June 2, 2026

Dear The Inadequacy of Grammar, No. 2iii,

Hello and welcome! Roughly 2 years since I first envisioned you, and 5 months since I started working on you in earnest, here you are, dear 2iii. And….you broke me. Just kidding! I’m grateful for you (but that was a thing!)

After two false starts and/or epic fails, I decided it was time to buckle down and figure out technically and visually what I was trying to capture–and very importantly–what systems I needed in order to capture what was in my heart and head. I finally cracked it with this small-scale study:

But here’s the surprising thing: the physical you is much less meaningful to me than the accumulation of insights, connections, and musings that arose during our time together. Too many to share them all, but perhaps the most meaningful are my reflections on discipline.

As you know, 2iii, the nature of my materials and process are uniquely unforgiving. And so, above all else you are about discipline. The discipline of creating a strict system I had to adhere to with exacting, tedious labor. The discipline of not rushing, of not listening to the “it’ll be fine” voice towards the end of  a 6 hour painting session.

Why not just let go a little and allow you to become something different? Why make such a fuss? Most recently I realized the biggest reason is simply because I cared. I really, really cared about bringing what I envisioned into the world. I knew there was something elusive and necessary to understanding your middle hues, your middle values and how that creates depth and atmosphere. And I think there was something liminal in your atmosphere that felt strangely comforting. So I cared enough to almost lose my wee mind in order to try and capture this.

Don gets it.

But I’ve had to learn over and over again that discipline can quickly turn into a self-appointed drill sergeant, (“Do more! Work smarter! Be better generally!”) and that's when things go south. Sometimes South Pole south.

What finally started to crack with you, 2iii, is that I slowly but surely started to notice that the days I didn’t have enough discipline to keep my mind light, soft, and quiet were days that I was prone to  making irreversible mistakes and hanging with the penguins. So I had to ask: what does a gentler, kinder discipline look like? What does discipline with softer edges feel like?

It took a long time but I now realize that I had it backwards: care is a type of discipline. Care is a discipline. 

By its very nature, to care with abandon takes you outside of yourself. And I’m learning that without this more expanded sense of self, the energy-sucking hard edges of the drill sergeant start to take hold. Conversely, genuine care creates a bit of space around the task at hand that then allows room for context; for gratitude, empathy and compassion to enter into the mix. So yes, you required discipline, 2iii, but you’ve taught me that the trick is practicing care as a discipline with a softer boundary of the self. Self with fuzzy edges. (The drill sergeant dons a fuzzy sweater and takes a breath.)

In a nutshell, 2iii, I learned from our time together that approaching  my work with  a softer sense of self provides the insight of what really matters (I’m sorry to say, it’s not actually you!). And certainly, my next task is to practice (and practice again) bringing these lessons out of the art studio and into the world, cuz ya know, the world ain’t easy right now. All of this is warm fuel to stay disciplined. To continue to care. To trod one foot in front of the other, rain or shine, with a lightness of step.

Yours truly (and honestly),

Kate

The Inadequacy of Grammar, No. 2iii, 70” x 40” ,watercolor and graphite on Arches hot press, 2026