Nature’s Queer Blueprint: Art, Identity, and Ecological Kinship

sophia moffa

Keywords: queer ecology, nature, community practice, plants

Introduction

Queerness, both in human identity and the natural world, resists fixed definitions. It is fluid, adaptive, and expansive. Yet, mainstream society often constructs queerness as an anomaly, something outside the ‘natural order’, a perspective rooted in colonial and binary understandings of gender and sexuality. [1] In contrast, nature has thrived for millions of years due to its diversity and non-binary structures. Plants, fungi, and countless other organisms exist beyond rigid gendered categories, engaging in reproductive and survival strategies that challenge human-imposed norms. [2]

As a trans, non-binary, and autistic artist, I have often felt a sense of otherness, not just in mainstream society, but sometimes even within queer spaces. Art has always been my means of exploring things that logic sometimes cannot fully comprehend. In recent years, my comfort within quieter spaces and my growing interest in the plant world have led me to explore the natural world in my practice: a world that follows cyclical patterns of growth, decay, and renewal, moving in rhythm with seasonal shifts, ecological succession, and environmental fluctuations, a mostly immobile one that withstands constant environmental changes. [3] I have sought to re-connect with nature to find an alternative sense of belonging. Through my workshops with LGBTQ+ communities in Birmingham and Walsall, I have worked with participants to explore queerness in nature, using plants as both a metaphor and material for creation. This paper explores some of the approaches to ‘nature as queer’ and considers how reconnecting with nature through workshops can offer a powerful, non-binary perspective on identity and community while also offering ways for museums, galleries, and cultural events to work with queer audiences differently.

Nature as queer

The assumption that nature adheres to a strict male-female binary is a misconception rooted in Western scientific traditions, which have historically overlooked or misinterpreted biological diversity in sex and reproduction. In reality, many plant species defy binary classifications, exhibiting fluid, adaptive, and complex reproductive strategies. Most flowering plants produce ‘perfect flowers’, which contain both male and female reproductive organs, embodying a queerness that disrupts rigid categories of sex and reproduction. The beauty of nature lies in its diversity; the more diverse and fluid an ecosystem is, the more creatures can coexist through mutualism and symbiosis.

Beyond perfect flowers, the plant kingdom is full of species that resist rigid classification. Some plants, such as jack-in-the-pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum), switch between male and female reproductive structures based on environmental conditions. [4] Ferns and fungi reproduce without binary sexual reproduction, relying instead on spores and intricate genetic exchanges. [5] Aspen is a clonal plant, existing as vast interconnected networks rather than singular organisms which reproduce asexually and can therefore be seen as challenging normative notions of individuality and identity. [6] These examples illustrate that fluidity, adaptation, and multiplicity are not exceptions in nature but fundamental aspects of its evolutionary success, a strategy that has ensured survival for millions of years. This botanical multiplicity challenges human-imposed binaries and offers a metaphor for the LGBTQ+ community thriving within, rather than in opposition to, the natural world.

Of course, the use of the word ‘queer’ is a human construct through which we anthropomorphise plants, just as occurs in labelling pollen as ‘male’ and ovules as ‘female’. In this article, queerness refers both to a rejection of rigid binaries, particularly those imposed on bodies, identities, and relationships, and to a broader framework for understanding fluidity, adaptation, and interdependence in ecological systems. Queer ecology challenges the notion that nature is inherently heteronormative or structured around strict male-female reproductive roles. [7] Instead, it highlights how nature itself is full of diversity, fluidity, and complexity that resists simplistic classification. Beyond identity, queerness can be understood as a way of seeing and relating to the world, one that embraces multiplicity and nonconformity. [8]

Despite this inherent queerness in nature, dominant social narratives continue to frame queerness as ‘unnatural’ or even as a ‘crime against nature’. Such discourses not only reinforce exclusionary and harmful perceptions but also shape how queer individuals experience and relate to natural spaces, environmental language, and ecological issues. This tension is exacerbated by contemporary political and social landscapes that increasingly seek to marginalise queer identities. Anti-LGBTQ+ policies have risen sharply in recent years in several parts of the world, particularly targeting trans and non-binary individuals. These policies often restrict gender-affirming healthcare and limit discussions of LGBTQ+ identities in public education.

For many queer and neurodivergent individuals, this rigid societal structuring leads to a persistent sense of alienation. As the sociologist Sara Ahmed has argued, queerness is often a disorienting experience, moving through spaces that were never designed for us, navigating landscapes that do not accommodate fluidity. [9] Much of my life has been spent questioning my place in the world, feeling disconnected from human-made structures that demand coherence and conformity. Our cities are boxed into rigid, angular blocks, treating nature as an aesthetic embellishment rather than a member of the urban ecosystem. In search of belonging, I turned to the plants that survived and adapted alongside me, the green beings flourishing in the cracks of the city.

From manicured gardens to colonial-era street trees, from resilient urban weeds to guerrilla gardens reclaiming space in a grey urban environment, plants exist outside of human-imposed binaries, forming cooperative relationships that challenge hierarchical thinking. A single tree cannot create a forest or establish a stable microclimate; alone, it remains vulnerable to wind and weather. But when trees grow together, they form an ecosystem that moderates extremes, retains water, and generates humidity, creating a protective environment where all can thrive. [10] Similarly, queer and neurodivergent individuals find strength and resilience in collective spaces that embrace fluidity and interdependence. As Pinar Ateş Sinopoulos-Lloyd writes:

Though your body may appear constant, it is, like a river, always being (re)built from new inputs. So, the matter that’s around you matter. The human body is less a solid, bounded object and more a space through which external matter passes, settles, and merges. Humans aren’t separate from nature; this is true spatially as well as taxonomically: there is no real boundary between your body and what’s around it. [11]

Queer ecology, as a growing field, invites us to rethink not only our relationship with the environment but also our place within it. Within Britain, there are already projects exploring the queerness of plants. Starting close to home, the Birmingham based Craftspace, in partnership with Queering the Wye, created a craft project called How to Heal exploring queer ecology and affirmation in nature, working with queer artists, activists and young people in Herefordshire and focusing on viewing queer people as part of nature through fluidity and resilience. [12] In London, the small charity Queer Botany runs regular workshops, exhibitions, and events at Chelsea Physic Garden and Walthamstow Marshes, often collaborating with local art groups to highlight the fluidity and diversity of plant life. [13] Similarly, Kew Gardens curated an exhibition in 2023 titled Queer Nature, which investigated the diversity of genders and sexualities in the plant world. [14]

Beyond the UK, the Institute of Queer Ecology (IQECO), based in Spain but collaborating with organisations, artists, scientists, and the Queer community across the USA, is an ever-evolving collaborative organism that seeks to bring peripheral solutions to environmental degradation to the forefront of public consciousness. [15] IQECO’s projects are interdisciplinary but unified and grounded in the theoretical framework of queer ecology, an adaptive practice concerned with interconnectivity, intimacy, and multispecies relationality. The collective works to overturn destructive human-centric hierarchies by imagining an equitable, multispecies future.

Queer nature workshops

My workshops gently seek to cultivate the awareness embedded in queer ecology, helping participants reimagine themselves in relation to the more-than-human world and find kinship with plants that thrive outside the binary. Through community-based projects, I invite participants to view themselves as part of a broader, inherently queer ecological system. Whether painting leaf casts with LGBTQ+ pride flags at Walsall Pride or co-creating a mural of a flourishing garden, these projects offer spaces of reflection and reclamation. They remind us that, like perfect flowers, we resist rigid classification, thriving in our complexity and finding strength in interconnectedness.

Through these workshops, I aim to reconnect LGBTQ+ communities with the natural world, fostering a sense of belonging that transcends human-imposed binaries. The projects encourage participants to see themselves as integral to a broader ecological system, one that has always been inherently queer. The workshops create safe spaces for individuals, regardless of their experience with art, to engage with natural materials and begin to recognise that we are part of nature. These projects underscore the interconnectedness of queer identity and the natural world, challenging the boundaries between ‘natural’ and ‘cultural’. Art bridges these ideas, providing a collective, embodied exploration of identity and nature. What is at stake is not only redefining nature but also recognising who is allowed to inhabit these categories. By reclaiming the queerness of nature, we can dismantle exclusionary narratives and celebrate the fluidity, resilience, and interdependence that define both ecological systems and human communities.

I ran one workshop rooted in ideas from queer ecology at Walsall Pride, a relatively local event, offering accessible entry costs, and which remains family-friendly and community-oriented. At the event, we had a small but vibrant stall, supported by the New Art Gallery Walsall and Creative Health CIC, a West Midlands based community interest company that uses arts to improve mental health. The gallery had just launched its Here&Queer exhibition, which reinterpreted the gallery’s collection through a queer lens, created by members of the local community.

The Pride event took place in Walsall Arboretum, a beautiful space filled with a diverse range of plants and trees. Inspired by this setting, I designed a workshop where participants could create their own leaf cast, painting it in the colours of their chosen queer flag using leaves from the surrounding trees. Each participant selected a leaf they found appealing and painted the underside of the leaf where the veins are most tactile and raised, which ensures that you can take the best cast of the leaf. I used watercolours instead of plastic-based acrylics for a more sustainable approach. Watercolours also offer less control, allowing the paint to flow naturally across the leaf’s surface, adding an organic element to the process; I frame this as an added layer of collaboration, where the water and the paint have some creative control of their own.

While the leaves were being painted, we mixed Herculite, a stronger form of plaster. This was then carefully poured over the painted side of the leaf, ensuring the material filled every detail. A small piece of string was embedded into the plaster, allowing the cast to be hung once dry. After about ten minutes, the leaf was peeled away, leaving behind a delicate yet durable impression of the leaf and the colours chosen that flowed into the venation of the leaf cast. Lots of leaves are coated in cutin, a natural waxy layer that makes them water-repellent. This meant they could be reused multiple times, as the plaster didn’t adhere to them. The paint transferred from the leaf to the Herculite, preserving the vibrant flag colours in the final cast. This quick and engaging activity served as a reminder that the space hosting the Pride event was just as queer as the people celebrating within it. In fig.2, the young participants chose the hazel leaf, a tree that produces unisexual flowers, with male and female flowers found on the same tree but in separate clusters. These flowers rely on the wind for pollination, creating a natural process that transcends rigid categorisation. This subtle blending of separate elements working together, mirrors the fluidity and interconnectedness found in queer identities, quietly defying traditional boundaries.

For another workshop at Birmingham Pride, I collaborated with Birmingham Mind, an organisation dedicated to mental health support, which had a stall at the event. Together, we decided to create a mural titled Our Queer Garden, depicting a vibrant array of plants and animals that embody fluidity and diversity. The mural was painted collaboratively during the Birmingham Pride event and across several sessions of Café Queer, a welcoming support and social group run by Birmingham Mind for individuals experiencing depression or other mental health challenges. Once completed, the mural found a permanent home at one of Mind’s hubs in Birmingham, serving as a lasting symbol of community collaboration.

The outline of the mural was designed by me, and through discussions with Bill Houseago, the Community Development Worker (CDW) for the LGBT branch of MIND, we featured a flourishing garden of creatures. A rhino was placed at the heart of the design, serving as a playful nod to the iconic sparkly rhinoceros sculpture that defines and delineates Birmingham’s Gay Village. This 2012 landmark is a powerful symbol, drawing inspiration from the 1974 use of the rhinoceros by Boston Gay Rights activists. They chose this animal for its dual nature: ‘while sometimes misunderstood, it is docile and intelligent, but when angered, it fights ferociously’. [16] Artists Robbie Coleman, Vikki Litton, and Emma Butler responded to the competition brief, incorporating both the iconography of the gay rights movement and Birmingham’s long and illustrious history of jewellery making.

The mural was begun during the Pride event, where attendees had the opportunity to engage directly with the artwork. With the outlines of the creatures already defined, they could paint the sections of the mural they liked most or even add their own animals if they wished. Later, the mural was completed and fully coloured in its current form by members of Café Queer. This mural became a true community effort, brought to life not only by LGBTQIA+ individuals at Pride but also by support groups and organisations like the LGBT Centre and Birmingham Mind’s LGBTQIA+ community development workers. This is reflected in the letters CDW (standing for Community Development Worker) written on the rhino’s saddle. These spaces offer vital opportunities for connection, self-expression, and creativity, creating a sense of belonging and safety for all who participate.

My latest event had a cozier feel, supported by Birmingham Mind for the Trans Tearoom, a local organisation dedicated to creating safe spaces for gender-diverse, non-binary, and trans people across the West Midlands. The workshop took place in the welcoming space of the Trans Tearoom venue, a colourful, vibrant room filled with drawings, information, and inspiring, heartfelt notes left by members on the walls. In this space, we were able to explore existing as nature and within it, focusing particularly on how it makes us feel.

The workshop was set around a large table, where anyone attending the event at the Trans Tearoom could choose to participate or simply sit and watch. I laid out all the materials and made it clear that this workshop was less about creating finished art and more about exploring the fun, creative, and experimental side of the artistic process, where there’s no “correct” outcome or technique. Instead, the focus was on exploring creatively with the materials and identifying what questions, or feelings, arise from that. The setup allowed people to step in and out of the workshop as they wished, as the artwork itself served as a catalyst for sharing, feeling, or expressing differently. For this workshop, I wanted to share our commonalities with plants. I began the session by reflecting on the queerness of plants, explaining how every garden, park, and green space we pass through is surrounded by our ‘friends’.

As a neurodiverse person, I find it easier to talk while doing something rather than just speaking, so my workshops are designed with this in mind. I’ve found that this approach works well for many people: sharing something personal in a group can feel quite vulnerable, but when people’s attention is also on a type of movement or activity, it allows us to discuss and reflect differently. One participant shared, ‘I've always felt more at peace in green spaces, like the world slows down and lets me breathe’. This led us to discuss how nature can provide a safe space for escape, a meeting place, and a source of solace. Another person reflected on the joy of caring for their plants. These conversations revealed the deep connection many people feel with nature, especially in the act of planting, growing, and experiencing the earth waking up in spring.

The discussion also offered a new angle of connection, not solely focused on our shared queerness, but also on our common love for aspects of the plant world. These group workshops also give people a chance to share different skills and receive compliments on how something as simple as pressing down a leaf, filled with colours they thought would match best, can feel satisfying and even beautiful. Being in, and reflecting on, green spaces offers not just a sense of connection with ourselves and each other, but also tangible benefits for mental health. The calming and grounding effect of being in nature allows us to let go of stress and anxiety. As one participant shared, ‘Being outside, surrounded by trees, lifts the weight off my shoulders’. Green spaces can boost the immune system, lower stress levels, and foster a sense of well-being, making them essential spaces for healing and renewal.

Conclusion

Through these artistic explorations, I have come to understand queerness not as an anomaly, but as a deeply natural phenomenon. The lessons that nature offers us, on fluidity, quiet resilience, and interdependence, can help us forge new understandings of identity and belonging. By engaging with plants as both metaphor and collaborator, we can reshape how we see ourselves and each other, while challenging hegemonic structures that marginalise and alienate. In doing so, we create spaces where all forms of life, human and non-human, can flourish. These workshops also give voice to a different kind of artist and art, offering a form of art that isn’t confined to spotless galleries but is created with the community, for the community. This shift moves art away from elitism, creating accessible spaces where everyone can participate.

Working with communities can be messy and complex for institutions, requiring careful consideration of accessibility and dialogue; but the result is far richer for it. It fosters spaces where participants don’t have to justify their existence, offering true safety and belonging. Engaging with the community is also a way of reaching out - saying that an institution doesn’t only function within its four walls, waiting for people to come in - but also doing the work to learn how to embrace and speak to new communities. As these spaces and ways of connecting with each other continue to evolve, I believe we can always find solace in a world that has always existed beyond the binary, beyond rigid norms and lines. We are not evolving in opposition to difference, but because of it. Whoever we are and however we need to define ourselves in relation to society, we can care for nature and heal with it, knowing that its difference is both necessary and right.

sophia moffa is an artist whose practice explores social constructs through the fluidity of the natural world, using sustainable materials to question societal frameworks. They founded the Travellers’ Tree CIC in 2021, which supports and co-creates art with asylum seekers to reshape migration narratives and foster connection.

Notes

[1] Catriona Sandilands, ‘Desiring nature, queering ethics’, Environmental Ethics, 23.2 (2001), pp.169–188.

[2] Joan Roughgarden, Evolution's Rainbow: Diversity, Gender, and Sexuality in Nature and People (Berkeley CA, 2004).

[3] Durgesh Kumar Tripathi, Vijay Pratap Singh, Devendra Kumar Chauhan, Shivesh Sharma, Sheo Mohan Prasad, Nawal Kishore Dubey, and Naleeni Ramawat, Plant Life Under Changing Environment: Responses and Management (Oxford, 2020).

[4] Christopher G. Eckert and Spencer C.H. Barrett, ‘Post-pollination mechanisms and the maintenance of outcrossing in self-compatible, clonal plants’, Heredity 72.5 (1994), pp.396–411.

[5] John R. Pannell, ‘Plant sex determination’, New Phytologist 216.3 (2017), pp.546–556.

[6] Anthony Trewavas, Plant behaviour and intelligence (Oxford, 2004).

[7] Catriona Mortimer-Sandilands and Bruce Erickson, eds. Queer Ecologies: Sex, Nature, Politics, and Desire (Bloomington IN, 2010).

[8] Pinar Ateş Sinopoulos-Lloyd, ‘When seeing the world as alive is called madness’ in Nature is a Human Right, ed. Ellen Miles (London, 2022), pp.68-76.

[9] Sara Ahmed Queer Phenomenology: Orientations, Objects, Others (Durham NC, 2006), pp.88-100.

[10] Peter Wohlleben, The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate – Discoveries From a Secret World (Vancouver, 2016), p.20.

[11] Sinopoulos-Lloyd (2022), p.22.

[12] Anon., ‘How To Heal: A creative eco resource from a queer perspective’, Craftspace [accessed 31 March 2025].

[13] Anon., ‘Queer Botany: An ecocritical project that connects queerness and nature’, Queer Botany [accessed 31 March 2025].

[14] Eddie Johnston, ‘Celebrating Queer Nature’, Kew Gardens [accessed 31 March 2025].

[15] Lee Pivnik and Nicolas Baird, ‘About’, The Institute of Queer Ecology [accessed 31 March 2025].

[16] Anon., ‘Heart of the Rhino’, Birmingham LGBT [accessed 31 March 2025].