Spirit, is a self portrait.
I like to think of myself as this amazing, ethereal animal, soaring in the sky. When I am in the cloak of Spirit’s mask, I feel empowered, and beautiful.

I began seeing Spirit when I was about 12 years old. He was proudly muscular, with a thick, arched neck, and a mane and tail so full and wavy, that groups of hair up to 3 inches across would flow as one. His mane would caress the tops of his legs, and his tail was so long that it could only remain off the ground with the help of the wind behind him. I would picture him in a lush and green mountain side, a strong and free Spirit, a ruler of the land around him. At this time, he was a simply powerful horse, realistic in form, though mystical in spirit. I have always thought of him as that mystical, spiritual being. Eventually, his dominant characteristic became his calling card.

My very first painting was of Spirit, and at that time, my sophomore year in high school, he was a glowing Pegasus. His wings bowed upward with the pressure of his weight against the wind. I fell in love with the feeling of painting the moment my brush stroked the canvas for the first time. Creating a painting is a sensual experience. The canvas gently bows under the pressure of softly bending bristles full of glistening paint. The colors randomly fill in, and slowly, the forms begin to emerge. Magic happens.

I was so proud of that painting when I finished. I had carefully outlined Spirit’s form with rings of glowing white, each one softly becoming a shade darker, until they faded completely into the midnight blue background behind him. A dark orange moon cradled his shoulder, with Spirit’s wing softly responding to his circular form as he swooped beneath it. I gently placed the painting on top of the cabinets in our high school art room, randomly placed among about 20 others that surrounded the room, just under the ceiling.

Unfortunately, after a couple of days in the classroom, the painting disappeared. I haven’t seen it since. My heart was broken, and in a way, it still is... In my senior year, my anger over Spirit’s disappearance was portrayed in his second painting. This painting was the largest I have done to date, measuring 4 feet tall by 9 feet wide. Spirit had shifted course in this painting, and was flying directly toward the viewer. Anger filled his eyes, and the deep orange moon in the background had turned dark red.

I went off to college the summer after doing that painting, and left the painting with my high school art instructor. It was to be hung somewhere in the school building. I put horses in the back of my mind while at college, with the thought of Industrial Design, and particularly, automotive design, becoming my all consuming life. After my first two years in art school, and not finding my calling, I finally realized my true self.

I quit school for a year and begged for a job taking care of horses. Though I had no prior experience with horses, I was eventually given a job at the Bloomfield Open Hunt Club as a groom. I had appeared for a second time, at the right time. A groom was needed, and I was accepted on a trial basis. The pay to start, was $5.50 an hour, but I earned more at that job than at any other job I have ever had. Earnings in the form of time with the horses, learning their form, feeling their presence and having a heart full of the pleasure of pure and honest work, gave me more than any monetary value ever could.

But there was a problem. Time was precious at the stable, and the horses could receive little or no patience from their grooms. I had become stubborn and short with horses that only needed a little time to feel their own comfort. I had learned to be quick to yell, quick to slap, or punch, and punish. I am a very patient person, and would take all the time in the world with a horse if he were my own. The hardest thing for me to learn when I worked at the stable was how to fit everything that had to be done into 8 hours. My first few months at the stable, I was paid for 8 hour days, even though I worked 10 to 12.

And in one year of work, I had never had the opportunity to be on the back of a horse. At that time, the horses that were owned by the stable were not to be ridden by the stablehands. And the horses owned by the members were off limits unless one of the members wanted you to ride them. I had no experience riding, and was among very well trained horses. No owner in their right mind would let me ride their horse, even if I had somehow possessed the gall to ask.

I felt that I only had one option. I had to go back to school and make more money so that I could one day have a horse of my own.

I knew I didn’t have the speed of production to finish my degree in Industrial Design. It took me another year of school to realize it, though. I also didn’t like the way we were all taught to draw the same way. The techniques of drawing in ID left very little room for one’s unique autograph in art. My differences were gently prodded toward the mainstream, which had a pace that also left very little room for sleep.

I switched majors to Illustration in the Graphic Design department. Homework was not as heavy, and sleep was possible, at least most of the time. Though I had already finished 3 years of school, the switch filled all of my electives in the new major, and I had another 2 years to finish my Illustration requirements for graduation. This new major also allowed for experimentation in techniques and style, as well as subject matter.

Though I didn’t have very many opportunities, I did have some to paint my favorite subject, the horse. All of my paintings of horses were created using photo reference, and I was thrilled with the beauty of these animals in so many forms and sports. I had an endless supply of paintings that wanted to be painted, and horses that wanted to be re-created.

After graduating, I was free and had thoughts of doing equine artwork professionally. I had joined the Michigan Equine Artist’s group, and participated in renting a booth at the Novi Horse Show Spectacular in Novi, MI in November of 2000. For the show, I decided to do a large and spectacular depiction of a dressage horse. I wanted a dramatic proportion to the painting, and settled on a 2 foot tall by 7 foot wide canvas. I had chosen the photograph that I wanted to use for reference, and after preparing the canvas, I stood in front of it with a stick of charcoal to sketch out the painting.

I felt a sense of reserve for a few moments, while holding this photograph in my left hand. But I promptly began sketching the new painting. After sketching for a while, I didn’t like it, and quickly smeared it away with my chamois. The movements with the chamois felt soothing, and a new form was created. I set the chamois down, and started sketching again with the charcoal. A gently arched head and neck appeared, flowing down along the canvas to the right. A gracefully powerful left leg lifted itself into view toward the left, and Spirit was born again.

I didn’t know that I was going to paint Spirit then, and was surprised to see him. I had never forgotten about him, but had just placed him on the backburner of my mind for more than 7 years. But when I painted him then, he was freer than ever. His wings were no longer needed. He soared without them. His nature was peaceful, though from a distance, he still appeared somewhat dark and disturbed. His eyes tell a different story, though. Look into Spirit’s eyes. Inside, he is confident and loving, gentle and accepting. He has patiently awaited the day that he would rise again, and looks forward to rising even higher.

Spirit Rising