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| Morgan stallion on black canvas, 9x12" acrylic |
Here are two new salutes to our eternal friend.
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| "War Horse", Mustang 9x12" acrylic |
Showing posts with label equine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label equine. Show all posts
Friday, February 14, 2014
Endless Equine Art
Last night I watched "Cave of Forgotten Dreams" on Netflix, Werner Herzog's documentary about the Paleolithic-era paintings in the Chauvet cave of Southern France. Deemed the oldest works of art on record, the paintings were primarily of horses. Their scruffy manes, knobby heads and arched necks are easily recognizable, and they are pictured running in groups. The lines and textures of the images are so beautiful that I want to get a copy somehow and hang it on my wall.
It leads me to reflect on this equine wonder, a limitless source of inspiration though the ages. The horse lives on, forever stretching our collective imagination. When I learned to hold a pencil and make a mark with it, I started drawing horses. Even though I had never owned one, I drew them galloping with flowing manes and tails. I drew long heads with pointed ears and rounded cheeks. I drew bent legs and bulging knees and comma-shaped nostrils. Now all these years later, I am still painting horses. It seems only appropriate on this Valentine's Day that I should be reflecting on my first love, the horse.
Here are two new salutes to our eternal friend.
Here are two new salutes to our eternal friend.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Paintings on Slate
For my gallery show, I ordered a few slabs of slate from SlateLady.com . It
was my first time ordering from them. I was happy with the product,
except that one of the holes wasn't drilled all the way through. But
that's easy enough to fix. They come with holes so they can be hung with something like rawhide or baling twine.
I had painted on slate before, but it's been years. My first attempt this time was this chickadee with winter berries, on a small piece, about 3x5" The teeny, tiny detail makes for an interesting challenge on the textured surface of the slate.
Next was another small one, this lady cardinal on a wrought iron gate.
Once I got the slates, I couldn't seem to stop painting on them. I am learning that slate has a rough side and a smooth side, and for some reason I keep opting to paint on the rough side! Duh. Also, it sucks paint like a sponge. It likes a lot of layers. Sometimes you think you are done but then your paint disappears!
Today's project is a group of horses running in snow. This piece is 6x9" A coat of glaze made a big difference in all of these paintings. It darkens the slate and adds a nice sheen, for a good finishing touch.
Here's another pic of the running horses, after glaze was applied. The glare in this photo shows the bumps and ridges on the slate which makes it a challenge to paint on. However, it was fun and a nice diversion for me -- so I will probably order more.
I had painted on slate before, but it's been years. My first attempt this time was this chickadee with winter berries, on a small piece, about 3x5" The teeny, tiny detail makes for an interesting challenge on the textured surface of the slate.
Next was another small one, this lady cardinal on a wrought iron gate.
Once I got the slates, I couldn't seem to stop painting on them. I am learning that slate has a rough side and a smooth side, and for some reason I keep opting to paint on the rough side! Duh. Also, it sucks paint like a sponge. It likes a lot of layers. Sometimes you think you are done but then your paint disappears!
Today's project is a group of horses running in snow. This piece is 6x9" A coat of glaze made a big difference in all of these paintings. It darkens the slate and adds a nice sheen, for a good finishing touch.
Here's another pic of the running horses, after glaze was applied. The glare in this photo shows the bumps and ridges on the slate which makes it a challenge to paint on. However, it was fun and a nice diversion for me -- so I will probably order more.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
A Gallery Show at Fernwood Botanical Garden
Several of my paintings, including "Dots", this watercolor of an Appaloosa filly, will be hanging in Fernwood Gallery for their Contemporary Show beginning on Valentine's Day. Fernwood Gallery is located in the sprawling and inviting Fernwood Botanical Gardens in Niles, Michigan.
Also present will be my experimental acrylic collage on 10x20" stretched canvas. "Bubbles," features a family of dolphins undulating over paper background "sand," which has script in it about love and affection. I added some adhesive gems for the sparkling bubbles, giving this painting a whole new dimension of light and motion. It must be seen in person to appreciate! See it at Fernwood in Niles, Michigan, Feb 14 - March 16, 2014.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Colic
On the evening of August 22, I looked
out the kitchen window and noticed Clifford in the pasture, lying down
and getting up. I dropped what I was doing and called out to Cindy,
"I've got to go. I've got a sick horse."
I ran outside while the clouds piled up overhead and thunder grumbled in the distance. Clifford was on his side in the pasture, but he got up when I called to him. He came over and put his head in his halter obligingly. I bent and listened, and heard a corresponding grumble from his innards. So far so good.
We walked up and down the driveway until his tail lifted and he deposited a load of manure. At that point I was relieved, thinking it was over. But to my dismay, he sidled away from me, kicking at his belly, and offered to lie down.
"No!" I said. "Keep moving!"
We reached the end of the driveway and his legs folded neatly beneath him, and he collapsed, sprawling by my side while I held tight to the lead rope and yanked on him. Trudy watched us intently from her station near the lean-to. "Get up, Clifford!" I yelled. "You can't be doing this!"
I took the longe and swatted him, once, twice on the rump, and he lurched to his feet. I offered him a peppermint, and he took it, crunching it reluctantly. He was walking crooked, his back feet weaving back and forth along the drive, ataxic in his movements. I urged him along. "Come, on, come on, you're doing great."
At that point, Cindy came out of the house and I said, "Call a vet! He's really sick!"
She ran back inside.
Clifford collapsed again and rolled on his side. His eyes were half-closed, clouded in pain. "GET UP!" I yelled, pulling on him. I swatted him again, snapping him hard with the nylon cord so it would sting. He struggled to his feet, and I said, "Good!"
We walked. By now he was breaking a sweat and he seemed determined to try to stay up because it was what I was asking, but I could tell he really wanted to lie down. His head sagged. It was heartbreaking to see him suffer. He had colicked only two or three other times in his life, that I could remember, but it was never this severe. I had always been able to walk him through it, and the first time he dropped manure he immediately showed signs of recovery. I took out my cell and called Stayner, my neighbor with his eventing Morgan. He would know a close local vet. I was having trouble handling the cell and Clifford, too. He was staggering and needing all my attention.
Finally, Clifford went down again, and that was it. No amount of yelling or coaxing could convince him to rise. He flipped his head up and I tugged on the halter, "No! Just lie there for a minute. Don't roll. Just lie there and rest."
He lifted his hind leg, exposing the white frothy lather on his belly. "Clifford," I said. I was determined not to get upset, because he would certainly know it. "Don't do this to me, man. We still have a lot of work to do."
Cindy came out of the house then, still on the phone. She unwrapped a peppermint. "Get up Clifford," she said, holding it out. "I'm not coming to you. You know I don't play that game."
Clifford lay there. I leaned down and stroked his cheek and neck. He was soaked in sweat. He suddenly flipped his head and rolled, once, over on his other side. He was covered in dust and gravel now, lying on the driveway. I was beginning to think about getting a back hoe to bury him on Hank's property. I had fleeting thoughts of Dad, gone five months now, calling Clifford home. Maybe two years away from Drummond Island was killing him. Despite myself, I was starting to cry. "Clifford, you have to get up."
He lay there.
Thanks to our desperate calls, help came. First was Ron Perkins in his white van, who had hauled Trudy from the UP just several days prior. Ron was Clifford's special friend, having cared for him while I was away and giving him carrots and scratches. When he arrived, Clifford rolled up on his sternum and lay there. Ron came and took the lead rope and pulled on it. "Come on, boy," he said softly.
Like a petulant child who has been defying his parent, but cooperates with the friendly neighbor, Clifford stood up. I took the lead rope and started walking. Clifford shook himself, and I could immediately sense that he was improving. I loosened the lead and he walked behind me, bumping me gently in the back with his head. We made several more passes. Stayner arrived and said, "Oh I am glad he's up."
"Yes, I was really scared!" I said.
Clifford started showing some interest in the grass and Stayner said, "Go ahead and let him eat."
So I did, letting the longe play out, and he wandered off and was soon ripping away at the lawn as if nothing had happened, completely covered in the layer of sweat and filth.
The veterinarian arrived then, Rachel from Kern Road Vet Clinic. A tall and tomboyish sort, she said, "Oh I'm glad to see him like this. It was not what I expected."
She gave him a shot of tranquilizer, and he almost immediately dozed. She snapped on some rubber gloves and reached up under his tail, pulling out some manure. "He feels okay in there. I can feel more manure, farther down, a little firmer. I'm going to tube him just be sure there's no blockage. What did he eat?"
"He ate a bunch of green apples from under the tree yesterday," I said.
The tube went through his nostril, and she blew into it lovingly, forcing the water into him as the gases burst out from him on the other end. His head sagged, eyes half-closed. He tolerated everything.
"He's doing okay," she said. "We will keep an eye out for other episodes of pain. But for now let's just hope it was the apples."
I sighed and nodded. She handed me a bill and drove off. Ron and I continued walking Clifford up and down the driveway until he was alert again and interested in the lawn. As the sun lowered in the west, I counted my blessings.
Since that day, Clifford has transformed back into his old self, performing tricks, fetching his cone and painting pictures. But it gives me yet another reminder of how very fragile life is. Clifford is 22 years old. We've been together 20 years and I know each day is a gift. Since that day in August, our bond has magnified. I realize even more how subtle our communication is. Every look, every gesture is significant. The trust between us is implicit. The love from a horse is different from any other kind, and when you spend years with one, it can reach depths I had never guessed. A horse's abilities are limited by only two things: His physical capabilities, and your own imagination.
I ran outside while the clouds piled up overhead and thunder grumbled in the distance. Clifford was on his side in the pasture, but he got up when I called to him. He came over and put his head in his halter obligingly. I bent and listened, and heard a corresponding grumble from his innards. So far so good.
We walked up and down the driveway until his tail lifted and he deposited a load of manure. At that point I was relieved, thinking it was over. But to my dismay, he sidled away from me, kicking at his belly, and offered to lie down.
"No!" I said. "Keep moving!"
We reached the end of the driveway and his legs folded neatly beneath him, and he collapsed, sprawling by my side while I held tight to the lead rope and yanked on him. Trudy watched us intently from her station near the lean-to. "Get up, Clifford!" I yelled. "You can't be doing this!"
I took the longe and swatted him, once, twice on the rump, and he lurched to his feet. I offered him a peppermint, and he took it, crunching it reluctantly. He was walking crooked, his back feet weaving back and forth along the drive, ataxic in his movements. I urged him along. "Come, on, come on, you're doing great."
At that point, Cindy came out of the house and I said, "Call a vet! He's really sick!"
She ran back inside.
Clifford collapsed again and rolled on his side. His eyes were half-closed, clouded in pain. "GET UP!" I yelled, pulling on him. I swatted him again, snapping him hard with the nylon cord so it would sting. He struggled to his feet, and I said, "Good!"
We walked. By now he was breaking a sweat and he seemed determined to try to stay up because it was what I was asking, but I could tell he really wanted to lie down. His head sagged. It was heartbreaking to see him suffer. He had colicked only two or three other times in his life, that I could remember, but it was never this severe. I had always been able to walk him through it, and the first time he dropped manure he immediately showed signs of recovery. I took out my cell and called Stayner, my neighbor with his eventing Morgan. He would know a close local vet. I was having trouble handling the cell and Clifford, too. He was staggering and needing all my attention.
Finally, Clifford went down again, and that was it. No amount of yelling or coaxing could convince him to rise. He flipped his head up and I tugged on the halter, "No! Just lie there for a minute. Don't roll. Just lie there and rest."
He lifted his hind leg, exposing the white frothy lather on his belly. "Clifford," I said. I was determined not to get upset, because he would certainly know it. "Don't do this to me, man. We still have a lot of work to do."
Cindy came out of the house then, still on the phone. She unwrapped a peppermint. "Get up Clifford," she said, holding it out. "I'm not coming to you. You know I don't play that game."
Clifford lay there. I leaned down and stroked his cheek and neck. He was soaked in sweat. He suddenly flipped his head and rolled, once, over on his other side. He was covered in dust and gravel now, lying on the driveway. I was beginning to think about getting a back hoe to bury him on Hank's property. I had fleeting thoughts of Dad, gone five months now, calling Clifford home. Maybe two years away from Drummond Island was killing him. Despite myself, I was starting to cry. "Clifford, you have to get up."
He lay there.
Thanks to our desperate calls, help came. First was Ron Perkins in his white van, who had hauled Trudy from the UP just several days prior. Ron was Clifford's special friend, having cared for him while I was away and giving him carrots and scratches. When he arrived, Clifford rolled up on his sternum and lay there. Ron came and took the lead rope and pulled on it. "Come on, boy," he said softly.
Like a petulant child who has been defying his parent, but cooperates with the friendly neighbor, Clifford stood up. I took the lead rope and started walking. Clifford shook himself, and I could immediately sense that he was improving. I loosened the lead and he walked behind me, bumping me gently in the back with his head. We made several more passes. Stayner arrived and said, "Oh I am glad he's up."
"Yes, I was really scared!" I said.
Clifford started showing some interest in the grass and Stayner said, "Go ahead and let him eat."
So I did, letting the longe play out, and he wandered off and was soon ripping away at the lawn as if nothing had happened, completely covered in the layer of sweat and filth.
The veterinarian arrived then, Rachel from Kern Road Vet Clinic. A tall and tomboyish sort, she said, "Oh I'm glad to see him like this. It was not what I expected."
She gave him a shot of tranquilizer, and he almost immediately dozed. She snapped on some rubber gloves and reached up under his tail, pulling out some manure. "He feels okay in there. I can feel more manure, farther down, a little firmer. I'm going to tube him just be sure there's no blockage. What did he eat?"
"He ate a bunch of green apples from under the tree yesterday," I said.
The tube went through his nostril, and she blew into it lovingly, forcing the water into him as the gases burst out from him on the other end. His head sagged, eyes half-closed. He tolerated everything.
"He's doing okay," she said. "We will keep an eye out for other episodes of pain. But for now let's just hope it was the apples."
I sighed and nodded. She handed me a bill and drove off. Ron and I continued walking Clifford up and down the driveway until he was alert again and interested in the lawn. As the sun lowered in the west, I counted my blessings.
Since that day, Clifford has transformed back into his old self, performing tricks, fetching his cone and painting pictures. But it gives me yet another reminder of how very fragile life is. Clifford is 22 years old. We've been together 20 years and I know each day is a gift. Since that day in August, our bond has magnified. I realize even more how subtle our communication is. Every look, every gesture is significant. The trust between us is implicit. The love from a horse is different from any other kind, and when you spend years with one, it can reach depths I had never guessed. A horse's abilities are limited by only two things: His physical capabilities, and your own imagination.
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| Photo of Clifford following his colic episode. It looks like a nice photo, but I can see in his expression that he's been stressed. |
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Hay, Chewed
Got a nice email from Standlee Hay Company offering some samples of their timothy hay, alfalfa hay and alfalfa pellets. Here is a pic of Cliffy from yesterday enjoying some of their alfalfa mix from Tractor Supply Company. The horses just LOVE this stuff! And their timing was impeccable because, as anyone in Michigan can tell you, we have had a beast of a season. The hay shortage due to drought last year was immediately followed by the longest, coldest winter on record in recent years. Standlee is pulling us through to first cutting -- for which we are truly grateful.
You could say they "take a sad song, and make it better." Here's to better days ahead!
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
A (Kind of) Old Horse, a (Kind of) New Idea
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| Clifford greeting kids at West Branch Library, summer 2011. Tape on the floor is a boundary for kids so nobody gets accidentally stepped on! Clifford goes to every child in the front row. Those who shrink away he will pass by. |
Imagine a full-sized horse coming into your library or assisted living center, and the impact that makes on the children and residents therein. Imagine the good you can do when you can make an impact like that.
Further, imagine having a horse with the intuition to know who needs him most, with the cool-headedness to accept all kinds of situations, and the brains to stay focused and perform when asked, and the sense of humor to add his own little twist into each program.
We have a wonderful opportunity.
I did have to put Clifford's talents aside last year in order to take care of my Dad as he grappled with what turned out to be lung cancer. Dad beat the cancer but it was at a tremendous cost -- pneumonia finally took him on March 30.
So, we will tour in 2013 in Dad's honor. Our touring vehicle has been rendered non-usable, and our horse trailer, Wheelzebub, is old and no longer adequate for long trips. It is time to start anew, in many ways.
Clifford will be 22 on April 22. Our time is now! Since this is totally unique and possibly unprecedented, I want to take a videographer on tour and make a feature documentary.
You can be a part of this new adventure. Check out our fundraising program. And we already have our first contribution!
Look back here for updates as we proceed. Clifford is finally shedding his winter coat. He is getting ready.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Today's Equine Art
Here's an Andalusian concentrating hard on what is probably a sidepass. I like the colors in this; subtle shades of blue, yellow and rust. Oil pencil and conte on black. I listed it on eBay.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Today's Project: Horses
Dad took one look at this and started laughing. I'd tried to disguise him by changing the blaze, but couldn't. Here are two Cliffords! I did this to donate to the Michigan Morgan Horse Futurity Gala silent auction fund raiser. This is oil pencil, approx 9x12"
Friday, October 22, 2010
Today's Equine Art - Secretariat
I break out of an artistic hiatus with another portrait of Secretariat, the big red horse who, even years after his death, still continues to inspire the masses. I was eleven years old when I watched him win the Belmont Stakes. It still gives me goosebumps. I'm so glad I got to see it happen live.
This is oil pencil, approximately 9 x 12".
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Today's Equine Art - Greys
Here are a couple of individual portraits of the grey sparring studs I did the other day. These are oil pencil on 11 x 15" pastel board.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Today's Equine Art - Sport Morgan
Morgans are great sport horses, known for their versatility. Plus, they are pretty! Here's Silly, a dressage star. This is oil pencil with conte, 8 x 10" on green charcoal paper.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Today's Equine Art
I was commissioned to do Paula's ancient Tennessee Walker, King. He is a black horse with a little star and snip, and a very kind, expressive face. It's always fun to watch the work progress, so I took photos as I went along. This is oil pencil on black, 11 x 15".
Here's the outline.
Blocking in some highlights.
Now adding some more color details and highlights.
The finished painting. You can really see the soul in this old man.
Here's the outline.
Blocking in some highlights.
Now adding some more color details and highlights.
The finished painting. You can really see the soul in this old man.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
New Equine Art Calendar for 2010
I designed this 15 month calendar today, thinking there was no way I'd have enough art to fill it. I surprised myself! I was able to crop a lot of my vertical designs to make them fit into a horizontal format. The resulting effect was actually kind of cool. Some of my favorite paintings are in this one, including a drawing of Clifford that I love, and the cover Percheron.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Today's Equine Art - Laddie the Morgan
This is Laddie, a Morgan gelding with a fun personality. I took photos as this piece progressed so you can watch it grow.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Today's Equine Art - Thoroughbred
This is a rescued race horse -- "Kind of a Goofus," his owner says. This is conte, with just a touch of purple oil pencil. 11 x 15".
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Today's Equine Art - Morgan
Xena, a seven year old Morgan mare, died this year from colic. Her owner commissioned this portrait as a memorial to her. This is oil pencil/conte, about 11 x 15".
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Today's Equine Art - Buckskin
I'd been hanging out with Rex Peterson near Nashville, while he trains a whole string of Secretariats for the upcoming Disney movie. The head wrangler, Rusty Hendrickson is a big gruff mountain man from Montana, and a veteran of many films including Seabiscuit. He showed up with this cute buckskin named Top, to play Secretariat's lead pony. Top was learning how to bow.
Rusty now has this painting, which is 11 x 15", oil pencil and conte.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Today's Equine Art - Olympus Way To Go
Murphy is a sport Morgan stallion owned by Kathleen Reiman. This portrait in oil pencil is 12 x 15". I hope it does some justice to his memory.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Today's Equine Art - Palomino Morgan
This is Roadie, a palomino Morgan. This is part of my "Heart Horse" series, commissioned in June of this year. This piece is conte and oil pencil on light green charcoal paper, about 10 x 12".
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Today's Equine Art
Thistle is a chestnut Morgan stallion. This is another in my series of "Heart Horse" portraits. 11 x 15", pastel/conte/charcoal.
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