It was a rough morning.

I rushed through last minute preparations for my trip while my long-suffering husband tied up loose ends... lots and lots of loose ends. My frenzied career included a black and blue foot, a spasm in my back and the threat that my cold might turn into a sinus infection. It didn't include finishing my coffee or eating breakfast.

When I finally arrived at the airport in Lexington, I slogged through rain and sleet from long-term parking to the terminal, wrangling a four and a half foot tuff case, suitcase, carry-on, computer bag and purse. The tuff case caused suspicion, so I was stuck waiting in security while boarding was called for my flight.

It was with a little amazement that there was nothing more to be done that I settled into my window seat. My seat mate was cordial, but obviously not talkative, so after a few pleasantries we retreated into our private spaces. I was spent. Waking from a brief nap, I made a list of things I needed to do once I arrived at my parents'. I didn't realize that Mr. Seatmate was watching.

Once the plane landed and stopped, there was the usual scramble - the clicking of seatbelts being unfastened, and overhead bins being opened. Everyone who could stand did, while my tall self stayed seated rather than be doubled over standing. All activity stopped as we waited for the doors to open. My seat mate said, "You have very nice handwriting. Are you a teacher?" "Sort of," I replied, "I'm an artist." At least eight people responded, "Oh, an artist! What kind?" What followed was a delightful and (if you've lived outside of this country you'll know what I mean) uniquely American interaction. In a matter of moments, everyone had my brief introduction, and we discovered that an art therapist had been seated behind me, that the tiny postal worker was small but mighty, and that the lady in front of me had just returned home after six years away.  (Which explained her hooting and hollering as we landed.) Everyone helped everyone else with their bags. I handed out business cards as they were asked for, and when I made my way down the gangway, an elderly lady stopped me to exclaim, "I was born and raised in Waynesburg, KY!" 

Driving my rental car away from the airport, I thought about all those kind people visiting the website I had been struggling to get up and running. I'd been trying to visualize an audience, and what they would hope to find when they looked me up. What was I aiming for, after all? All my questions were immediately answered by the people on the plane. I felt like I had invited them in to my home, only my website wasn't very homey! They had immeasurably brightened my day, and I so wanted to respond in kind through my artwork.

So I have a new website. A few things need to be done, but a good deal of my work is there and it's easy to navigate. I hope that since they have my card, the people on the plane will take another look, see the new site, and find something there that lifts their spirits as they lifted mine.

Because of the people on the plane,

it was a great morning.

It was too poignant not to paint.

My daughter's sensitive photograph, taken during my husbands visit to her home in Germany, showed Barry standing in a window-lit exhibit room in Dachau holding our four month-old grandson Felix. Darkness and light, sadness and hope, warning and response. I pulled out a small panel, and toned it. While it dried I cropped and composed and mixed paint.

“Dachau" is what I call an impulse piece. My usual painting practice is based on working in series, which gives me the opportunity to more completely explore and understand my subject and its impact. An impulse piece interrupts this flow. It needs to be important enough to warrant sidelining a series for a time. But allowing for impulse pieces affords me a freedom I relish, which keeps my eyes open and my work fresh.

In an impulse piece, I can respond to life 

in real-time

in paint.

It hasn't always been that way. My studio walls are adorned with several unfinished pieces that I embarked on on impulse. They may never be finished. The problem? They are too big, too involved. I've discovered that impulse pieces need another quality other than importance in order to fit into my studio practice. They must be scaled to fit into a small time frame, or they will never get done.

I've seen the same principle in other areas of my life. I have had such big ideas, big plans for the "grand gesture" to express my love and appreciation.

"I can't just send a thank-you note. It should be special! I'll do a pen and ink illustration and make a card and then hand-color it, or better still I’ll..."

Because I've made such a production out of it, the card is never sent. My past is painfully strewn with good intentions and gift coupons for special artwork that was never born. In this case, it is not the thought that counts.

So I'm taking the lesson of the impulse piece into the rest of my life. I will write the note, even on a card I don't like, knowing that it's the words that carry the blessing.

I will take the opportunity to tell my friend how much I appreciate her when I'm thinking of it, and not wait to put it in a note.

I will send the flowers, give the hug, and smile the genuine smile thinking of the person before me and not what I might do in the future.

Love, thankfulness and generosity do not need a grand setting in order to be expressed.

An artist bio by Wallace Huff, Administrative Fellow, Art Center of the Bluegrass, Danville, KY

Katherine Updegraff White, a landscape painter from Waynesburg, KY, is one of three artists-in-residence at Art Center of the Bluegrass. Katherine and her husband Barry were medical missionaries for 18 years – traveling to Canada, Togo, West Africa, & Cambodia. Returning to the states, they lived in Ohio shortly before moving to Montana to adjust to life back in the US. Looking for a place to settle, they relied on their active spiritual lives to give them guidance, which led them to Kentucky. 

 

During her years of traveling and raising a family, Katherine did not have many opportunities to paint and wanted to reinvest in her art. As a first step, she participated in an oil painting workshop taught by Bill Fletcher at the Community Arts Center (now Art Center of the Bluegrass). Shortly after, she submitted one of her works into the Arts Center’s Horizon: Contemporary Landscape show, was accepted, and her piece sold quickly. These experiences gave her confidence in her abilities and helped her enter into the KY art community. She eventually joined the Plein Air Artists of KY, which provided further support and irreplaceable friendships. Since then, Katherine’s works have been featured in the PAACK and New Year, New Art exhibits as well as other iterations of the Horizon exhibit at the Art Center.

Katherine has been an artist as long as she can remember. She feels that the fostering of her artistic expression has benefited her life in more ways than the pieces she has produced. Her attraction to oil painting stems from her fascination with the medium. She delights in the consistency of the paint and the vast color pallet available. Artists that Katherine appreciates and inspire her include Joaquin Sorolla, Carl Larsson, Charles Burchfield and many others. She has also had the pleasure of seeing works by Cézanne, Van Gogh, Henry Ossawa Tanner, and John Singer Sargent: all of which have been impactful for Katherine’s style. But, Katherine’s main sources of inspiration are her family, her faith, and her surroundings whether it be serene landscapes or the faces of strangers. 

From her many years of traveling, Katherine is acutely aware of her privilege as a modern female artist in the US – women have historically been denied artistic expression around the world. Though the creative process is a joy, Kathrine also finds fulfillment in encouraging others to do art. As the latest artist in residence at the Art Center, she certainly has the venue to do so.

Katherine is currently displaying some of her landscapes in the 2nd floor hallway of the Art Center. Most of these are part of a working series of paintings that are all based on similar reference photographs. Katherine describes her work as follows: “I choose a series of five references from the same area and the same time period, preferably the same day. These are digital photographs that I’ve taken myself of places and days that I have a connection with. I plan a time-frame in which to complete the first series of sketches, usually about five days, and as consecutive as I can make them. I take as much time as needed to compose each piece and mix paint, but I limit myself to 20-30 minutes of painting time.”

“The result is five oil sketches that are direct, vibrant, and only contain the most evocative elements of the landscape as well as a sense of distance from the photographic reference. The reference becomes a step-off point to re-enter my experience in the landscape instead of the primary guide. Of the five sketches, I will choose which ones compel me to further exploration, and whether to keep the small format, or “go big” in more developed paintings.” 

The group of paintings include landscapes from Kentucky, Katherine’s adopted home, Florida where she grew up, and the South Carolina Low Country where her sister lives and which has strong connections for her with both Florida and Cambodia.