EQUUS
I never intended for my art to simply be art. It’s always been more than that.
For years, I painted with the kind of perfectionism that came from my old life: every line exact, every detail calculated. Minimalism. Control. Confinement. But that life eventually broke me—through snowbound winters, a crumbling marriage, and the slow erosion of who I was. When I finally decided to leave, it was the horses that saved me.
I had two Lusitano stallions, Saramago and Herodes. They were my anchors in the storm. Saramago, young and fiery, wouldn’t let me fake a smile or pretend I was okay. He challenged me to be honest with myself, to own my strength, and to stand tall. Herodes, my old schoolmaster, was the calm in my chaos. His presence was grounding, his energy protective. Together, they helped me see that I needed to leap—just like they did, with power and trust, not knowing exactly where I’d land.
The first painting I created in this collection was Herodes. It was just after I moved to Healdsburg, California, leaving behind the ranch in Telluride and everything tied to it.
I painted him as a guardian—a piece of his spirit, his strength, to bring into my new home. His presence on the canvas was a reminder: I could find peace and stand strong, even in the aftermath of everything.
But I didn’t stop there.
The second piece was the wild stallion, his mane flying as he leaps into nothingness.
That one came out of the same energy I needed to face my divorce—fearless and bold, trusting that the ground would catch me when I landed.
It was a turning point. For me, and for the collection.
Every piece became a story. A reflection of the lessons the horses had taught me.
The elegance and grace of Larapio, standing still in the light, reminded me of the power of being present in the moment.
The playful young stallions roughhousing became a promise to my mother—that life could still be light, that joy and connection were still possible, even in the face of loss.
And then there was the diptych. Two stallions standing calm and still amidst the chaos of a battle behind them.
They were a reminder to stay focused, to not be pulled into the noise of the world. It was about finding strength in stillness, in clarity.
Each piece I painted was a step in my own journey. And yet, when I let them out into the world, they became something more.
The wild stallion now lives above the fireplace of a woman who lost her husband but refuses to lose her vitality. The playful stallions hang in my mother’s home, a daily reminder of lightness and love. The diptych was commissioned by someone who needed that sense of calm amidst the storm. Each painting has found its place, carrying the essence of what I needed when I created it—and giving it to someone else who needs it now.
And then, there was Times Square.
I never imagined my work being displayed on such a massive scale.
But when I submitted five pieces from my Equus series to an international art competition, I hoped that these horses—my messengers of peace and strength—might reach the very people who needed them most.
Times Square, the heart of chaos and noise, seemed like the perfect place to send their energy.
When I found out that not just one, but all five pieces would be displayed, covering the 23-story Westin Tower, one after another, I was stunned.
Seeing them there, larger than life, was surreal. I felt exposed and vulnerable, like I had sent my horses out into the storm. But I also knew it was necessary. They were exactly where they needed to be—right in the middle of the most frantic and disconnected part of New York. Their message was clear: pause, reconnect, remember the power and beauty within you.
I apologized to my horses before the show. I told them I was sorry for sending them into the chaos, but I knew they could handle it. And they did. They became peace messengers in the heart of the storm.
What does it feel like? To know that my work isn’t just hanging on a wall, but living in someone’s heart?
It’s joy. Deep joy.
I’ve always been drawn to helping others find their strength, their light. Whether it was through therapeutic riding programs or working with horses, it’s always been about showing people what’s possible—what’s within them. The paintings are no different. They’re reminders. Guides. They’re messengers of resilience, of grace, of the wild spirit we all carry, waiting to be set free.
And me? I’m just the conduit. The horses taught me, and now I pass it on. One painting at a time.
Candida von Braun
A fifth-generation visual artist, brings a legacy of creative mastery to her work, seamlessly blending painting, architecture, and photography. Her pieces are housed in prominent collections across Germany, Spain, Italy, and the United States, each embodying the depth and elegance that define her distinguished career.
