Learning to See...Developing the Ability to Truly Observe the Horse

In the beginning of my career, I experienced a number of detours in training philosophy. I have always been open to new information and instruction, and ironically, one of the most impactful moments in my education came when I took a wrong turn.

At the time, I had been training with my mentor for about three years and had made tremendous progress with three of our family horses. One of them, a talented Half Arabian National Show Horse mare, was developing beautifully, and I was eager to begin competing with her.

There was a trainer in the area who had studied in Europe with a very well-known dressage master, and I decided to branch out and take lessons with him. His riding was dramatically different from what I had learned, but he was confident that he was conveying solid classical training. I was young, coachable, and genuinely committed to learning, so I set aside my assumptions and immersed myself in his instruction.

One of the major differences in his system was a much stronger use of hand and leg. This contrasted sharply with the lighter, quieter communication I had been taught previously by my mentor. Still, I was willing to experiment with methods and judge the results for myself.

At first, my mare became agitated and tense during lessons with him. I was assured that this resistance was necessary — that I was finally learning how to truly “get her through the back.” Against my better judgment, I persisted. I was praised for being on the "right track now" and eventually took her into the show ring.

We did very well in competition and won several awards.

And yet, I hated the feeling of the riding.

It felt forceful. Heavy. Manufactured.

Then, shortly after one of the competitions, I received photographs from the show photographer. I remember staring at them in shock.

The images showed us in a dramatic, powerful trot.  There was also unmistakable tension. I looked strained. My mare looked stressed. There was none of the soft, harmonious roundness I had learned to recognize in the horses trained by my mentor.

Even though we had won with this performance, I could clearly see that something was wrong.  Probably not many riders would have seen it.  But I did.

I had spent years watching horses — hundreds, perhaps thousands of them — and somewhere deep inside, I knew this did not look harmonious. My mare was not truly carrying herself. Her neck looked hard and bulging, her front legs were thrust forcefully forward and the reins were tight, my hands straining.

I understand that many would have thought this was the picture of a winner.  The success in the show ring as proof of concept. But I had learned to look beyond the awards and see the real picture.  And it did not match up with my understanding of correct, light classical work.  It revealed the truth of the training detour I had taken.

Several months later, when I was finally able to ride again with my mentor, he quietly confirmed what I had already begun to suspect.

“She has been compressed, not collected.”

I had sensed internally that I had taken a wrong turn, I even felt the resistance in my horse but it was not until I saw those photographs that I fully understood what I had done.

That experience taught me something that has shaped my training ever since.  You must follow the feeling and the picture tells the truth.

One of the greatest problems in horsemanship is that many riders simply do not yet know how to see. They look through filters and preloaded images inherited from media, competition culture, and their own assumptions, which often prevent them from discovering the truth of what is actually happening in front of them.

They see movement, but not balance.They see frame, but not tension.They see a profile mirrored in magazines, but cannot recognize whether the horse is truly carrying itself or correctly using its back.They see power, but not harmony.

Learning to ride well requires learning to observe well. Developing the eye — the ability to truly see the horse — may be one of the most important skills a horseman ever acquires.

In order to develop this eye, you must watch horses and riders constantly. All kinds of riding. All kinds of horses. Every time you see a horse, look deeply.

Over time, you begin to recognize:

• where the balance resides,

• which limb is overloaded,

• which limb is weaker,

• where stiffness and tension originate,

• how crookedness manifests in both horse and rider,

• whether the back is lifting or hollowing,

• whether the horse is mentally present or "far away",

• and how the rider’s body influences the horse’s movement.

  
  

It can take years to develop this kind of perception. There is a tremendous amount of watching, comparing, questioning, and analyzing required before a rider begins to recognize the subtleties that experienced classical trainers observe almost immediately.

This is not an easy process. Like all meaningful education, it requires patience, humility, and training. Most importantly, it requires the willingness to observe critically instead of simply accepting whatever presentation is currently fashionable or rewarded.

The truth is often hidden inside the image, waiting for someone educated enough — and honest enough — to recognize it.

If you want to begin learning how to see beyond the mirage, start with simple observations.

Look at the horse’s expression. Is the eye soft and attentive, or anxious and withdrawn?

Does the rider appear to be managing and controlling the horse constantly, or is there a feeling of ease and cooperation?

Then begin observing alignment and mechanics.

For instance, during extended trot does the horse exhibit parallel cannon bones front and back, or is there excessive front-end action without true engagement behind?

Is the rider positioned in correct ear-shoulder-hip-heel alignment, or are they sitting behind their leg in a chair seat?

Is the horse ridden with an open throatlatch and soft connection to the bit, or forced into hyperflexion and compression of the neck?

Movements themselves are often revealing. They expose whether there is fluidity, elasticity, and consistent tempo — or rushing, rigidity, and abrupt changes in rhythm.

With time, anyone can learn to see.  Perhaps one of the most important lessons horses teach us is that truth cannot be hidden forever.

A horse may temporarily comply with force.  A rider may temporarily be rewarded by fashion or competition.  A dramatic picture may even convince an audience for a moment.  But eventually, the body tells the truth.

Tension reveals itself. Crookedness reveals itself. Mental disconnection reveals itself. And so does harmony.

The horse always reflects the quality of the work being done.  Learning to ride well is not simply learning how to produce movement. It is learning how to observe honestly enough to recognize the difference between appearance and reality.

In many ways, horsemanship is an education in perception.

The longer I work with horses, the more I realize that great horsemen are not simply people with better techniques. They are people who have learned to pay attention more deeply.

And perhaps that is where true horsemanship begins:not in control, but in the willingness to see clearly.