February’s Featured Hand-Painted Animation: Eeman Masood’s There Is a Voice That Doesn’t Use

At 11:57 p.m. Every night in February 2026, the electronic billboards of Times Square flickered to life with something unexpected: not another ad for Broadway shows or luxury brands, but a hand-painted animation of a banyan tree, its sprawling roots and branches pulsing with shimmering particles of light. Titled There is a voice that doesn’t use words, Listen, the work by Eeman Masood—a Pakistani-Canadian artist and recent MFA graduate from the University of Victoria—transformed one of the world’s most commercialized spaces into a meditation on resilience, memory, and ecological responsibility. For Recent Yorkers, the piece wasn’t just art; it was a quiet provocation, a reminder of nature’s endurance in a city where concrete and neon usually drown out the organic. But what does a digital banyan tree in Times Square mean for the rest of us—especially those of us living in cities where nature feels even more distant, where the idea of “listening to the earth” might sound like a luxury?

Here in Austin, Texas, where the skyline is punctuated by cranes and the Colorado River’s banks are lined with tech campuses and food trucks, Masood’s work lands differently. Austin’s relationship with nature is complicated: we pride ourselves on our “green” reputation (bike lanes, Barton Springs, the annual TreeFolks planting festivals), yet we’re also a city where urban sprawl devours Hill Country land at a rate of 150 acres per week, according to the Texas A&M Natural Resources Institute. The banyan tree—an ancient symbol in South Asian traditions, revered for its ability to grow from fragments, to shelter communities, and to outlast empires—feels like a mirror. It’s a tree that doesn’t just survive displacement; it thrives in it, sending down aerial roots that develop into new trunks, creating a single organism that can span acres. In a city like Austin, where displacement is a daily reality (from the 2023 “missing middle” housing reforms to the ongoing gentrification of East Austin), the banyan’s message isn’t just poetic. It’s practical: How do we grow without erasing what came before us?

The Banyan as Metaphor: What Austin Can Learn from a Tree That Listens

Masood’s animation isn’t just a pretty picture. It’s a framework for thinking about interconnectedness—a concept Austinites talk about a lot (see: the city’s obsession with “community,” “sustainability,” and “keeping Austin weird”) but often struggle to position into practice. The banyan tree, native to Lahore, Pakistan, where Masood was born, is a keystone species: it provides shade, food, and habitat for hundreds of other organisms. In Austin, our closest ecological equivalent might be the live oak, another tree that supports entire ecosystems (from squirrels to Spanish moss). But even as live oaks are celebrated in local lore (see: the Treaty Oak, the “Moonlight Towers” oaks), they don’t have the banyan’s reputation for regeneration. A banyan can grow from a single branch stuck in the ground; it can survive floods, fires, and human encroachment. In a city where climate change is already making its mark (2025’s “heat dome” shattered records, with 45 consecutive days over 100°F), the banyan’s resilience isn’t just symbolic—it’s a blueprint.

Masood’s work also nods to the philosophies of Rumi and Tagore, poets who saw nature as a teacher. In Austin, where the tech industry often treats nature as a backdrop (or worse, a resource to exploit), this idea feels radical. Consider the recent controversy over the “Project Connect” light rail expansion: while the city touted it as a “green” solution to traffic, critics pointed out that the construction would destroy hundreds of mature trees along Lamar Boulevard, including heritage live oaks. The debate wasn’t just about transit; it was about what we’re willing to sacrifice in the name of progress. Masood’s banyan tree, with its roots that become the landscape, asks us to rethink that binary. What if infrastructure could add to nature, rather than subtract from it?

This question isn’t hypothetical. In 2024, the Austin City Council passed the Urban Forest Master Plan, a 20-year roadmap to increase the city’s tree canopy from 30% to 50%. The plan includes incentives for developers to preserve mature trees, a “tree bank” where removed trees are replanted elsewhere, and a goal to plant 10,000 new trees annually. But progress has been gradual. Funding gaps, bureaucratic hurdles, and resistance from developers (who often see trees as obstacles to density) have stalled implementation. Masood’s animation, with its focus on “quiet generosity,” feels like a rebuke to that mindset. The banyan doesn’t demand attention; it gives—shade, shelter, continuity. In a city where growth is often measured in square footage and tax revenue, the banyan’s model is a reminder that some things can’t be quantified.

From Times Square to Congress Avenue: How Austin’s Artists Are Already Listening

Austin has its own tradition of public art that engages with nature—though it’s often less meditative and more, well, weird. Take the Hope Outdoor Gallery, the graffiti park on Baylor Street where artists have turned a condemned building into a living mural. Or the Wall of Welcome on South Lamar, a community mosaic project that incorporates tiles made by local schoolchildren. But Masood’s work stands out because it’s time-based: it changes, breathes, responds to the environment (in the Times Square version, the particles shift with real-time weather data from Lahore). This idea of “responsive” public art is gaining traction in Austin. In 2025, the Blanton Museum of Art commissioned a series of “eco-art” installations along Waller Creek, including a sound sculpture that amplifies the creek’s natural rhythms. The project, Listening to the Land, was a direct response to the city’s 2023 “Waller Creek Tunnel” flood mitigation efforts, which many argued prioritized engineering over ecology.

Masood’s background in South Asian miniature painting also offers a lesson for Austin’s art scene. Miniature painting, with its meticulous attention to detail and layered symbolism, is a far cry from the city’s dominant aesthetic: bold, brash, and often temporary (see: the annual East Austin Studio Tour, where pop-up galleries appear and disappear like mirages). But the two approaches aren’t mutually exclusive. In 2024, the Mexic-Arte Museum hosted an exhibition titled Small is Beautiful, which juxtaposed traditional Mexican retablos (devotional paintings) with contemporary works by Austin artists. The show’s curator, Sylvia Orozco, noted that “small-scale art forces you to slow down, to look closely—something Austin could use more of.” Masood’s hand-painted animation, with its thousands of individually crafted frames, is a similar invitation to pause. In a city where everything moves fast (the average Austinite spends 42 hours a year stuck in traffic, per the Texas A&M Transportation Institute), the banyan tree’s message is simple: Stop. Listen. Grow.

The Local Resource Guide: Who You Demand to Bring This Vision to Life in Austin

Given my background in urban ecology and public art advocacy, I’ve seen firsthand how ideas like Masood’s can move from concept to reality—but only if the right people are in the room. If you’re inspired by There is a voice that doesn’t use words, Listen and want to explore how Austin can better integrate nature, memory, and resilience into its public spaces, here are the three types of local professionals you’ll need on your team:

Ecological Urban Planners (with a Cultural Lens)

These aren’t your typical city planners. Look for professionals who specialize in biophilic design—the practice of integrating natural elements into urban environments to improve well-being. In Austin, So finding planners who understand the city’s unique ecological and cultural context. Key criteria:

• Local experience: Have they worked on projects in Austin’s “desired development zones” (e.g., the Domain, Mueller, or the Eastern Crescent)? Ask for case studies that include native plant integration and community engagement.
• Cultural competency: Do they have experience collaborating with Austin’s diverse communities? The city’s tree canopy is unevenly distributed, with wealthier neighborhoods like Tarrytown boasting 60% coverage, while East Austin’s Holly neighborhood struggles with 15%. A good planner will prioritize equity in their designs.
• Regulatory knowledge: Austin’s Land Development Code is notoriously complex. Your planner should be fluent in the city’s “Save Our Springs” ordinances, the Urban Forest Master Plan, and the Water Forward initiative. Bonus points if they’ve worked with the Watershed Protection Department.

Where to find them: Start with firms like Design Workshop (they led the Mueller neighborhood’s green infrastructure plan) or Asakura Robinson, which specializes in equitable urban design. For a more grassroots approach, check out the Austin Urban Forestry Council’s list of certified arborists and planners.

Public Art Curators (Who Understand Time-Based and Digital Media)

Austin’s public art scene is dominated by murals and sculptures, but Masood’s work is a reminder that art can be alive—changing, interactive, and responsive. You’ll need a curator who can navigate the city’s Art in Public Places (AIPP) program while also thinking outside the traditional “plop art” model. Key criteria:

• Tech-savvy: Can they work with digital artists, animators, and data scientists to create pieces that evolve over time? Look for curators with experience in generative art or augmented reality. The Arthouse at the Jones Center has hosted several exhibitions in this vein, including a 2025 show on climate-responsive art.
• Community connectors: Austin’s public art process is often criticized for being top-down. A strong curator will have a track record of engaging with neighborhood associations, especially in historically marginalized communities. Ask about their experience with the City of Austin’s “Percent for Art” program, which allocates 2% of capital improvement project budgets to public art.
• Budget navigators: Public art projects in Austin can range from $50,000 to $5 million. Your curator should be able to identify funding sources beyond the city’s AIPP program, such as grants from the Texas Commission on the Arts or private foundations like the Still Water Foundation.

Where to find them: The Austin Arts Commission is a good starting point, as is the Blanton Museum’s public engagement team. For digital-focused curators, look to organizations like E4 Youth, which bridges art and technology for young creators.

Cultural Memory Keepers (Historians, Archivists, and Storytellers)

Masood’s banyan tree is as much about memory as it is about nature. In Austin, where rapid development is erasing cultural landmarks (see: the demolition of the Shoal Creek Saloon, a historic Black music venue, in 2023), preserving the stories of a place is just as important as preserving its trees. You’ll need professionals who can document and amplify these narratives. Key criteria:

• Local expertise: Do they have deep knowledge of Austin’s cultural history, particularly the stories of communities that have been displaced or overlooked? The Austin History Center and the George Washington Carver Museum are great resources, but you’ll want someone who can go beyond institutional archives.
• Multimedia skills: Memory isn’t just written; it’s oral, visual, and experiential. Look for historians who work with oral histories, interactive maps, or augmented reality. The Texas After Violence Project is a great example of an organization using storytelling to connect past and present.
• Collaborative approach: Cultural memory work is most powerful when it’s co-created with the community. Ask potential hires about their experience facilitating workshops, oral history projects, or participatory art installations. The Six Square organization, which preserves Austin’s Black cultural history, is a model for this kind of work.

Where to find them: Start with the University of Texas at Austin’s Department of African and African Diaspora Studies or the Center for Mexican American Studies. For independent researchers, check out the Austin Public Library’s Community Archivists Program, which trains locals to document their own neighborhoods.

What’s Next: How Austin Can Grow Its Own Banyan Tree

Masood’s There is a voice that doesn’t use words, Listen didn’t just appear in Times Square by accident. It was the result of years of work, collaboration, and a deep understanding of how art can bridge gaps—between cultures, between past and present, between the human and the natural. In Austin, we have the ingredients to create something just as powerful. We have the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center, a global leader in native plant conservation. We have the Creative Action network, which uses art to tackle social issues. We have a city council that, despite its flaws, has shown a willingness to invest in green infrastructure (see: the 2025 Climate Equity Plan).

But we also have challenges. Austin’s public art scene is still recovering from the 2024 controversy over the “Austin Weird” mural on South Congress, which was criticized for being more about tourism than local identity. Our urban forestry efforts are hamstrung by funding shortages and political infighting. And our cultural memory is at risk of being bulldozed by development—literally. Masood’s banyan tree offers a way forward: a model of growth that doesn’t erase what came before, but builds on it.

So what would an Austin version of There is a voice that doesn’t use words, Listen look like? Maybe it’s a digital live oak that grows on the Seaholm Intake Building’s LED facade, its branches responding to real-time data on Austin’s air quality. Maybe it’s an augmented reality experience along the Ann and Roy Butler Hike-and-Bike Trail, where users can “see” the Colorado River’s historical flood levels or hear oral histories from the Indigenous communities who once lived here. Or maybe it’s something simpler: a series of hand-painted murals in East Austin, created by local artists and elders, depicting the neighborhood’s history through the lens of its trees.

Whatever form it takes, the key is to remember that listening—whether to a tree, a community, or the past—isn’t passive. It’s an act of creation. And in a city like Austin, where the future often feels like it’s being written by algorithms and bulldozers, that might be the most radical thing of all.

Ready to find trusted professionals to bring your vision to life? Browse our complete directory of top-rated public art and ecological design experts in the Austin area today.