Frédérique Lavergne

I have grown up with horses and it all began with my cousin’s riding school in La Troche (Rambouillet forest, France) where I spent my entire weekends as I child. My parent’s horses – my first horses – Ab Libitum and Cerf-Volant were on full livery there. As my parents were leaving for long hikes in the forest, I was staying at the stables and spent my entire days wandering in stables, observing horses for hours, watching lessons in the arena, sat on the jumping material, or hidden in the tall grass. When the night came, and my parents came back, I never missed the preparation of the ‘mash’ which warm smell imprinted my memory.

I watched them take the saddle off, groom the horses, clean the leather equipment, refill the stable with straw, gently caress the animal. My early childhood was slowly paced by long hours of silent learning.

My mother was a fashion designer. She used to draw beautifully and here is what she taught me: to draw properly, you first have to learn to look. I couldn’t hold a pencil yet, but I was already drawing horses in the dusty floor of the arenas, between two lessons. Later, I started focusing on curves, lines, volumes and hollows. And I discovered that looking, really looking, is a meditating state.

Horses teach me how to paint. I still try to understand what ties our human soul to the horse’s soul. If I hadn’t discovered my passion for horses, as much as the question of what we are meant to do together, or what they are meaning to tell us, I would have never found the winding path leading me to learning to paint.