Listen to me carefully, you bunch of snobs. If you haven’t yet gazed into the eyes of one of Yuichi Hirako’s tree-men, you haven’t seen anything of contemporary Japanese art. This isn’t just an artist who paints trees on human bodies to look pretty in our bourgeois living rooms. No. Behind this imagery, which might seem naive at first glance, lies a deep reflection on our relationship with nature, on the toxic anthropocentrism that defines our era, and on the beauty of a symbiotic dialogue with our environment.
Hirako, born in 1982 in Okayama Prefecture, Japan, in this mountainous region where lush nature imposes itself in every corner, is no coincidence. His sensitivity to the coexistence between humans and nature takes root in his childhood spent collecting insects and fishing alone, far from the social interactions that made him uncomfortable. It was during his studies at Wimbledon College of Art in London that his artistic vision crystallized, confronted with the striking contrast between the wild nature of his childhood and the carefully controlled urban green spaces of the British metropolis.
What strikes first in his work is this recurring figure of the “tree-man”, this hybrid character with a human body and a conifer head adorned with deer antlers. But let us not be mistaken. This is not a simple surrealist fantasy. Through this character, Hirako offers us a distorted mirror of our own relationship with the environment. Both a self-portrait of the artist and a universal portrait of anyone who has a relationship with nature, this figure becomes the vehicle for a fundamental questioning: are we really separate from what we call “nature”?
The landscapes he depicts are of a troubling beauty, oscillating between the familiar and the strange. In his canvases such as “Lost in Thought” or “Green Master”, the artist transports us to a universe where the boundaries between interior and exterior, between culture and nature gradually fade. Indoor plants coexist with wild trees, manufactured objects blend with natural elements in a visual harmony that questions our mental categories. Hirako’s technical virtuosity is manifested in his ability to merge these seemingly opposite worlds without ever falling into didacticism or excessive simplification.
The philosophy of deep ecology underpins his entire artistic approach. For those who are still unaware, this conceptual perspective developed notably by the Norwegian philosopher Arne Næss offers a holistic vision where humanity is only a part of an interconnected global ecosystem [1]. Hirako transposes this vision into his art by inviting us to consider nature not as a resource to be exploited or a backdrop to be admired, but as an equal partner in a relationship of coexistence. He intentionally blurs the boundaries between the natural and the artificial to make us aware of the arbitrariness of this distinction.
The work “Pressed Flower 03” (2021) perfectly illustrates Hirako’s ability to create a meditative space where the human-tree figure sits in the lotus position on a fallen tree trunk, surrounded by flora in luminous shades of peach and blue. This monumental canvas (249 x 333 cm) is not without evoking traditional representations of the Buddha, but reinterpreted through the prism of Shinto animism and contemporary ecological concerns. The artist offers us an alternative vision of spirituality, anchored not in the transcendence of nature, but in total immersion in it.
What distinguishes Hirako from so many other ecological artists is his refusal of miserabilism and catastrophism. He does not seek to guilt-trip us or scare us with images of environmental apocalypse. On the contrary, he invites us to rediscover a more balanced relationship with our environment through a seductive and sometimes even playful aesthetic. His works are inhabited by a subtle joy that contrasts with the seriousness of his subject matter. This tension between formal lightness and the gravity of the content creates a singular aesthetic experience that touches us far beyond the intellect.
The influence of Japanese folklore, particularly the legend of the kodama (spirits that inhabit centuries-old trees), deeply permeates Hirako’s work. As the artist himself points out: “I believe it is important to think about what we should aim for when we put ourselves in the place of plants and nature. Both points of view, ours and that of the other side, are correct” [2]. This statement reveals a sensitivity that goes beyond simple anthropomorphism to embrace a form of perspectivism where the worldview of plants is considered as valid as that of humans.
The diversity of media used by Hirako, painting, sculpture, installation, sound performance, testifies to his desire to create an immersive experience that engages all our senses. His monumental wooden sculptures, such as the “Yggdrasill” series, refer to the cosmic tree of Norse mythology, creating an unexpected bridge between Eastern and Western traditions. By naming his works after this mythical tree that, in Norse cosmology, connects all worlds, Hirako underscores the universality of his approach and his ambition to transcend cultural particularisms.
Unlike so many contemporary artists who succumb to the temptation of the spectacular, Hirako develops a body of work that is appreciated over time, that gradually reveals itself to the attentive viewer. His detail-rich compositions invite active contemplation, a visual exploration that reveals layer after layer the complexity of his thought. In “Gift 15” (2021), the tree-man is framed in close-up against a wall filled with images, his leafy head blooming with various flowers. This work can be read as a metaphor for artistic creativity itself, springing from a fertile dialogue between culture and nature.
The autobiographical dimension of his work is particularly evident in the indoor scenes, such as in the “Lost in Thought” series, where the tree-man is depicted in domestic spaces cluttered with significant objects, books, musical instruments, potted plants. These works can be interpreted as allegories of the condition of the contemporary artist, seeking to maintain an authentic link with nature while being immersed in a world saturated with culture and technology. Hirako does not propose a romantic escape to an idealized nature, but a constant negotiation between these two poles of our existence.
Contemporary Japanese art has often been reduced, in the Western gaze, to a few easy clichés: kawaii culture, references to manga and anime, or the minimalist aesthetics of wabi-sabi. Hirako escapes these simplistic categories by developing a visual language that, while rooted in Japanese culture, freely dialogues with the history of Western art. His pictorial compositions sometimes recall the Flemish still lifes of the 17th century, but transformed by a contemporary sensibility and a vibrant chromatic palette that evokes the Fauves more than the Japanese tradition.
The temporal dimension occupies a central place in Hirako’s work. In a culture obsessed with the instantaneous and the disposable, he reminds us of the long temporality of trees, their millennial patience, their rootedness in a soil that bears the traces of past generations. As art historian Simon Schama writes in his work “Landscape and Memory”, “before being a rest for the senses, the landscape is a construction of the mind. Its decor is built as much from the strata of memory as from those of rocks” [3]. Hirako seems to have integrated this reflection by creating works that simultaneously evoke the geological time of natural formations and the cultural time of artistic references.
It is tempting to see in Hirako’s work a form of critique of capitalism and its instrumental relationship with nature. His tree-men, neither fully human nor fully vegetal, can be interpreted as figures of resistance to the logic of exploitation that reduces nature to a mere resource. But this political reading, while relevant, does not do justice to the complexity of his approach. More than a frontal denunciation, his work proposes an alternative vision, a concrete utopia where humans and non-humans would coexist in mutual respect.
The poetic dimension of Hirako’s work should not be underestimated. In an art world often dominated by postmodern cynicism and irony, he dares to affirm a refreshing sincerity. His faith in the transformative power of art is not naive but anchored in a deep understanding of contemporary issues. As art critic Nicolas Bourriaud pointed out, “art is a state of encounter” [4]. Hirako’s creations perfectly embody this definition by facilitating an unprecedented encounter between the human and the non-human, between the viewer and alternative modes of existence.
What makes Yuichi Hirako’s work so powerful is its ability to reconcile apparent opposites: tradition and innovation, East and West, nature and culture, seriousness and playfulness. In an increasingly polarized world, his art reminds us of the beauty of intermediate zones, hybrid spaces where certainties waver to give way to wonder and questioning. If art still has a role to play in our societies, it is surely this: to help us imagine other possible worlds, other ways of inhabiting the Earth.
The next time you come across a tree in the street, take the time to stop and really look at it. These silent beings can reflect our own gaze, in the image of the enigmatic figures in Hirako’s paintings. In this silent exchange could lie the beginning of a renewed ecological consciousness, far from moralizing discourses and guilt-inducing injunctions. Hirako’s art whispers to us that our salvation will not come from an even more radical separation from nature, but from a conscious immersion in it, from a recognition of our fundamental interdependence with all living beings.
I’ll leave you to ponder that.
- Næss, Arne. “The Shallow and the Deep, Long-Range Ecology Movement: A Summary”, Inquiry, vol. 16, 1973.
- Hirako, Yuichi. Interview with ArtReview Asia, October 2021.
- Schama, Simon. Landscape and Memory, translated from English by Josée Kamoun, Éditions du Seuil, 1999.
- Bourriaud, Nicolas. Relational Aesthetics, Les presses du réel, 1998.
