Stephen Hobbs: Of man-made forests and the hidden work of fungi

Stephen Hobbs’ exhibition titled The Visitors, at the David Krut Gallery in Parkwood, Johannesburg, is an intriguing exploration of the natural world, particularly through the lens of mushrooms. The work takes the form of drawings, sculptures — and actual fungi.   

Although I had no prior knowledge of or interest in mushrooms, Hobbs managed to captivate me with an unexpected, insightful analogy — connecting their mysterious structure to something more familiar to me — my locks. 

When I walked into the exhibition, Hobbs began talking animatedly about things like mycelium, concepts central to his works. 

It was clear that he had noticed my puzzled expression — probably compounded by the fact that I hadn’t eaten all day and was struggling to keep up with his rapid-fire explanations through my hunger haze. 

Sensing my confusion, he paused, observed me closely, and said: “The entire time we’ve been talking, I’ve been looking at your dreads. How long have you been growing them?” 

“About 10 years,” I replied, curious about where this was leading. 

“There’s a whole thing happening with that,” he said. 

He went on to explain: “The ornamental aspect of your hair is one thing but the way your locks look is almost like a fibrous mycelial network.”  

After a brief pause, during which I wondered if the artist was worried I might take offence, we both burst into laughter. 

He reassured me, “I’m not making an arbitrary connection. You grew those yourself — well, what’s the difference?” 

The comparison clicked for me instantly. My locks, often gathered in a bun, with textured roots, mirrored the mushrooms’ natural structure. 

The roots of my hair represented the mycelium — a fibrous network that spreads underground — while my locks resembled the mushroom’s fruiting body, the visible part you, I, Woolies and Shoprite recognise as a mushroom. 

This visual analogy was my first step toward better understanding Hobbs’ exhibition, which I discovered is about more than just fungi. 

The artist, who lives in the Joburg suburb of Linden, said his interest in mushrooms grew from an unexpected source — giant fruiting species Ganoderma destructans that started appearing around his neighbourhood. 

This interest is tied to a deeper theme in his work, reflecting the shift in perspective when he moved to Ireland with his family in 2019. 

“In the past, I had always made art about the dark parts of Johannesburg, so when I moved to Ireland and was exposed to nature, it was a completely different experience from Joburg,” he shared. 

This experience of a lush, natural environment contrasted starkly with the gritty urban landscape of Joburg, influencing how he perceives the relationship between the natural and man-made worlds. This tension between nature and human intervention is central to The Visitors. 

“They’re a hell of a spectacle — to see something like this grow on the sidewalk or anywhere in nature,” Hobbs says of the mushrooms. 

“They’re huge and amazing specimens and seeing them pop up every rainy season really fascinated me.”

Mushrooms, as Hobbs explained, play various roles in their environment. They can form symbiotic relationships with plants — where both organisms benefit — or they can become parasitic. 

His research led him to explore these relationships in more depth, particularly in the context of Johannesburg’s unique urban landscape, keeping in mind that the bulk of his work over the years has been about the city. 

“Johannesburg boasts the largest man-made forest in the world with about 10 million trees,” Hobbs noted. 

But this wasn’t always the case. 

“Joburg wouldn’t exist without the discovery of gold. You needed to colour these mines with trees or grass because early Johannesburg was a dust bowl. That’s what got me interested in how the man-made forest came about,” he said. 

This historical backdrop informs Hobbs’ fascination with the forestation of Johannesburg, including the indigenous stinkwood trees planted along Linden Road. 

One of the key narratives in his exhibition is the relationship between these trees and the parasitic mushrooms attacking them. 

As Hobbs explored his suburb, he discovered a pattern — mushrooms emerging on opposite sides of the road, attacking stinkwood trees. 

“Mycelium works like a fibrous network — a hairlike system underground that grows in all directions. It binds and holds, with hundreds of metres of mycelium stretching through the soil,” Hobbs explained. 

This hidden network plays a crucial role in the ecosystem. 

“If it weren’t for mushrooms, all the carbon waste from trees would have nowhere to go. The mushrooms eat that stuff.” 

At the heart of Hobbs’ exhibition are the large sculptural depictions of these giant mushrooms. 

Placed in the centre of the gallery, the imposing forms loom over eerily over visitors. 

As I walked around them, I felt as though I was a tree, threatened by the encroaching fungi. 

The sensation echoed my lifelong wariness of mushrooms — growing up, I’d always been taught to avoid them since many of the species that popped up from the grass were poisonous. 

This tension between fear and fascination is exactly what Hobbs hopes to explore in his work. 

By drawing visitors into a conversation about mushrooms, the artist  challenges our often simplistic views of them as merely dangerous or inedible. Instead, he wants to highlight the critical role they play in the environment. 

They are the unsung heroes of the forest, recycling dead matter and facilitating new growth.

Hobbs’ exhibition isn’t just a display of art — it’s a journey into a hidden world that lies beneath our feet. 

The more I learned about mycelium, the more I realised that these networks are like nature’s internet, connecting plants and trees in a complex web of communication and support. 

The exhibition ultimately reveals the delicate balance of ecosystems, showing how even something as small and seemingly insignificant as a mushroom can have profound effects on its environment. 

For Hobbs, art is a way to bridge the gap between science and everyday experience, making concepts like mycelium accessible and relatable. 

By the end of my visit, I had a much better understanding of what Hobbs was trying to convey. More than just a collection of artworks, the exhibition offers a deeper reflection on our relationship with the natural world. 

It encourages us to look more closely at what we might otherwise overlook — the networks that sustain life beneath the surface, the interactions that shape our environment and the ways in which everything is interconnected.  

Hobbs has found a way to turn something as complex as mycelium into a relatable metaphor, whether through his art or by drawing comparisons to something as personal as my locks. 

Through this lens, mushrooms become not just a subject for artistic exploration but a gateway to understanding the world’s unseen systems and the symbiotic relationships that keep life flourishing.

Hobbs will run a workshop at the David Krut Gallery on 7 September as part of the FNB Art Fair Open City programme.