Laura De Rosa Giant cardboard animals are migrating from Africa to the Arctic in a stunning public art protest against climate change. THE HERDS blends activism and artistry in a global call to action.
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Elephants, giraffes, antelopes, and lions are taking over city streets around the world. But don’t be alarmed—they’re not real animals, and this isn’t a wildlife escape. They’re enormous, meticulously crafted puppets made of recycled cardboard, modeled after the rich and diverse fauna of central Africa. Their presence is part of an ambitious and poetic project called THE HERDS, a collaboration between international artists and cultural institutions.
A journey from the heart of Africa to the edge of the world
The migration began quietly but powerfully in April, with the first sightings in the Democratic Republic of Congo. From there, these cardboard creatures moved across Nigeria, Senegal, and even braved the arid expanse of the Agafay Desert in Morocco. They’ve passed through Marrakech, Casablanca, and Rabat, capturing the imagination of passersby and making headlines in local media.
Their journey continued northward, crossing the Mediterranean into Europe. Spain welcomed them with open arms—first Madrid, then on through Marseille, Venice, Paris, and London, each city offering its own streets as a stage for these silent giants. But the herd isn’t stopping there. The next leg of their odyssey is set to carry them even farther north, with a final destination in the Arctic Circle, expected by early August.
A call to conscience through art
This isn’t just a public art installation. It’s a bold act of environmental storytelling, a visual metaphor for a grim reality: what happens when animals can no longer live in their natural habitats? What if they were forced to migrate en masse, not by instinct, but by the impacts of climate change?
As they make their way through bustling metropolises and remote landscapes, these creatures speak without words. They ask uncomfortable questions. They invite reflection. They turn sidewalks into stages, public squares into protests.
“It’s a visionary and necessary initiative,” said one of the organizers. “It speaks to the heart and the conscience of our time, with the strength of art and the clarity of an urgent message.”
And indeed, there is something haunting about seeing a lion—eight feet (2.4 meters) tall and made entirely of recycled material—stride past a café terrace in the Latin Quarter, or a giraffe towering above a subway entrance in East London.
Art as migration, migration as resistance
THE HERDS imagines an inverted exodus. Rather than humans fleeing disaster, it’s the animals who walk, one deliberate step at a time, toward the unknown. It’s a reminder of who else shares the consequences of our actions. And perhaps, as these puppets head north, they carry with them a piece of the South—its beauty, its fragility, and its call for justice.
Their march is quiet. But it echoes loudly in the minds of those who stop and look. Not just a spectacle, but a symbol—of loss, urgency, and the power of collective imagination.
