In 1993 Kathryn reviewed an exhibition of mine for FlashArt. It was typical of her writing: thoughtful, pithy and with some wonderful turns of phrase. Reading it today, I am struck still by its clarity about the explicit and implicit intentions of that work.
Artists loved to have Kathryn write about their work. She was a great listener, in the normal sense with her ears, but more importantly for artists, with her eyes. She had an unusual and highly perceptive intelligence and one always felt strongly her excitement about ideas and the folks who try to make art of them. She never pulled any punches if she disagreed with you, but could be so persuasive that often you ended up agreeing with her. If in the end your difference of opinion was intractable, you never felt it was for lack of a fair hearing, nor because of an unexamined dogma on her part.
Did I mention that she was funny as all hell?
Kathryn and I shared the camaraderie of Texans who had happily chosen to live elsewhere. When and where we grew up, one of the highest compliments that you could pay a woman was to call her an iron hand in a velvet glove. The origins of that colorful phrase are debated, but there’s a consistent association with Napoleon and his idea of effective and desirable autocratic rule. When Texans used this expression in the past, it was in reference to a woman who was eminently likable by virtue of her congeniality and charm, yet very imposing by virtue of her intellect, character and will. It was a combination that was unexpected (god only knows why) and for that reason, all the more subversive, powerful and praiseworthy.
That was Kathryn.
Did I mention that she was funny as all hell?
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