The Image I Couldn’t Ignore: On the Edge of Something New

In my mid-thirties, through all the dirty laundry, spilled juice, and piles of dusty kids’ shoes, I start to feel a shift in my art and in my spirit.

I feel restless and uneasy. I’m dissatisfied and bored with my current art, but I’m still painting these old tired pieces because they keep selling. I want something new. I need some freshness in my work to break the monotony of same old abstracts, cities, and landscapes.

For many months I’ve been seeing an image in my head that will not leave me: a horse—or sometimes a donkey—wearing a tall golden crown and a blanket-like silk saddle of violet, gold, and ruby red jewel tones. It’s a beast of burden that hangs its head low to the ground with a rounded back, and I see it in a side profile view.

I’m not sure what this image is about or what to do with it. It’s not like I see horses in my everyday life. It’s been years since I rode or owned a horse.

Lone Rider

When I was 11 years old and entering the fifth grade, my parents decided to move to Alaska from Washington. They allowed me to have Macho move with us and boarded him at a barn near my school.

My mother started working at a travel agency office, and for the first time I was a latchkey kid. But every day after school I walked to the barn and rode Macho while I waited for my dad to pick me up.

This is when I really bonded with Macho. I didn't have a dedicated teacher and only had one lesson each week. I didn't get into showing or competitions yet and just spent my time grooming him and riding him how I wanted.

At first I felt alone and insecure. I didn't have any friends at the barn and was still learning their rules and etiquette. But I also felt empowered as I overcame my fears, doing something this big alone without my mom driving me and waiting for me like before.

Crossing a Threshold

Later, my parents announced that we were all moving to Hawaii, and my dad was going to start a business there. I imagined riding Macho up and down the beaches, splashing in the water together. I couldn't believe the dream life I would live.

Then Mom said, “Hawaii has very strict rules about bringing animals in. You have to quarantine them, and just to get Macho there is very expensive. I’m sorry, honey, but Macho will stay here, and we will have to sell him.”

I was devastated. I didn't like Alaska at all and was glad to leave, but now I was losing Macho, and that stung.

But by the time we started packing and were told to be very minimal on what to bring, I looked at all of my dolls and other toys and decided I was too old to bring any of them with me. Horses and dolls represented my childhood, and I would leave all of it behind.

Now I was going to be a surfer girl and live in Hawaii with golden skin and sun-streaked hair. I watched my dolls and Macho go to other people and looked forward to a new life in the warm sun and balmy wind.

The Image That Emerged

As I contemplate the image of the horse with its head bent low, I think about Macho and wonder if he may still be alive. He would be about thirty at this point. I imagine him old and worn, but proudly wearing his crown and silk saddle from a life well lived.

I know I can't just keep this image in my imagination. I know if I do, it will leave me and go to another.

I have to paint it.

I start with two small 12x12 square canvases and collage in torn shapes of paper, blocking in the form of the horse. I use violet and red patterned papers to build the saddle and gold leaf for the crown. It’s just a rough sketch, but I can already start to see what was in my head begin to manifest.

Next, I get out acrylics and start to apply some washes. The moment the paint drips down the canvas, I understand what I’m painting. The meaning comes to me like an instant download—a bolt of insight where it all suddenly makes sense.

I see in that rough form of a horse, the colt that Jesus rode into Jerusalem—the one that had never been ridden. He was the very first to sit upon its silk saddle and make his triumphant entry as king.

This beast of burden represents one who walks humbly, with a head hung low, willing to serve. It is the image of a young colt who had never been ridden by anyone else, carrying nothing before God. It is a creature that has shed every idol so that he may carry the very presence of the divine.

I am struck by the responsibility and honor represented by the crown placed on a head dipping low to the ground.

Carrying the Calling

Once I completed these two paintings, I knew this would be a long series and that I would be painting horses for a long while. These horses went into many galleries and began to sell easily, bringing in a whole new wave of income for my family. With each brushstroke, I felt the weight of that image and started to see myself in it.

My head hung low as I carried a weight often well beyond my natural abilities. With more and more sold paintings and a growing bank account, I felt the seduction of pride telling me how great I was—that few artists were succeeding like I was. The gallery owners gave us glowing reviews. Art shows were filled with red dots.

But the paintings were more than decorations. I sensed that these were ordained and targeted for certain households. I couldn't hide behind the illusion of humility, holding myself back and living small.

The crown called me to greatness. It told me that I was created for a moment in time to preside over a corner of culture and bring forth the presence of the divine. My brushes must move in obedience to the one who rode on my back. I must be one who had never been ridden before.

The silk cloth hung over my back—violet for royalty and kingship, ruby for the passion of sacrifice, and gold refined by fire, a pure element and conduit—would prepare me to walk in a procession announcing triumphantly that the king has come, that a whole new kingdom and brand new earth are here.

I could feel that change was on the horizon. Culture was shifting, moved by the one who rides on my back. Those horses that formed on my canvases showed me that I was walking in this same calling, a mandate to make waves of change.

I wasn’t meant to live small, nor was I meant to lead from pride. I knew that no matter what happened, good or bad, I must always remember both: a low head bowed in surrender, and the golden crown that reminds me I was entrusted with a great honor and responsibility.

Is there an image, memory, or symbol that keeps coming back to you, asking to be seen or made?

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