If you want to see a master of non-verbal communication, take a look at a horse sometime.

The animals interact with one another, and us, by subtle gesture. "Just a flick of the ear will move several horses," said Alice Billings, a Ridgway artist who looks to the animals for inspiration as much as comfort, speaking with thoughtful, deep affection.

In fact, it's fruitless to separate talking about the New York-born artist's drawing and painting work from discussion of her passion for what she calls her "gravitation towards the elderly equine." Indeed, after closing what was Ridgway's first and only art supply store, and a popular gallery that gathered the area's creative people in the salon tradition, Billings stopped painting altogether and sought solace with those animals. She describes the time as a loss of self, not an unfamiliar sense for anyone who's been through tough change.

But there were the horses.

Billings bought her first in 1994 — there are five now — a mustang named Thunder, currently 27. She'd had her eye on horses her entire life, and everyone told her to get an older one for her first, because it would teach her what to do.

"These elder statesmen have a lot of sense," said Billings. One night Billings came home to find another of her "statesmen" missing in the dark. She called, and searched, finally locating a horse named Dakota, entwined in a wire fence but patiently waiting to be rescued. He knew enough not to struggle and make things worse, said Billings. Eventually someone would be along.

It's not an easy lesson, but it's one that comes with time. Billings started in the East Coast art scene with a gentle push from her father, a sculptor, painter, draftsman and cartoonist Jack Ornstein — a bohemian renaissance man, if you can imagine such a thing. Ornstein studied in Paris in the 1920s and found himself in the middle of the New York City art world. So did his daughter, enrolling in classes at the Art Students League at the age of 16.

You had to be 16, Billings said, because of laws regarding the nude models. And despite a predictable teenage giggling moment with her girlfriend when the first male model strolled out onto the dais, Billings kept a lifelong fascination with the human form — although there will be no nudes at her upcoming exhibit at the Ridgway Library.

Classes begat art school, which begat an art degree or two, which begat the almost prerequisite road trip of discovery to Los Angeles and UCLA art extension — just imagine LA in the early 70s, and a relatively footloose Billings set loose on the scene. A chance encounter during an album cover photo shoot in 1971 led to an enduring friendship and work with actor and environmentalist Dennis Weaver — and, of course, the move to Ridgway in 1993.

Billings describes the "gallery years" here as a creative time, drawing from other people as communities of artists do. After those years passed on, and other changes in her life crowded her muse, she turned to the unconditional affection the horses gave her. Of course, they also eventually inspired her. They couldn't help it. Paint the horses.

When she re-connected with many of the artists who came through the gallery, a few had formed the ArtSpeak group, which kicked off the first of the installations at the library. And in the middle of a six-week class, Billings looked around and felt at home, again, among everyone there.

She moved into acrylics — ostensibly because she was painting at home, and the chemicals were easier to live with, but truly she was after the vibrant colors the medium afforded. The quick drying time meant quick work as well, almost necessitating a speedy, whimsical style — perfect, she said, because she was feeling the inspiration of her father's work, and because she wanted to capture the joy she felt when she was with her horses.

It worked. And the library exhibit, kicking off with an opening reception Saturday, March 10 from 4-7 p.m., will feature maybe two dozen of her own pieces — side-by-side with a few she has of her father's. "This is my life work," said Billings. You have to come to terms with who you are, she added, regardless of what life throws at you. Dig deep. "I am an artist."

On her 60th birthday, Billings said she was expecting a quiet dinner with a friend, time to ruminate on the rough patches the universe had sent her way. Instead, there were 50 people waiting to throw her a surprise party. One can't help but think back to Dakota, waiting wisely in the wire fence. Eventually someone would be along.