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Why every sculpture begins with years spent in the saddle, at ringside, and with sketchbook in hand.
Before a horse becomes a sculpture, it must first become an observation.
Not a photograph.
Not a measurement.
An observation.
There is a difference.
The horse has been one of the most studied subjects in art for centuries. Yet capturing a horse is not simply a matter of recording anatomy. It is a matter of understanding character, balance, motion, and the subtle language that exists between one stride and the next.
I began drawing horses long before I ever sculpted them.
Growing up in Charlotte, North Carolina, my sketchbooks were filled with horses. During school lessons, church services, and quiet afternoons, I drew the animals I wished I could spend more time with. At age nine, my formal riding education began at Porter's Riding Club, where I learned not only horsemanship but observation.
The saddle became a classroom.
Years later, that education would continue ringside at horse shows, racetracks, and farms throughout Kentucky and beyond.
A horse rarely stands still long enough to reveal itself.
Instead, understanding comes in fragments.
The alert expression of a mare watching her foal.
The lift of a foreleg entering the show ring.
The curve of a neck reaching for a bit.
The fleeting moment when power and grace occupy the same stride.
These observations find their way into sketchbooks.
Some remain drawings.
Others become paintings.
A select few continue their journey.
In the studio, pencil lines evolve into wax. Wax becomes sculpture. Sculpture is transformed through the ancient lost-wax casting process into sterling silver or 14k gold.
The process changes the material, but not the original observation.
A horse's spirit cannot be measured with calipers.
It must first be seen.
The Prancing Horse Collection, the Studio Logo Collection, the Center Ring Slide, and many other pieces began exactly this way—not as jewelry, but as studies of horses. Long before they became wearable art, they existed as drawings, paintings, and moments recorded in a sketchbook.
This is why I often describe my work as a journey from canvas to gold.
The jewelry is not the beginning of the story.
It is the final chapter.
The beginning takes place in a stable aisle before sunrise. At ringside during a horse show. Beside a racetrack rail. In a pasture where a mare watches her foal.
The beginning is learning to see.
And for those who spend enough time around horses, the lesson.
The lessons did not end with the saddle.
Shown here during my first drive with Clyde, I continue to discover that horses are among life's greatest teachers. Each experience finds its way into the sketchbook, the studio, and eventually the work itself.
Follow the adventures of Driving Clyde.
Some designs begin as observations. Others begin as daily companions in a life shaped by horses.