Graham Landin: Tight Span

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Graham Landin, “Tight Span,” 2024

(courtesy of the Gallery)

Opening Reception: Friday September 13, 7–10pm

I returned from the trip a little dizzy and disoriented, replaying the experience in my mind and examining it from all angles. Ideas came to me in flashes: horse packs piled high, old-fashioned pack saddles and oilskin tarps bound tightly with double diamond hitches. I pulled a small sketch from my luggage that I had whittled by the fireside. It was far from perfect, yet serviceable. In it I could see the horse. I was surprised by the emotions I felt when bidding farewell to my friend who had carried me through smoky valleys, over alpine passes and across the braided river.

Recalling our early morning cat-and-mouse routine, in which I would calmly follow him with an outstretched hand, the other behind my back holding the halter that I’m certain he knew was there. Just when I thought we had reached an agreement, he would bolt on me. After a few rounds of chase, he would give in and bow his head to take the bit. This ritual took place each morning, yet he would always agree to carry me further down the trail.

While riding, he liked to test my grip on the reins by sneaking bites of grass. I focused on maintaining gentle contact, enough to remind him I was there—although whether I was or not, I knew he would follow the pack. I never felt bad about robbing him of his roadside snacks, because in the off-hours he would be turned out to graze freely.

On a rest day, the horses lingered on a sandbar, their bodies relaxed and quiet, huddled together for protection. In the silhouette of the herd, I could make out close friends grooming and nuzzling each other. Free from the fetters of saddles and bridles, their demeanor suggested lazy bathers standing knee high in cool waters to best the Sunday heat. I reflected on learning to ride in stables that only turned out horses for short, sporadic periods, and how their resentment was palpable in the holes they had kicked through their stalls’ walls.

What began as an attempt to hold on to my memories, morphed into a story about two friends who peeled away from the pack after being set free to roam for the evening. In a tight span, the partners commiserate on work and comfort each other against all else. Much like ourselves, who, after the whistle blows, spend our evenings striving to reclaim our natural state only to be pulled back into the grind come sun up.

– Graham Landin, August 2024