Ancient Beauty and Modern Ugliness

In April of 2015, I drove down Buckhorn Wash, Utah, exploring along the way, until I reached the Buckhorn Wash Pictographs.

This was not a place to visit and leave in a hurry. I spent time there gazing in wonder at this beautiful panel. This panel is HUGE and (hopefully) will be available on my web page sometime in the future. (

I learned that the images had once been covered in graffiti and horrifically vandalized with bullet holes, but had been lovingly restored by experts to as close to its original form as they could make it.

Graffiti – some say it’s a modern mans form of art, but more often than not this modern art is simply a person scraping their name and date into the rock, sometimes on top of or right alongside a piece of work that probably took hours, days, months or even years for the original artist to create. It is a display of ignorance, of ego, of this rushed culture and its need to leave a permanent mark that says I was here, even though it was probably only for five minutes. Perhaps we would feel differently if the person took as much time to create a beautiful piece of work as the ancients did. Perhaps then we would call it art, instead of graffiti, and especially if they had the consideration to NOT crowd the work of others, to violate their space, their history, their stories, and their sacred tales. The fact that it is illegal to deface this ancient work does not stop some people, there is already fresh vandalism on this panel.

And those who used this artwork for target practice were more than likely NOT natives. They came from around the world to take over and destroy. Greed, disrespect for native cultures and their lands are what modern America rose from. Is it any wonder we are in the mess we are in.


I took these shots in Buckhorn Wash just a short distance from the Buckhorn Panel. These markings were in a cave blackened by many fires. This is modern graffiti, it cannot be called art.

Various religions talk of a big plague that will come; wake up people it’s already here. WE are the plague, HUMANS are the plague. We devour everything in our path, we destroy, infect, pollute, kill and spit out. We foul up everything with our disgusting waste. We change real into false. I don’t believe that some being is going to come and save us and the planet, and we are too far gone to save it ourselves. I’m glad some are trying, but the majority of our species doesn’t care. It will not change until those in power change, and I’m sure that won’t happen in my lifetime.

I shudder at it all as I drive around burning gasoline feeling like such a hypocrite. But at the same time, I’m sure that I am having a much smaller impact on the planet than the average home, even a home with only one person in it who tries to do the right thing. I’m aware of my impact, and strive to keep it as small as I can…and that goes a long way.

Well… this turned out to be a different kind of post than I first intended it to be. One never knows what one will write in the morning…

Back to the beginning…yes, Buckskin Wash was a breathtaking stop in the journey of life. If you plan to visit this, please don’t just glance take a picture use the toilet and leave. Please study it for a while, appreciate it, think about something other than your own life.

From here I drove to I70, singing along with my favorite songs on my MP3 player, wiggling the tires from side to side on the deserted road. Mitzi and I dancing together, feeling the joy of the open road, the joy of travel, of living, taking in the views, the cool air on my face.

This is the life.

Onward to yet another petroglyph…tomorrow.

Roxy ~ A Nomad for Nature

Feel free to comment, but please be kind; there is no room for hate in my life. Your comment may not appear immediately, so be patient.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.