I am back in Paris after New York and before that, Amsterdam, and before that, the Sarthe and the Cévennes, none of which I’ve written about yet. What follows below, after the Four Horses of Goya, is set in Spain, which, bizarrely, I haven’t set foot in since 2014 – and that was only overnight.
By chance my reading of this was bisected by an encounter with a woman who showed me pictures of racehorses that were being rehabilitated for riding. Apparently horses are nearly autistic and develop anxiety if the expected chain of events isn’t fulfilled.
The pictures were rudely cropped, removing an ear or snout or haunch like a digital butcher might, making them more abstract and less dignified, like a Degas or Rothko.
Never before admitted to myself that it all amounts to a similar kind of labour or servitude, from dray cart to symbol to digital knacker’s yard or meatball. Thanks, horses. Thanks, Chris.
Lovely piece. I sympathize with the artist. To quote my Paris-based songwriting guitarist rock star nephew Michael Harlen: to tell you the truth horses have always made be feel a bit uneasy/their strong thighs/and sad eyes/they just seem a bit to smart for their own good.
By chance my reading of this was bisected by an encounter with a woman who showed me pictures of racehorses that were being rehabilitated for riding. Apparently horses are nearly autistic and develop anxiety if the expected chain of events isn’t fulfilled.
The pictures were rudely cropped, removing an ear or snout or haunch like a digital butcher might, making them more abstract and less dignified, like a Degas or Rothko.
Never before admitted to myself that it all amounts to a similar kind of labour or servitude, from dray cart to symbol to digital knacker’s yard or meatball. Thanks, horses. Thanks, Chris.
Can you share one? A picture, not a meatball.
Lovely piece. I sympathize with the artist. To quote my Paris-based songwriting guitarist rock star nephew Michael Harlen: to tell you the truth horses have always made be feel a bit uneasy/their strong thighs/and sad eyes/they just seem a bit to smart for their own good.
Looking up your nephew now.
Thighs and eyes, very wise...
He was in a band called The Rad Trads. Also did a solo album or two.