Dear Friends,
The first time I saw a panther in the wild, I was about 6 or 7 years old, out on a trip with my dad in the mountains of Northern California. We were walking through the woods when something made me look up. A mountain lion crouched on a thick branch, muscles coiled, completely still. It stared right at us. For a long few seconds, time stood still. Then, with no sound at all, it leapt from the tree, landed, and vanished into the forest as if it had never been there.
That moment never left me. There’s something about a panther’s presence—the way it moves like a shadow, powerful and effortless, completely at home in its world. Years later, when I first came face to face with a Florida panther, that feeling came rushing back. Different landscape, different cat, but the same quiet force.
Most people will never see a Florida panther in the wild, but they are here—moving through the sawgrass and cypress swamps, slipping through the hammocks, unseen but always present. And this month, Florida Panther Awareness Month, is a good time to pause and think about these creatures—not just as symbols, but as real animals still walking our land.
I’ve spent years trying to capture that presence—not just their form, but the energy they carry. Right now, I’m working on a life-size walking panther sculpture at the foundry. There’s a different kind of weight in sculpting something life-sized. The movement has to be just right. That silent, deliberate step. The focus in the eyes. The tension in the shoulders. When I’m shaping clay, it’s almost like muscle memory—recalling the way that first panther moved when it launched itself from the tree.
That same motion runs through my painting, Walk Softly. It’s a scene I’ve imagined many times: a mother panther leading her cubs through the underbrush, moving with purpose, with certainty. The bold palette knife strokes give it movement, letting the brushwork carry the energy forward. It’s a moment frozen, but not still.
But it’s not just about movement—it’s about survival. In Handle with Care, I wanted to capture the most fragile moment in a panther’s life: a mother carrying her cub. It’s an act of strength and protection, but also of uncertainty. She moves forward, but where will she take them? Will they have the space they need to grow, to roam, to live the life nature intended?
The Florida panther has been walking this land longer than we have, but its survival isn’t guaranteed. In the 1970s, fewer than 30 were left. Now, thanks to decades of conservation efforts, the population has climbed to nearly 200. That’s something worth celebrating—but it’s not enough.
The biggest threat to the panther isn’t poaching or predators. It’s highways. Development. Habitat loss. These cats don’t recognize the lines we’ve drawn on maps. They follow the paths their ancestors walked, but now those paths are crisscrossed by roads, neighborhoods, and barriers they don’t understand. That’s why wildlife corridors matter. Â
Panthers need room to roam, and without connected stretches of habitat, they’re forced into dangerous crossings. The Florida Wildlife Corridor is helping to protect and restore 18 million acres of land, giving panthers and other wildlife the space they need to survive.
The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission continues to expand efforts in creating safer passage by building wildlife crossings—bridges and tunnels that allow animals to safely pass beneath busy roads. If we want these animals to keep walking, we have to leave them room to do it.
When I work, whether in bronze or oil, it’s not just about capturing an animal—it’s about telling its story. And the panther’s story isn’t finished yet.
The panther is still out there—moving quietly through what’s left of the wild. Whether it stays that way depends on how much of it we’re willing to leave untouched.
— Geoffrey