Unbridled Red
Oklahoma is the color of red. The word, Oklahoma, means red people. And the land is called Red Earth, for red it is. Oklahoma is red land and red men, red rocks and red rivers, red oaks and red cedars, red sunsets and sunrises, red Sumac and Indian Paintbrush, red hawks and red frogs, red cows and red horses.
Oklahoma is the heart of a nation, the heartland. It beats red at its core. This sound is echoed by the hoofbeats of horses. The red horse celebrates the essence of the blood of a nation, the red life force. It is this essence that I try to capture on canvas and paper.
The horse must move across the canvas. Feel the hoofbeats. See the wind as it rumbles over the ground and through horse mane and tail. The paint must move too, with the horse, with the life force, pounding, slashing, smashing onto the canvas. It is not horse I paint but his life spirit, essence, breath.
Between Red Earth Mother and Blue Sky Father
Run the red horses of Oklahoma.
Red Vision
I have been drawing and painting since I was 5. My first painting was of a horse. I went to the University of Oklahoma for my Bachelor's in Fine Art-painting. I had a difficult time there because the school of art was expressionistic and I wasn't. I was a realist, an illustrationist. I loved photo-realism. I battled with my professors over my work. Years later, I finally decided there was only one thing I wanted to paint, had always wanted to paint, and had never let myself paint, and that was horses. I made a committment to myself to paint whatever and however I wanted.
To my surprise, I did not want to do my work slowly, meticulously, or in detail. That felt like work, not art. It stifled my enthusiasm. I found I did not want to paint an image of a horse. I wanted to paint its spirit, its power, its freedom. And I could not do that by painting slowly. The paint had to move across the canvas. Instead of painting realistically, I had to paint expressively. Was I now an espressionist?
Red men and red waters
Run side by side
While the Red-Tailed hawk over them glides.
The Spirit of Red
Pollack was suddenly a 'mentor'. I never understood his work in art school. Now, it seemed crystal clear. Pure art, pure creation, slashing and crashing onto the canvas. Pollack was at one with the creative process itself. Form didnt' bind him. It was this immediacy I identified with.I couldn't document images anymore. I had to feel it, be at one with it, move with it. This is the process of creation. 
Summer heat as hot as red peppers ,
Hooves pounding red clay into dust
Birth the breath of the red horse spirit
And prairie burns into paths of red rust.
