Long before I ever thought about photographing horses, I loved them.

That story begins when I was a young boy growing up in the Dominican Republic.

My family lived in the capital, but one of my uncles lived in the countryside, where he had a farm. This was the early 1970s, and on his farm horses were not recreational. They were part of everyday life.

He used them to work the land, travel around the property, move goods from the farm back to the house, and help get what he produced to market.

For a boy visiting from the city, however, I saw something else.

I saw horses.

And I desperately wanted to ride one.

The Horse That Didn’t Scare Me Away

My brothers and I asked my uncle if we could ride.

He was hesitant.

Looking back, I understand why.

But he was my mother’s youngest brother, and I think he felt a little compelled to make his nephews happy. His two sons helped us with the horses, and eventually I climbed onto one.

There was no saddle.

And the horse was not exactly what you would call well trained for a young city boy.

He took off.

As the horse continued moving forward, I somehow began sliding farther and farther sideways until I was practically horizontal to the ground, hanging on while the horse kept going.

Eventually we reached an area near a sugar-cane field.

If you have ever been around sugar cane, you know the leaves can be unforgiving. Run your hand one direction and they can feel relatively smooth. Go the wrong way and those edges can cut like little razors.

The horse headed toward a ditch near that field.

And that was where I finally came off.

You might imagine that would have been enough horseback riding for one lifetime.

It wasn’t.

I got back on.

And I rode for the rest of the day.

I stayed on that horse until my father arrived and it was time for us to go home.

For most of the following week, I walked around like a cowboy—legs spread apart because everything hurt from spending an entire day riding without a saddle.

But something more important had happened.

I wasn’t afraid of horses.

If anything, I was even more fascinated by them.

Life never really gave me another opportunity to ride after that. But the feeling stayed.

I always loved horses.

I always wanted to be around them.

Years later, photography gave me a way back.

My First Equestrian Portrait Session Wasn’t Magic

When I eventually decided I wanted to photograph horses, I did what I have done throughout my life as a photographer.

I started.

A friend from work, Katie, had horses, and I asked if she would let me photograph her with one of them.

She said yes.

I brought everything I understood about photographing people and tried to apply it to photographing a person with a horse.

The session was okay.

I made some good photographs.

But from my perspective as the photographer?

It was also something of a disaster.

There was so much I didn’t understand yet.

A horse is not simply another person you position into a photograph.

There is movement.

There is unpredictability.

There is personality.

There is the environment.

And most importantly, there is a relationship between the horse and the person standing beside it that you have to learn to see.

That first experience became part of the same process that has shaped nearly everything I’ve learned in photography:

Look at it.

Study it.

Try.

Stumble.

Fall.

Get back up.

Learn.

And do it again until you become better.

Photography has always been that way for me.

Equestrian photography was no different.

Then We Walked Down a Path

We walked Katie’s horse down a wooded path until the trees opened onto a small beach beside a pond.

I can still remember looking at that scene—the water behind them, the open space, Katie standing beside her horse—and realizing there was something here I wanted to understand.

There was something beyond simply making a photograph of a woman standing beside her horse.

There was atmosphere.

There was story.

There was connection.

I could see the possibility of creating something magical.

I remember wishing afterward that I had been able to do even more with what was in front of me.

But perhaps that feeling was important too.

Because it made me want to understand more.

It made me want to get better.

And it showed me what equestrian portraiture could become.

Horses Changed the Way I Had to See

There is a great deal that carries over from portrait photography into equestrian portraiture.

I have always had tremendous respect for the people I photograph.

My responsibility is not simply to point a camera at someone.

I want to recognize something in them and bring the best of it forward.

Horses deserve that same respect.

Every horse has its own presence.

Its own personality.

Its own relationship with the person beside it.

You cannot manufacture that relationship.

You have to watch for it.

Sometimes it is quiet.

Sometimes it is elegant.

And sometimes it is wonderfully imperfect.

One of my favorite memories came when a friend leaned toward her horse to give him a kiss.

Instead of politely accepting it, he pushed his face right back into hers and practically smashed the kiss.

It was funny.

It was real.

And it was them.

Those are often the moments I remember.

The photographs don’t always come from controlling everything.

Sometimes they come from creating enough space for something honest to happen.

That philosophy now guides the equestrian portrait work I create for riders, horse owners and families throughout MetroWest, Greater Boston and beyond.

It Doesn’t Have to Be a Fancy Horse

One of the lessons I have learned is that meaningful equestrian portraits have very little to do with whether a horse is expensive, highly trained, perfectly groomed, or standing in a spectacular location.

I once photographed a horse wearing fly protection.

There was nothing elaborate about the situation.

You work with what is there.

You look at the horse.

You look at the person.

You look at the environment.

And you ask yourself:

What is special here?

What can I create from what is actually in front of me?

That is part of what I love about this work.

Because horses are family.

The same thing that matters to me when I create a family portrait matters here.

It is the relationship.

The Portrait on the Wall

This is ultimately why I photograph horses and their people.

Imagine coming home after a difficult day.

Nothing went right.

You’re tired.

You’re frustrated.

You walk through the door and look across the room.

There, on the wall, is a portrait of you with your horse.

Maybe you remember that afternoon.

Maybe you remember something ridiculous your horse did five minutes before the photograph was made.

Maybe you remember the way your horse leaned into you.

And you smile.

If a portrait can do that, then I have done my job.

And someday that portrait may mean even more.

Horses, like every member of our families, do not stay with us forever.

There may come a day when the horse standing beside you in that photograph is no longer there.

But the relationship was real.

The experiences were real.

The years together were real.

And when you look at that portrait, I want some of it to come rushing back.

Not simply what your horse looked like.

What it felt like to be together.

That is the memory I want to preserve.

Welcome to The Horse & Home Journal

That is also why I created The Horse & Home Journal.

Over the coming year, I will be sharing what I have learned about creating meaningful equestrian portraits—from preparing yourself and your horse, to clothing, posing, locations, light, safety, artwork, and the small details that can make an enormous difference.

But underneath all of those subjects will be one central idea:

The horse is not a prop.

The rider is not simply someone posing beside an animal.

There is a relationship there.

My work begins by respecting it.

And if I can create a portrait that brings that relationship into your home—something that can make you stop, remember, and smile years from now—then the photograph has become more than a photograph.

It has become part of the story of your family.

Welcome to The Horse & Home Journal.

— Melvin Guante
Melvin Guante Portraits