The relationships I form with the land, my animals, and myself are, in many ways, the most important parts of my work. As a rancher and artist working in the West, staying connected with the legacy of the land is of utmost importance. Finding ways to bridge the divide between urban and rural, tradition and innovation, are crucial as we move forwards into new ecological eras.

My hat lays on the undulating grains of the White Sands National Monument. Faded felt, sprinkled with gypsum: a microcosm representing the legacy of ranching in the Southwest. The band of the hat is stained from years of hard work raising cattle - my contribution to a centuries-long tradition. The grains of gypsum, sparkling in the sun, mimic the beads of sweat shed by myself and by every rancher before me: shedding parts of ourselves into the land.

From John Steinbeck to Jack Kerouac, Gertrude Stein to Georgia O’Keefe, the act of driving through the American West has inspired thousands of Americans for decades. The speed at which we can traverse the plains and deserts is, historically, incredible: what takes me thirty minutes to travel in my truck would have taken a pioneer on cart or horseback a whole day. I am endlessly grateful for a life that offers constant opportunity to commune with the West and the open road - a liminal, ageless space to meditate, admire, be inspired, and reflect on the potential that ranchers and artists still are able to enact upon our beloved, eternal American West.

Breathless and exhilarated, I snap this picture in the middle of a round-up, gathering the horses in for the evening. I am reminded of how technology is changing the ranching landscape - a hundred years ago, this picture would have been nearly impossible to take. As an artist and rancher, I am always thinking of my work as part of a much longer history of artmaking in the West. My work upholds and contributes to this legacy, and in cowboying as in artmaking I try to hold onto the traditional methods as much as possible.

The slow tread of hooves on dry grass; the gentle lowing of cattle as they communicate within their herd; the jingling of my tack and whisper of the prairie winds in my hair. These are all sounds that transcend my place in the West. I count myself as one of the lucky few people in this country who gets to experience the Western landscapes as they were intended to be seen: on horseback, following one’s cattle.

Transhumance is the human act of following herds of ruminants with the seasons. It is a dying practice across the world, but one that connects us to our ancestors in the deepest of ways. Trailing after herds of cattle is a craft requiring great skill and patience, and one that unites its practitioners regardless of era, race, creed, or class.