I went to my cousin Kristin's parent's house in Portland, TN (45 minutes North of Nashville) to celebrate her birthday and feast on some of her mother's (and grandmother's) home cookin'. What was sleet in Nashville was actually SNOW in Portland, and a fair amount of it accumulated while we feasted and played games inside. Later that night, we went to leave and make the trek back to the city. I was overwhelmed with a deep-rooted, uncontrollable urge to take of running through the fields next to her house (that were covered in snow). About 50 yards out, I thought I'd spooked a rabbit when I saw something skip across the snow. In turn, I spooked myself and let out a little yelp, turned around, and skittered back to my car. I got all the ice scraped off, defrosted my windows, and off we went...back to "civilization" (*side note: I think it's essential to my sense of well-being that I go out to the country and take off running...just as much as it is essential for a dog to get walks every now and again.) When I got home, one of my other cousins (who'd just been at the birthday festivities) was coming to meet me and had planned to call and clarify driving directions. I went to grab my phone out of my purse, since it was clearly not in my pockets...and found that alas...the cupboard was bare. No phone. Anywhere. I thought through the events of the evening...and the last text I'd sent was right before....I ran like a wild banchee through the snow. And could it be that the "rabbit" was actually my phone? Flying freely out of my shallow pockets? After pacing back and forth through my apartment (as if the act of scrambling through my apartment would help bring my phone back.), I rigged up some Christmas lights on my porch and a Giant Cardboard Sign with my cousin Carina's name on it to hopefully attract her attention as she inevitably passed by my house (since she wouldn't be able to call for the crucial last-step in the directions.) I then spent a few minutes thinking about what I would do about getting my phone back. I couldn't call? I would wait until Carina got here, and then use her phone! So...how to get Carina HERE...I would watch, diligently and flag her down with my twinkling lights...Well, instead of being diligent...I took a shower. Hoping the lights would do the work on their own. When I came out of the shower, and she still wasn't there...I went to the front door to take a look. As I did, she drove past...quickly...talking on her cell phone. Not looking for anything. And certainly not looking for CHRISTMAS LIGHTS and a SIGN with her NAME on it! So I took off running. In my pajamas. In my pink pom-pommed slippers (a gift). Running up the middle of 17th St. I chased her for 2 blocks. Yelling her name...Flailing my arms...And running out of breath. So when she crested the hill, and didn't show signs of stopping, I stopped. Turned around, and started walking home. Aggravated with the entire situation. But, OH GLoRIOUS DAY! She had turned around and I could see her headlights coming back towards me. I turned around and smiled, squinting against the lights. After rolling down the window and slowing to my walking pace, she--clearly annoyed--tells the person on the phone (which turned out to be Kristin) that she's found me...and nevermind...then hangs up. and says, "WHY WEREN't You ANSWERING YOUR PHONE!" Now, I'm just excited that I found her! So when she turns on me, I'm taken aback...I explain that I lost my phone, and I point towards a bright sign with blinking lights that I'd made and hoped she'd see. (Which she didn't appreciate--apparently she'd been driving up and down my street for 10 minutes) Then I ask if I can use her phone, to call Kristin and Derek (my cousins). They'd turned their phone off once she arrived safely, to avoid any more panic stricken calls, no doubt. So I didn't get ahold of them. No one knew I'd lost my phone. No one could look for it. Sad day.

My phone had lived through a variety of abuses. I'd spilled sticky caramel on it. Dropped it. Dropped it, then kicked it. Dropped it, not KNOWN that I'd dropped it, then had someone run over it in the busy streets of Brooklyn. It was a tough old soul. It's not surprising to me, then, that it decided to venture out on its own, across the wild tundra of Portland, Tennessee to lay itself to rest.

I have a new phone coming in the mail in 3-5 business days, and I can only hope that it will be as tough and good-natured as its predecessor. When I called customer service to ask for my "upgrade," they couldn't understand that as an upgrade--I just wanted the same old phone again.

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.