in general. There's no room, yet people find a way to make room. Buildings and businesses are stacked and coupled together (sometimes awkwardly, but that's part of the charm. it's like, "Oh, you need a place? Okay, lemme scoot over. now there's room for the both of us.") There is no pretense of "personal space," and elbow room is an empty term. Being from West Virginia, where mountains are the only thing to bring about claustrophobia, it's an entirely different mindset. Even in Nashville, which is supposedly a "city," there are more parking lots than parking garages. Everything is (for the most part) still built on a level plane (three stories or less), aside from the condos and a couple downtown buildings.

All in all, the trip was a huge success. I just need to go back and buy this necklace I forgot to get...and still think about. We'll see if it's still there next time.

To a Wayward Bison
Linocut Print (reduction) 16x20
does anybody know the difference between a bison and a buffalo?


Ode to the Number Two
Linocut Print 16x20

I've decided that I'm going to start posting things I know I'd cherish if I had them:

1. All the old disney movies...from a certain era (aka, the era that left all the animations a little bit scratchy, and at some point or another used jazz music):

-Sword in the Stone
-Robin Hood
-Jungle Book
-101 Dalmations
-Aristocats

ODES [to things]
An amalgamation of work by Laura Baisden



This is my first show since graduating college two years ago. To make myself proud and re-earn my diploma (so to speak), I aimed for a cohesive body of work—worthy of a thesis. As I started creating things, I realized that instead of sticking with something nice and structured, I kept jumping ship and drawing whatever I wanted. I felt like the parent of a spoiled two year old, who—in an effort to maintain some sense of efficiency and productivity—says, “FINE. You feel like drawing squirrels when you were supposed to be making landscapes? Whatever. Just have fifteen by September 12th.” Which in turn, became the antithesis of cohesiveness. Or so I thought…



ODES [to things] is about what image, thing, or person was valuable or striking enough that I felt like taking the time to make it art. To a Wayward Bison, for instance—I’ve never seen a bison. I don’t even know the difference between a bison and a buffalo, and yet…I wanted to make him. I thought he was stoic and beautiful. A conversation about hitch hiking inspired me to make Ode to Wishful Thinking. When I made Your Father Wants to Have Breakfast With You, I recreated a memory from a visit home when my dad mentioned he wanted to take me to Audrey’s and have pancakes. At the time, my mom said, ”Did your father tell you that he wants to have breakfast with you?” It was a quietly momentous occasion, so I put it down on paper. The moral of the story is, for whatever reason, I’ve made what I’ve made.
Hope you like it.

i'm living with a mouse. he's tiny and cute, and every once in a while I hear him chewing on things like packets of parmesan cheese from papa john's. why can't mice just hang out and only eat packets of parmesan cheese? instead of chewing on expensive chocolate bars, breeding, and pooping everywhere. I'd be happy to have them if that were the case!

ODE TO WISHFUL THINKING- this drawing came from a conversation I had with my pal Jessi. We were talking about picking up (or not picking up) hitch hikers. I think it's ridiculous that we've mopped ourselves into a corner and can't help each other out. The horror stories have sowed themselves into our subconscious and won't allow us to do the right thing. I imagine that half of the time, the guy sitting on the roadside is just plain stuck and needs a little help from someone who can spare a second--it's the other half of the time, when the only person crazy enough to hitch hike is a crazy person and makes it risky to help out. We talked about it for while and by the end of the conversation, I was just so pissed that we can't trust each other to the point that our first instinct is fear and accusation when it comes to the homeless and the hitch hiker. The person who's having to live at rock bottom could use a helping hand, but there are those who've jaded the hand-lenders by asking too much, or worse yet, turning out to be sociopaths. We aren't even free to be helpful for fear of the worst. So, the piece is called "wishful thinking," not because the homeless guy is wishing things would look up (although maybe...)--but it's from me. I wish we could get each other out of this mess.

On a lighter note, the show is UP! I'm so relieved. Granted I still have to go in and post my artist statement and all of my contact info, so that people know who I am...BUT, still...it feels like 9,000 pounds have fallen off my shoulders. I feel good about how it looks. Here's hoping I keep it up, and keep having shows.

Please come to the show opening at Portland Brew East on Friday night (September 19th) from 6-9 and see the work!

I'm trying to do a little professional housekeeping with Rufus B. Ellington. Since I made postcards with the blog advertised, I figure I should actually back it up and have some photos of my artwork. (And maybe a few less personal anecdotes?) These past few weeks have been insane. I'm never one to work without a little pressure, but I've been thriving lately.

I drew this while I was in our scary, coal-cellar of a basement doing laundry. the appliances inspired me.

So, these days, I'm starting to think a plague has fallen on this house. I don't know why I feel it's necessary to post this sort of thing on an internationally posted blog, but here it is. I just got over a staph infection--barely keeping my leg. (slight exaggeration, I was only mildly afraid of gangrene. but it was awful. my leg wanted to rot off.) Thank the Lord for antibiotics, eh? But, nonetheless, it's gone. (The infection, that is...not my leg) Before that, I broke my cheekbone. (Okay, that's another exaggeration. I got a black eye as a result of colliding cheek to forehead with someone on a football field. Yes, my cheekbone was painfully swollen for 2-3 weeks, but...I wouldn't say broken) And now, I feel like I'm getting lock-jaw. My jaw is killing me. Chewing is painful. Yawning is almost out of the question (but unfortunately, yawning can never really be out of the question since it's quite uncontrollable.) My jaw hurts so bad sometimes, it gives me an ear-ache. If anyone has ever seen Joe vs. the Volcanoe, I'm starting to feel like any moment, I'll go in to the doctor's office and he's going to say: "I'm sorry, the odd thing is, you're a hypochondriac. But, since you insisted on so many tests, we found out you have this terminal disease called a 'Brain Cloud.' So you aren't sick, except for this symptom-less fatal disease." (I hope, if you're reading this, you will have seen the movie. It just won't make much sense otherwise. You see, Joe is this character who lives a boring life going in and out of a terrible job day to day and thinks he's sick and miserable 98% of the time. He keeps consulting a doctor who eventually tells him about his "Brain Cloud" and then encourages him to live the last few months of his life adventuring. Only problem is, he's broke. He spent all his money on doctors. Anyway...it all turns out well in the end...full of equal parts life lessons and utter silliness.)

Things will even out in the end, I'm sure...but I'm just curious to wake up each morning to find out what's in store...

I feel terrible writing this now, only because I just got out of "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly." Truly beautiful and amazing. And if you see it and don't become insanely aware of how valuable life is, then you might not be human. I guess I had a moment of inhumanity just then. I take it back. Staph, jaw, cheek and all...I'm great. I can walk and talk and eat and sleep...I'm well.

It's been long enough that it might be safe to blog again. I've managed to avoid the holiday season altogether. Christmas was crazy, my family took a long-anticipated group portrait now that all the grandchildren are born and over with...or at least until I catch up with my sibling's birthing streak...I assume they came to the conclusion that it would be a while, and they'd better just get the picture taken now. We're an odd sort--we economize typical family functions. If we can hold off a while so as to accomplish everything at once...then we'll just wait. For instance, when I was living in Haiti last Christmas, my family decided they would postpone the holiday get-together until my return in February. That's right...the typically Decemberist-holiday was pushed forward two months, due to the loss of one member. This might make some sense, if our families lived light-years away, or didn't get along, however...on the contrary, we live only 4 hours away and actually enjoy spending time together. This is how they might have pushed getting a family portrait back 5 more years in an effort to give me a shot at having children of my own to contribute to the photo.

New Year's was fun, I discovered that boots are no-good for walking 2 miles in. Especially if the insoles have been replaced with cardboard. I had a blister the size of Canada on my right heel. Six minutes before midnight, someone in the party got the bright idea to start walking to a seedy bar called the "Sugar Shack." I got the even brighter idea to go along with them...so off we went...on an adventure to make it there by midnight. Of course, there was no timely arrival to be had, but Midnight on the street had it's charms as well. For instance, I never knew that my quaint little town shot off canons, or let out sirens to welcome the new year. I made the best of it, and decided that was a worthwhile investment. The rest of the night included capering around with a chain of friends from one place to the next, on foot. Much earlier that morning, we were all ready to fall headlong into bed. Welcome to the year 2006.

"Filled to the brim with dangerous thoughts & no where to put them since she lives in a small town & everybody's always watching." - Brian Andreas

This is a little how I feel sometimes. Especially since my two jobs are at the central hubs of town society (aside from Wal-mart of course). The coffee shop, which is gossiped at by day and night, and the Bookstore, where everyone passes through while visiting home. I am now known as the girl who works everywhere. When everywhere is simply two places, they just happen to be prominent places. I answer the question "How's school?" an average of 15 times a day. And "How's your mom and dad?" almost as much. Ah, behold the bliss of living in a small town. Everyone knows where you come from and who you are, and you have an established expectation from them. Fortunately, I've been pegged as the Good Girl, so I don't get many dirty looks...but I do think to myself, "Back in the city, I never got any looks at all..." and for a brief moment, I wish desperately to return to a place of anonymity, where the only recognition you get is what you've earned versus what you were born with. For you to walk into a restaurant and be seen as a regular in a city takes a little more work than here. Here its two visits and you're in. They'll know your mom your dad, and how many pets you have, and whether you let those pets crap on your neighbor's lawn. Although, that isn't to say that cities don't have their microchosms with all the complications of a small town. They do. But it takes a while to find them. All this said...I wouldn't trade my small town for anything else....permanently, anyway.

A day in the life...

So, Saturday was a day that has already lived in infamy. I've been telling the story enough times that I decided it needed to be typed up. It all started when my mom came in to wake me up. (yes. i am back to living at home until I finish school. leave it be.) She comes in and says, "Thank GOD, WE WERE SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU!" This declaration of relief jerks me violently out of my deep sleep, but into consciousness so quickly I feel like I have a bit of comprehensional jet-lag. In other words, I have no idea what she's talking about, but I try to keep up as she keeps talking in [what sounds like] another language. Apparently, she and my father were worried because my bike never made it home the night before, so they assumed I hadn't either. This assumption began a search that got them so worked up that they forgot to even check my ROOM. My parents aren't the type to worry. Really. This also adds to my confusion, its way too out of character. Just as I think I've caught up with her schpeal, she tells me I should call Lisa. Lisa is my boss at the coffee shop, where I work. This simple fact really catches my attention. "WHY on EARTH did you call LISA of all people?!" Lisa is not a great "emergency person." I mean this to say that she can get panicked easily. What had happened was that my dad went down to the coffee shop to ask Lisa if I'd closed alone. Lisa says, no...she thought I was with Kadra. So Lisa calls my co-barista Kadra, who gives very little reassurance, and forgets to mention that she was the one who gave me the ride home so I didn't have to ride my bike! So, Lisa hangs up, and panics, because she thought Kadra would know where I was, when Kadra didn't know, she was at a loss. Lisa calls her husband Hank, and asks him what should be done, thinking that the next step would be to call the Police and file a Missing Person. (meanwhile, I'm still sleeping in my own warm bed.) Eventually, someone comes up with the idea to check my room...and that is where the story began. For a brief moment, I had quite a few people thinking I'd just been abducted by aliens.

The day simply got weirder. I went to work at around 10 at the Bookstore (I have two jobs and they are right next to each other..) When I got there, no one had opened up. I don't have a key to open the shop, but as far as I know, i'm still supposed to open it at 10, right? Now, typically a chef from the restaurant in the back is there prepping for the day, and they let me in. This is the standard. HOWEVER. not today. After waiting around for 15 minutes, I walk over to the coffee shop...have a few laughs with lisa about how crazy that morning was...get a muffin and some juice...call my boss to tell him i can't open his stinking bookstore without a key and then, when his line ends up being busy, I decide to walk back and keep waiting.
Meanwhile, I feel this slight itch at the bottom of my pants leg...i think its a leaf and keep on walking, but this leaf seems to DEFY GRAVITY and start moving up my pants! I put down my muffin and juice (I'm on MAIN STREET, let's remember)
and take a gander down the backside of my pants...Only to come face to face with a LIZARD!!! I FLIP OUT.
for about .4 seconds i look like brad pitt in 12 monkeys...you know....crazy flailing gestures? I manage to regain composure and walk BACK to the coffee shop in order to find a nice haven for stripping out of my pants as quickly as possible. Mind you, everyone at the coffee shop already knows its been a strange day. So when I walk in and say "Craziest thing just happened to me" and keep walking right on to the bathrooms...they don't know what to think until one of the customers says: "UM, ma'am...don't freak out, but...you've got a lizard on your back" and, of course, I proceed to FREAK OUT AGAIN.
only this time, there's "dancing in small circles" + the flailing.
fortunately, I am rescued.
the lizard went on to live happily ever after with lisa's son logan.
and I finally got ahold of my boss and opened the store.
an hour late.

george

george,
originally uploaded by Rufus B. Ellington.

the poor rat who started it all...

Rufus B. Ellington,
originally uploaded by Rufus B. Ellington.

My mom has a habit of falling asleep on the couch every night with the t.v. on. However, she is exceptionally selective about what she sleeps to. Rather than the weather channel, or CNN, she will leave it on the Arts Channel or PBS. So, when I get home I am usually greeted by the "Mighty Puppeteers of Austria, performing Mozart's 5th Symphony in G" or "The Study of Mole Hair." Last night was no exception. I came home and it was a documentary on Killer Whales. However, I wouldn't have guessed it at first, mainly because they had edited it in such a way that it looked like a horror movie. It caught my attention (which isn't hard to do at 2 a.m., when my eyes have no problem fixating to one spot) and I sat down and watched for a while. I was amazed to find that Killer Whales can be the most fierocious animals in the world. The story was about this fishing village in about the 1930's where whalers lived. The "killers" (as they were lovingly called by the natives) would come straight into the harbor...right up to shore...and start making all kinds of noise for the whalers to hear. The whalers would come out at night, and get in their row boats and follow the killers out to sea. These killer whales were as big as their row boats, but had no intentions of harming the whalers, they were out for the blood of their fellow fish. The Killers would lead them right to a big blue whale, or a hump back whale, or any other equally HUGE beast and proceed to aid in the attack. They were launching themselves right into the sides of this other whale, and ganging up on him, 6 killers to one! These FREE WILLY-esque mammals would charge this whale and bite off huge chunks of his flesh. They would pick at him and wear him down, until finally the whalers could get a good shot, and harpoon him. I was amazed at this. They were smart enough and mean enough to lead humans to kill the other whales. And, here I thought cruelty was only reserved for us. I just watched this movie called North Country, and I am blown away by the "strength (and ignorance) in numbers" that was shown by the men in the film. They would group together and gang up on the women who worked in the mines, and pick them off...one by one...until they couldn't or wouldn't work in the mines anymore. The world is a strange place, full of killer instincts. I just don't understand how it can become so misguided. This might be depressing to post as a first blog...but...if blogs are for posting what's on your mind, then maybe I'll have a clearer head next time.