By Coltrane Cheatham
When I began my time in Kentucky as a Louisville Fellow, I made a promise to myself: draw one thing each day. It could be a person, a building, or an animal. Whatever it was, I would sit with it long enough to understand my relationship to it and consider how to capture it honestly through illustration. Sometimes I succeeded; other days I fell short. But what mattered most was keeping that promise. Because of it, I traveled across Kentucky, met many different people, and experienced the state in a way I otherwise wouldn’t have.
One of my first outings was to a farm by my host family’s home. They suggested it after I asked about places to visit. I find horses sometimes difficult to draw. While I was at the farm, I was struggling to draw them. I became more and more frustrated and these mistakes were adding up. I finally looked inwards to myself and asked myself what was I doing that was causing me to continue to make the same mistakes. I looked inwards and found that my misunderstanding or mistakes were not an indicator of a lack of progress, but rather I needed to use mistakes to highlight that which I was unwilling to do. For me, I think my greatest mistake when I draw is my unwillingness to slow down. So I just looked at the farm. It was very peaceful and serene; it was just me, a few goats, and a couple of horses wandering nearby. I stayed for hours, long enough for me to get a sunburn, which doesn’t take much due to my fair skin. Families passed by and asked what I was doing. I showed them my sketches, and they smiled before continuing on their way.
Those first two weeks, before I found a job, were especially exciting. I visited well-known landmarks, like the Speed Museum, the Slugger Museum, and the Big Four Bridge. I spent time studying my subjects and learned more about both my abilities and the world around me. Some of the most meaningful lessons came from the unexpected. One Wednesday, I went to Saint Francis in the Fields and witnessed the removal of an old, weathered tree. Watching it lifted by a crane and secured to a truck was mesmerizing. I focused on the cracks in the bark, the deep grooves in the wood, and the cold strength of the metal hook suspending it in the air. The contrast between the aging tree and the industrial machinery pushed me to look closer and draw with greater care. Moments like that sharpened my artistic skills, but they also led me to reflect on my own life and my relationship with faith.
Faith, for me, mirrors the practice of art. It requires consistency. We try to understand God’s plan and our place within it. We set aside time to pray, to breathe, to write, to study Scripture. Yet it is often in solitude, when the world feels unsettled and we are searching for direction, that our connection deepens. In those quiet moments, we come to know God more fully and learn to serve with greater clarity than before. It takes patience and dedication, and the humility to accept that God is always teaching us something new.