1895

A painting based upon a family portrait taken in 1895

This painting is based upon a Meek family portrait taken in 1895 in Berryville, Arkansas (I’ve never been there). My grandfather gave me a copy of the photograph, and I’ve been fascinated by it ever since.

Clockwise from the top-left are my Aunt May, my Great-Great Grandfather Roy Meek, Aunt Rena, Uncle Minton, Minton’s wife Belle, Their child Leigh, and my Great-Great-Great Grandparents Meek. I love imagining their world without cars, computers or cell phones; their world of deep clean breaths and unfathomably bright stars. What would our conversations be like? How much would we have in common?

Technical Details

Painted in 2005-6; acrylic on canvas; 40 inches by 50 inches; framed in a simple black-stained wood frame. Private collection; not for sale.

Mohawk Trail

An oil painting based on a scene from the Mohawk Trail in Charlemont, Massachusetts.

This painting was inspired by a walk along a section of the Mohawk Trail in Charlemont, Massachusetts.

Mohawk Trail is one of my personal favorite paintings. It challenged me to confront and rethink my occasionally precise painting style; I somehow managed to let parts of this remain loose, gestural and abstract, while functioning meaningfully in the context of the larger image.

Paths and trails are intriguing, both metaphorically and as a purely compositional element. They have begun to figure in several of my works that involve landscapes of one form or another.

Technical Details

I painted Mohawk Trail in acrylic and oil on canvas, and finished it in 2005. Its dimensions are 44 inches by 55 inches (not including the black-stained spruce frame I built for it). This painting has been sold.

Divining

A painting I made about the subconscious realm

I am fascinated by the relationship between the subconscious and the conscious mind. It seems infinitely possible to train the conscious mind to let go of a hang up, a habit, or some earlier formed conditioning or prejudice.

But what of the subconscious? Try as I might to change it, I am forever having dreams that involve frustrations. In my dream I will be at a bookstore about to buy a magazine when I realize that I have left my wallet in the car. I go out to the car but it is locked and I realize that I have left my keys in a jacket pocket. But where is my jacket? And so on, ad infinitum.

When I wake up I want to shake myself by the shoulders and say, “This is Dreamland, Sweetie! You don’t need magazines or wallets or keys or jackets. Just pick the damn fruit right off the tree!” But it rarely happens this way. Oh sure, there have been flying dreams and “I am in paradise; completely at home” dreams, but these are more the exception than the rule.

I wonder what would happen if I could train my subconscious to be a little less frustrated when I dream? Would it have a beneficent effect upon my waking life? Would I be more creative? More successful in my career, my studio life, and my relationships?

Or is the subconscious meant to be inaccessible? Does it work on a deep, hidden level similar to that of DNA? Is the subconscious the spiritual equivalent of DNA’s physical blueprint? If so, can we inherit the dreams of our ancestors in much the same way as we inherit their eyes, hands, and smells? What would those dreams tell us about the life lessons already learned by those who have lived before us?

Technical Details

Divining is a painting that I made in 1994-95, around the time that I graduated from UMass Amherst. Its dimensions are 44 inches by 55 inches, and it is painted with oil paint on canvas that I stretched over handmade spruce stretchers. This painting has been sold. Photographed by John Polak.

The Making of a Painting

A time-lapse movie documenting a year’s work

In the summer of 2010 I started to work on a large painting commissioned by the owner of Rao’s Café in Amherst, Massachusetts. (Which has since been rebranded as Share.) Several of my earlier paintings had already been on display at the café, so I knew that this new one needed to fit stylistically and thematically. I settled on the subject of a carnival at twilight, inspired by the traveling carnival that visits the Amherst Town Common every spring. The format is the largest stand-alone painting I’ve ever made: 5 feet by 8 feet (I’ve painted murals directly onto larger walls).

Never before had I so deliberately documented my process of making a painting, so I thought it would be an interesting side project to set up a video camera in my studio, film the process from start to finish, and put together a time-lapse movie showing how the painting developed. What you see here is about fourteen months’ worth of intermittent work (nights, weekends, and holidays) condensed into a two minute video. This is whittled down from tons of original footage. Highlights of the movie include a fair amount of non-painting “prep work” (a.k.a, “getting into character”), a significant composition change (around 00:53) in order to situate the painting on the Amherst Common, and the fact that I wear nutty outfits while I work. And notably, I showed my sartorial support of the Boston Bruins, who went on to win the Stanley Cup in 2011 for the first time since 1972. I’d like to think I helped with that!

Update: as of November 2016, this painting moved to Bueno y Sano in Northampton, Massachusetts. Check it out, when you’re in the mood for a great burrito.

The finished painting: Carnival

Carnival painting by Trace Meek

Little Deaths, a Chapbook

Little Deaths cover

In 1995, fresh out of college, I wrote and published a chapbook called Little Deaths.

I approached this project as both a writing exercise and as serial sculpture: After I wrote the story and the haiku poems, I hand lettered, illustrated, printed, assembled, and bound all fifty copies in the edition (plus a few artist’s proofs). I did not have a computer at the time, so there was never a digital master. This production was as analog as it could be. The entire series was handmade using photocopies, blueprints, hand-carved rubber stamps, ink, and glue.

For the front cover (shown above), I used a highly-textured purple paper, which I glued to three chipboard supports (front and back covers; spine). I printed the title, by-line, and “logo” with rubber stamps that I carved by hand from rubber erasers.

Front papers

Little Deaths page spread

I developed this pattern of onions by stamping repeatedly with the aforementioned rubber stamp.

More front papers

Little Deaths page spread

Can you tell that I like onions? The left page was semi-translucent vellum, hinting at an onion skin; the right was an actual blueprint, which provides a nice velvety texture and some wonderful, accidental color bleed.

Title page

Little Deaths page spread

Another blueprint featuring an enlargement of the onion pattern.

Dedication

Little Deaths page spread

This little chapbook written and hand-bound in an edition of 50 (plus a few artist’s proofs) by Trace Meek […] U.S.A 1995. Thanks to Benjamin Ostiguy, who took the photos on pages 26 & 30. For all who would listen…

The story begins with a walk.

Little Deaths page spread

Little Deaths page spread

Now and again Annelise would go out on walks and would collect mementos of her various visits. A pebble here, an interesting stick there. Occasionally a pine cone or a sweetgum pod. A piece of mossy bark, a small shard of brick, a snail shell. A palm full of strange-color dirt from a significant location, the dried shell of a bumblebee. An old shoe heel, a

Little Deaths page spread

butterfly wing. Quite a smattering of these little treasures had begun to collect here and there in the nooks and crannies about her apartment. Each one would forever evoke in her a little pocket of memory, a reminder of a particular place, a particular time, and a particular state of mind. On this particular day, Annelise walked in a direction that she had never taken before. Guided only by intuition and a desire to be outdoors, she proceeded without a fixed destination. Out from the bustle of the town, through the quiet neighborhoods behind the college, over the abandoned trestle, out along the paths that lead through woodlands and meadows, left muddy by an early thaw. Out along

Little Deaths page spread

a subtle ridge to a cornfield and an apple orchard, to a view of those familiar mountains in the distance. The weather was unseasonably warm, but a roaring wind blew thick, moist air in over the mountains. High above, the close-knit trees clacked their leafless branches together as though they were deer locking antlers.

Little Deaths page spread

As Annelise gazed out upon those cool grey mountains and the slightly lighter-grey sky above, she wondered to herself, “How could I possibly express this moment and the euphoria that it brings, without positively living it for someone?” She entertained the notion of bringing back sweetgum pods by the bagful and handing them out to people on the street, then had a little laugh to herself. “Everyone will find their own little memory pods,” she mused, “their own reminders of a particular place, a particular time, and a particular state of mind.” For ages Annelise would continue to try to express the inexplicable, such as she had experienced on that winter’s day, and

Little Deaths page spread

on so many occasions before and since. Now and again she would go out on walks and would collect little soulful impressions, little memories, little nuggets of folk wisdom which would swim around her and emerge into five- and seven-syllable phrases. Annelise would stash these phrases in the nooks and crannies about her heart, live with them, and savor them. To her surprise, they would eventually assemble themselves into haiku poems, some of which are shared with you here…

Haikus

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Little Deaths page spread

Little Deaths page spread

Little Deaths page spread

Haiku
The good goes away,
the bad follows right behind,
then they both come back.

Little Deaths page spread

Haiku
Expressing our needs,
look at what our hands have done—
this is where we live.

Little Deaths page spread

Haiku
Onions enlighten—
peel back through clear layered skins,
get to the essence.

Little Deaths page spread

Haiku
Islands in the Sun
thinking we could be as one:
closeness in distance.

Little Deaths page spread

Haiku
When in a painting
you see a beckoning road,
then down it you go!

Little Deaths page spread

Haiku
Send a friend a gift—
when it arrives at the door
you get love supreme.

Little Deaths page spread

Haiku
Natural logic
pays attention to within—
calm before a quake.

Little Deaths page spread

Haiku
Fate interrupts us—
little deaths we live each day
as we approach one.

Little Deaths page spread

Haiku
Several apples,
passed over by suns and moons,
return to damp earth.

Little Deaths page spread

Haiku
In the wild of life
relationships come undone
and new ones are formed.

End papers

Little Deaths page spread

More end papers

Little Deaths page spread

Little Deaths cover

I sold a few copies of this chapbook on consignment through a cool but now defunct bookstore (whose name I forget) in Downtown Amherst, gave many copies away to friends, family, and muses, and kept none for myself. Thanks to an old friend, a copy made its way back to me nearly two decades after I published it, so that I could scan it and reproduce it here. Enjoy.