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Story and Photographs by FRIDERIKE HEUER

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I have to admit, it’s been ages since I visited the World Forestry Center. No more explaining to my (now grown) kids that the fake logger climbing a fake tree with a fake goose and owl calmly sitting on branches below him, are there for educational purposes, and maybe, just maybe, meant as a joke. Or to stimulate discussions about how museum exhibits do not necessarily reflect the real world. Don’t get me wrong, they and I loved the place during too many rainy days in Portland, and some of the educational displays did promote meaningful conversations.

As it turns out, there are now more and better reasons to visit than simply looking for bad-weather diversions. The place is changing at a fast clip, with an ambitious plan to update and modernize this Portland treasure. Among the important improvements is a program of new art exhibitions that should attract a wide swath of visitors who are interested in information about the environmental conditions of our state as well as of international forests, and in how contemporary issues of changing nature are represented by serious artists.

Let’s face it: Today’s cultural institutions have a near-impossible burden to carry. Besides the particular content they are supposed to display in aesthetically appealing ways — here, forestry in all its permutation and history — they have to engage in educational missions, social outreach, community involvement, and simultaneous financial juggling between higher costs and decreased funding. To fulfill all these imperatives you need innovative thinking, creative solutions, and a vision that extends beyond the safe, habitual offerings we’ve come to expect from specialty museums.

Judging by its current exhibition “Tree People,” the Discovery Museum at the Center has found someone who fits the bill. Stephanie Stewart Bailey, the new experience developer (unfamiliar title to me, but it makes sense when you look at the intersection of art, science and nature) has mounted a show that combines stellar international photography with an educational mission to help us understand better the central role and function of trees in numerous civilizations.

Tree People, by Ritva Kovalainen and Sanni Seppo, was the first installment of a three part artistic collaboration between these two prize-winning Finnish photographers interested in the interrelationship between nature and those who populate it. For over three decades the duo have explored the mythology associated with trees and forests (Tree People, 1997), the way that forest management and silviculture affect both land and people (Silvicultural Operations, 2009), and how primeval forests look (and act) differently from those that have been exposed to centuries of human commercialization (Forests of the North Wind, 2024).

The visual work is compelling (as is their environmental activism), but the deeper attraction to me lies in the artists’ rigorous research, amounting to an anthropological tour de force across these 30 years, including field interviews and archival exploration. Each of the three installments stands on its own. I found the choice of Tree People for the Discovery Museum timely because it speaks to some issues that are of great cultural interest in the Pacific Northwest as well.

The exhibition is divided into topics, photography always accompanied and enhanced by written explanations of the historical context. One section explores the destruction of sacred spaces, groves believed to be hallowed, and once Christian proselytizing started in earnest, cutting down worshipped trees and replacing them with churches.

One of the most appealing aspects of the curation is a circle of fabric panels, printed with trees, that you could enter as if it were a grove. It was mounted by Stewart Bailey in a clever way, hanging from a braided wreath of twigs and branches, which stay with the topic of trees, and are visually harmonious. More interestingly, they project shadows onto the semi-permeable canvas, doubling the sense of being close to trees.

There is a part on forest spirits, and traditional fare around how to combat them and keep a boundary between human civilization and the forest.

There is an introduction to good luck/sacred trees that are associated with a particular homestead. One of the photographs depicts a houseless person who had made his home under a tree in a Finnish park. It was a comforting thought to one of the younger visitors feeling they would never be able to afford a piece of property where a legacy tree could serve multiple generations.

Stewart Bailey told me that the idea to choose a tree in one’s general environment was visibly uplifting. Must be the Zeitgeist (or more likely, the housing market …): The Washington Post just last week had an article strongly encouraging us to select a favorite public tree and tie our own life events to frequent visitations.

Last but not least are two sections devoted to memorializing the departed, humans and animals alike. These provide a direct link to a big question raised in the contemporary Pacific Northwest, where competing interests fight over the preservation of certain trees that were culturally modified.

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Oregon, like Finland, has an important history linked to the ways we have handled forestry, claiming ourselves to be the state that timber built. The natural riches of fir trees, cedars and Ponderosa pines were there for the taking, and taken they were, generating winners and losers along the way. Depending on one’s perspective you could think of pioneers conquering the wilderness, or robber barons using illegal timber sales through the railroad contracts to make a fortune. Here, as well as in Europe, opposing interests fought over legislation that promoted their often contradictory goals.

Logging throughout the first half of the last century provided great pay, secure employment and boons to the infrastructure of many growing timber communities. When private timber reserves dwindled in the late 1950s, the U.S. Forest Service and federal Bureau of Land Management were pushed to permit increased harvesting on public lands and allow clear-cutting and use of chemical herbicides.

Eventually environmentalists started to fight back, and during the 1990s the “timber wars” ensued: Protection of endangered species such as the spotted owl was weighed against the fate of the many communities that lost their livelihoods with stricter federal regulations on logging, or the earnings of the lumber industry, respectively. (The “timber wars” link brings you to a fabulous Oregon Public Broadcasting series on the history of the lawsuits.)

In May 1991, an early verdict prohibiting national-forest timber sales in potential spotted-owl habitat set off years of litigation over animals and plants that had been listed as endangered, severely curbing logging.

The attempt to change the rules and regulations governing timber harvest and protection of old-growth forests is ongoing. The 1994 Northwest Forest Plan is in the process of being amended, partly due to fast-changing environmental conditions. Catastrophic wildfires and tree-killing pests have done intense damage to all habitats. Barred owls are conquering spotted owls’ habitat, ever diminishing their numbers. A committee working under immense time pressure has made numerous recommendations, several of which were slashed by the Forest Service, which deemed them irrelevant to the amendment.

There is also a planned amendment for all 128 national forest plans, a draft of which was released in June. In theory the public has 90 days to comment, and the timeline declares hopes for a decision and implementation by January 2025. Many of the parties involved in this joint effort to find compromises for forestry management have expressed worries that different national election outcomes would affect the planned amendments in various ways. (Ref.)

Most of us have probably an inkling of this history, although the extent to which it is related to violations of treaties with tribal groups who had to cede old-growth forest in land swaps or were simply dispossessed has rarely been stressed. New to me, and bringing us back to the context of the exhibition and its focus on the function of trees as keepers of memory, archivists of entire civilizations, is the call for protection of individual trees in the fight over the right to harvest large swaths of timber by the industry.

What is at stake here is the fate of culturally modified trees (CMTs), living trees that have been visibly altered by indigenous cultural practices. They were related to food production (peeling the bark), cultural traditions (weaving, producing ceremonial regalia, building shelter or carving of paddles and canoes). Trees were selected for memorial or mortuary poles as well, and many exhibit drill-holes that tested the strength of the tree so that sustainable harvesting could be completed, not hurting future growth.

These trees are of cultural and spiritual significance; sacred memorials to tribal ancestors and living archeological sites that allow insight into historical practices. Equally important, they are of legal significance. When indigenous rights are challenged, carbon-dated trees with indigenous modification can be testament to the occupancy and forest stewardship of tribes at a given point in time.

For cultures that existed without much written record, whether the indigenous Samis of Finland or the first nations tribes and bands in the North American sphere, these trees are archives that can be precisely dated and are a rare historical source for archeologists, anthropologist and historians alike. The question is how they can be legally protected from clear-cutting, before they die a natural death given their age in old-growth forests. (Here is a great book for further information about the research and the political debate around culturally modified trees.)

It would have been fascinating to link the photographs of the Finnish memorial trees with their arboglyphs, those carvings of dates and numbers, to the contemporaneous questions raised by the protection of modified trees in our own backyard. But I am sure those connections to place and universal issues will be made once the museum has found its stride with traveling as well as independently curated exhibitions.

As is, I cannot recommend a visit to see this work strongly enough. It is like falling into another time and place, yet eerily familiar. Then go home and (re)read Richard Power’s The Overstory. The winner of the 2019 Pulitzer Prize in Fiction is a paean to trees, nature and environmental activism, one of my favorite novels of all time. Or, alternatively, just hang out under a conifer it Forest Park. The trees will speak to you.

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World Forestry Center Discovery Museum

• Where: 4033 SW Canyon Road, Portland
• Hours: 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Wednesdays-Sundays
• Featured exhibit: Tree People: Puiden Kansa, through Sept. 29

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This essay was originally published on YDP – Your Daily Picture on July 17, 2024. See Friderike Heuer’s previous ArtsWatch stories here.