I came in expecting grizzly bear paintings and bison sculptures. And yes, I found them — but I also encountered far more. The National Museum of Wildlife Art in Jackson, Wyoming, isn’t just about grand western art. It’s a place that asks questions and provokes dialogue — about how we think about wildlife, how we treat it, and how we portray it.

The curators of the National Museum of Wildlife Art intentionally invite inquiry. They provide conversation cards at the start — questions include “If you were reorganizing this gallery, what changes would you make? Why?” and “What is its title? If you could give this work a new title, what would you name it? Why?” They’ve also included “ponder” icons on a number of the museum labels. So you know you’re here for more than the pretty pictures.

To pursue this theme, I’m not going to take you room by room. Instead, I want to explore the questions this museum asks us to consider. For the practical side — including whether the National Museum of Wildlife Art is worth it — I’ve written a companion post.

How Do We See Animals?

How can you not love that tiger, somehow majestic and sorrowful at the same time? But if you give it a good look, you have to wonder if it’s being held captive or if it’s still a terrifying predator. That leads, in turn, to some fundamental questions. Should we love animals, or should we fear them? Do we have a duty toward their care, or do we have an imperative to hunt them? Every piece in the museum invites us to ask these questions.

Many of the painters of the American West in this museum hunted by day and painted by night.

It was the norm, for a time, to view animals both reverently and hungrily. But that hasn’t always been the case. Wildlife has been used symbolically, to represent earthly peace and harmony, with a gentled lion often indicating God’s kingdom on earth.

How we see wildlife also has deep cultural roots. Animals have long been significant players in legends, stories, and religions. As you look around the world, you find different worldviews shaped by animals and what they mean to us.

Take the humble roadrunner. If I say that word, your mind may immediately jump to the clever outwitter of Warner Bros. cartoons. But for members of some Southeastern tribes in the United States, the roadrunner is a medicine bird that can ward off evil spirits, a guardian and a signifier of good fortune.

Tiger, moose, roadrunner, and creatures of the Peaceable Kingdom. What do you see in each one? Predator, friend, protector? Or something else entirely? I sometimes arrive at multiple answers in each piece. And then I find myself looking at appearances — at each artist’s style, setting, and interpretation. That shift opens up a whole new set of questions about how artists decide to capture wildlife.

How Do Artists Choose to Portray Wildlife?

One of the museum’s conversation cards invites you to look closely at a painting. Then it asks, “Can you see the brushstrokes? How does the composition lead your eye around the piece? (Where do you look first? Next?) Why do you think the artist made these decisions?” I love these questions, because they make you slow down and consider artistic choices. For example, you could depict an owl this way …

… or this way.

Do owls truly look like either of those renderings? Strictly speaking, no. But we know those are owls nonetheless — one art deco, and one contemporary, but both recognizable. Animals don’t need to look real, down to the last brushstroke on the last forelock (though many wildlife painters have opted for that approach).

Beyond style, I’m also interested in placement. Where do artists situate their subjects — somewhere imagined, or out in the wild? When artists began observing and painting animals in their native habitats in the nineteenth century, notions of wildlife started to shift. With this came changes in ideas about what “wilderness” might mean, and whether it merits protection.

Can a Work of Art Help Save a Species?

The National Museum of Wildlife Art explicitly asks this question in multiple places — and it answers it with a resounding “yes.” For example, the curators note that Thomas Moran and John James Audubon influenced the creation of Grand Teton National Park and the Audubon Society respectively.

That said, the museum recognizes that there’s still a great amount of work to be done in the field of wildlife protection. One entire gallery “features artwork depicting animals that have either benefited from or are in need of conservation.” They offer this painting, for example, to draw our attention to the fact that while overall antelope populations in the American West have been on the rise, three subspecies remain endangered today.

Do works of art still have the power to change how we treat the wilderness, especially in an age of digital distraction? The museum does not answer this question. But it seems hopeful that the more we stop to observe animals — both in art and in the wild — the more likely we are to feel connections and take action.

How Do We Categorize Animals?

We have always felt our connections to animals through organizational systems. Is that creature dangerous or harmless? Can I eat it? We need to know certain basic facts.

There’s also a certain delight in organizing animals: the intellectual and scientific satisfaction of understanding individual species and their relationships to others. I enjoy being able to say, “that’s an elk,” and knowing as I do so that it’s not a mule deer or a grizzly bear. But with definitions come risks, especially given how arbitrary our classifications can be.

So how does this museum organize its animals? First, there’s a heavy emphasis on categorizing them by historical era — European Roots, New Frontiers, Modern Movements. Within that framework, you’ll find areas dedicated to particular artists. For example, Carl Rungius holds pride of place, since the museum boasts the largest collection of his paintings in the United States.

Geography is the other dominant lens. Most of the works depict the United States, especially the western third of the country. This makes sense, given that this institution started its life as the Wildlife of the American West Art Museum. Conscious of its history, the museum commissioned Bob Kuhn to paint an African Suite to broaden their collection in the late 1900s.

Closing Reflections on the National Museum of Wildlife Art in Jackson

This may be my favorite of the museum’s conversation cards: “Have your group look at a work for one full minute without talking about it at all! Take in all the details. Let your imaginations wander. Then, discuss the piece together: What did you notice? Anything surprising? Do you have questions about it? Does something strike you as special or meaningful?”

This museum is all about questions. It pushes your curiosity — about animals, about artists, about ethics. And while many museums engage in those processes, few do it so explicitly or so well.

Brief Visit Tips for the National Museum of Wildlife Art in Jackson

• Plan to stay for 2-3 hours.
• Take the sculpture trail outside.
• Enjoy the cafe.
• Pick up a set of conversation cards before you start. There are sets for kids, too!

Still deciding whether this museum belongs in your Jackson itinerary? I explore that question in detail here.