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This piece was part of The Big Bonsai Painting Show, (solo) Melbourne, April 2019

I have been drawn to all things small from a young age, and I remember when I first came across a bonsai, I couldn’t quite believe it. It had age that showed in the bark, and the twisted and gnarled branches. It was alive and it was magic. Their mystifying qualities were intensified by the Karate Kid movies with Mr Miyagi, the master of all things to the then 5 year old me, taking extreme care in the pruning of his bonsai trees. This was a man who could catch flies with chopsticks, so growing a bonsai was clearly reserved for those with special powers. 

I learned about bonsai by reading every English language book and article I could find. This was a pre-internet era, so that wasn’t too great a feat. I took a crack at growing them myself, not really understanding the effect of the harsher climatic conditions that Brisbane would have on the trees I had learned about and loved (aka Japanese Maple). I eventually had some luck with a Moreton Bay fig, but then I became too transient to hold down a garden of any sort. 

It wasn’t until well into a career of painting that I thought I could combine the two passions, and it was through the act of painting them that I understood so much more. 

I had been a “fluid artist” from early on. I was more interested in what “nature” could create when I threw paint, or allowed it to pool, or let gravity have its way. And there are many many fluid artists, but I think I have always maintained more of an element of control and manipulation. When working, I have an idea of what I want to achieve, but I work with the nature of paint to create something far more interesting than what I could paint on my own. This, I realised, is like what it is to grow a bonsai. The grower gives the tree some parameters, in the form of a pot and tree style and shape, but it is the tree does the work.

You could go philosophically deeper, for when a bonsai grower chooses a young tree to create a bonsai, she looks for the shape and potential that is already there. And as the tree grows, the tree grants her choices as to which direction or shape to form. This is the philosophy of the Dao, or the Way. Similarly, each bonsai painting I create is with multiple layers whereby each layer informs the next. 

When I was in Japan studying Ukiyo-e (woodblock printing), I had the privilege of seeing some of the oldest and most sensational bonsai. Many of them in Omiya, a village on the outskirts of Tokyo where they were housed to keep them safe from bombing during WW2. I have been back to explore further since then, so I think it’s safe to say the obsession has not faded since childhood. 

The works in The Big Bonsai Painting Show are modelled from those I saw in Japan. The way in which they are painted follows a Daoist philosophy, and are “grown” layer by layer from the canvas up. My goal has been to capture a sense of nostalgia (we all have associations to times of the year that plants are in flower or when leaves change colour), and an experience of other-worldliness by painting them in a scale that’s larger-than-life and presenting them together in the one space. 

The painting is quite textured as some of the paint pours are more raised that the canvas surface. It is framed in ethical Eucalyptus, and is ready to hang.
This piece was part of The Big Bonsai Painting Show, (solo) Melbourne, April 2019

I have been drawn to all things small from a young age, and I remember when I first came across a bonsai, I couldn’t quite believe it. It had age that showed in the bark, and the twisted and gnarled branches. It was alive and it was magic. Their mystifying qualities were intensified by the Karate Kid movies with Mr Miyagi, the master of all things to the then 5 year old me, taking extreme care in the pruning of his bonsai trees. This was a man who could catch flies with chopsticks, so growing a bonsai was clearly reserved for those with special powers. 

I learned about bonsai by reading every English language book and article I could find. This was a pre-internet era, so that wasn’t too great a feat. I took a crack at growing them myself, not really understanding the effect of the harsher climatic conditions that Brisbane would have on the trees I had learned about and loved (aka Japanese Maple). I eventually had some luck with a Moreton Bay fig, but then I became too transient to hold down a garden of any sort. 

It wasn’t until well into a career of painting that I thought I could combine the two passions, and it was through the act of painting them that I understood so much more. 

I had been a “fluid artist” from early on. I was more interested in what “nature” could create when I threw paint, or allowed it to pool, or let gravity have its way. And there are many many fluid artists, but I think I have always maintained more of an element of control and manipulation. When working, I have an idea of what I want to achieve, but I work with the nature of paint to create something far more interesting than what I could paint on my own. This, I realised, is like what it is to grow a bonsai. The grower gives the tree some parameters, in the form of a pot and tree style and shape, but it is the tree does the work.

You could go philosophically deeper, for when a bonsai grower chooses a young tree to create a bonsai, she looks for the shape and potential that is already there. And as the tree grows, the tree grants her choices as to which direction or shape to form. This is the philosophy of the Dao, or the Way. Similarly, each bonsai painting I create is with multiple layers whereby each layer informs the next. 

When I was in Japan studying Ukiyo-e (woodblock printing), I had the privilege of seeing some of the oldest and most sensational bonsai. Many of them in Omiya, a village on the outskirts of Tokyo where they were housed to keep them safe from bombing during WW2. I have been back to explore further since then, so I think it’s safe to say the obsession has not faded since childhood. 

The works in The Big Bonsai Painting Show are modelled from those I saw in Japan. The way in which they are painted follows a Daoist philosophy, and are “grown” layer by layer from the canvas up. My goal has been to capture a sense of nostalgia (we all have associations to times of the year that plants are in flower or when leaves change colour), and an experience of other-worldliness by painting them in a scale that’s larger-than-life and presenting them together in the one space. 

The painting is quite textured as some of the paint pours are more raised that the canvas surface. It is framed in ethical Eucalyptus, and is ready to hang.
This piece was part of The Big Bonsai Painting Show, (solo) Melbourne, April 2019

I have been drawn to all things small from a young age, and I remember when I first came across a bonsai, I couldn’t quite believe it. It had age that showed in the bark, and the twisted and gnarled branches. It was alive and it was magic. Their mystifying qualities were intensified by the Karate Kid movies with Mr Miyagi, the master of all things to the then 5 year old me, taking extreme care in the pruning of his bonsai trees. This was a man who could catch flies with chopsticks, so growing a bonsai was clearly reserved for those with special powers. 

I learned about bonsai by reading every English language book and article I could find. This was a pre-internet era, so that wasn’t too great a feat. I took a crack at growing them myself, not really understanding the effect of the harsher climatic conditions that Brisbane would have on the trees I had learned about and loved (aka Japanese Maple). I eventually had some luck with a Moreton Bay fig, but then I became too transient to hold down a garden of any sort. 

It wasn’t until well into a career of painting that I thought I could combine the two passions, and it was through the act of painting them that I understood so much more. 

I had been a “fluid artist” from early on. I was more interested in what “nature” could create when I threw paint, or allowed it to pool, or let gravity have its way. And there are many many fluid artists, but I think I have always maintained more of an element of control and manipulation. When working, I have an idea of what I want to achieve, but I work with the nature of paint to create something far more interesting than what I could paint on my own. This, I realised, is like what it is to grow a bonsai. The grower gives the tree some parameters, in the form of a pot and tree style and shape, but it is the tree does the work.

You could go philosophically deeper, for when a bonsai grower chooses a young tree to create a bonsai, she looks for the shape and potential that is already there. And as the tree grows, the tree grants her choices as to which direction or shape to form. This is the philosophy of the Dao, or the Way. Similarly, each bonsai painting I create is with multiple layers whereby each layer informs the next. 

When I was in Japan studying Ukiyo-e (woodblock printing), I had the privilege of seeing some of the oldest and most sensational bonsai. Many of them in Omiya, a village on the outskirts of Tokyo where they were housed to keep them safe from bombing during WW2. I have been back to explore further since then, so I think it’s safe to say the obsession has not faded since childhood. 

The works in The Big Bonsai Painting Show are modelled from those I saw in Japan. The way in which they are painted follows a Daoist philosophy, and are “grown” layer by layer from the canvas up. My goal has been to capture a sense of nostalgia (we all have associations to times of the year that plants are in flower or when leaves change colour), and an experience of other-worldliness by painting them in a scale that’s larger-than-life and presenting them together in the one space. 

The painting is quite textured as some of the paint pours are more raised that the canvas surface. It is framed in ethical Eucalyptus, and is ready to hang.
This piece was part of The Big Bonsai Painting Show, (solo) Melbourne, April 2019

I have been drawn to all things small from a young age, and I remember when I first came across a bonsai, I couldn’t quite believe it. It had age that showed in the bark, and the twisted and gnarled branches. It was alive and it was magic. Their mystifying qualities were intensified by the Karate Kid movies with Mr Miyagi, the master of all things to the then 5 year old me, taking extreme care in the pruning of his bonsai trees. This was a man who could catch flies with chopsticks, so growing a bonsai was clearly reserved for those with special powers. 

I learned about bonsai by reading every English language book and article I could find. This was a pre-internet era, so that wasn’t too great a feat. I took a crack at growing them myself, not really understanding the effect of the harsher climatic conditions that Brisbane would have on the trees I had learned about and loved (aka Japanese Maple). I eventually had some luck with a Moreton Bay fig, but then I became too transient to hold down a garden of any sort. 

It wasn’t until well into a career of painting that I thought I could combine the two passions, and it was through the act of painting them that I understood so much more. 

I had been a “fluid artist” from early on. I was more interested in what “nature” could create when I threw paint, or allowed it to pool, or let gravity have its way. And there are many many fluid artists, but I think I have always maintained more of an element of control and manipulation. When working, I have an idea of what I want to achieve, but I work with the nature of paint to create something far more interesting than what I could paint on my own. This, I realised, is like what it is to grow a bonsai. The grower gives the tree some parameters, in the form of a pot and tree style and shape, but it is the tree does the work.

You could go philosophically deeper, for when a bonsai grower chooses a young tree to create a bonsai, she looks for the shape and potential that is already there. And as the tree grows, the tree grants her choices as to which direction or shape to form. This is the philosophy of the Dao, or the Way. Similarly, each bonsai painting I create is with multiple layers whereby each layer informs the next. 

When I was in Japan studying Ukiyo-e (woodblock printing), I had the privilege of seeing some of the oldest and most sensational bonsai. Many of them in Omiya, a village on the outskirts of Tokyo where they were housed to keep them safe from bombing during WW2. I have been back to explore further since then, so I think it’s safe to say the obsession has not faded since childhood. 

The works in The Big Bonsai Painting Show are modelled from those I saw in Japan. The way in which they are painted follows a Daoist philosophy, and are “grown” layer by layer from the canvas up. My goal has been to capture a sense of nostalgia (we all have associations to times of the year that plants are in flower or when leaves change colour), and an experience of other-worldliness by painting them in a scale that’s larger-than-life and presenting them together in the one space. 

The painting is quite textured as some of the paint pours are more raised that the canvas surface. It is framed in ethical Eucalyptus, and is ready to hang.
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VIEW IN MY ROOM

Japanese Maple Forest Painting

Amanda Krantz

Australia

Painting, Acrylic on Canvas

Size: 60.2 W x 48.4 H x 2 D in

Ships in a Crate

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Originally listed for $5,400
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467 Views
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Artist Recognition

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Showed at the The Other Art Fair

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Artist featured in a collection

About The Artwork

This piece was part of The Big Bonsai Painting Show, (solo) Melbourne, April 2019 I have been drawn to all things small from a young age, and I remember when I first came across a bonsai, I couldn’t quite believe it. It had age that showed in the bark, and the twisted and gnarled branches. It was alive and it was magic. Their mystifying qualities were intensified by the Karate Kid movies with Mr Miyagi, the master of all things to the then 5 year old me, taking extreme care in the pruning of his bonsai trees. This was a man who could catch flies with chopsticks, so growing a bonsai was clearly reserved for those with special powers. I learned about bonsai by reading every English language book and article I could find. This was a pre-internet era, so that wasn’t too great a feat. I took a crack at growing them myself, not really understanding the effect of the harsher climatic conditions that Brisbane would have on the trees I had learned about and loved (aka Japanese Maple). I eventually had some luck with a Moreton Bay fig, but then I became too transient to hold down a garden of any sort. It wasn’t until well into a career of painting that I thought I could combine the two passions, and it was through the act of painting them that I understood so much more. I had been a “fluid artist” from early on. I was more interested in what “nature” could create when I threw paint, or allowed it to pool, or let gravity have its way. And there are many many fluid artists, but I think I have always maintained more of an element of control and manipulation. When working, I have an idea of what I want to achieve, but I work with the nature of paint to create something far more interesting than what I could paint on my own. This, I realised, is like what it is to grow a bonsai. The grower gives the tree some parameters, in the form of a pot and tree style and shape, but it is the tree does the work. You could go philosophically deeper, for when a bonsai grower chooses a young tree to create a bonsai, she looks for the shape and potential that is already there. And as the tree grows, the tree grants her choices as to which direction or shape to form. This is the philosophy of the Dao, or the Way. Similarly, each bonsai painting I create is with multiple layers whereby each layer informs the next. When I was in Japan studying Ukiyo-e (woodblock printing), I had the privilege of seeing some of the oldest and most sensational bonsai. Many of them in Omiya, a village on the outskirts of Tokyo where they were housed to keep them safe from bombing during WW2. I have been back to explore further since then, so I think it’s safe to say the obsession has not faded since childhood. The works in The Big Bonsai Painting Show are modelled from those I saw in Japan. The way in which they are painted follows a Daoist philosophy, and are “grown” layer by layer from the canvas up. My goal has been to capture a sense of nostalgia (we all have associations to times of the year that plants are in flower or when leaves change colour), and an experience of other-worldliness by painting them in a scale that’s larger-than-life and presenting them together in the one space. The painting is quite textured as some of the paint pours are more raised that the canvas surface. It is framed in ethical Eucalyptus, and is ready to hang.

Details & Dimensions

Painting:Acrylic on Canvas

Original:One-of-a-kind Artwork

Size:60.2 W x 48.4 H x 2 D in

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Amanda Krantz is an Australian artist whose work has been informed by residencies in Japan, Thailand and Tasmania. Her practice is an exploration of materials, science and nature, and image making. She completed her Bachelor of Visual Arts at Queensland University of Technology in 2001, and has since continued study at the University of Melbourne solely to inform her arts practice. Her most recent achievements include being selected and commissioned to create 10 large paintings for Peter Millard & Partners in London. She was also recently one of thirty painters worldwide to take part in ‘Premio Combat’ in Livorno Italy, was a Saatchi Online‘Back to Nature’ finalist, and a finalist in the prestigious Clifton’s Art Prize. Krantz’s most recent solo show ‘Plasmo’, held in 2015 at the GallerySmith in Melbourne, was an exploration of alien yet eerily familiar forms and landscapes. Other solo shows include ‘Hypnagogia’ at the Angela Robarts-Bird Gallery in Melbourne, Graydon Gallery and Percolator Gallery in Brisbane, and she has been involved in group exhibitions worldwide including Time Square in New York city, and in the Museo Di Storia Naturale in Italy. Current Artist Statement: I think of my work as organic-psychedelia. They are familiar representations of ecology, but not quite of this world. My process is underpinned by a playful exploration of materials, and questions the role of painter in painting creation. The method of paint delivery to canvas, in random pours, throws and squirts, employs nature to mimic nature. The natural fluidity and reactivity of paint mixtures, is itself alive in it’s own ability to move and mix, playfully creating chaotic patterns and diacritic effects. I often act merely as a facilitator, allowing the paint itself to capture the essence of time and place. It’s a scientific process, executed organically, creating science fictional landscapes and quasi-alien life.

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Showed at the The Other Art Fair

Handpicked to show at The Other Art Fair presented by Saatchi Art in Sydney, Melbourne, Melbourne, Melbourne, Los Angeles

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