The Big Black Horse That Inspires Me| A Horse Story

By: Judith Malinzak

They always ask.

When people are seeing my paintings for the first time, they ask “Why horses? When did you first start drawing and painting them?”

It is hard to explain “why horses,” since I can’t remember when I wasn’t fascinated by them, whether they were in books, movies, or fields we drove by. But I really think my art began the day I saw the big black horse.
I was a lucky four year old, living near the end of Orchard Lane, a pretty little street edged with woods on both sides. The white-trimmed brick houses were small, the neighbors friendly (that means someone was always watching), and all the other kids just a little older than me, except for my brand new baby brother.

All yards were unfenced, so everyone had all the backyards for play, and my Dalmatian, Freckles, and I had a happy world for romping. But the place that called to me most was forbidden – the woods at the edge of our yard. It was entrancing, with bright green leaves shimmering in shafts of sunlight that cut through the shade of the tall trees. There was a shallow little creek lined with fossil embedded rocks (perfect stepping stones), and violets in the spring, and deep brown earth that was always silky in my fingers. Crayon-colored birds lived there: jaunty red cardinals, darting blue birds, bright gold finches, and orange breasted robins. Oh, the light and the color and the mystery of the place was wonderful, and Freckles and I would play closer and closer to it, sometimes even getting into the fringes of all that green before I heard “Judith, get back up here right now!” My Mother was always watching, too, you see.

My little world also included a farm that crossed the end of orchard Lane. There was supposed to be a horse down there, and I would pedal my red tricycle to the weathered fence searching for him, Freckles trotting along beside me. But we could never see anything, really, except rows of plants. Still, going “to the farm” was a pretty good adventure, since we got to go past five or six houses. I knew that farm extended into “my” woods, but there was that fence and the rules and the grownups.

Then one day I got to go for a real walk in the woods! My Mother, who certainly understood my need to explore, found a neighbor to watch our baby, and we got to go see the woods together. I was delighted to be in the woodsy coolness that summer day. We criss-crossed the creek on those fossil stones, touched the rough bark on the trees, watched those pretty green leaves dance in the sunlight. Mother named the trees and the little plants for me as we laughed along. To make it even better, we turned toward the farm, and hand in hand we picked our way through this special world.

Near the farm we had reached the base of a sharp little hill, it has always seemed like a cliff to me, when I saw the big black horse standing on the edge, looking down on us. There really was a horse on the farm; it was true. His shaggy mane was long and thick, and he was brightly outlined by the sun, a living drawing. Freckles barked a vigorous hello as the horse trotted back and forth, arching his neck and tossing his head. Then suddenly he stopped and reared high, silhouetted against his sky as we stood shaded in our trees. Here was the horse of my bedtime stories, of the pictures in my books, but this time he was alive and thrilling, and I could believe I might throw my arms around his neck and gallop away.

But then he galloped away, that big black horse, all by himself, leaving me thunderstruck as he disappeared.

I was taken on other walks into and through those woods, and we returned to that same spot, as I yearned for another glimpse of him, my horse. I never did find him again, though, and summer edged into autumn, slipped into winter, and we moved to a new house where the woods was far away from our back yard.
But it’s never been far from my mind. The image of that beautiful rearing horse, so dark against the bright blue sky, was etched in my memory. Even today I can see and hear that magical moment whenever I need a walk in the woods. And when I am creating a new painting I think of him. Though I have long since been a grown-up, that big black horse is still trotting back and forth in front of me, prancing just out of reach, enticing me to gallop away into something exciting and new.