By Estefanía Camacho—
To stand in the presence of a horse is to confront its grandeur. How do you translate, into a single image, the velvety texture of its coat, the gleam of its mane, the musculature that unfolds through agile, precise movements? How do you capture its fierce gaze, its distinct personality? It is no easy task. Yet María Fernanda Garza, a 28-year-old equine photographer from Monterrey, has been refining what she seeks to convey through her work since she was ten years old, when she first began riding.
Her beginnings
“There was never a clearly defined boundary between the two,” says Mafer, as she prefers to be called, referring to her practice of both dressage and photography. The interview takes place via video call from Pamplona, Spain. She recalls bringing her camera to the riding club and, after riding, photographing the horses with a bodily awareness shaped by her equestrian training.
“I’d take off my helmet, and the first thing I’d grab was the camera.”
She later earned a degree in Professional Photography, specializing in equine photography, at Universidad LCI Monterrey.
Mafer began by photographing horses at sporting events. “To understand a horse, you also have to understand the sport and how horses move. Otherwise, how can you expect to see a horse in freedom and photograph it aesthetically?” Although she no longer focuses on competition portraits, she considers that experience essential to her work.
Her influences
Among her visual references, she cites Baroque painters Caravaggio and Diego Velázquez, as well as contemporary equine photographers Ekaterina Druz (Russia), Katarzyna Okrzesik-Mikolajek (Poland), and Rita Fernández (Portugal).
“Their work taught me that horses can be portrayed from a more intimate, more sensitive place,” she explains. Mafer took photography courses with both Druz and Fernández, experiences that deeply shaped her perspective. “I’m interested in photography as a universal language — a way of thinking about the world.”
Patience and humility: working with horses
For Mafer, photographing horses demands patience above all else.
“Learning to read them — how they move, how they use their bodies, how they tell me ‘I’ve had enough.’ They speak through their own language.”
She describes the work as humbling, requiring her to adapt to the animal’s sense of time, mood, and breath. “I let the horse tell me when to be present and when not to be. My job is to stay attentive, available, and to accept that many times the photograph happens simply by watching. If the horse turns or moves, the image appears.”
Unlike with other animals, she notes, it is not always obvious when a horse is uncomfortable or at ease.
“When a horse considers a pasture its territory, sees you as an intruder, and decides to charge at full speed — and you have to remain still with the camera. Sometimes, because of the focal length, you misjudge the distance. I have to remind myself: ‘Move now,’ because it can crush you.”
She has not been immune to accidents: she has been kicked and bitten. She considers them occupational hazards.
Earning a horse’s trust
In 2016, a study from the University of Sussex showed that domesticated horses can distinguish between human facial expressions of anger and happiness, and that their heart rate increases when exposed to angry faces. For those who work closely with horses, the finding comes as little surprise.
Mafer confirms it through experience. “Trust stops being a goal and becomes a state.”
To cultivate that trust, she arrives early, sets up her equipment, and allows the horse to become accustomed to her presence. “I let it see me, feel me. The camera becomes a tool that doesn’t interrupt but accompanies both the horse and me.”
She avoids forcing situations. If a horse seems unsettled, she steps away and returns later to see whether its disposition has shifted.
That was the case with Fandango — a six-year-old colt, she estimates. “Very canijo,” she recalls. He tried to bite and step on her. She moved away, continued working, and later returned to find him lying down. She entered the stable and lay beside him.
Her team panicked when they couldn’t find her. “What do you mean she’s with Fandango? He’s going to kill her,” they said. Soon after, they found them together: Fandango resting, Mafer leaning against his abdomen.
“It was a magical moment for me,” she says. “In the morning that horse wanted to do all sorts of things to me, and by the afternoon he was calm. Since then, he’s been one of my favorite horses.”
The horse as subject, not aesthetic object
“How does my way of working change when I think of the horse as a subject rather than an aesthetic motif?” Mafer repeats my question.
“It changes everything. From the beginning, I don’t see the horse as something merely aesthetic; I see it as another living being. A horse with a history, with memory, with a presence that deserves to be heard, with a story that deserves to be told. My work starts there, from deep respect—because beyond aesthetic admiration, it’s about never crossing boundaries. It can be dangerous for both of us. Through photography, its story can find a place in the world,” she explains.
When the horse is treated as a subject, she continues, the photograph stops being a formal exercise and becomes a relationship. “I’m no longer looking for the image; I’m looking for the encounter,” she says frankly.
What still needs to be said about horses in 2026
For Mafer, there is still much to discuss about horses in 2026. How far would we have come technologically and socially — particularly in Mexico — without them? Horses also remind us of our relationship with time: the pause, the calm, the act of simply being.
In an era defined by speed, technology, and control, horses demand patience and presence. “You can’t be distracted when you’re with a horse — it can be dangerous,” she says.
“They remind us that some bonds only exist through trust. That not everything can be dominated. And that it is possible to inhabit the world without violating it.”
Clarice Lispector writes in Seco Estudo de Cavalos: “What is a horse? It is freedom so untamable that it becomes useless to imprison it to serve humankind… it allows itself to be domesticated, but with a simple rebellious toss of the head, it shows that its innermost nature is always fierce, limpid, and free.”
While images of strength and power can be striking, Mafer notes that calm, stillness, and vulnerability carry equal weight. “The vulnerability horses sometimes reveal to me is extraordinary. For me, the truth of photographing a horse lives in that tension between strength and serenity.”
Mafer is currently pursuing a master’s degree in Curatorial Studies at the University of Navarra in Pamplona, Spain. She has exhibited in four museums in Mexico and has received multiple awards, including an Honorable Mention at the International Photography Awards for her series Lancelot.
To see more of Mafer’s work visit her Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/fgphotographyyy