A tale of four horses

Every commissioned portrait I make is special, and I don't mean because of my artistic skill - far from it! I mean because of the subject. It's because each animal is a one-of-a-kind individual in their appearance, their personality, and their life story. It's also because each human-animal relationship is unique.

When I'm asked to create a portrait of an animal, I'm aware it's because there was something extra-powerful between that human and that animal. I try to come to know each animal as well as I can in the brief time we might meet or, if they've already left this world or simply live too far away, from what their owner can tell me about them. I also work to uncover the particular connection between the person and his or her beloved four-legged friend. It goes without saying that capturing the animal's likeness in a portrait is important. I would add that infusing it with personality is crucial. And when I'm able to tap into the bond between the animal and its human partner, I feel like I've really done my job. 


A pencil drawing I made when I was about 14.

Horses were my first love (see my past blog A History of Horses) so any time I can work on something involving horses, I'm pretty happy about it. Over the last while I've been working on a coloured pencil portrait of not one but four horses - a project to delight the soul of a horse-loving artist like me.

However, along with the joy of creating this new work of art, the project has presented some unique challenges. These four horses span their owner's entire history of horse ownership dating back to the 1970s. Each represents a different time in her life, a different place, a different riding style, a different discipline, a different role. Each horse spent years with her, up until its death with the exception of the most recent arrival who is still going strong. They are of three different breeds but all are chestnut in colour with white markings. Even the two that share the same lineage - quarterhorses - are quite dis-similar in many ways, one with a high-headed, inquisitive expression, the other with a more reserved look about him.

Because three of the horses are deceased I'm limited to available photos - not a significant problem except when considering the size relationship between four animals who never actually lived together and each of whom are different shades of chestnut. The subtleties of their colour differences are not captured well in photos, particularly old slightly-yellowed snapshots. Conversations and consultations with the owner plus her lovingly written descriptions of each horse, his/her personality, and their time together have filled in the gaps. When I asked her, "Why chestnuts?" she said she didn't really know - they found her. She also told me about what she learned from each horse, and is still learning from the last of the four who came into her life not all that long ago - things like patience and bravery. Her bond with each of these individuals was and is unique, shaped by her life and by what each of them brought to her.

And so I am working on this most enjoyable project, starting with this preliminary sketch where I worked out the scale and composition.

They are arranged so that the horse from the most distant past is on the left, progressing through to the most recent on the right. The still-living horse on the right looks away from the other three, signifying his difference from the others.

Below is a photo of the drawing in progress (not a great photo because I took it on the fly using my phone camera under less-than-ideal conditions). I'm never good at photographing my work in progress because I'm simply too caught up in the work to be mindful of stopping to take pictures. However, this one particular photo shows the drawing developing from the ghostly horse on the left, where I'm just starting to build the image, to the more developed horses across the drawing to the right. I'm left-handed, so I usually work from right to left.

Both I and the owner are satisfied with each horse's expression and posture, with the relationship in height between them, and with the overall composition. Now it's just a question of persevering and getting it all done, and done right.

Some time later (and I don't count the hours), the drawing is nearly there:

And, finally, a photo of the finished product, framed and ready to go home:

 

 

 

Tale of an ugly duck

I find it difficult to predict which of the artworks I create will be most successful when they leave my studio for the big, wide world. Sometimes I slave over a piece that ends up lacking the special something that turns heads, while a piece that came together with relative ease receives unexpected acclaim. The most beautiful subject can result in a "flop" while an every-day or even downright homely subject can be the foundation for a captivating piece of art. I created one such piece earlier this year - a peculiar looking bird with a face that, as they say, only a mother (or perhaps an artist) could love. I'm referring to this drawing of a wild Muscovy drake entitled simply Wild Muscovy.

"Wild Muscovy" coloured pencil drawing

 

I met this handsome (not) fellow a couple of years ago at a bird sanctuary during one of my visits to the southern Caribbean island of Trinidad. I was not unfamiliar with these birds - we had a small flock of them on our family farm in Aldergrove, BC, when I was growing up. In fact, I had one that was rather a pet who I named Matilda. But this wild breed of Muscovy was a far cry from the slow, plump, somewhat comical farmyard birds I had previously known. There is an edge to these wild cousins that's present only in a creature who has to live by its wits and, unlike well-fed domestic birds, needs to be lively and athletic. I was captivated by the drake's wildly wattled face and jet black feathers of varying shapes and textures, not to mention the way he watched me. Although safe in the sanctuary where he allowed me to approach at quite close quarters, he didn't take his eyes off me for even a second.

Then last year, as regular readers of my blog will recall, I had the good fortune to spend a week in the tropical rainforest of Guyana. It was there I saw these wild birds again - elusive creatures swimming in ponds infested with caiman, snakes and who-knows-what, in territory teeming with jaguars and other major predators. These birds were hyper-vigilant, only too aware of the excellent meal they would make if they let their guard drop for even a moment. It was the sighting of these birds that sealed the deal for me: I wanted to create a piece of art about them, and I had a vision of what that piece of art would look like.

I knew that depicting a wild Muscovy would be, for me, an exercise in rendering textures - warty wattles, glossy feathers, a glassy eye and burnished beak. I also knew my other challenge would be to capture the bird's wild energy. For the textures, I fell back on my repertoire of coloured pencil techniques but for the energy I relied on the dynamic relationship of complimentary colours (in this case red and green). Composition also played a role. I placed the focal point of the bird's eye using the traditional rule of thirds, but then I intentionally pointed the bird's beak right at the corner of the drawing - a compositional no-no - taking the viewer's eye almost, but not quite, out of the picture. I thought this risk suited the bird's wild nature.

When the drawing was done, I have to say I was pleased. It was just as I had envisioned. Unlikely to be a commercial success, it fulfilled my own artistic vision. And really, isn't that what art making is, or at least should be, all about?

I had no expectations that this drawing had any particular merit, so imagine my surprise when Wild Muscovy was successfully juried into Arts 2013, an annual exhibition at the Surrey Art Gallery of works from around the region. When that exhibition concluded, I entered Wild Muscovy into AIRS at the Federation Gallery in Vancouver (AIRS stands for Annual International Representational Show). It's an understatement to say I was absolutely delighted when it was selected for this prestigious exhibition. Wow!

"Wild Muscovy" hanging in excellent company in AIRS 2013

Now I felt like Wild Muscovy might be on a roll. A call for entries for a book called Colored Pencil Treasures - Volume II, to be published later this year, arrived in my in-box and I decided to enter two images: my award winning Solitary Steller's Jay (first place award at the Coloured Pencil Society of Canada's national exhibition in 2012) and, you guessed it, Wild Muscovy. And which one do you think was selected? The elegant Steller's jay or the kooky Muscovy duck? Why, the duck of course!

"Solitary Steller's Jay" coloured pencil drawing

So it just goes to show that when it comes to art, even the ugliest duck can, like in fairy tales, turn out to be something special. And the moral of the story is that artists should always follow their hearts, even when it points them in some unusual directions.