As an artist who loves to delve into the realm of fantasy, I often find inspiration in the most unexpected corners of my life. This particular oil painting, a substantial 42x32 inches, has a story rooted not in mythical beasts from ancient lore, but in the dusty arenas of my past.
For those who don't know, before I traded in my reins for brushes, I spent years in the exhilarating world of barrel racing. I wasn't just riding; I was breaking and training young horses, preparing them for the speed and precision demanded by the sport. And let me tell you, even the most promising young horse can have its moments.
I vividly remember the sheer frustration – and sometimes the sudden jolt of fear – when a young horse would spook. It could be anything: a fluttering piece of paper, a shadow, a sudden noise. In a split second, they’d jump sideways, and the next thing you knew, you were unceremoniously deposited onto the hard ground, watching your equine partner gallop off seemingly without a care in the world. We barrel racers know the feeling of an unexpected dismount all too well.
It was during one of these reflections on gravity and unexpected departures that the idea for this painting sparked. I started to imagine the fantasy equivalent of a spooked young horse: a magnificent, powerful gryphon suddenly distracted mid-flight. But instead of a mere shadow or rustling paper, his focus is drawn to something far more primal: a tiny, tempting flock of birds. In this moment, the hunter's instinct overrides all else.
You can see it in the painting – the gryphon's massive taloned foot reaching out with sudden intent towards one of the small, blue birds flitting nearby. The bird, with a burst of frantic energy, is just managing to escape the grasping claws, the rest of its tiny flock scattering in alarm. The immediate difference from a spooked horse is the reason why this sudden, violent maneuver is happening. It's not fear; it's a primal urge, a sudden craving for a mid-air snack! And for the rider, the consequences of this impulsive detour are terrifyingly amplified by the immense height.
In this painting, originally titled "Bad Day" but later renamed "Hang in There," you see that very precarious moment. The rider, caught completely off guard by the gryphon's sudden change of focus, is desperately clinging on as the massive creature lunges after its potential meal. You can almost feel the lurch, the shift in balance, and the terrifying drop beneath them.
To bring this scene to life on canvas, I began with a foundational underpainting in burnt sienna, a technique I often use to establish the crucial values – the lights and shadows that give the piece form and depth. From there, I intentionally limited my color palette to create a specific mood and visual harmony. The core of the piece relies on yellow ochre, a warm earth tone; cadmium red (medium) for pops of intensity, particularly in the rider's attire; and the rich depth of Dioxizine purple, adding a touch of the fantastical to the gryphon's plumage. Titanium white provides the necessary highlights, while a touch of cerulean blue acts as a vibrant accent, drawing the eye to the small, fleeing birds – the unexpected cause of this chaos.
"Hang in There" isn't just about the danger; it's also about resilience and the unpredictable nature of even the most magnificent creatures. The rider, despite the terrifying situation caused by a sudden avian craving, is still fighting, still holding on. It’s a testament to that ingrained instinct to persevere, something I learned firsthand in the rodeo arena. Sometimes, whether it's a spooked horse or a hungry gryphon, you just have to grit your teeth and hang on tight, no matter how far the fall might be.
This painting is a reminder that even in the most fantastical scenarios, there are echoes of real-world experiences that can ground the imagination and make the unbelievable feel surprisingly relatable – especially when a sudden craving turns a normal flight into a potential disaster.
Can you relate to the feeling of being completely thrown off guard?