Pick a Pun

Cat and Mouse
I probably shouldn’t let Paka eat too much coffee-dipped rusk. At least I can close the photo albums, so he won’t lick the pics. Maybe he’s bored? Needs a pika playmate, perchance?
Of course horses have five toes!
Of course, you need to choose your parents wisely.
But you knew that, right?

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Red Roses Are Red and Horses

RED_ROSE

H/T to the rose. I you’re a realist, read about the rose here. If you’re a tasteful consumer, here is your Red Rose. If your medium is mystery, let’s go Sub Rosa. We aim to please.

Horse Trading

In the horse-trade of life

free will is like free lunches

that’s why I would never be a dentist;

imagine probing all those free lunch cavities.

A horse doctor might be different

-you’d still have to look the gift horse in the mouth though-

as you dream of unicorns

but you could laugh about it;

snort, whinny even.

 

horse trading
Gift Horses

 

 

 

 

Caballos de Cavalia

Cavalia Odysseo

An amazing show: Cavalia’s  Odysseo. My snaps don’t do it justice- they do look better in sepia though. Photography is not allowed (yes, person with the annoying flash) during the show, but we could take some snaps in the stables afterwards. The horses were tired after their intense work-out and more interested in their food by then- lots of heads in buckets and in straw. So many different breeds: Appaloosa, Arabian, Ardennais, Belgian, Canadian (“the little iron horse”), Comtois, Criollo, Lippizan, Lusitano, Oldenberg, Paint, Percheron, Quarter horse, Spanish purebred, Warmblood. Only a few stallions (about 7?) and the rest all geldings, with more than 60 horses in the show. Apparently it is very hard to train the stallions; they want to fight all the time. And there are no mares!

I enjoyed the human acrobatics. How fit these people must be.

Horses I Have Known

I am still working on my horse portraits.

Sketch
Sketch (Hat Tip to Boerneef)

Horses I have known

Laika, moonsister, silver filly, gifthorse I did not get

be the girl grandchild instead

here’s Tombola, meanest red-eyed rooster ever spawned on the African soil

Granma will protect him

Granma will soon pass

Granpa will slaughter him

and marry again

Tinkerbell, vicious pony:

good for playing Touches, little biter, little kicker

your only interest on the outride is returning home

fighting all the way we go

glue-cling all the way back

Lesotho Numba One, poor nag

remembered for your girth galls

(and that mole-backed liar lover)

eclipsed by him who trotted on human feet in sympathy

light of my loss

Morgan,  dustcoat Morgan

who neighed and bucked

you almost broke my back

rearing at that paper bag

Talitha, urine medicine maker

your foal: dog food

I never rode again

I still like the music

Horses always make me think of the painting Guernica. I like what Picasso said:

…this bull is a bull and this horse is a horse… If you give a meaning to certain things in my paintings it may be very true, but it is not my idea to give this meaning. What ideas and conclusions you have got I obtained too, but instinctively, unconsciously. I make the painting for the painting. I paint the objects for what they are. (from Wikipedia article)
Rooiklei Os
Red Clay Oxen

An Equinely Quintetto

Horses, beautiful horses! I have to get going on a quintetto (neigh, they don’t sing) of Arabians, long overdue. I have met them, even ridden one, and the paint must now be splattered! I will surround myself with facsimiles of their equine grace, all the time wishing myself to also be in warmer clime.

In keeping with all things horse: I recently saw War Horse, brought to stage under the direction of Nicholas Hytner and Nick Starr. A most splendid production, with amazing puppetry. The play is based on the novel by Michael Morpugo, adapted by Nick Stafford and the puppet wizardy brought forth by Handspring Puppet Company. It is a National Theatre of Great Britain production, but I saw it in Toronto.

The story was inspired by the fate of horses used in World War One, where about eight million of them perished. Toronto supplied 18, of which only one, by the name of Bunny, survived the first poison gas attack of the war.

WarHorse is about sixteen year old Albert’s hunter, originally trained to plough on the farm, and sold by his father to the army for a hundred pounds. It is a powerfully sad anthem for peace. (Do read the related articles below.)

The horses I will be painting are Arabs though. They are all, or have been, used for endurance riding, something Arabians excel at. Here are some initial inspirations:

ShahAhira Rabdan Nahim Nahim2 Ahisha

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