Equine art narrative: When the horse is not the story

One of the questions I ask artists most often is also the one that creates the longest pause.

What is it that you want to say?

Not how you work.

Not why you love horses.

Not what inspired this piece.

What do you want to say, through the horse.

Because the horse is a powerful subject, but it is not automatically a message. And when the work relies only on the subject, it often ends up being read in the most predictable way.

Dutch Equine Art Fair, Living Horse Museum, Amsterdam (Photo Malou Ploeg)

The role of narrative in equine art

Horses arrive with meaning attached long before an artist touches them. They carry associations of beauty, strength, freedom, sport, heritage, nostalgia, vulnerability. All of that enters the room with the artwork. Without a clear point of view, the viewer will fill in the gaps with whatever they already believe about horses.

In equine art, narrative is often assumed rather than articulated. As a result, the equine art narrative defaults to familiar ideas instead of reflecting the artist’s own intention.

That is not a failure of the viewer. It is simply how interpretation works when there is no orientation. I see this most often in portfolios that are technically strong and deeply felt. The work is careful. The skill is present. The devotion is obvious. And still, the response remains thin.

Not because the work is not good enough, but because it does not yet carry a point of view.

The difference between a subject and a story is not language. It is intention.

When I ask an artist what they want to say, I am not asking for a marketing narrative, or an artist statement that sounds like everyone else. I am asking for something quieter and more decisive.

Why this horse

Why this moment

Why this choice of distance or closeness

Why this mood

Why this repetition

If the answer is only admiration, the work often stays decorative. It may be beautiful, but it remains fixed in a familiar place. It does not challenge, complicate, or shift the viewer’s understanding. It becomes easy to consume, and therefore easy to move on from.

This matters because equine art is still frequently categorised before it is seen. Many audiences approach it with assumptions that are already formed. Without intention, those assumptions become the frame.

That is why so many artists feel they are doing everything right and still not reaching the recognition they hoped for. They refine technique. They improve presentation. They post more. They produce more. But none of that addresses the core issue, which is meaning.

Meaning does not need to be explained, but it does need to exist.

Intention is not an extra layer added after the work is finished. It is the thing that shapes what you choose to include and what you refuse. It is the reason a piece holds together. It is what creates tension, direction, restraint, and clarity.

And once intention is present, the horse stops being a subject you rely on, and becomes a language you use.

The question is not whether the horse is enough.

The question is whether you know what you want to say through it.

If you recognise this, it may be time to work with a curator.

You can find other reflections in Inside Equine Art.