top of page
MINA BECKETT FINE ART
Daydreaming | Oil on canvas | “24x”48 | Frame not included | 2026 | $2,000
There is a unique stillness that falls over horses when they rest against each other — heads dropped, eyes soft, the world temporarily set aside. It isn't sleep exactly. It's something quieter than that. Something closer to trust.
Daydreaming is a large format work of that moment. Two horses, one pale as morning and one dark as good earth, leaning into the shared space between them. The background is still finding itself, as WIPs do, but the heart of the painting is already there — in the curve of a neck, the weight of a head, the exhale that says I'm safe here.
Daydreaming is a large format work of that moment. Two horses, one pale as morning and one dark as good earth, leaning into the shared space between them. The background is still finding itself, as WIPs do, but the heart of the painting is already there — in the curve of a neck, the weight of a head, the exhale that says I'm safe here.
Braving Winter | "24'x"36 | Giclee Print | $350 | Frame not included.
Braving Winter lived in my mind long before a single pencil ever touched paper. I could see her so clearly—the young woman in quiet profile, her bronzed skin catching a warm glow against the swirl of mist and snow, dark braids threaded with red-and-white feathers, and that rich crimson cloak billowing like breath in the cold.
I chased that vision through countless studies, balancing precise portraiture with loose, expressive textures until she finally emerged from the fog exactly as I’d imagined.
I love this piece so much I refuse to sell it—it hangs front and center on my studio wall, a daily reminder of how far I’ve come and how powerful following a dream can be.
I chased that vision through countless studies, balancing precise portraiture with loose, expressive textures until she finally emerged from the fog exactly as I’d imagined.
I love this piece so much I refuse to sell it—it hangs front and center on my studio wall, a daily reminder of how far I’ve come and how powerful following a dream can be.
Eyes of the Prairie | "24 x "36 | Oil on canvas |
$1,800 | Frame not included.
It is my hope that when you look at Eyes of the Prairie, her gaze stops you the way the wind stops you on the open plains—bold, unflinching, and full of stories. Those amber eyes are the sky at dawn after a long prairie night, reflecting untamed beauty and the quiet brutality that’s shaped the land for generations. As you study her expression, I want you to feel the endless horizons she’s stood beneath, the storms she’s weathered, and the secrets whispered in tall grass. Above all, I hope you leave remembering that, like her, each of us—one lifetime, one set of experiences—becomes a witness to a story far larger than ourselves.
Dust and Dreams | "36 x "36 | Oil on canvas | Frame not included| $1,200
Dust and Dreams is my little anthem for never quitting. I pictured all of us getting knocked flat, the world kicking up dust around our ambitions—only for us to shake it off, stand up, and zero back in on our goals. The rough textures are the grit we collect along the way; the brighter streaks are that spark inside us that won’t die. When you look at it, I hope you feel that surge of “okay, dust off and keep going” energy—because the only thing more inspiring than a dream is chasing it again after you fall.
Inner Flint | "24x"36 | Oil on Canvas | 2025 (original) | Frame not included | $3,000
Sometimes a painting tells you what it wants to be called, but not right away.
When I started this one, I wasn't thinking about names. I was focused on his eyes. The stillness in them. The way he seemed to hold something back, not in fear, but in silent strength. Like he was waiting. Like he knew.
As the painting took shape, I kept coming back to that feeling. That weight behind his gaze. He didn't look loud. He didn't look angry. But there was fire in him. Controlled. Contained. The kind that only shows itself when it needs to.
That's when the word came to me: flint.
Flint doesn't burn on its own. You have to strike it. But when you do, it sparks. It's unassuming, but essential. Strong. Enduring.
And this boy, this imagined boy, felt exactly like that.
That's why I named the painting Inner Flint. Because what's inside him... that quiet fire... that's the part that lasts.
When I started this one, I wasn't thinking about names. I was focused on his eyes. The stillness in them. The way he seemed to hold something back, not in fear, but in silent strength. Like he was waiting. Like he knew.
As the painting took shape, I kept coming back to that feeling. That weight behind his gaze. He didn't look loud. He didn't look angry. But there was fire in him. Controlled. Contained. The kind that only shows itself when it needs to.
That's when the word came to me: flint.
Flint doesn't burn on its own. You have to strike it. But when you do, it sparks. It's unassuming, but essential. Strong. Enduring.
And this boy, this imagined boy, felt exactly like that.
That's why I named the painting Inner Flint. Because what's inside him... that quiet fire... that's the part that lasts.
Little Wrangler | "20x"20 | Oil on Canvas | 2025 | Frame not included | $1,000
I love bringing to life pieces that carry emotion, something you can feel, not just see. With Little Wrangler, I wanted her spirit to shine through: the determination in her eyes, the sense of freedom in the way she holds herself. The colors were just as important to me. I’ve always loved the bold warmth of orange and the calm depth of purple, those complementary colors on the color wheel. In this painting, I brought them together to echo that balance between strength and softness, fire and shadow. There’s something about that dance of colors that just feels right to me. Little Wrangler is a piece that’s as much about color as it is about story, and I hope viewers can feel that when they see her.
Handfuls of Purpose | 20"x 20" | Oil on Canvas | Frame not included | 2026 | $600
The stories we tell about the American West are full of motion — cattle drives, gunfights, land rushes, men on horseback riding toward something. Those stories are true, and they matter. But beside every one of them stood a woman holding something just as heavy.
She gave birth on the trail. She buried children in unmarked ground and kept moving. She worked the land with the same hands that braided hair and mended harnesses and coaxed fire from wet wood in a February wind. She didn't ride into legend. She built it from the inside out, one ordinary, extraordinary day at a time.
Handfuls of Purpose is a portrait of that woman. Not a specific woman — every woman. The one history didn't overlook so much as simply forgot to turn around and see. She's still there. She never left.
She doesn't flinch. She doesn't soften. She just looks straight through you and waits for you to finally look back.
This work was entered in Unbridled: An All-Women Western Art Exhibition at the A.R. Mitchell Museum.
She gave birth on the trail. She buried children in unmarked ground and kept moving. She worked the land with the same hands that braided hair and mended harnesses and coaxed fire from wet wood in a February wind. She didn't ride into legend. She built it from the inside out, one ordinary, extraordinary day at a time.
Handfuls of Purpose is a portrait of that woman. Not a specific woman — every woman. The one history didn't overlook so much as simply forgot to turn around and see. She's still there. She never left.
She doesn't flinch. She doesn't soften. She just looks straight through you and waits for you to finally look back.
This work was entered in Unbridled: An All-Women Western Art Exhibition at the A.R. Mitchell Museum.
Serious Inquiries Only
bottom of page