I Chase Wild Horses In North America To Photograph Their Beauty

When I was 6 years old I had to get my bottom lip sewn back in place. But let’s not start there.

It was a beautiful day on the farm and I was riding my horse Flicka. Out of nowhere she spooked and took off. She started to throw monstrous kicks — one, two, three and eventually my 6 year old little arms gave out and off I went, over her head and down into the dirt on mine.

When we arrived at the hospital witnesses said it looked like I was just pulled from a car crash. Most of the skin on my stomach and chest was gone and blood was dropping everywhere. A few teeth were missing, and my bottom lip was hanging where it shouldn’t.

Fast-forward some 23 years and I now drive around North America searching out wild and some domesticated horses to photograph. The lessons I learned that summer day are still with me. A profound respect and understanding for the horse.

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When I was 6 years old, I was riding my horse Flicka and out of nowhere she spooked and took off

I gripped her mane tight as she galloped across the barnyard

She was heading for the big dirt hill

In full gallop on the hill she started to throw monstrous kicks

Eventually my 6 year old little arms gave out

I went over her head and down into the dirt on mine

Witnesses at the hospital said I looked like I was just pulled from a car crash

Most of the skin on my stomach and chest was gone, blood was dropping everywhere

A few teeth were missing and my bottom lip was hanging where it shouldn’t

Fast-forward some 23 years and I now drive around North America in search of wild horses to photograph

The lessons I learned that summer day are still with me

A profound respect and understanding for the horse

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