You know those pony pictures I’ve been posting every day over on FaceBook? Well, you ever wonder why I’m always wearing the same thing, depending on the weather?
Like this…da blue hoodie. Actually I have a couple of these because I likelove them so much. If they were a couple of guys I would marry them. Both. At the same time. They are that wonderful. Soft. Warm. Comforting. They make my heart go pitter-pat because they are so perfect.
Like mashed potatoes.
But let’s get back to the question… why don’t I change up my outfit for the photos? Why do I put myself out there for the world to see dressed in my KMart men’s department baggy old sweatshirt?
This is why. Because hay. is. messy. I can shake and jump and brush it but it never fully comes off.
Just works it’s way in deeper. Like what it did to this scarf. I fed the ponies a little later that day, on my way to work. Whenever I do that it means I bring it with me to work, picking it out of my hair and clothes all day. Leaving little trails of hay bits behind me wherever I go.
Like on my chair. I discovered this first thing one morning, left over from the day before.
Well, as Mama used to say about damn near everything, that’s the scoop. That’s the reason you see me wearing the same blue hoodie in most all the pony pictures.
We’ve been together a long time, two horses, a donkey and moi.
We’re all getting old. One of the horses is at the DMD stage, damn near dead. Except even at the overripe age of 33 she’s as healthy as, well, a horse.
The other one isn’t far behind. At 26 he’s pushing the age thing. And the last few years he’s had skin problems that make his life miserable every summer.
The donkey came to me as a rescue 13 years ago. I knew she had issues but I signed on for the duration. At 17 she’s the baby of the bunch. Just recently her gray coat has begun showing signs of the other kind of gray.
Just like me.
Last month I began taking their photographs every day. It was an exercise for Catherine Just’s Soul*full eCourse. I signed up for the class because I love love love love LOVE Catherine’s photography. And philosophy. And great big BEAUTIFUL heart.
This is not your average photography class. The word aperture has not been mentioned once. Then again, with a tagline of deepen your mind*body*spirit connection what was I expecting?
I wasn’t expecting to resume my long dormant daily meditation practice. Or take up Qi Gong again. I wasn’t expecting to fall in love with my gray hair or to feel comfortable enough in my own skin to take self-portraits.
Often. Like every time I whip out the camera. Just because I can.
Even though I always did my best to avoid being photographed. Even though I cringed at the toll age has taken on my face.
The first week of class we were given an assignment to photograph something in our daily life. And to keep photographing it every day. I decided to photograph the horses every morning when I fed them. Simple enough. Throw the iPhone in my pocket, snap a few pictures, post ’em online.
But it turned into something much more than that. First I began arting them up in one app or another, turning snapshots into something more interesting. And I began including myself in many of the photos. My first thing in the morning self. Pre-shower. Pre-coffee. Sleepy eyes, puffy face, uncombed hair and all SELF.
And as I documented this ritual, as I studied the images, I realized I was falling in love all over again. In love with old horses who will break my heart soon enough.
And in love with myself. Because I’m no longer afraid to love old horses. Or anyone else.
You can see more of these photos on my FaceBook page. And if you like what you see, please share with your friends. And say hello in the comments below. I love to hear what you have to say. As always, heart emoticons here. xoxoxo
Faded leaves. Bleached grass. Frost on the meadow this morning.
I took the long way down to feed the ponies. Long way means heading to the left instead of the right. Means looping down around the meadow before circling back again.
Because there’s something about the light, the sun-with-no-warmth quality of a November morning, that demands photographs.
Demands to chronicle the understated glory of frost rimed leaves.
And deer trampled grass. Andrew Wyeth grass.
Ice in the horse trough, crackled and crystalized along the edges.
Hiding mysteries underneath.
And in between.
Reminders of children now grown.
And ancient horses. Muddy. Waiting for breakfast.
And Jasmine, the sourse of many ‘mom’s hairy ass jokes’ waiting for her kiss. Mmmmmph!
Her name is Jasmine June. A lovely name. But the kids used to call her Mom’s Hairy Ass. And this week I spent a lot of time scratching MHA in that special spot right between the shoulder blades, the place that no amount of tree rubbing can satisfy. It went a long way towards taking her mind off her hurt.
She had an abscess in her hoof. Not the first, probably not the last. I knew when I adopted her over a dozen years ago she had bad feet. Just part of who she is, I guess.
She spent the week hobbling around on three legs, or lying down. Obviously in a lot of pain. But pain meds don’t relieve an abscess…don’t even touch it… and the vet couldn’t relieve it either. It wasn’t organized enough. He did as much hackin’ ‘n hewin’ as he could, packed the hoof with a poultice, made a duct tape bootie and asked if I had anyone to help me when it came time to change the dressing. Which was fairly often.
Well, it turns out I didn’t have anyone to help me. So I decided to do it by myself. And I did. Just walked up to her in the paddock and did it right there out in the open, without tying her or anything. She could’ve hobbled away if she wanted. She could’ve given me a decent kick. But she didn’t.
You have to know Jasmine to know what a miracle this is.
She’s a donkey. ‘Nuf said. But this week, she was a princess. She knew, despite her pain and the annoying things I was doing to her foot, she KNEW I was helping her. And she co-operated 100%.
She’s much better today. Looks like things came to a head. YAY!
Even if my hands will never smell the same…
And now…news from the studio.
This weekend Mr. Spouse made stairs to nowhere. In a few weeks they’ll connect with the sidewalk that will lead to the door.
Eventually, maybe even this week, I’ll begin packing up the construction debris.
I’ve been playing with art journaling lately. Fun. fun. fun stuff!
And as for the new! improved! Studio Grande, well, it’s beginning to look like a place where art is made.
YAY!!!
Back in a few days, my best beloved sweetums! Now go out and make some art. Or hug someone. Better yet, do both!
I was at work the other day, eating lunch in the staff room with a couple of co-workers. One of them, Laura, was telling us about a breakthrough riding lesson she’d had the day before. Laura’s no novice when it comes to horses, she’s an accomplished rider as well as a trainer.
Whoa, wait up. Time out. This is an ART blog. What does a riding lesson have to do with painting?
EVERYTHING. Because as Laura was telling her story, talking about the AHA! moment that took her from one level of horsemanship to the next, I sat there with a great big lightbulb going off in my head. 300 watts of high intensity Arty Life brilliance!
KA-BOIiiiiiiiiiNG!!! (that’s supposed to sound like a cartoon spring)
So here’s what I remember about Laura’s lesson. She’s in an arena with a handful of other riders. At one end of the arena were horses being worked on the ground. Distraction. None of the horses being ridden wore bridles. No reins for the riders. Just a hank of mane to hang on to. Well hey, riding without a bridle is impressive but on a scale of 1-10 it’s not like it’s a 12 or anything. You ride with your body. Seat, legs, weight, balance. Reins are like a telephone line, another means of communicating with your horse. Communicating, not controlling. Because when it comes right down to it, the ponies got you beat hands down when it comes to size and strength.
The thing that took this lesson out the the ordinary was the riders weren’t giving direction to their horses. They were just along for the ride, so to speak, letting the horses move about however they pleased amid all the other distractions in the arena. The object being to ride through whatever craziness that might come up.
Which of course it did. Because horses are curious. And reactive. As in holy crap!!! I only came over here to say hello and now she’s going to kick me and so I spinnnnnn around until my brain flies out my ears and then I must runnnnnnnn for my life! And runnnnnnn some more! And keep runnnnnnning because I’m bat-shit crazy and I CAN!!!
When you’re on a horse that does the bat-shit crazy thing, your first inclination is to tighten up and fight against it. Try to control it with the size and strength you don’t have. The thought of broken bones is right there, front and center. Which just makes you tighter. And the situation more dangerous, deteriorating until it becomes one of those oh shit! situations.
But when Laura’s horse went into crazy-ass mode she remembered the object of the lesson and ahhhhhhhh...relaxed right into the fear. Consciously softened her body and rode it out. Not trying to control or direct anything, Just communicating to her horse with her body, a language he could understand, that there was nothing to be afraid of.
And. It. Worked.
AHA! Lightbulb moment here!!!
See where I’m going with this?
It’s just like riding the Wild Crazy ART PONY!
Wild Crazy ART PONY really, really wants you to relax. Because creativity can be a scary-ass thing. It can take you places you don’t want to go. Like scribbles. Or doodles. Or throwing paint, using those colors. Or making something NOT PERFECT.
Just perfectly INSPIRED. And perfectly AUTHENTIC.
But the natural inclination when faced with unbridled creativity is…to tighten up! To put on the brakes and say whooooa…look at that line, it’s the wrong color/shape/size. I need to paint over it, erase it, tear it up, start again. In other words…WORK IT TO DEATH.
Because we are afraid…it’s not good enough. It won’t sell. People will say unkind things.
And who am I to trust my inspiration?
Ohhhhhhhh…this is where I was going to say (in a kind, motherly fashion) You are an artist. Or writer. Dancer, teacher, whatever… I was going to be loving and gently remind you who you are.
But I’m not going to do that.
You see that wild art pony over there? Well, climb aboard. Go for a ride. And when things get crazy and you feel out of control and you want to tighten up and rein in thatfabulous, spectacular creativity…ahhhhhhh…remember the language of the wild pony. Relax. Lean into it instead. Let it take you where it needs to go.
And then you can tell SHOW me who you REALLY are.
Before you go, I want to share a short video with you that is one of the most inspiring, joyful, AWESOME displays of trust and communication between woman and horse that I’ve ever seen. I’ve had it on my desktop for the longest time, watching it at least once a day because it makes me feel THAT good.
So go ahead and watch it. Think of the Wild ART PONY. And be inspired.
