As you may have noticed, it’s been a quite awhile
since my last post. Since my car turned
off of the pavement of Platteville and onto the beaten down gravel of our
driveway, I haven’t even sat down at my computer. Between graduations, field work, family
visits, milking cows, job searching, nephews to babysit, and Memorial Days
services to attend, I haven’t found the time to write, paint, or get enough
sleep. I’m writing now, but I’m not
writing because I’ve found the time, I’m writing because I had to find it. I just wish the reason I am making time was
completely different.
Wednesday morning, an avoidable car accident took
the life of a wonderful, young woman I was privileged to know and call a peer. Katie Binning was not only an incredible
artist, but one the most intelligent, motivated, and enthusiastic college
students I’ve ever encountered. I first
came to know Katie in a Fiber Arts class during my second semester at
Platteville. She was unapologetic in her
individuality and proved that you could not judge a book by its cover. The first time I saw her I thought ‘Great,
another moody, gloomy, Goth-Emo person with a mohawk who is self-absorbed and
writes a 10 page artist statement about the deep, depressing meaning behind the
three scribbles of black paint…’
Did I ever learn my lesson. Her infectious smile and happy-go-lucky
personality instantly brightened even the sleepiest, caffeine deprived 8am
classroom. Her bubbly laughter and giddy
excitement while she told a story that would sound boring coming from anyone
else was often the highlight of the class period. Plus, she wouldn’t write a
ten page art statement full of BS, she’d write thirty pages and write it so
well, those scribbles would become the most powerful piece of artwork you’d
ever set eyes on.
She was proudly quirky, but enduringly pleasant to
be around. It was impossible not to like
Katie. Even if you only met her once,
you’d always remember her. Whether it be
because of her tattoos of her own design, her constant smile, or her unique
sense of style. You would think she came
of some urban Mecca of cultural progression, but she grew up in a small, rural
town in central Wisconsin, a couple miles from the birthplace of Colby
cheese. Her grandmother started teaching
her to draw when she was very young and ignited her passion and talent for
art. My oldest sister actually worked
for her hometown’s local newspaper and took many pictures of Katie for her
achievements in high school. Katie liked to read my sister’s column and
articles and we often discussed and joked about the quirks of the North Woods
towns we were familiar with.
Her boundless energy was the envy and awe of
everyone who knew her. This was a girl
who woke up at 6am just so she could drive half an hour to volunteer, attend
class from 8am to 5pm and pre-student teach sometime between, run ten miles in
track practice, and then stay up until two in the morning to finish a project
that wasn’t even due for another two weeks.
Needless to say, she was quite the coffee and tea expert and the only
way you could tell she was tired was by how many times she refilled her travel
mug.
Just like her wardrobe, Katie’s had a drawing style
all her own. It was beautiful,
interesting, and Gothic-like. She was by far the best draftsperson in the art
program, but she never set herself above any of the other art students. She encouraged and praised everyone around
her. She loved all forms of art and was
always willing to learn something new.
Because of the ability, she was already an
incredible teacher. I was lucky enough
to have both of my required teaching methods class with her. During the second class, our final project was
to do a practice teach. We had to plan a
lesson and teach it to our other classmates as if they were elementary or
middle schools. Katie played the
misbehaving, chatty student brilliantly because of her child-like energy and eagerness. All of us cracked up at least once because of
something Katie said or did while playing a first grader.
Where Katie truly shined and thrived was in front of
a classroom. Her enthusiasm and ability
to convey her vast amount of knowledge in an understandable manner was
incredible to watch. She made learning
truly an enjoyable experience. Art History
was her forte and could rattle off names and dates from any period. Because of her own acceptance and
appreciation of individuality, she encouraged creativity and originality from
all her students. She was born to be a
teacher. She even planned on teaching at
a college level one day. She was one of
those determined people that worked hard at everything she did, and did it
well. If she didn’t do something right,
she learned from her mistakes and tried again until she succeeded.
This last semester, Katie had been student teaching
at a rural school that neighbors my hometown.
She took more than the maximum amount of credits so she could graduate
in four years, something unheard of in the Art Ed program, and she did all this
while coaching track. It seems as though she made quite an impact in
the short time she was there. The small school
is located on one of the busiest two-lane highways in southern Wisconsin as it
is a major commuter route into Madison.
Katie was waiting to make a left hand turn into the school parking lot
when a semi rear-ended her car and sent it into oncoming traffic. This all happened right as students filtered in
for the morning.
I always knew I’d end up seeing Katie’s smiling face
in the news. However, it should have
been there because of her achievements over the next 50 years, not because how
all that potential was tragically taken away.
More than ever right now, Wisconsin desperately needs good teachers,
especially in the arts. We were robbed
of our brightest prospect the other morning.
Katie was handed her diploma less than three weeks ago and was just
starting to pave her way in this world. I
not only mourn for Katie and her family, but for her students and colleagues. Both who knew her and had to privilege to
call her their teacher and friend, but also for those who will never get that
chance.
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