Held in the Frame

There is no finish line in this picture and that is the point. We chose a frame that is two strides before, when neither horse has decided yet, when the jockeys are still negotiating with their own arms.

The dust is doing a job. It softens the legs, it loses the rail, it turns the background into a low brown wall. Everything sharp is at the level of the bridle.

A small country meet. Folding chairs we cannot see, a tannoy we cannot hear. The colors are old: rust, oxide, silk red.