Blog
Animals and the art of being present, uninhibited and free.
Saturday 31st October 2026
Karen Harman
Betty, my 18 month old cocker spaniel, her head on a cushion which is far too high for her
neck to wrap around, sighs dramatically. She is side eyeing me, a look I receive every
evening. ‘Please don’t move me because I own his whole sofa’.
I chuckle internally to myself. In her short life to date, she has provided our family with
countless subtle beautiful moments of personality. Perhaps because they cannot speak, we have to observe more closely, and whilst doing so, we are in the present.
The next morning, she runs across the vast open Yorkshire moor near our house, long ears
flapping wildly, seeing glimpses of her jumping above the heather, and there is simply one
word to describe it - Joy. Like a small child in the moment, no inhibitions or worries. But
unlike a child, she will never develop those inhibitions or gain responsibility, she will in effect
never grow up. What a life.
When it comes to being present, uninhibited, and free of concern, animals can certainly
teach us plenty. How many of us can say that our pet was one of our best friends when we
were little? We enter their world from their point of view, both parties in the moment without a
care. There is a clear similarity. Then we get older, and leave this behind - adult responsibilities take over. We have less time to observe. Less time to imagine. Less time to ‘be’. I think we can become disconnected from that feeling without even realising it.
Yet animals can bring us back to something much simpler. Sitting with a dog, watching a cat
sleep in a patch of sunshine, listening to birds in the garden or noticing wildlife on a walk can
change the pace of a day.
My own connection with animals is a big part of why I paint them. I love trying to capture the personality of an animal rather than simply creating an accurate likeness. The slightly bemused expression of a dog, the attitude of a cat, the look that seems to say "What are you looking at?" — these are the things that make me want to pick up a paintbrush.
Perhaps this is where art and soul rewilding meet for me. A painting can hold onto a feeling. A painting of a dog can remind us of muddy walks, wet noses, open fields and the sound of
paws running towards us. A painting of a cat can bring back the character of a particular
animal who once curled up on our sofa. It can make us smile at something we haven't
thought about for years.
I love the idea that artwork can act as a little window back into those experiences. It doesn't have to be a grand landscape painting of some remote wilderness. Sometimes it is a scruffy terrier, a slightly grumpy-looking cat or a ridiculous expression that reconnects us
with the natural, instinctive and joyful parts of ourselves.
For me, painting animals is a way of celebrating that connection. I want my paintings to
make people smile, but also to remind them of something they already know: the joy of
animals, the freedom of being outdoors and the simple pleasure of being completely present
in a moment.
Sometimes, all it takes is a dog running across the Yorkshire dales.