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!
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.
I like this on-going bliss list thing. Makes me stop and notice the little moments, the ones that might get away otherwise. Makes me stop and go AHA! now this is something worth remembering.
Like the full moon in a rain so soft it’s not really rain, just moisture in the air. Watching it rise up through the woods. Through the pines. And then in the wee hours, when I wake up and look out the window and the ground looks like it’s covered in snow. But it’s not. It’s moonlight.
Like when I’m lovin’ on the ponies, saying goodnight. I make the kiss-kissy sounds and old horse cranes her neck forward so I can plant one on her nose, while the boy gives a soft, quick bump of his lips against my forehead.
Like Sophie. Always bliss. ALWAYS. Look at that face! And I can’t have a bliss list without a dog now, can I?
Like sitting on the sofa with DaughterDear, reminiscing about Mama, her Grandma. Telling stories. Laughing.
Like waking up the day AFTER the stomach flu and feeling NORMAL. Normal…Oh. My. God. NORMAL!!! Oh yes, now THAT’S what I call BLISS!
Your turn, my sweetums. Leave your lists in the comments below. And for more feel good blogs today, hop on over to Liv Lane and check out The Little Bliss List BLog Hop.
I made a couple of enchilada casseroles tonight, enough so I don’t have to cook for a couple of days. Just toss together a salad and we’re good. I popped them in the oven and went down (because it’s downhill) to give the horses their ‘bucket’.
The bucket being their nightly dessert of beet pulp, senior chow and supplements. Mmmm…yum.
Well, it is to them.
I wish I’d brought my camera. It was dark, the only light came from the hay shed. And it did wonderful things. Outlined the ponies’ backs. Cast long shadows. Long, like fifty feet. Or maybe only thirty. Really, I’m just guessing.
Leaves were dropping in the woods. At first I thought it was pinecones because they were so loud. But there were too many of them. One right after the other. And then one crispy leaf landed almost at my feet. Amazing how much noise such a fragile little thing can make.
Lots of sounds. Horses munching. A dog barking somewhere down the canyon. Those leaves. Peepers in the meadow.
I leaned against my boy, belly to belly while he ate. We’ve been together 16 years now. Old friends. Comfortable. It was chilly and his warmth felt good. From the corner of my eye I could see a bat swooping after whatever bats swoop after, disappearing in and out of the light. It always surprises me how fast they move. And how erratic. I’ve learned not to flinch but just ignore them.
Thirty minutes of quiet down-time. Thirty minutes to breathe deep (ah, smell the ponies!) and unwind. Thirty minutes to just be. Like a meditation.
It’d been a good day in the studio. A couple of paintings. A bunch of prep work for more paintings. And now I was done with art for the day. Really. D.O.N.E. Pony time was a nice transition. And after that…dinner. And family.
