Who’s afraid of tree-huggers?

A tree is perhaps one of the first images that comes to mind when one thinks of an environmentalist. More specifically tree-hugging, tree-sitting, hippies that defend the earth by forming a loving circle around it, hand-in-hand. As is often the case, the origins of tree-hugging are darker; on the 12 September 1730, in the village of Khejarli in northwestern India, 363 Bishnoi people were massacred whilst trying to peacefully protest the logging of Khejri trees (Prosopis cineraria). Soldiers were sent to log the forest, as the Maharaja intended to have a palace built from the wood. [1] The story goes that a woman named Amrita Devi rushed to defend the forest, encouraging others to join her in embracing the trees; she cried out that she would rather die than allow the trees to be felled. She was beheaded, along with the villagers who joined her. State law was since put in place to protect the grove, and a monument has been erected to memorialise the martyrs whose lives were taken in the name of defending their native forest. [2]

Memorial to the martyrs of the Khejarli massacre, near Khejarli Village, Jodhpur, Rajasthan, India, 2021, courtesy of Kaushal Bishnoi on Wikimedia.

Amrita Devi’s self-sacrifice paved the way for future environmentalists. The 1970s Chipko (tree-hugging) movement, predominantly led by women, continued this legacy when persisting colonial legacies in India meant that local people were again being denied the right to manage their land, with exploitative commercial tree-felling taking precedence. [3] It began as a non-violent social and ecological movement that was carried, to protect local angu/ash trees (Fraxinus micrantha), forests, and ultimately their human rights. Although the Chipko movement originated as a ‘peasant movement in defence of rights in the forest’, its anti-colonial roots are often lost in Western environmental circles where tree-hugging is seen as a simple display of love for nature or a nature-connection activity. [4] This (although a radical act in our increasingly virtual world) fails to address the underlying cause of the disregard for our planet. As indigenous ecologist Robin Wall Kimmerer suggests, this loss of meaning can be attributed to the "ethic of reciprocity (being) cleared away along with the forests." 

Chipko Tree Huggers of the Himalayas, 1994, courtesy of Pamela Singh on SepiaEye.

It’s strange that ‘tree-hugger’ ever became a derogatory term; trees are so deeply embedded in human culture you surely don't have to be a barefoot, tree-hugging hippie to notice [5] From their appearance in ancient murals through to the countless contemporary arboreal art installations that continue to express our undying love for trees. [6]

Even conceptual art loves a tree; the perfect minimal object to project theory onto; the symbol of nature itself. A prime example is land artist Robert Smithson's 1969 'Mirror Displacement - Indoors’ otherwise known as ‘dead tree', exhibited at 'Prospect 69' at the Dusseldorf Kunsthalle. It exists in art historical records within a series of photographs: a large, approximately 20-foot-long tree, with its leafy branches and dirt-covered roots intact, lies on its side in a gallery space. It is spotlit and surrounded by mirrors. Lending perfectly to the anti-commercial nature of conceptual/land/minimal art, the tree’s value shifts from one form of commodity (as wood) to another (as art-piece). The value of the piece becomes amorphous, existing only as cultural capital and artistic credit. The mirrors, referenced in the title, encourage viewers to reconsider their own position and relation to the tree, the greater environment, and vice versa.

“It’s like (...) what is going on out there is a reflection. There is always a correspondence. (...) You’re always caught between two worlds, one that is and one that isn’t.” - Robert Smithson [7]

'Mirror Displacement - Indoors’, 1969, Robert Smithson at Dusseldorf Kunsthalle © Holt/Smithson Foundation, Licensed by Artists Rights Society, New York

At the time of its conception, ‘dead tree’ quite literally held up mirrors to art and the world, questioning their value, suggesting a constant flux between both worlds where each has a chance to be fiction or reality. [8] This stood in opposition to the highly articulated minimalist forms of the 60s, and overconsumption encouraged by pop art. Since the original, and four iterations later, trees in all their distillable forms are now hauled into gallery spaces year after year. Bearing in mind a few of our months are like a few minutes to a tree, the trees need us to be able to hold our attention on them for a bit longer. And how many times can we haul a dead tree into a gallery space before we admit nothing's changing? This is not to suggest that Smithson’s work lacks significance for contemporary eco-art. ‘Mirror displacement - indoors’ was destroyed after every version of its showing, following Smithson’s instruction, unfortunately it seems along with any inherent meaning in the work.

In Powell’s article investigating the ecological validity of several eco-artworks, she questions whether during an escalating climate crisis ‘exhibited trees, stripped from their own habitat, really have the impact that the artists and curators desired?’ [9] She references a 2021 artwork by Es Devlin ‘Forest for Change’ which filled the courtyard at Somerset House with an installation of 400 live trees. The piece was created with the aim of raising awareness of the UN Sustainable Development Goals, hoping to make them appear less ‘overwhelming’ to the onlooker once they’d made it through her ersatz forest. [10] It seems, to Powell, that the only transformation that could happen in such a place is the slow wilting of the trees.

‘Forest for Change’, Es Devlin at Somerset House, 2021, photograph courtesy of Kevin Meredith/Somerset House

Whilst I agree with her general point, I will argue that eco-art may not need to have ecological worth in order to be a catalyst for change; surely anything that helps us reframe our current predicament is inherently worth something. I think, really, the issue lies with the lack of critical thought behind the Devlin’s piece; it merely banks on an aesthetic. 

When Giuseppe Penone’s ‘Thoughts in the Roots’ opened at the Serpentine Gallery this year, I was excited. As expected, entering a succession of rooms filled with arboreal imagery, and a poetic touch, was delightful. ‘Book trees’ particularly stood out to me; the tall chunks of timber meticulously carved out to reveal the younger past-self of the tree it used to be.

Alberi Libro (Book trees), Giuseppe Penone, 2017 and Respirare l’ombra (To Breathe the Shadow), 2000, installation view. Photograph by me.

Since visiting, however, I’ve attempted to delve deeper into Penone’s method, politics, and frames of thought, only to find… not much at all really. Beyond the clean copy of the exhibition catalogue, Penone seems to avoid discussing for fear of what he considers ‘rhetoric’ - which appears to encompass any political or radical thought. He states:

‘To be interesting as a subject for art, you have to avoid rhetoric,’ he says. ‘When it becomes rhetoric, the content is useless.’ - Guiseppe Penone [11]

There is truth to Penone’s words; mindlessly churning out art-speak and buzzwords to gain social points for being a conscientious or radical artist can, and does, strip art and criticism of any soul or reason for engagement. But to avoid deeper criticism, to ignore the ‘mirror’ that Smithson held to the world - beyond its shiny appearance - seems superficial, especially given the bold aim of blurring divisions between nature and humans. Are we really so afraid of being labelled hairy-pitted, barefoot tree-huggers? In this image-concentrated world, aesthetics alone lack impact without the accompanying language that pushes thought. Without balance between form and substance, we’re missing the forest for the trees, and ‘Alberi Libro (Book Trees)’ becomes another instance of marveling at nature’s beauty and a display of the dominance of man.

People love trees, but it’s not a lack of love that prevents us from protecting them anyway; it’s a loss of meaning in an increasingly image-centric world. When we trace the deep, symbiotic relationship between trees and culture, the line between ‘nature’ and ‘culture’ blurs easily; trees are our culture. Architecture, furniture, sculptures, paintings, tools, folklore, and literature, trees have been transformed: felled, replanted, again and again, chipped, and milled into stories that sustain and shape human civilization. So when movements like Chipko are reduced to mere nature-connection, and eco-art simplifies the environment to an aesthetic, we miss the deeper cultural and ecological truths.

There is, in fact, no such thing as a ‘tree’. Don’t worry, I’m not about to go on a rant about how mountains are just giant tree stumps - (although some people really believe that). I’m not suggesting any strange conspiracy, but simply that the category ‘tree’ is a human construct - an arbitrary grouping of similar looking plants that aren’t as closely related as we think. Plant biologist Andrew Groover argued that “the categorization ‘tree’ is intuitive and practical but contrived,” suggesting we think of ‘tree’ as an action rather than a descriptive, a process of ‘tree-ing’ or ‘tree-ifying.’[12] In this view, a tree is a way of being, beyond its aesthetic form.

The form of any individual tree depends on its genetic code, which specifies its individual biological and growth characteristics. But trees are also shaped by their environment; climate, soil, water, and surrounding organisms. This interplay determines the tree’s specific shape and form. Recognizing this complexity might be the crucial element missing from art: to truly address the social, political, and ecological crises, art must confront the fact that even the simplest notions, like ‘tree’ are constructed in a way that both reflects and enforces these crises. Trees are grouped based on their shared form and structure because these traits are convenient for human exploitation - the lignin, bark, and trunks that can be carved into culture. As a result, we have lost the ability to see individual trees in their ecological context, let alone the forest as a whole.

Michael Craig-Martin’s ‘An Oak Tree’ came to existence in 1973 - the same year the Chipko movement began. Say what you like about it but it remains relevant today in its commentary on the essence of art, the power of the artist, and the suspension of disbelief required to experience an artwork. ‘An Oak Tree’ is a conceptual artwork, consisting of a simple glass of water that’s placed on a wall-mounted shelf and accompanied by a piece of text. The text is an interview with the artist, wherein he asserts that the glass of water is, in fact, an oak tree. Not just a symbol of an oak tree, or just named an oak tree. It has become an oak tree by the power of ‘transformation’. This transformation challenges the viewer to consider the nature of perception and the relationship between language and meaning. Language has the power to shape our understanding of reality. Craig-Martin also brings into question his own role as the artist, the shaper of our reality and the piece becomes almost like a trust-exercise. 

An Oak Tree, 1973 © 2025 Michael Craig-Martin

Trees are trees because we have been taught so; from childhood we learn that those big tall things with trunks and leaves are ‘trees’ and we never bother to learn their names or their explicit contributions to the ecosystems around us. What we do learn, vague things like ‘they make the air we breathe’ don’t even turn out to be ecologically valid. [13] The systems of art and ecology need us to keep questioning our perspectives and language, delving deeper to understand how we can rebuild a healthier culture of trees.

References 

[1] Environment & Society Portal. “The Bishnoi: Revisiting Religious Environmentalism and Traditional Forest and Wildlife Management in the Thar Desert,” January 8, 2025. http://environmentandsociety.org/arcadia/bishnoi-revisiting-religious-environmentalism-and-traditional-forest-and-wildlife-management.

[2] Salfen, Chris. “Remember the Original Tree Huggers.” Patagonia Stories, November 18, 2021. https://eu.patagonia.com/gb/en/stories/the-original-tree-huggers/story-71575.html?srsltid=AfmBOorF3Jqh_Nv85qIoLj0Q9ewoAOpA9H3ggRl95m-mVaj6KvBzs4Ru. 

[3] Badri, Adarsh. “Feeling for the Anthropocene: Affective Relations and Ecological Activism in the Global South.” International Affairs 100, no. 2 (February 5, 2024): 731-49. https://doi.org/10.1093/ia/iiae010. 

[4] Guha, Ramachandra. The Unquiet Woods: Ecological Change and Peasant Resistance in the Himalaya. University of California Press, 2000.

[5] Mitchell, Archie. “‘I Hate Tree Huggers’: How Starmer Apparently Exploded Over Labour’s Green Policy.” The Independent, July 10, 2023. https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/labour-green-climate-change-starmer-miliband-b2372012.html.

[6] Lloyd-Smith, Harriet. “Tree Art Is Putting Down Roots: Branching Out or Barking Fad?” Wallpaper, October 9, 2022. https://www.wallpaper.com/art/tree-art-installations. 

[7] StüCkelberger, Johannes. “Mirror Reflections: Robert Smithson’s Dialectical Concept of Space.” RACAR Revue D' Art Canadienne 31, no. 1–2 (May 25, 2020): 90–99. https://doi.org/10.7202/1069626ar. 

[8] ________ “Mirror Reflections: Robert Smithson’s Dialectical Concept of Space.” RACAR Revue D' Art Canadienne 31, no. 1–2 (May 25, 2020): 90–99. https://doi.org/10.7202/1069626ar. 

[9] Powell, Sukayna. “Is Eco Art Lazily Barking up the Wrong Trees?” ELEPHANT, September 13, 2021. https://elephant.art/is-eco-art-lazily-barking-up-the-wrong-trees-13072021/.

[10] Carlson, Cajsa, and Cajsa Carlson. “Es Devlin Designs Forest for Change at London Design Biennale as ‘a Place of Transformation.’” Dezeen, June 3, 2021. https://www.dezeen.com/2021/06/01/es-devlin-forest-for-change-london-design-biennale/. 

[11] Frieze. “Giuseppe Penone Merges the Wild With the Wrought,” September 17, 2025. https://www.frieze.com/article/giuseppe-penone-interview-2025.

[12] Winson, Adam. “There’s No Such Thing as a Tree.” AWA Trees, September 2, 2022. https://www.awatrees.com/2022/09/02/theres-no-such-thing-as-a-tree/.

[13] Ritchie, Hannah. Not The End of the World: How We Can Be the First Generation to Build a Sustainable Planet. Vintage Books, 2024.

Page 116 - “None of the world’s forests or vegetation give much to our oxygen supply.” “The amount of oxygen the Amazon consumes is almost exactly the same as the amount it produces.”