A quiet moment of reverence atop a rocky butte in the North Cave Hills of Harding County, South Dakota. Just inside the boundaries of Custer National Forest, the viewer stands at the mouth of Ludlow Cave, a site held sacred by multiple Native American tribes including the Arikara, Hidatsa, Crow, Cheyenne, Assiniboine, and Sioux. Believed by some to be a place of origin—a portal between worlds—the cave has long been a site of ceremonial significance, adorned with ancient rock art and stories etched in stone.
Rather than depict the cave itself, I chose to turn the viewer’s gaze outward across the vast western plains, allowing the land to speak for itself. This decision was made out of respect for the holiness of the site and the visual stories held within it—many of which have been lost or defaced over time. The foreground’s dry grasses and leafless brush suggest a moment of dormancy, a quiet echo of forgotten reverence.
Standing here, one feels the immensity of the land and the smallness of the self. It is a place of rugged beauty, spiritual weight, and ecological vulnerability—a reminder that the earth is not ours to possess, but to honor.
A quiet moment of reverence atop a rocky butte in the North Cave Hills of Harding County, South Dakota. Just inside the boundaries of Custer National Forest, the viewer stands at the mouth of Ludlow Cave, a site held sacred by multiple Native American tribes including the Arikara, Hidatsa, Crow, Cheyenne, Assiniboine, and Sioux. Believed by some to be a place of origin—a portal between worlds—the cave has long been a site of ceremonial significance, adorned with ancient rock art and stories etched in stone.
Rather than depict the cave itself, I chose to turn the viewer’s gaze outward across the vast western plains, allowing the land to speak for itself. This decision was made out of respect for the holiness of the site and the visual stories held within it—many of which have been lost or defaced over time. The foreground’s dry grasses and leafless brush suggest a moment of dormancy, a quiet echo of forgotten reverence.
Standing here, one feels the immensity of the land and the smallness of the self. It is a place of rugged beauty, spiritual weight, and ecological vulnerability—a reminder that the earth is not ours to possess, but to honor.
Oil on Canvas, 11 X 14. (2020)
