Love in Nature: How Art Reflects Bonds We See in the Wild

There are many different kinds of love. One way of thinking about them comes from Ancient Greek philosophy, which describes four forms: agape, eros, philia, and storge. They aren’t meant to be rigid categories. They overlap, inform one another, and often appear together. But taken as a whole, they offer a useful way of noticing how love actually moves through the world.

I was first introduced to this idea through one of my children, who took a philosophy course in school and brought the conversation home. Once I heard these ideas named, I began to notice this love in nature, in relationships, and eventually, in the studio.

Eros is the most familiar. Romantic love is easy to recognize and easy to celebrate, and I write more on that form of love and the sculptures that reflect it in my recent Patina Journal. But eros is only one piece of a much larger pattern. Some of the most enduring forms of love are quieter, revealed through behavior rather than display.

Philia is the love of community. In nature, it often appears as coordination—individuals moving together without a single leader, each aware of the others, responding in real time. That’s what drew me to create School of Blacktip Sharks. Seen from above, the sharks move through open water as a living system. Each one is distinct, yet bound by shared motion and awareness. They share presence, rhythm, and trust.

Watching a school move this way is a reminder that community doesn’t require sameness. It requires attention. I’m often reminded of that same feeling during studio events, when people gather, conversations overlap, and something larger than any single person takes shape. The art becomes a meeting point, but the real exchange happens between people.

Storge is a more intimate love. It’s the love of family, of children, of home. In the natural world, it’s unmistakable. A mother slows her movement. Positions herself carefully. Guides rather than commands. That instinct appears in Treasure of the Silver Bank, inspired by a swim I shared with humpback whales, where a mother and calf move together through open water. It appears again in Manatee Mama & Calf, where the mother lifts her body gently around her young, creating both shelter and guidance in a single movement. These are different species, but it's the same devotion at work, one we recognize in humanity as well.

Agape runs beneath all of this. It’s harder to point to, but easy to feel. It’s a selfless kind of love, expressed through care rather than attention, and through responsibility rather than reward. In nature, it shows up as persistence and continuity. In the studio, it shows up as patience as I return to a form again and again, knowing the work is part of something larger than the moment it’s made.

When I think about storge and agape together, I think of my own children, and about the responsibility that comes with loving something that will outlast you. It’s a long-view kind of love. The kind that makes you careful. The kind that makes you stay.

Art gives me a way to reflect what I see in the natural world without needing to explain it outright. A school of sharks moving as one. A mother guiding her young. These moments speak for themselves. They remind us that love isn’t only something we feel, but also something we practice, through attention, care, and the choices we make about what we protect.

Be well, be loved

Geoffrey C. Smith