Fireborn: A Horse Shaped by Light, Heat, and Persistence

Some paintings arrive easily.

Others make you earn every inch of them.

Fireborn was the second kind.

When I first imagined this piece, I saw a horse bathed in the glow of firelight — not engulfed in flame, but illuminated by it. I wanted that warm, shifting light to reveal something deeper than anatomy: a spirit forged in heat, grit, and resilience. A horse with a presence that felt both ancient and alive.

But translating that vision onto a 36x36 inch canvas was anything but simple.

The Challenge of Anatomy

Horses are honest creatures. Their anatomy leaves no room for shortcuts. A jawline even slightly off, a neck that curves too sharply, an eye placed a fraction too high — the whole illusion collapses.

I spent days studying the planes of the face, the tension in the cheek, the subtle shift of bone beneath skin. Horses carry their history in their structure, and I wanted that truth to show.  There were moments when I wiped entire sections back to bare canvas.  Moments when I thought I'd lost the thread completely.  Moments when the horse looked more ghost than fire.  But each correction brought him closer.

The Challenge of Oil Paint

Oil paint is a beautiful, stubborn medium. It rewards patience and punishes haste.

To create the sense of firelit warmth, I had to build the painting in slow, deliberate layers — transparent glazes, soft transitions, and deep shadows that could hold the glow. Every stroke had to serve the light.  There were days when the paint simply wouldn't behave.  Edges blurred too quickly.  Highlights sank.  Warm tones cooled overnight.

But oil also has a generosity to it. If you stay with it long enough, it gives you depth you can't get any other way — a richness that feels almost alive.

Born of Fire

Somewhere in the middle of the struggle, the painting shifted.  He stopped feeling like a study in anatomy and light.  He began to feel forged.  Not painted — forged.

That's when the title arrived: Fireborn.

He carries the warmth of flame, but also the steadiness of something that has endured it. A quiet strength. A grounded presence. A spirit that doesn't need to announce itself to be felt.

What This Piece Means to Me

Fireborn pushed me harder than I expected — technically, emotionally, creatively. But he also reminded me why I paint: to chase the moments when something on the canvas begins to breathe.

He will be the featured piece for my Soft Corners & Hard Edges exhibition at Gwen Fox Gallery in Selkirk, MB this March. Before he leaves the studio, I wanted to share the story of how he came to be.

Some paintings fight you.

Some teach you.

Some change you a little.

Fireborn did all three.