Lessons from American Saddle Seat riding
When I was a teen, my grandmother introduced me to American Saddlebred horses and training. Through her, I took lessons for many years at a stable in a rural area outside of Houston — waking up early each weekend to head out for practice. Directed by a trainer, each session was for a half hour only and, depending on experience and skill, would be on a certain stable horse (unless you owned and boarded one there).
Over the years as I’ve taught aspiring graphic designers and managed a team at my own two studios, I’ve realized what an impact the experience had on me, even some 20 plus years later. In the back of my mind, I have been tracking some of these core lessons that relate back to who I am, how I work, and how I treat and think of things in the world. With the talks of whether disciplines like cursive or understanding mathematics sans calculator matter in education, writing about this seems all the more relevant now.
To give a little background, the American Saddlebred is a breed of horse originating around the mid-1800s in Kentucky, where the bloodline was refined to the horse seen today. The breed is derivative of five bloodlines including the thoroughbred — giving its size and quality; and the pacer — which provides for its various gaits. This means that a saddlebred horse doesn’t just have standard three speeds of walk, trot, and canter like most horses. Rather, it has these combined with two ‘ambling’ (four-beat) gaits — the rack and a slow gait — thus making it a five gait horse (five modes or speeds if you will). According to Wikipedia, the horse is a descendent of the riding-type of the American Revolution, and as the breed evolved, was an officer’s mount in the American Civil War.
In the area in which I trained and showed, Saddle Seat English Pleasure, the rider and horse are judged together. Competition in a show ring can vary from one to as many as 20 and all must uniformly display the walk, trot, and canter. During the trot, the rider posts with the stride, is seated during a rack (gaited display), and while cantering, the horse’s lead leg should be on the side nearest to the arena center, head and body slightly angled toward the edge wall, and the rider’s leg positioning mirroring this. Horses are scored for their manners, performance, and quality — hopefully giving the impression of a smooth, pleasant ride. Here is a video to give an idea of what this all looks like in a competition:
I often got quite a bit of flack about this extracurricular activity, for its contrast to traditional sports, and amongst other horse-riding enthusiasts. Non-riders would comment on it as a ‘rich man’s past time’ and therefore purposeless. Within the riding community, jumpers considered it excessive and showy like Dressage (a formal style of riding). Perhaps it was showy from the everyman’s perspective, but for me, it was a source of focus, discipline, and sport. Somehow I never got involved in any other physical activities, beyond art, that most may have in adolescent years. It wasn’t because I didn’t have an interest, the introduction just never really happened. While many schoolmates and friends I had were in soccer, basketball, music, or debate, I rode horses. And much like those other activities informed my classmate’s identities, so did saddle seat riding do so with mine.
I’ve broken down the primary areas that it’s been so influential in my life below.
Discipline & Practice
I primarily took my training lessons on the weekends. While other teenage friends might be sleeping in, I was getting up at the crack of dawn to ride with my grandmother to the stables near my grandparents farm property. When I got my grandmother’s old truck at 16, I drove myself. Like any other sport, no matter the weather or temperature, I trained year-round. Fitness and form mattered. I had to balance myself properly, being careful to not bump the horse with a heel in the slightest way (saddlebred horses are extremely sensitive). I must be firm but gentle in my handling of the double bridle reins to control the speed, while setting the horse’s head position. I did this all at my trainer’s instruction — heels down, back straight, chin up, but not too high. It was crucial that I be consistent in training, learning and continuing to advance on higher gaited horses and more rigid competitions.
I was aware of my trainer’s dedication to refining my skill and I worked hard to gain her trust and confidence in me as a rider, and to glean from her as much as I could. I listened carefully to repetitive and sometimes seemingly nitpicky criticisms, making corrections as quickly as I could. I learned that these weren’t personal comments, but those meant to make me better and all the more attentive to the task at hand. I didn’t want to let her, nor my grandmother down. It’s a pretty powerful thing when you sense someone’s respect in you as a developing talent. Perhaps this was the first time that I’d really experienced it in my life. It grew important to me to make it clear that I was serious about my ability and performance as a rider. I became both disciplined in my riding practice but also in demeanor. Commanding a pretty high energy horse requires quite a bit of maturity and confidence — the horse senses the minute you’re afraid and responds in-kind.
One defining moment occurred during a Saturday morning lesson. I was being upgraded to a new five gaited horse and was just starting to get a feel for his character and various gaits in the session. I was pretty nervous about the day because it was several new things all at one time: new horse, new kind of speeds and riding. I had a short whip in hand, as normal, and I’d just given the command to go in to the fourth gait. Not too far into to doing so, the horse seemed to be picking up speed faster and faster, and I couldn’t figure out why nor could get him to slow. We headed into the ring turns and I was feeling more loss of control and fear building that I wouldn’t get the speed back down safely. In a split second, I decided it would be best to bail off and came crashing down on my back in the dirt. My grandmother and trainer immediately ran over to check how I was. It had hurt pretty good (I think I have some minor problems with it today), but I was able to get up and shake it off. Sandy, my trainer, went on to explain that the small whip had initially been bumping the horse’s shoulder blade and then as speed picked up, my heels started to bump his side. It had been my mistake and my trainer instructed I get back on. She said sternly “If you don’t get back on now, you’ll never do it again and you’ll be afraid.” She was right. I got back on, but this time without a whip and watched my heels.
Self-awareness
As I mentioned earlier, saddle seat riding and showing is as much about the rider as it is the horse. It’s not about getting the job done good on paper, but about presence. A rider showing in English Pleasure should look exactly as such. It was important to consider how the judges might perceive both form and character. I came to understand this more clearly later when I heard the famous design couple, Charles and Ray Eames describe it as “not showing [your] blood” in a documentary. You couldn’t appear nervous or angry or afraid, nor concerned about the horse. The two of you had to give the appearance of something elegant to observe, and you had to stand out from the competition. I’ll talk more about this later in “Pacing”.
Details Matter
The saddle seat style of riding is often confused for the other kind of riding I mentioned earlier, Dressage (which is very formal and has different rules),
and considered to be flashy and fanciful — for the horse’s arched neck, high step, gait, and thick long tail. When shown in competitions, there are specific rules for the rider’s form and the idea is that you maintain balance and composure while the horse is in motion.
A few for example:
· When viewed from the side, there should be an imaginary straight line from your ear, shoulder, hip, and heel
· Hands hold the reins so that there is a straight line from the snaffle bit (in the horse’s mouth) to your elbow
There are also stringent rules of attire that vary depending on time of day that the competition is being held. Suits inspired by men’s business style or tuxedos are required in either black, navy, brown, dark green, or grey. Pinstripes are acceptable (I had a navy pinstripe suit). Coats are long and fitted, and pants are Kentucky jodhpurs (fitted riding pants with a belled bottom to cover a chelsea boot, with an elastic strap to go around the heel). The suit is complete with a vest, derby hat, gloves, tie, and collar bar.
This was the first time I’d ever heard of a collar bar. I remember as a teen questioning what the object was and its ultimate purpose. It seemed like such an insignificant detail to be concerned with and one that couldn’t easily be seen from a judge’s distance in the show arena. And yet, it was a part of my instructions for attire. The collar bar is a small piece of men’s jewelry that is used to hold each corner of a dress shirt collar in position with a tie. There are two kinds: one that simply pinches on each end of the collar corner and one that pokes through an eyelet, with screws on either end to secure. They’re about 2–3” wide and come in silver or gold (mine was silver). In both, the ‘bar’ portion is primarily hidden behind the tie and functions similarly to a cufflink.
The tradition of the collar bar seems to come from a mostly bygone era of gentlemanly dress and etiquette beginning in the 1800s. Almost certainly driven by Victorianism, a small item like cufflinks or the collar bar were the icing on top of attire that symbolized so many things: modernity, elegance, social status, and good genes. Thus, the collar bar wasn’t important for its own function alone. It was important as a part of a complete sum to make a greater whole. I always say that it’s important to try not to tell lies — vocally or visually. Much like wearing a clip-on tie is a lie, so would it be inauthentic to wear merely a costume shell, devoid of finer details. To be a properly presented and confident rider, all elements were needed to complete my status and position in the ring.
Pacing
The largest competition I participated in had 16 plus riders. Not only did I have to ensure that the horse and I performed at our absolute best against talent ranging in various age and experience levels, we had to figure out how to navigate the significantly crowded ring. My trainer had learned how many were locked into the show class and pacing become a bigger part of our training prior to the event. We had covered a little already because it was a necessity with more than one rider in a ring, but there were some key things to consider here:
Position
Passing
Speed
Distance
Self-awareness of my constant position both in view of the judges and the surrounding riders was crucial. This was hard work even in a ring of eight riders. In addition, we were to follow judges’ commands to walk, trot, canter, additional gaits, and switch directions. To accomplish all of this smoothly meant having to pass riders (some are slow to start, some might have an issue). You’d need to judge distance and know when to speed up or slow down to pass — making careful judgements of time and space and where to go and how to get there. It was a dance in which we all had to collaboratively participate so as to not impact our own performance in an adverse way.
The obvious area this influenced me is in driving (I really think most drivers today could use a lesson in pacing), but also other powerful, abstract ways. There probably isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hear my trainer in my head saying “speed up or slow down — make your decision and move now.” In tandem with self-awareness, it’s taught me to pay attention to my place in the world and be decisive on how I’ll navigate it.
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Jennifer Blanco is a native Houstonian who spent a great deal of time living and working in Brooklyn, New York., but is glad call Texas home again. She has an undergrad degree in Graphic Design from the School of Visual Arts in New York and her work has been featured in design compendiums by Gestalten, Rockport, Chronicle Books, PRINT, and HOW Magazine. Jennifer is founder and creative director of Field of Study, an award-winning branding firm based in Houston and co-founder of the letterpress studio Workhorse Printmakers. She has taught design as an Affiliate Artist at the University of Houston and has served on the board of directors of AIGA Houston — a national professional design association — previously as Vice President for four years. Through AIGA, Jennifer advocated for a greater understanding of the value of design and designers in government, business, and media.
