Art and Activism for the Animals: a way to Contribute

Ghost Horse no. 10.
24 x 48″.
Oil and pain on canvas.

The Saratoga Ghost Horse Collection is an exhibit commemorating the horses killed by the racing industry on the Saratoga track since the start of the 2016 season. So far, a dozen paintings in this series have been completed, and are currently on display at the Romaine Brooks Gallery in Albany, a stone’s throw from Saratoga.

However, 19 horses died at Saratoga during the 2016 season, and another 19 died in 2017. They are killing horses faster than I can paint them. I would like to have a painting to commemorate each of the 38 victims of the Saratoga racing industry since the summer of 2016.  The canvas is getting a little expensive. If you would like to help, please consider kicking down an item or two from this wish list. I’m especially in need of canvas right now. If you’d like to help out with this project by taking care of one of the items on this list, the good people at Blick will ship this right to my door. Sometimes, art takes resources…. Thanks for anything you can help with.

Here’s the list:

http://www.dickblick.com/lists/wishlist/3KKD4837LHP48/publicview/

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Saratoga Ghost Horse Collection at Romaine Brooks Gallery

 

A few pics from last night’s show, where the Saratoga Ghost Horse collection showed on the last weekend of the killing season in Saratoga.

                                                                 A roomful of the good people from Horse Racing Wrongs showed up to support this project. 

One of the Ghost Horses from the collection.

 

Me and Lt Dan, my best buddy, sales rep, and all around bestie. 

Ghost Horse no. 12

Ghost Horse no. 12. 24 x 48″. Oil and whatnot on canvas.

 

Yesterday, yet another race horse died on the track at Saratoga. Sayonara Rose was only two years old, and she ran her heart out. Whipped and beaten, she was run to death, and died on her way back to be unsaddled. “Took a bad step, had to be euthanized,” according to the industry.

Often, when a horse dies running, 2 bit gamblers sitting in the bar swear at the horse  for not “winning,” while it lies dying on the track.

That’s horse racing.  End it.

Incidentally, in the afternoon that she died, a friend’s cousin sent me a series of snarky, dumb assed messages to tell me that I should not be speaking ill of the people who caused this horse, and the fourteen others who died in the past few weeks at Saratoga, because, as she stamped her foot and insisted, she LIVES in Saratoga, and some of those people are her FRIENDS.

So, in the event she reads this post: Your friends are assholes. Tell them to stop killing horses. And don’t you EVER send me another piece of propaganda falsely claiming those jerks “love” their horses. No they don’t. If that were true,  they would not be running them to death for their amusement and profit. And when the horses can no loner run, they would not be sent off to die in slaughter houses… like they are.

Anyway. This is the latest in the Saratoga Ghost Horse series, commemorating the dead.

The collection will be shown on September 1 at the Romaine Brooks gallery in Albany, New York. Please join me for the show.

Saratoga Ghost Horse no. 10

Ghost Horse no. 10.
24 x 48″.
Oil and pain on canvas.

 

As the carnage continues at Saratoga, the collection grows. If you’re in the capital region of New York, I’ll be showing this collection on September 1, First Friday, at the Pride gallery in Albany. Please come and see.

The Convergence of Racism, Classism, and Misogyny in the Microcosm of my doorstep

By Cat Jones

9902

Lark Street

I used to live on Lark Street, in Albany, New York. Since I moved away, I learned – through the work of independent journalists – that some of my neighbors belonged to the “Proud Boys,” a racist, homophobic, misogynist, xenophobic hate group. That makes sense to me, given some of my experiences there. To be clear, I met a lot of good people and made a lot of good friends on Lark street. But I also witnessed and/or experienced (sometimes personally, sometimes vicariously) a good deal of oppression there, in the name of making the world comfier again for already- comfy, straight white dudes. And, as I was going through old photographs from a year or two ago just now, it occurred to me how my interaction with just one neighbor, Mark, who lived upstairs from me and who has appeared before in my writing (as “Jim,” for example, in this story), illustrates some of that everyday oppression in microcosm. My interactions with Mark tell a story about both the tight interconnections between forms of oppression, and the relentless, everyday harassment the rest of us experience at the hands of Angry White Dudes (AWDs) every time we assert a right to any cultural space. Continue reading