Artist Comments: Windows open to the sights and sounds of the fascinating world around us—and none as captivating as that of horses running freely across range and field.
Who has not seen the cloud of dust, or heard the rhythm of pounding hooves, signaling their advent? Who has not marveled at the magnificence of these creatures, their coats gleaming in the sunlight, their manes and tails trailing in the wind? And who is able to forget the horses that cantered across the old farmyard?
As a child, I often wondered how the horses—the huge, black draft horses, Prince, with a white blaze and white socks, and Nellie, with the distinguishing white star on her face— fared on the trips to town during the coldest of winters? As frost etched their eyelashes, tipped their manes and collected in wet rings around the flared nostrils, and their breath shaped steamy billows in the icy air, we instinctively felt sorry for these horses on which so much of our livelihood depended. There were others—a large grey horse, Nancy, and two gracious, feisty mares, Lady, a chestnut with a white blaze, and Dolly, a black beauty with a white star and white socks. Dolly was magnificent in her height, and as she stood in the sunlight, every sinew under her glistening coat was traced in scintillating patterns that moved with the rhythm of her energy. She rarely stood still, pawing nervously and tossing her mane in an expression of equine impatience, straining for the command to trot. These horses—our gift.