Robert Redford

Modeling a life for loving, protecting Earth

BY JOAN CONROW

It was winter, circa 1980, when Robert Redford sat down next to me on the bench in a Vail, Colorado, ski shop to be fitted for rental boots and skis. By then, Redford was an international celebrity, his rugged features, windswept hair, and piercing blue eyes already legendary. My own eyes were averted after that first close-up look at a bona fide movie star, though my ears followed his easy banter with the excited salesmen. Relaxed, casual, low-key, down to earth, Redford was simply one of the boys, one of the crowd, one of us. Until a woman approached and thrust a pen and sheet of paper in his face. “Can I have your autograph?” He sized her up silently and returned his attention to his boots. “I don’t do that,” he replied quietly, head down. His comment wasn’t arrogant, or dismissive, or even annoyed. It was humble, like he couldn’t fathom why he should be singled out for such a request. Redford, who died at the age of 89 on September 16, 2025, at his home at Sundance in Provo Canyon, Utah, deftly mastered the balancing act of superstar and regular guy. Perhaps that’s because he was a son of the West—born and raised in Santa Monica, California—and imbued from birth with its egalitarian ways and informal friendliness. 

Redford had a longstanding and deep love for the Southwest, especially New Mexico, which began as a young boy while taking summer vacations with his parents. In the forward to The Rio Grande: An Eagle’s View, Redford recounted his first childhood sighting of the Rio Grande flowing through “a surprisingly wide, green valley backed by sandy mesas and imposing mountains, with summer thunderheads in skies like I’d never seen.” He was hooked on the Land of Enchantment.

A decade later, another road trip took him back to the Southwest, where he came to understand the value of water—especially rivers—to the landscape and its inhabitants. Upon visiting Native American communities, he wrote, “I realized I was among people who regarded the Rio Grande as sacred and who considered any deliberate defiling of a river a sacrilege.”

Redford’s time with Native Americans in New Mexico and Utah had a profound effect on his worldview. As he told Orion in an interview shortly before his death, “I developed a respect for their deep spiritual and cultural connection to the land; they are part of the land. They understand if we care for and respect nature, the land will support us, too.”

His trademark activism and environmentalism took root in those early visits to the Southwest and went on to define his work, philanthropy, and stewardship, as well as his legacy. Many of those efforts were directed at New Mexico, a place he considered home. “I have a great love for this state,” he said in a 2010 interview. “It has a soul that I connect to.”

Redford was a true friend to New Mexico, which he expressed in numerous ways. He was a strong supporter of the state’s film industry, starting in 1986 with The Milagro Beanfield War, which he directed in Truchas while living in Tesuque—years before New Mexico’s film incentives helped transform the state into one of the country’s leading production hubs. The film reflected his political and environmental views, telling the story of farmers rising up against developers to protect water and their way of life.

By then Redford had already founded the Sundance Institute, a nonprofit guided by the vision that “a story driven by an individual, authentic voice can awaken new ideas that have the power to delight and entertain, push creative boundaries, spark new levels of empathy and understanding, and even lead to social change.” Milagro reflected those principles, as did The Solar Film, a prescient 1979 short movie he co-financed to spread the word about reducing dependence on fossil fuels by embracing solar energy.

Redford went on to launch a 2010 workshop in Española that trained Hispanic and Native American filmmakers and later advocated for New Mexico’s film tax credit, touting the state’s beauty and rich culture to others in his industry. His final project in the state was serving as executive producer of Dark Winds, the acclaimed series based on Tony Hillerman’s novels and deeply rooted in Navajo culture and the landscapes of Northern New Mexico. Many of its scenes were filmed among the dramatic landscapes of Ghost Ranch.

It was through his environmental advocacy, however, that Redford made his greatest contribution to the land and people he loved. “The environment—the air, water, and land—needed protection,” he told Orion. “It felt to me that nature was not valued or protected.”. 

Robert Redford poses with some cast members from The Milagro Beanfield War.

Redford sought to use the most powerful tools he had—his celebrity and filmmaking skills—to raise awareness and drive conservation. As his son, Jamie, recounted, “I heard my dad say many times, ‘Art and nature combined makes the world a better place.’”

Though he later acknowledged that he paid a professional and personal price for his activism—in 1979, Utahans burned him in effigy for derailing a power plant in the southern part of the state—Redford never hesitated to speak up. He penned opinion pieces for the Santa Fe New Mexican that opposed a 33-mile electric transmission line on acreage managed by the federal Bureau of Land Management, called for protecting Chaco Canyon and other sacred sites, and argued against the 1,110-acre Cow Creek project in rural San Miguel County due to its likely adverse impact on an important watershed and shallow aquifer. 

He also teamed up with the late Gov. Bill Richardson to reject President George Bush’s policies, asserting in a 2004 interview that “they seem to almost enjoy dismantling the environment. The future of this country is going to be coming from the bottom up because it’s sure not coming from the top down until this administration is removed.” Richardson and Redford later started the Foundation to Protect New Mexico Wildlife, aiming to protect wild horses and the state’s diverse wildlife.

Redford was a passionate advocate for wild mustangs, which he viewed as “really symbolic of the American West.” He was an early supporter and board member of Return to Freedom, which runs a California sanctuary for about 500 wild horses and 50 burros, and worked to raise public awareness about the capture and slaughter of these animals.
To keep the spotlight on the horses’ plight, Redford used his Hollywood prowess to produce The Mustang, a 2019 film about a convict participating in a program to train wild horses, and a 2020 documentary, The Mustangs: America’s Wild Horses, that outlined how different groups were helping these animals.

In addition to working in the state, Redford maintained deep personal ties to Santa Fe, where he lived for many years on a 250-acre ranch with his second wife, Sibylle Szaggars Redford, a multimedia artist who still maintains a gallery of her work in town. 

But he never lost interest in Utah, where he used conservation easements to preserve over 1,200 acres in the North Fork Canyon Area and some 70 percent of the 3,800-acre Sundance Ranch near Provo. He was also reportedly instrumental in securing conservation easements that protect in perpetuity over 2,800 acres northwest of Santa Fe near Jemez and the Valle Caldera Preserve.

Redford recognized that wild lands, particularly in the West, were fast disappearing, and that protecting them from development was the best way to preserve wildlife, cultural sites, watersheds, and scenic landscapes. He understood the urgency of that effort and was an early and unwavering advocate for the environment.

“This is our only planet, our only life source,” he says in a video outlining the efforts of the Redford Center. “This may be our last chance. The most sacred thing we ever had was choice. And that’s where it all begins.”

Throughout his life, Redford made choices that reflected his values, integrity, and deep love for the lands and people of the Southwest. His passing serves as reminder that our actions—and most importantly, our choices—can make a real difference in protecting the past and shaping the future. 

From the Spring 2026 issue