Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
SAA Snort and Blow was a horse who rose to meet every moment.
In halter, he carried himself with the dignity of a champion;
in liberty, he became thunder — electric, uncontainable, unmistakably alive.
At Midwest Horse Fair, he didn’t just enter the arena.
He filled it.
Crowds felt him before they even understood why.
He ran the way people secretly wish they could live —
powerful, unrestrained, and loved for every wild moment.
Freedom wasn’t something he was taught.
It was something he remembered.
In the Quiet Wild, horses like him are called the Unbound —
those rare spirits who answer to no rope, no rein, no command stronger than trust.
They are not taught liberty.
They are liberty.
And when they choose to run beside a human, it is not obedience but partnership,
a gift offered freely and never demanded.
His passing left a space that could not be filled.
The tribute, the moment of silence, the tears in the stands —
these were not for a performer.
They were for a presence.
A horse who made people believe, even for a moment,
that freedom could be shared.
This painting was finished in a season of layered loss —
his, and the loss held by the one who loved him most.
Perhaps that is why the paint runs like memory.
The paint breaks out of the frame because he was never meant to stay inside one.
The motion spills forward because he always ran toward people, never away.
And the way he leans into the foreground is no accident —
it is the echo of a horse who once fed on applause,
now rooting for those he left behind from a place just beyond our sight.
In the Quiet Wild, he is remembered as one of the Unbound —
a horse whose freedom taught others how to breathe,
whose partnership felt like a privilege,
and whose legacy runs farther than any arena could hold.
16×20
Acrylic - Canvas Board
SAA Snort and Blow was a horse who rose to meet every moment.
In halter, he carried himself with the dignity of a champion;
in liberty, he became thunder — electric, uncontainable, unmistakably alive.
At Midwest Horse Fair, he didn’t just enter the arena.
He filled it.
Crowds felt him before they even understood why.
He ran the way people secretly wish they could live —
powerful, unrestrained, and loved for every wild moment.
Freedom wasn’t something he was taught.
It was something he remembered.
In the Quiet Wild, horses like him are called the Unbound —
those rare spirits who answer to no rope, no rein, no command stronger than trust.
They are not taught liberty.
They are liberty.
And when they choose to run beside a human, it is not obedience but partnership,
a gift offered freely and never demanded.
His passing left a space that could not be filled.
The tribute, the moment of silence, the tears in the stands —
these were not for a performer.
They were for a presence.
A horse who made people believe, even for a moment,
that freedom could be shared.
This painting was finished in a season of layered loss —
his, and the loss held by the one who loved him most.
Perhaps that is why the paint runs like memory.
The paint breaks out of the frame because he was never meant to stay inside one.
The motion spills forward because he always ran toward people, never away.
And the way he leans into the foreground is no accident —
it is the echo of a horse who once fed on applause,
now rooting for those he left behind from a place just beyond our sight.
In the Quiet Wild, he is remembered as one of the Unbound —
a horse whose freedom taught others how to breathe,
whose partnership felt like a privilege,
and whose legacy runs farther than any arena could hold.
16×20
Acrylic - Canvas Board