Behind a curving wall of glass and beneath bright track lighting in an old tobacco warehouse, Beverly McIver paints the vivid, oversize portraits of family and friends that she’s famous for. She rolls a cart of brushes, paints, palettes, and paper towels to paintings of her elderly father in a birthday hat, of her sister Renee, and of herself; in one, inspired by the Edouard Vuillard work Au Lit, McIver is prone in Paris with a sprained ankle. Each face bears dozens of strokes of luscious oil paint in dozens of colors, from teal to white. Recently, McIver is finding that clocks are wandering across her canvases, as are two rag dolls. Why? She’s an artist: No explanation necessary.
Many of McIver’s paintings, like Cardrew III (above), feature her father, Cardrew Davis.
In North Carolina, spring brings the scent of fresh-cut grass and memories of helping Dad mow the lawn.
Nostalgic burger joints are like time machines, delivering something extra special that keeps us coming back.
This tiny city block in downtown Greensboro once had a gigantic reputation. Not so much for its charbroiled beef patties — though they, too, were plentiful — but for its colorful characters and their wild shenanigans.
In the 1950s, as Americans hit freshly paved roads in shiny new cars during the postwar boom, a new kind of restaurant took shape: the drive-in. From those first thin patties to the elaborate gourmet hamburgers of today, North Carolina has spent the past 80 years making burger history.
