I grew up on a working farm where horses were never ornamental. They were partners — in mustering cattle, in early mornings, in the rhythm of daily farm life. Before I understood much else, I understood horses. How they carry tension. How their mood shifts before you’ve consciously noticed why. What the set of an ear means, or the way a horse stands when it trusts you.

That knowledge doesn’t leave you. And it lives in every painting I make.

I began working in oils in November 2025, during one of the harder seasons the farm has faced. What started as a practical decision became something I couldn’t put down. I realised that a lifetime spent with horses had given me something most artists spend years trying to learn — I already knew the subject from the inside.

I work slowly, and I work with intention. Before the first brushstroke, I study each reference carefully — not just for anatomy, but for individuality. Every horse has something that makes it unmistakably itself. Finding that, and putting it on canvas, is the whole point.

I strive to captured what my clients struggled to put into words. The expression. The stillness. The particular way that horse always looked at them. That is what I am trying to give you — not a decoration for a wall, but a portrait that feels like them. Something that will still move you in twenty years.

I still live and work on the family farm. The horses are still here. They still teach me things.