Who owns the horse? The daughter, the farmer, the rich, the native american or the cowboy? Who wants a pink horse? Who wants to hug it, do a a handstand on his back, shoot an arrow out of the saddle or just snuggle down in it? The gay man. He makes it his companion, that he has no longer compare with it. The fella carries him for a while, safely and quickly from one gayparty to the next. However, the parties bore him so much that he has no other choice than to make the pink horse his fetish. Now he belongs to something and can meet like-minded people with other pink horses. At first, the pink horse is joining in. But after a while it doesn't want to be compared with the gay man any longer. The pink horse freaks out, rides back to the mainstream, back to the daughter, the rich, the native americans, the cowboys. The gay man misses the pink horse very much. A homage to vintage gay photography.

Ansgar Wilken. First son of a pastor from the East Frisian province. Prone to melancholy, excitement, excess and pushy modesty at the periphery of D.I.Y, sound and image.