by Quentin Sprague
It’s an arresting image made more so by the graphic directness of its rendering: a horse and rider rear up against a flat ground; the rider is twisted around the animal’s sinewy neck, obscured from the waist up, seemingly naked. Before them looms a conical form, open at the top. It’s a dwelling, although the casual viewer could be forgiven for missing this: it’s far more bodily than architectural, shaped more by elemental compulsion rather than human design. A flurry of disembodied hands are visible inside. Each of them gesture. One extends an accusatory index figure at the rising horse. Two clasp together in either anguish or prayer. One forms a fist. The last is an open palm, and is placed at the precise point at which the horse’s hoof presses into the dwelling’s wall: it catches this pressure and holds.