“The Majestic Horse Myth”

Not having a lot going on at the moment, I decide on a photoshoot of my horses to allow people to see what I could do with theirs.
Everyone will want portraits like these, I think smugly to myself, imagining capturing Zephyr with a windswept mane gracing arched neck, sunlit nostrils flaring, golden coat glistening and soulful eyes gazing nobly into the horizon.
There is none more noble, elegant, photogenic—at least according to every calendar, luxury brand ad, and Instagram account run by people who clearly have never met my horses.

I start with the beautiful Zephyr, the camera loves…

Cheeky horse — 600 kg of ADHD in a pale tan leather jacket, every single time I raise my camera

Let’s set the scene:

I arrive at the paddock with my camera and a heart full of artistic intention. Zephyr greets me by snorting violently into my hair, ensuring it now smells like Eau de Grass Muncher No. 5.

My other “majestic” subject, Marshall Art, then proceeds to roll—yes, roll—directly in the only patch of mud in an otherwise pristine grass-free track.
Because nothing says “equestrian elegance” quite like a horse who looks like he lost a fight with a swamp monster.

I tell myself, It’s fine. I’ll shoot action shots!

But when I wave my big flag to cue that glorious gallop into the sunset, Zephyr simply can’t be arsed to move his hairy butt, Marshall bolts straight past me at the speed of a flying pullet and then stops halfway to have a crap. None of these moments scream “majestic freedom.”
Then finally, the two of them are standing together, nose to nose, I creep up and snap…

I finally line up the perfect shot of my glorious golden horse, coat sparkling in the sunlight, standing with his ears forward, looking as majestic as I have ever seen him, I adjust my camera settings for the artistic blur of Zephyr’s Mother (Merls) in the background and, concentrating on the negative space surrounding the horses, I click the shutter …