Wee Horse Thanksgiving

Wee Horse would like to say a few words of thanks this year.

Wee Horse gives thanks for bright California sunlight…

Bird of Paradise in Paradise

And a bountiful harvest…..

Wee Love Clementines

And some pretty impressive scenery…

Wee's view from Swami's

And clear moonlit nights….

Wee Horse... Phone Home!

But Wee would be thankful for a good soaking rain around here, too!

Wee are thankful for great subjects to photograph…

A horse photographer

And to paint!

Wee paint!

Wee are thankful for family….

Wee Horse Herd

And friends that are near ….

Wee Horse's friends

And the friends that Wee have lost….

Susan at Axel's and my wedding

And cousins…

Cousin!

And most especially our best friend!

Wee Horse and Axel

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. ~Thornton Wilder

Wishing you a Thanksgiving full of friends and family … and wishing you an open heart with which to treasure them.

 

 

Susan Sexton: The Wee Horse Project

Wee Horse ... Phone Home!

When we discovered that Susan ’s leukemia was incurable, her “sisters” of the Vision 18 Collective decided to start a project. It began merely as something to cheer Susan through difficult days.

I searched for an icon that each of our 14 members could easily carry everywhere, and I found the Wee Horse. He’s tiny enough to fit in a purse or a camera bag, and for weeks now we have treated him as our Traveling Gnome With Fuzzy Hooves. Each day, we would email the resulting images to Susan: we figured if the Wee Horse made us giggle, then it would have the same effect on her.

So far, the Wee Horses have been across the country. They’ve met all manner of creatures: dogs, cats, horses, donkeys, chickens and dinosaurs. They’ve been out at dawn, and they’ve been out after dark. They’ve played dress up. They’ve been to see the veterinarian, and they’ve honored veterans. They’ve sampled mojitos, wine, beer and martinis, jumped crosscountry fences and even went to Brazil with Axel, who in between judging duties, was my “stunt double”  at the CDI in Sao Paulo.

The Wee Horse Project will live on, in honor of Susan.

You can find all the  Wee Horse pictures in their galleries at the Vision 18 Collective website.

Susan Sexton

Susan in Los Olivos, 2007

One of my oldest, dearest friends died last night.

We first met, of course, at a horse show.

It was 1981, at Knoll Farm on Long Island, and I felt like the circus had come to town. Susan Sexton and her three teenage kids had arrived in their motor home to photograph the dressage show. I was a budding equine photographer myself at the time, and I’d just graduated from the School of Visual Arts in NY. Susan was photographing, Ted was juggling, Meg was turning cartwheels, Stephanie was manning the photo stand…. I didn’t know what planet these travelers had arrived from, but I thought it must be a pretty cool place. It turns out it was Arizona, and Susan had packed up the family, outfitted her motor home as a darkroom and taken off across the country to photograph dressage.

For those of you who don’t remember such things, “mobile darkroom” in those days meant a huge processor full of chemicals and actual darkness in which to turn silver halide into images on celluloid film. It was not just a computer and an ink jet printer! A mobile darkroom was a major undertaking, and in Susan’s case meant photographing all day, then processing pictures all night in order to have photos to sell the next morning. That she was doing this, at a different location each week, with three teens in tow, and that the kids seemed pretty happy about the whole thing…. I was impressed, to say the least.

So began a friendship of nearly three decades. Sometimes we covered the larger shows together. We were competing photographers, but when the show was over for the day we’d have dinner together. We shared creativity, business tips, and many, many drinks.

Over the years we met up at shows all over the country: we survived Dressage at Devon when it took place in the heat of July, and outlasted it when it became a six-day behemoth in September; Lexington, KY for Pony Club Festival;  Chesterland, Radnor, Groton House, Fair Hill events; Florida since the dressage circuit first started down there, and Los Angeles and Las Vegas for World Cups. We bunked at each others’ apartments if there was a show nearby, or just for the fun of touristing in our respective cities: Susan near Boston and then outside Washington DC; me in New York City and later San Diego.

We adventured in cool places; Sedona, Santa Fe, Shenandoah. We trekked through the paradigm shift of transitioning from film to digital. Susan journeyed on from Warrenton to Chicago, and from Chicago to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, where she insisted that she was retiring…. but artists don’t retire. And then she returned, full circle, to Phoenix.

We discussed everything under the sun. Art. Photography. Science. Books, movies and politics. And men. And, of course, horses. Always horses.

In all my years as a photographer, the mere existence of Susan, and her considerable talent and artistry, spurred me on to improve my own craft. I knew she would always come up with a great shot, so I’d better have my “A” game on whenever I picked up the camera.

So Susan, thank you.

Thank you for tequila, and for chili with chocolate in it.

Thank you for wearing silly, vision-distorting glasses on the streets of New York with me. And country dancing with the cowboys of suburban DC.

Thank you for years and years of dressage, and eventing and baby horses and shared friends.

Thank you for being my role model of a bold, adventurous woman and artist.

Thank you for being outspoken and forthright … and having the wisdom to be kind, too.

Thank you for being there to console me when I dated the wrong men, and thank you for being there the day I married the right one.

Thank you for being my toughest competitor and my staunchest friend, both at the same time. I am a better photographer and a better person because of you.

And I already miss you.

Unexpected Creativity

Under the trees, Saumur

Thinking about my most recent France trip, and about creativity.

It was a strange trip in that every time we turned around … something was turned around. Between the weather at Saumur, and the lack of a rental car, and more bad weather, by the time I got on the plane for the homeward flight I was disappointed that I’d gotten so little work done. I have to admit, this was partly the reason it took me so long to get cracking on processing and exploring whatever photos I had done. I’d spent most of the Saumur show inside the Grande Manege, which although it is aesthetically interesting, it is not the best lit indoor arena on the planet. Even the Mark III, which is really good in low light, had a hard time getting it done. I’d only gotten to play outdoors for a few hours, and I had tried to squeeze as many little watercolor sketches in during that time as I could. Without actually looking too hard at the photo files, I convinced myself that I was short on interesting images from France, and I was somewhat relieved to jump into the hard work of processing the 6500 photos that I shot at Dressage at Devon, and the next job, and so on.

Finally the other evening, after the day’s work was done, I steeled myself to open the France folder. I sat down with the laptop and a glass of wine, figuring that I would just do a quick edit and cull out the total losers. But I started to sense the essence of the images that were inside the files. I opened one, then another and another, and played with various post processing possibilities, extracting that essence from the raw materials.

A full day later I looked at the sum of what I’d distilled from what I’d assumed was just the photo equivalent of a lump of clay, and I was humbled. Because while I’d been traveling, I had believed I’d been uninspired. I had believed that the oddities of the trip were putting the kabosh on my creativity. But apparently some part of me had been inspired, and I hadn’t even been conscious of it.

Photos from France

Lunging in the fog at Saumur

It’s been a little busy around here since I returned from France. Between photographing Dressage at Devon, processing Dressage at Devon photos, flying to multiple photo shoots and getting some painting done, well, it’s just been a normal, packed, autumn.

Sort of. Is anything normal these days? I mean, really, in the old days, if you designed a balloon to look like a UFO, the hoax you were trying to perpetrate was all about seeing a UFO, not because you wanted to be a “star” based on your bad behavior. Grow up, people!

Anyway. I digress. The strangest sight we saw in France was the parade of thigh-high, high-heeled boots on Parisienne women. And the fact that the Eiffel Tower is filled with tiny sparkling lights at intervals at night. I was sure I heard a child exclaim that it looked like a “sparkly chicken.” And the “gold ring” ruse, whereby a woman pretends to find a ring on the pavement as you walk by her, asks if you dropped it, tries to give it to you and asks for a donation to her “religious order” in exchange. We saw this one a few times around the Place Concorde.

But I’ve finally gotten to play with all the photos that I took in France, both in Saumur (even though it rained most of the time) and in Paris. I was blessed with one foggy day in Saumur, which turned the already beautiful grounds into a magical place. Even the usual sight of competitors lunging their horses prior to their rides became ethereal scenes of soft edges and muted colors. The hacking roads became gently lit stage settings of disappearing perspectives.

It was fun to play “stealth” photographer in Paris. Rather than carrying my Big Camera I stuck my “winkie” camera in my tourist purse and was able to grab shots quickly and without attracting the attention that the Mark III would have garnered.

You’ll find the France gallery here. Enjoy!

Painting on display at Museum of the Horse

Just Grab Mane

My painting, “Just Grab Mane” was accepted into the 2009 American Academy of Equine Arts show at the Museum of the Horse in Lexington, KY.

Over 600 entries were received, and only 80 display spaces available, so I am honored and thrilled to be included in the show! You’ll find the complete show roster at the AAEA website. The show runs through November, so stop in to the museum when you’re at the Kentucky Horse Park.

The oil painting is 24″x30″ on Senso Linen (it’s clear-primed, which means that the rich color of the raw linen shows through the transparent gesso) and it’s part of a series of “water lesson” paintings that I’ve been working on. This was inspired by all those ponies who taught us how to ride: this one knows more than his rider about how to deal with jumping into water. He has the situation completely under control, so he’s told his kid, “just grab mane and I’ll take care of everything else.”

Dressage at Devon galleries

My welcome home banner

It rained in France. It rained at Devon. And against all odds, it rained in San Diego the day I arrived home. Kid you not, in the middle of a 5 year drought, at the height of a dry, crispy fire season, I flew through a rain storm on final approach to Lindbergh Field. The teenagers in the seats behind me were not pleased, because they were worried about their vacation on the beach.

However, I was thrilled.

This being San Diego, I knew it wouldn’t last for five days, like it did in France, or pour buckets at an inopportune time, like it did during Saturday night’s big freestyle night at Devon, or rain out a photo session, so I could enjoy the moment of of blissful moisture. And as we drove toward our neighborhood, a huge rainbow appeared, stretching from end to end of “my” mountain. I couldn’t have asked for a better “welcome home” banner!

I immediately set to dual tasks: recuperating from my European head cold and processing 6500 Dressage at Devon photos. And meeting deadlines for various publications. And catching up on the orders that had arrived while I was away. In other words, becoming one with my computer chair again.

All the Devon galleries, I am pleased to say, have now been posted. If you signed up for photos, you’ve already received your access information. If you didn’t sign up, take a look at the gallery list anyway, because I tried to get photos of as many competitors as I could. You may need to complete your Sign Up transaction before viewing them, but you can do so on line. And take a tour through the Highlights galleries for lots of candids, hats, leadline kids and cool dogs.

Horse Show Food, France vs US

I consider myself something of an expert on horse show food. After all, I’ve been sampling it for the better part of 30 years. But at no time do I see the contrasts more clearly than when I dash directly from a show in France to a show in the US.

Now, there are some things about life in France that can confuse me. Like the plumbing thing. If you’re going to outfit a hotel bathtub with a shower wand, why not take the last step and install a wall bracket so the bather can actually enjoy the benefit of showering, instead of juggling the wand and trying to keep the thing from pointing out past the half-shower-door with one hand while lathering up with the other? And perhaps provide a towel which is slightly larger than the standard wash cloth? Oh, and about that wash cloth: are they not used in French hotels?

But the cool stuff about France, of course, is the food. Especially in the small towns, most of the produce is local grown, so if you order a salad, it probably came from just down the road. The cheeses too, because they, like the wines, are usually produced and consumed regionally. A food supply like this does not need a barrage of preservatives, because it isn’t going to sit around in a truck or a warehouse.

Having what Axel lovingly refers to as a “sensitive stomach” I have a list of foods that I tend to avoid, mostly those that are over-processed, stuffed full of artificial what-nots, and anything made with soybean oil. I keep a supply of Rolaids in my purse just in case. The joy of being in France for ten days was that I didn’t reach for them. Because the bread is … bread. And the cheese is … cheese. And the salad dressing is made with olive oil.

And then I headed for Devon, where the cheese at the food stand came out of a pump bottle (no, I did NOT order anything with it!!) and the tuna salad that I had for lunch made me not want to eat anything else for the rest of the day. The food at Devon is usually pretty good, so I would have been disappointed even if I hadn’t been coming directly from Food Heaven.

But I have to say that the coffee at the Devon coffee stand was wonderful (and kept me going through jet lag and my French designer head cold) and the sweets at the sweet stand were … sweet!

So what are your favorite “foodie” horse shows?

Paris… and Bound For Devon

If it’s Thursday in Paris I must be headed for the airport and Dressage at Devon. Which means that the vacation part of my trip is over and it’s time to go to work!

But first, some things that I learned about Paris this week. It’s been about five years since we’ve been in Paris, and that time it was March, and it felt like we were the only Americans here. This time, September … not so much. While the people who track stuff like this insisted that the summer tourist season fell short of expectations, “shoulder season” seems to be making up for it. Funny how you expect to be in your own private “language cocoon” when you sit down at a restaurant in a foreign country, and it’s always a surprise to find that the person at the table next to you not only speaks English, but actually lives just over the state line from you.

In the past five years, Paris itself hasn’t changed much, after all, it’s been here a while. The tree lined avenues, the sidewalk cafes, the fabulous architecture, the people watching, all are just as good as ever. Parisiannes probably haven’t changed that much either, but now that I’ve lived in San Diego for eleven years I find it harder to “channel my inner New Yorker” when I run into a snotty shopkeeper.

We didn’t see any real horses in Paris, but we did critique the position, frame, tack and conformation of every equestrian statue in the city.

Joan of Arc: good piaffe, engagement, but mouth open.

Some random observations from my few days here.

The airport train is a wonderful thing. If you don’t have luggage.

If you are on the airport train and you have luggage, you will have to transfer to another line to get where you are going.

If you have to transfer to another line, the escalator will not work, and you will be dragging those bags up and down stairs while the locals give you dirty looks for slowing them down.

After dinner in Paris

The dollar/euro exchange rate is such right now that just the price of a beer can make your eyes water. Looking at the price of a pair of shoes, even at the biggest sale of the year at the Galleries Lafayette… Ooh la la. Good thing I didn’t have any room in my suitcase anyway! As for shoes:

It’s all about the boot this year.

It’s all about high heels this year.

It’s all about skinny jeans, tights-and-short-skirts, or pants that look like riding breeches this year. With high heeled boots, of course. Which works just fine for them, because Paris women are all about 30 pounds lighter than their American counterparts.

Current mystery of the universe: how do Paris women walk endlessly through their city in high heels? I can dance in ‘em, but I surely can’t walk a distance in them.

When they are not walking in high heeled boots, Paris women ride Vespas, motorcycles and bicycles in their high heeled boots.

Boots, boots, boots

They have recently installed rental bike racks all over Paris: you swipe your card, pull a bike off the stand, ride it to your destination and park it at another identical stand. If you are commuting, you do the same thing in reverse on the way home.

The view from our hotel room, rental bike rack

Paying an exhorbitant amount of money for a hotel room does not guarantee you a comfortable mattress or an English speaking channel on the tv, but there will probably be wi-fi.

The Monet Water Lilies, in their own two rooms at the L’Orangerie, are a religious experience.

My moment of Zen with Monet

Most people in museums no longer linger in front of a painting to enjoy its nuances. They just take a picture with their winkie cameras, take a picture of the name plate, and move on. Good news for those of us who like to linger, but it made me sad anyway.

If you are visiting a museum, don’t expect to visit the bathrooms on the way out at closing time: the toilets are the first things they lock up. When asked where there was an open toilet, I was told by staff, “oh, outside, at any coffee shop.” Maybe that’s why no one lingers in front of paintings.

Long boring flight back to Philadelphia today. Devon tomorrow. You’ll probably find me at the coffee stand first thing in the morning…. and maybe later, too!

French horses, American horses. La Difference.

Good Dog

Bad Dog

So at American dressage shows, we speak in whispers. When we spectate, we freeze anywhere within view of an arena, just in case a wandering equine eye might light upon us.

Not so in France. Last year I witnessed the Honor Round With Waving Flag, in which a band of intrepid Prix St George horses successfully completed a circuit of the ring at Vierzon whilst the crowd cheered and someone outside the arena waved a huge tricolor a la that scene in Les Miserable. This year in Saumur it was Kur with children and dogs. And no one got hurt.

Dogs and children are a large part of life here. Both are expected to be present during a dressage test. Not necessarily in the arena itself, but hey, stuff happens.

As the first horse entered the indoor for the Grand Prix Freestyle, a fuzzy dog scampered in as well, followed by child, who was diligently attempting to retrieve said dog. Alls well that ends well, but all of us down the “A” end of the arena got a good giggle over it.

It was Sunday, and there were many families out and about at the show. During the class, I witnessed many rampant children in the stands: galloping down the steps toward the glass wall between the ring and the first row of seats; leaping over the seats, kicking chairs and carrying on; parents reclaiming and admonishing said children, dogs in the stands barking at passersby or lunging at children; adults with winky cameras who thought that their teeny flashes would help them get better pictures. All the while, horses performed to music in the arena. Not one of them missed a beat because of the tumult. Kind of makes you wonder why we act as if we are in the cathedral of Our Lady of Perpetual Dressage Silence in the states.

Meanwhile the Young Horse  and Young Pony classes were going on in the outdoor arena, surrounded by dozens of vendor tents, a beer garden, a wine bar, and more of the aforementioned children and dogs. Like I mentioned: no one got hurt. They even stood for more than 15 seconds during the presentations, then did real gallops during their honor rounds.

Oh, and the weather? Wet. A brief moment of sunshine on Saturday afternoon, and then today, during the final award ceremony, the sky completely cleared. We sat outside, blinking, and enjoyed a glass (maybe two) of a fine Saumur red.

Children and dogs rejoiced.

Young Pony winner

A show runs because of good volunteers!