anything horse-related in the building. Another gallery, The Sporting Gallery, was a representative of the dead artist society. The director, Liz Dubinitz, was friendly and interesting to talk with but not interested in carrying my work. Poop. We moved on, taking a scenic route past civil war history and ghosts to Warrenton, about 25 miles south. More gallery dead ends but a tack shop, Horse Country Saddlery turned out to be promising in the gift item department. Owner Marion Maggiolo was a delight and already carried my coasters and placemats. She informed me that there are 27 hunt clubs in Virginia. Which one to join?
So, the hell with Middleburg, let's get back to Saratoga...
Golden light filtering through the trees at Oklahoma training track, that's what I was after.
And it's because year after year I receive requests for Saratoga backside paintings. I've finally decided to, duh, acquiesce. Love the wet reflections in this shot.
Of course I have to hang out on the fence for awhile and drive Michael crazy. A truckload of Gold Bond couldn't cure his itch.
Congrats to Any Given Saturday for nailing the Haskell. Curlin looked like he was tiring, needed the race, sets him up for the next go round. Hard Spun? Always trying, always a bridesmaid.