<![CDATA[WHITNEY KIMPTON ART - Wanderings]]>

<![CDATA[WHITNEY KIMPTON ART - Wanderings]]>Tue, 18 Nov 2025 05:06:23 -0800Weebly<![CDATA[July Series: 31 days, 31 pieces]]>Sat, 05 Jul 2025 03:09:56 GMThttps://www.bywhitneyk.com/wanderings/july-series-31-days-31-piecesGoals. I’m not great at them, actually. I set them, and then I get distracted, not disciplined, discouraged, all the dis-‘s. However…I’ve been wanting a practice of daily work, of experimenting with media and surfaces and the animals and plants and whatever may come. So, along comes the July series. Mostly little sizes, different media, all completed in a day, with the goal of color study, daily practice, showing up in my studio (or on the trail, because I am reaaaalllllly needing some backpacking high-country time), or … ? ]]><![CDATA[Ren and the Say's Phoebe]]>Thu, 19 Jun 2025 18:49:25 GMThttps://www.bywhitneyk.com/wanderings/ren-and-the-says-phoebeA little study of light and shadow and observation. Colors that create shape. A horse that carries story.

And this little Say's Phoebe. This mighty little bird.

They were here last year, the Phoebes, building a nest in my porch, the female leaving her nest every time I went out my door, until I finally stopped using the front door so as to not disturb her.

Such is the way that I can live when I have deer and birds and foxes as neighbors.

The little nestlings sitting like mummies in their home. Small relics, their big, black eyes staring, fooling me into thinking that they were, perhaps, not alive.

And then, random moves. Change. Small shifts. Just enough to begin a story.

Same as the paint. As line, curving and changing.

And what was not a life,
Not a beginning,
Just a color,

Became a story.
A flight.
A friendship.

And when the birds left their nest, as they do, they lived in my little decripit courtyard,
learning to fly and find food,
calling to their mom as she brought them insects,
and alighting on my open windows and singing.

So little, so quiet, but if you look and listen, you will see them.

*And, if you're curious, they are back again, in the same nest, refreshed for this spring with new grass and horse hair, with five little eggs this year. And, once again, the front door is off limits until they fly.

]]><![CDATA[Both Can Be]]>Thu, 19 Jun 2025 18:47:41 GMThttps://www.bywhitneyk.com/wanderings/both-can-beFire and bluebirds,
Fissures and roots,
Ground and flight.

Forests grow both from seeds and decay. Mountains push skyward as gravity and erosion tumble their stones. Rivers scour and deliver.

Both can be.

]]><![CDATA[Traversing the Expanse]]>Thu, 19 Jun 2025 18:37:47 GMThttps://www.bywhitneyk.com/wanderings/traversing-the-expanseHave you ever

Let the expansiveness of place and time fill your soul?
Let the wild flood your self and find solace in the space around?
Let the enormous world seep into your very being?

I am so very fortunate to live where the winds and snows can blow unobstructed by buildings and cars and whirls only through pines and over sandstone cliffs. I would like to think, though, that this space lives in us all, a calmness and truth brought to us by the promise of nature. A peace of solemnity.

]]><![CDATA[Awakening; Yellowbells and Meadowlarks]]>Thu, 19 Jun 2025 18:35:37 GMThttps://www.bywhitneyk.com/wanderings/awakening-yellowbells-and-meadowlarksIt's like when
you're walking in the Spring,
and your feet brush past the dried winter grasses
and sink into leftover remnants of snow patches
and then you spot
Yellowbells
and hear the first lyrics of the
Meadowlarks
and the promise of new life.

]]><![CDATA[Alight]]>Thu, 19 Jun 2025 18:11:59 GMThttps://www.bywhitneyk.com/wanderings/alightRaze.
To completely destroy, demolish; to break into pieces.

Raise.
To lift, set upright, cultivate.

Must you have one to have another?

When the pieces in us can be as straight and as clearcut as geometric lines, void of shape and texture and offering searingly crisp answers, and can yet be transformed to flight and hope and strength.

And then, when, the pieces can look at the other.

And see in each other a recognition.

]]><![CDATA[Equivalent Exchange; the Sun, the Grass, and Her]]>Thu, 19 Jun 2025 17:52:34 GMThttps://www.bywhitneyk.com/wanderings/equivalent-exchange-the-sun-the-grass-and-herWhen the winter cold finally eases,
and the sun promises to warm and relax you;
when the yellowed grasses from the previous year still stand tall
as they slowly give way to the new growth,
And you can lie fully in the light.

I'm enthralled with the duality of things, with the multiple realities of a singular experience or story. To fully appreciate an essence, one must also have the other.
The icingly white snow gives way to the blistering sun, which, in turn, eventually gives way to the snow again.
The copper mare, strong in her will must lie down, this rest and vulnerability fueling her strength.

]]><![CDATA[You Are Not Alone]]>Mon, 07 Apr 2025 23:53:07 GMThttps://www.bywhitneyk.com/wanderings/you-are-not-alone

Flurry. Noise. Chaos. Colors.

Flight.

This piece has been a process, but I reckon they are all, aren’t they. First started in 2019, held in time through all sorts of happenings; it’s base textures and colors waiting. Or me waiting? Putting it off? Frozen in not wanting to change for fear of ruining it? But take the ego out, and instead allow in the story and movement.

Shall I, we, sit in fear of what might happen, or shall we go forth and adjust and learn and … do.

So, a story of movement, undefinable, flight and grounded-ness, accompaniment amid the chaos.

Can you imagine the light touch of the blue jay across the broad back of the horse, the points of the claws pressing down through the thick coat right before the wings spread and there is left only a remnant of feeling?

Can you also imagine the long winter hair, warm and inviting, the transfer of energy on those narrow bird toes? And the surge of power gathered under those toes.

I’m appreciating the flow of size, power, and strength in this piece. Horses, for all of their size and mass, are really quite sensitive and light creatures. And birds, how small and nimble, yet they have the power of flight.

Anyhow, such as it is, it is almost done. Maybe a few strokes here, there, and then to fly.

]]><![CDATA[Also]]>Thu, 03 Apr 2025 12:33:48 GMThttps://www.bywhitneyk.com/wanderings/alsoI live where the deer walk on my roof.
Thud, thud.
Pitter, patter.
Skitter and jump.

And where they bed down for the night behind my house,
   Their bodies creating circle presses of grass,
      Their hooves pressing hearts into the ground.
Their large ears and velvet eyes following me.

I also live where my dog
Comes up over the hill
Dragging the carcass
     Of the little yearling doe

That has been hanging around.

The one with the raggedy coat,
And the big belly,
     And the steady stare that doesn’t run
Fast enough.

I live where the coyotes yips wake me,
Where the pups tumble and play,
And the adults trot through the pasture,
Paws sinking into the soft ground, noses searching.

I live where the night envelopes the owl hoots,
The chorus of sundown yowls and barks,
My dog’s efforts to join the song.
The hunters hunting.

I live where my dog crunches the bones
Of that little deer,
So gleefully enjoying
The remnants of a life.

And how can I love this when it breaks my heart?

When my fragility is tangled in the life and death

And what I love ends what I love?]]><![CDATA[Halters, Halters, Halters]]>Sun, 01 Dec 2024 08:23:16 GMThttps://www.bywhitneyk.com/wanderings/halters-halters-haltersI'm a maker. I make things. I like to shape things, look at things, think about things, and, well, just make things. I have many loves in my life, and I always try to balance them out. So I came up with an equation:

Art + Montana + Nature + Horses + Photography + Making Something = Artisan Halters!

I have always loved good gear. Good gear that works. Good gear that is unique. Good gear that has a story.

Throughout this experience of making halters, I have come to realize that the halter is the main piece of gear that we horsepeople use. If we want to handle our horses, we put on a halter. If we are simply moving them, grooming them, tacking them up, getting their feet done, going to the vet, standing for a picture ... the halter is the one piece of gear that we use all of the time. And we have different halters for different purposes.

I appreciate the clarity of a rope halter. The simplicity and tradition of the knots. The feel and timing that a person can have with it. And I wanted to add a bit of Montana to them, a bit of color and braiding. However, I still like the noseband to be unencumbered, so that it will still send a clear message of give and release. So I explored other ways to create custom halters. By braiding and wrapping microcord along the cheek pieces, I could create unique and story-filled halters that still gave the same feel as a traditional halter.

And so here I am today, on December 1, 2024, listing them on my website for the first time since I began exploring this in June 2023. And I still have so much to learn (as in, how do I actually know when and how somebody buys a halter and how I get a shipping address - but I am trusting that Weebly and Square have that all figured out) and so many ideas.

I hope that others can get as much joy out of these halters as I have making them.

-Whitney
]]>