These photos are absolutely stunning. Horses in the water — moving almost like they are dancing, bending and stretching their bodies. Some are with riders, others on their own. The water is clear, a soft turquoise blue. You have probably seen these images before — they are by Kuwaiti photographer Mohammed Habib, who somehow manages to capture not just how horses move, but who they are. After coming across his work, we wanted to find out how he creates these shots, where his love for horses comes from, and what they have taught him over the years.

— Mohammed, I tried to find interviews with you, but couldn’t (the only one was the podcast in Arabic). The only thing I know is that you are from Kuwait. So my first question is: what was your childhood like? Who are your parents, and what kind of environment did you grow up in?

— I grew up in Kuwait in a home deeply connected to storytelling and visual expression. My father is a filmmaker who worked on more than 22 films — documentary, educational, tourism, and cultural projects — including the original Iftah Ya Simsim in the 1970s. He was never driven by purely commercial work. Every film he made, he lived and felt.

That mindset shaped me profoundly. When he worked on environmental films, he was personally committed to keeping our own environment clean. When he worked on art-related projects, he made sure to bring colours and creative tools home for his grandchildren. Creativity, responsibility, and sincerity weren’t ideas — they were daily practice. Growing up in that atmosphere taught me that images are not simply produced; they are lived and respected.

— When did your very first experience with photography happen? What was it, and what camera were you using back then?

— Cameras were always present in our home. I was curious to touch my father’s professional equipment, but also afraid of damaging it. Even at a young age, I believed that no matter how much we grow, humans forget — and that the camera is one of the few inventions capable of stopping time, even briefly.

My first real experience came during primary school open days. I used a small Olympus camera — simple, with a built-in flash — to photograph the atmosphere of those days, when students were genuinely happy and carefree. It was a modest camera, yet one of the most meaningful I ever owned.

As I grew older, my journey evolved naturally. I became committed to Sony cameras, drawn to their color science, performance, and deep, respected history in filmmaking.

— How would you describe your approach to photography — what defines your visual style or the way you see the world through your lens?

— My approach is built on effort, not convenience. In a region where the landscape doesn’t naturally offer dramatic terrain or constantly evolving skies, a strong image doesn’t happen by accident — it must be constructed.

In many Western environments, geography and weather already provide visual depth. Here, every frame demands study, patience, and intention. I work for the image. I wait for light, build composition carefully, and remove anything unnecessary. This process shaped my visual language: cinematic, restrained, and emotionally precise — where nothing in the frame exists without purpose.

— You shared a story about a young boy whose academic idea evolved into a place that welcomes people with special needs. What drew you to that story?

— That person genuinely moved me. I am drawn to people who work without chasing fame, money, or social status. His idea came from sincerity and clear thinking, not expectation. The people around him weren’t promoting him or supporting him financially — he moved forward simply because it felt right.

I believe no one sleeps more peacefully at night than people like that. Those who act from honesty and reason, without needing applause. They are rare, and they quietly change the world. I hope to walk more closely in their footsteps.

— Let’s talk about horses. Is there a story behind how you started photographing them?

— There is a powerful pull that horses have on people — even those who don’t consider themselves horse lovers. This large, powerful creature, with distinct personalities, is universally respected across cultures and languages.

For me, horses are a mirror of human emotion and imagination. They read you — your courage, tension, attention, and honesty. They respond to energy before action. Photographing them became less about documenting an animal and more about capturing a dialogue between presence and trust.

— Why did you decide to shoot them from above?

— Drone photography created a real shift in visual language. Angles that were once academically fixed for traditional cameras suddenly expanded. With drones, new perspectives emerge constantly — the photographer is challenged to discover angles that didn’t previously exist.

For me, the aerial perspective isn’t only about height. It is about contrast. The dialogue between the brown tones of the horses and the blue of the sea is fundamental in colour theory — a natural opposition within the colour wheel. From above, that contrast becomes pure, graphic, and emotionally direct.

— Why did you choose to photograph horses in water?

— We are used to seeing horses on land — in deserts, farms, fields, or competitive arenas. Water changes that completely. At first, horses respond with caution and hesitation, but once they adapt, that tension turns into comfort and freedom.

The sea mirrors the horse’s nature: freedom without restraint. Beyond aesthetics, water is also beneficial — strengthening the legs, relaxing muscles, and saltwater naturally helps cleanse the body. This choice was never opportunistic; it was scientific, physical, and emotional, while also deepening trust between horse and rider.

— Who are these men with horses?

— They are friends of mine, working with their own horses. Many of them are involved in endurance and long-distance riding, where a horse’s physical condition and psychological well-being are essential.

Their relationship with the horses is built on trust, care, and understanding. In endurance disciplines, mental calm is as important as physical strength — and that balance is something I wanted to reflect honestly in my images.

— When you photograph horses, what are you trying to capture? What do you want people to feel or see?

— I am not chasing beauty alone — I am trying to remind people of it. In a fast, industrialised world, I want to show the beauty of living creatures and the quiet power of the sea.

I want to suggest that building a real relationship with a horse is more fulfilling than owning luxury objects. Many people commented, “This is my dream.” Not a brand. Not a supercar. A horse and the sea. That says everything.

I also want to highlight the importance of proper training — building inner strength, balance, and calm. Just as humans focus on core training and Pilates, horses require the same internal foundation. Humans still belong to nature. This is our place.

— While spending so much time observing horses, what have they taught you?

— Horses shape character. Working with an animal powerful enough to harm you teaches self-control, respect, and awareness. You learn to lead without force and to offer safety before expecting trust.

They are a mirror of who you truly are. I once witnessed a horse walk away from its favourite food to stand in front of its rider, casting shade over him from the sun. It wasn’t a coincidence — it was care, trust, and true horsemanship.

— And finally, what kind of light and timing do you look for when taking these photos?

— I work almost exclusively with natural light, and sunrise is essential. Early morning light is beneficial for horses — visually and physically. Prolonged exposure to strong sun isn’t healthy, so timing matters.

I consider sunrise direction, shadow softness, sea currents, tides, water clarity, and air purity. Calm conditions are critical. A complete image isn’t just about light — it is about harmony between the horse, the environment, and the moment.