Luke Adam Hawker: Nature has the potential to inspire a new type of faith

Artist and illustrator Luke Adam Hawker is known for his finely detailed pen drawings that capture the shape of our lives, from urban buildings to ancient trees. Trained in interior architecture and design, he began by sketching cityscapes, but found himself increasingly drawn to nature and the ways we interact with it.

His long-running project The Great Trees of London maps a living history of the capital through its most storied trees, while works like Out of Place bring those same forms into the heart of the city. Whether drawing on street corners or running workshops in woodlands, Hawker invites people to slow down and re-examine what surrounds them. In this conversation, he reflects on the rituals of drawing, the role of nature as a kind of modern-day faith, and why a six-hundred-year-old sweet chestnut still stops him in his tracks.

I’ve tried to track when my creativity started intersecting with nature and the natural environment. If I had to pinpoint a moment or a project that set me on that path, I’d say it was The Great Trees of London.

I grew up in suburbia, in a little town called Rayleigh in Essex – your standard place, about 40,000 people. But even there, among all the houses and roads, there were these patches of woodland. I would spend all my time in them building dens. I just loved it. I loved being outdoors. I loved trees. I didn’t understand why – as kids, you don’t question things much. That’s the beauty of it.

At the same time, I had this fascination with drawing, which eventually led me down the design route and into architecture. I graduated with a degree in Interior Architecture and Design, moved to London and got a job. Suddenly, I found myself in this overwhelming city.

Somewhere along the line, my love of drawing and my appreciation of architecture started to shift. Drawing became a way of connecting not just with buildings, but with nature. That shift started with The Great Trees of London, which is based on a list of trees compiled about ten years after the Great Storm – the one where we lost so many major trees. There are 61 trees on that list. I set out to draw them all. It’s still a work in progress, but I filled my first sketchbook with the first 20, and that became a full artwork.

Out of Place, Piccadilly. Luke Adam Hawker.

But it wasn’t just about drawing them. The project made me research their histories too. I started to see how integral these trees were to the societies around them at the time. And I also began to realise how disconnected we’ve become, like trees aren’t seen as part of our living history anymore. That sense of detachment struck me.

Through the simple act of drawing a tree, I became hooked. And over time I’ve learned that drawing is really about connection. When I go around sketching these trees – which feel like the central characters in the story of nature – I start to understand what they represent; what they can teach us.

That obsession has grown to the point where my focus has shifted completely, from man-made architecture to what you might call nature’s architecture. Trees. The wonder of them. And from there, you start to realise that trees are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what nature really is.

You and I might talk easily about a connection with nature and wildlife, but I think a lot of people struggle with that these days. For me, and maybe for you too, it feels ingrained. It’s just natural. But for others, that connection isn’t there and I’ve thought a lot about why that might be.

I think the main issue is exposure. There’s a concept that the Woodland Trust has been highlighting – they call it “tree equity” – which is basically about people’s access to woodlands. You and I both walk in woodlands, and we’ve both found a connection there. That’s not a coincidence. But you look at areas where people don’t have access, and the disconnect is clear – from nature, from trees, from that sense of wonder. It’s not that a connection with nature has to be taught. It just needs the chance to happen. But that chance is becoming rarer.

I think there’s a real similarity between art and nature in this sense. If people don’t have access or exposure to either, they don’t know how it could make them feel. They don’t know what it might lead to or how it could impact their lives.

Luke drawing in Richmond Park. Credit: Alex Leggatt

What I try to do, in my own way, is to share my interest in trees. And I try to do it with specificity – to show the detail, the feeling. There’s one particular tree I feel a very strong connection to. I run past it all the time – an incredible 600-year-old sweet chestnut. I’ll stop and take a knee by it and take ten deep breaths. Not as a prayer or anything like that, it’s just a moment.

One time, it was really muddy and I’d knelt down to breathe, and I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder. This woman was running past and thought I’d fallen. She helped me up and asked if I was okay. I just said, “Yeah, I’m fine, thank you.” I didn’t tell her, “Oh no, I was kneeling for the tree.” It was one of those funny little moments where I realised maybe this isn’t normal! But it’s become my normal. And now, when I’m with my son, we have to stop. We have to go and touch the tree and spend time there. It’s become a kind of ritual.

I think people often resist acknowledging that connection, especially with trees. There’s something about our culture, the way we consume, the way we live, the stories we tell ourselves. We don’t see trees as part of us, we see them as separate. Nature becomes this backdrop, this decorative element to enhance our modern lives – to soften the edges of the urban environment.

But actually, it’s our foundation. Nature isn’t just a scene outside the window. We are nature. It’s the source of everything. But we’ve paved over it, quite literally, and now we just add little touches of greenery here and there, like decoration. And that doesn't make sense when you consider our collective history.

Before organised religion, there was just this ever-present relationship with nature. We as people were constantly outside, working the land, knowing the environment, experiencing the seasons. There were specific events and celebrations that took place depending on what the world around us was doing. Then organised religion needed a foothold as it spread, so they attached their festivals to the nature-based one's. Overtime, religion assimilated it all, to the point where nature was barely recognised.

But now, organised religion is collapsing, especially in the UK. Admittedly, it provided people with a sense of belonging, attachment, comfort, and being in awe of something bigger than themselves. I feel that gap still exists in people's lives, and maybe it's time that nature retook its position as this ever-present wonder in our lives. That higher being alongside a deep sense of community. It's a fascinating circle that we may be coming back around to. That’s something I think about a lot. Because there are actionable things people can do. But first, they have to be open to doing them.

Luke, Lizzie, Harry and Robin. Credit: Luke Adam Hawker

I run these workshops where we go out and draw trees, and I talk about this idea of connection. Drawing, for me, is a vessel – a way of finding that connection. I encourage people to give it a go, and thankfully, through my work, a lot of people do feel inspired to go out and draw a tree. And when they do, they just get it.

There’s something about being there, not drawing from a photograph, but from life, spending that time, standing still. It does something. Maybe it can’t quite be explained; it’s a bit of magic.

Even in the city, in places where you can’t see any trees at all – just concrete and buildings – you can still get that feeling of connection. But it’s not as transformative. That’s why I worked on this project called Out of Place, where I drew ancient trees for a day, on location, at the easel. Then I’d take that easel into the urban environment and complete the drawing with the city around it.

That was exciting for me. I was taking my drawing practice – something I’d always done on location – and adding this more conceptual message. But the message itself was simple: a process, a place, a presence. And it resonated. I had so many people come up to me, in Piccadilly, for example, saying, “I wish that was there.” Everyone had this longing to be closer to nature. And I don’t think that’s something that’s taught. It’s just a feeling.

For me, art is storytelling. And I think, deep down, we all just want to be sat down and told a good story.

That’s when I began to realise the power of storytelling. When people knew the story of a tree, it had a deeper impact. It meant something more. These trees have stood there, silent, through everything. They’ve witnessed so much. But they’re non-verbal. They can’t tell us what they’ve seen. So I’ve come to feel a kind of purpose – almost a responsibility – to document them. To be the one who helps tell their stories.

I’ve had hard times – periods of loss, sadness, overwhelm – and in those moments, I’ll go to a tree. That same sweet chestnut tree. That’s my place. That’s where I go to offload. That’s my version of prayer. Trees can take on this kind of focal point, almost a place of worship. That’s the power of the tree – they can act as an emblem, a kind of church for faith in nature. And when you think about it, faith in nature is faith in humanity.

As told to The Skylark in March 2025. This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Our thoughts

Tree cover is unequal by design

Urban areas with majority ethnic minority populations have 38% less green space than majority-white areas. The Woodland Trust is calling for tree equity in planning decisions.

Most people can’t name five trees

In the UK, only 6% of adults feel confident identifying common tree species. Initiatives like Tree for Cities are improving nature literacy through hands-on urban greening.

Parks don’t mean access

One in three children in England can’t reach green spaces within a 15-minute walk. Fields in Trust is working to protect local parks where they’re needed most.

Green space reduces NHS costs

Living near trees cuts antidepressant use by up to 30%. Nature Prescriptions, pioneered by the RSPB and NHS Scotland, is now being trialed across the UK.