Horsemanship is a multidimensional practice. Part of it is anchored strongly in the material world and guided by foundational frameworks, while other aspects of it are intuitively tethered to the more free flowing realms of creativity. And we all know that balance is the key, both figuratively and literally, especially when it comes to riding. So, this is why you will often hear me say that the pursuits of the equestrian are those of both the sciences and the arts.
When I create art, I tend to go into a new piece with some semblance of a plan. A general outline or intention for what I want to create. Beyond just the vision for the piece, I also have a process I work with for the technical aspects such as how I layout the composition, how I will transfer the sketch to the final piece, and how I will begin to apply pigment to paper depending on what medium I am working in. Sometimes these steps can seem mundane, but personally I find a comfort in the structure of it. I have found that when starting something new, the biggest deterrent to getting motivated is simply a lack of knowing where to start. So, having a structure to layout the foundation of a piece allows me to be confident enough to dive right in. Once that first step has been taken, then the magic really begins. You see, once I start creating, even and maybe especially when I have a strong vision, something else seems to come into play. Once I am moving through the framework of my creation process, I begin to fall into a flow. This flow can be known by artists and equestrians alike. When I experience it as an artist, I feel as though I am in collaboration with the Universe to unfold the painting. It’s like all of a sudden all of my original ideas become infused with so much more! Like they are still my ideas, but just flourishing as if my initial thought was the bud and once I put pencil to paper the full flower emerged. But despite a common misconception that one must be born a naturally gifted artist, in reality any gifted artist is that way because they put the time in to learn the techniques and skills. This is true for myself too. I have to understand the mathematics involved in laying out a visually balanced composition, and the science behind how different mediums interact. Not only that, but I have to learn how to connect my mind to my body so that I can maintain a soft but controlled grasp on my pencil or brush. Without having spent the time going through the practical and foundational steps of learning these skills, I never would be able to translate what is downloaded in those flow states into the final art.
The art of riding is something that always has come naturally to me though. I started riding when I was quite young, and so it was almost like I skipped over the technical stuff and was able to just tap right into the intuitive side of things. And so, while there will always be more for me to gain in terms of enhancing skill sets, I have never questioned my capability to do so when I put my mind and heart to it. This is likely because I was blessed with the opportunity to start riding at such a young age. I never was taught much of any sort of structured process though. I mostly just felt my way through it all. When I began teaching riding lessons, I didn’t really have any structure or process to work from there either. My teaching career began rather unexpectedly, so I simply offered what I knew, and that was how to tap into body awareness to become a better rider and be more connected with the horse. I didn’t have any special terms for it and never tried to define my style, I just taught what I felt. I feel that my teaching style was actually somewhat similar to Sally Swift’s approach in that I was able to articulate physical feelings in a way that was easily understood by my students. This makes sense because I believe Swift influenced a lot of the people who I myself took riding lessons from. But I was teaching this level of body awareness before I knew who she was. I just knew what felt right when I rode and was able to then make the connections of why it worked.
As I began to actually study more about riding, horsemanship, and the trainers and teachers who have really made an impact within the industry, such as the lovely Sally Swift, I started to see the importance of a structured approach. Because, although I could ride well enough, I eventually hit a point where I wasn’t progressing as I’d like. Riding is only a small aspect of horsemanship as a whole after all. I also found I was becoming limited in what I had to offer as an instructor. You see, when I started taking riding lessons at age 5, I took to it pretty naturally as I said. Starting anything at a young age allows for the advantage of being able to more intuitively catch on without all the pesky physical and mental limitations that come with learning something new later in life. I think because I took to riding so easily, my teachers didn’t feel the need to burden me with much structure or offer much explanation as to the “why” behind what I was doing. I think this is rather common in the riding industry at large. Many equestrians begin riding as a sport when they are quite young and are able to learn how to ride without having to learn the philosophy of why the things we do when riding work or don’t work. I have noticed that there is a very large gap between being a “rider” and a “trainer.” Most people take riding lessons and are taught how to ride, but not how to train. Which I think is odd because learning how to “train,” i.e. how to effectively communicate with and educate a horse, should be a basis for riding.
It’s like painting en plein air (outdoors) without any knowledge on color theory, or how light and shadow affect form. An artist can set up an easel at golden hour and begin to paint the scene with accuracy simply by being informed by what her eye is seeing in real time. However, golden hour doesn’t last long and if she can’t paint faster than the sun sets, she will be out of luck. She will have to wait until the next day to finish when the sun (which is illuminating or instructing) can once again inform her of how to proceed. But if she had studied the philosophy of light, form, and color, she would then have a framework to work from which could apply to what she has captured in her painting thus far to fill in the gaps. Similarly, a rider in a lesson can be informed by her instructor of what to do in the moment; put your leg on now, release now, sit deep now, etc. and she can ride with accuracy. But if she is later hacking without her instructor and her horse offers a new behavior, she may not know what aid to add or take away and when, without proper understanding of the sciences behind training, and the art of connection with other beings.
Having a structure does not mean that you are hard tied to this said formula though. It simply allows for a starting point and something to return to if you fall out of flow. This is really where the magical interplay of art and science can be applied. When starting out with a structured approach you can go in with a plan, a step-by-step process, a formula which you can plug a problem and a desired end result into, and be able to create a map of how to get from the “problem” to the goal. However, just because you have now created this plan does not mean that you are going to hold onto it for dear life. No, you simply have created a plan for reference and guidance. You have written your hypothesis to set the stage for your experiment. Because working with horses is always an experiment. Even though we may know quite a lot about the species in general, every horse is an individual and every horse-human dynamic is unique, and therefore the path from the initial desire to seek an outcome, to actually reaching an outcome (even if it isn’t the outcome originally expected), is an experimental one. I’d also like to make note that I put the word “problem” in quotation marks earlier for a reason. Because when seeking to accomplish an objective within my horsemanship practice, I like to look at it as more of a word problem to be worked through, rather than a negative issue that needs fixing. The point of word problems is to help you think through compound or complex situations. They require both strategic and creative approaches.
Once I discovered a framework structure for the foundational elements of horsemanship that really resonated with me, my horizons really began to expand. All of a sudden I had a newfound confidence both in my horsemanship work and in my instruction. I would utilize this framework when working with new horses and with students. Of course, each horse and student is an individual though, so often times I will have to tap into my more creative side to find the specific implementation of said framework that is right for the individual dynamic I am working with at the moment. And the more I work with a specific framework, the more I learn and the more context I get for why these principles apply. This actually allows me to then experiment with other frameworks as well and to add all these concepts to my tool box. The more I understand and get a grasp for the structure, the more free I am to pick and choose when and where to apply different aspects of each framework. I like to think of these frameworks as different mediums. As an artist I create a lot of mixed media pieces. I had to learn the rules of each medium individually first, and then I experimented to see what worked well together. And now I do the same thing with horses and while teaching too. I experiment with different framework mediums to see what is the best fit for each individual scenario. And when my creative approach seems to be getting too far out, then I simply dial it back to the basic structure. This process creates a peace, flow, and balance in my horsemanship that I don’t feel I’d be able to reach without utilizing both the art and the science of this practice.
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