A Pony Named Lightning

Before Oz Had a Name

Before the doors. Before the lantern woods. Before the mythology I now paint -There was Lightning

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.Lightning: The Pony That Started It All

Horses have shaped my life for as long as I can remember — my art, my farm, even the quiet mythology of Oz that threads through my work. But it all really began with one small golden pony named Lightning.

I had loved horses obsessively since childhood. My bedroom walls were covered in horse posters. I devoured books like The Black Stallion and Misty of Chincoteague. My bicycle a green stingray was more affectionately known to me as Shambala a mare that could run like the wind. I rode imaginary horses everywhere — sometimes galloping through the backyard with friends leaping over the picnic table and benches that were perpetually turned on their sides. I collected horse pictures and kept them in a cigar box just like Velvet Brown did in National Velvet. I wrote to every breed association, and they would send me loads of literature on their breed and lots of pictures. One magazine even had a centerfold every month with a story written by some boy or girl who was lucky enough to own the beautiful creature featured that month. I had quite an impressive collection of Breyer horse statues complete with real leather saddles and bridles.

So, when my father once hinted, I might be getting a “surprise,” my nine-year-old imagination went wild.

I behaved like an absolute angel for twenty-four hours — mostly because I was desperate not to jeopardize whatever that surprise might be. The next evening, as my family piled into the car, my mother handed me a brightly wrapped box. In the box was something connected to my surprise. About halfway there I was allowed to open it. Inside was a bag of carrots. It took a moment to sink in. My surprise… was a horse.

When we arrived, I jumped out of the car before it even stopped. By the fence stood the most beautiful golden pony I had ever seen, with a snowy white mane and tail blowing softly in the breeze. I ran straight up to him. I reached out to touch this vision to see if he was real. He was real alright. To prove it he shot out a hind leg and kicked me right in the shin.

Lightning was young, completely untrained, and very much his own spirit. But within months we became inseparable. I learned to saddle and ride him, often bareback, exploring the fields where we kept him. Together we jumped makeshift fences, raced across pastures, and formed the kind of bond only a child and a first pony can share.

Looking back now, I see how much that pony shaped everything that followed.

The way I paint horses. The reverence I feel for animal spirits. The quiet emotional presence that shows up in my work.

Every horse I paint still carries a little of Lightning in it.

And maybe, in some way, every doorway into Oz began there too.

My dad with his ever-present pipe, my sister and brother taking their turns on Lightning.

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