20 Lessons from 20 Years

It’s hard to believe it, but it was 20 years ago this month (May 2004) that I created the username ‘fresh_from_thestudio’ on eBay and sold my first painting. I wasn’t the first artist to do so, but there really weren’t many of us back then who had the idea that perhaps people might be willing to take a punt and artwork online. It was a time when buying and selling artwork over the internet was unconventional and kinda judged harshly by the established art wold. Nevertheless, those of us who rebelled found a market and a wide-ranging community set on the excitement of bidding on new works and supporting young emerging artists, and/or established artists where they could pick up a bargain. The auctions were addictive, and often bidders would come in at the last few seconds and reward you with hundreds, and sometimes thousands, for your artwork. This community of bidders and collectors hold a very dear place in my heart, as they afforded me the chance to practice and develop my style. They were excited and supportive, and I hope to think they felt part of the process. 

Since then I’ve been so fortunate to have built an extraordinary and full career. I want to share with you some of what I’ve learned in the 20 years, but before I do, I must acknowledge the enormous support from my parents and sibs, step-parents, close friends, and especially my partners over those years. There are crazy ups-and-downs in this business that can make one hard to live with! LOL. Plus, partners tend to be roped into doing shows, packing paintings, deliveries, making easels, hanging paintings and lights, and putting their own talents to good use for no fee. I have had often unbalanced support from those closest to me in a collective desire to see this art thing succeed. I owe you all. 

Also, many thanks to my collectors. Some of you keep showing up for more, and it thrills me you continue to feel that connected to what I’m doing. I can’t tell you how many times I wasn’t sure how to make rent, and then a regular pops up and makes a purchase. You know who you are. Thanks a bunch :) 

And that brings me to my first lessons from 20 years in the biz:

1. It sounds trite but people really are mostly good. Most of those I’ve interacted with have been enthusiastic, supportive and understanding. Even when they’ve been with organisations and businesses. 

2. Don’t work with people or businesses who are not good. You often hear the world of business is hard, or the art world is cut-throat. Nope. If you accept that, you set yourself up to be taken advantage of. The same rules of curtesy and respect apply as anywhere, IMHO. If someone is overly aggressive in negotiation, delays payment, lacks respect for your time or work, cut ties even if it’s at a financial loss. You will be better off in the long run. 

An example of a GOOD organisation, is a print shop I’ve done a number of works for. They ask my permission whenever they have a request for printing at an alternative size (they in-house print themselves with supplied files). They send a running total every quarter, and make payments into my PayPal account while THEY pay the PayPal fee. And guess where they’re located? China. 

An example of a not-so-good client: I had created some commissions for a wealthy Sultan, and weeks had gone by with no final payment. I realised I had made their works a priority, and my payment was not a priority for them. I decided to return their deposit, and resell the paintings to others in my community. They ended up re-commissioned more pieces and paid upfront, and in full.

3. Be good yourself. Be fair in your business relationships and with your collectors. It’s just the flip side to the above. This means taking returns (within reasonable time), keep your pricing uniform, and own and explain your mistakes etc.

4. Save for tougher times. Like all markets, art is cyclic. Hmmm, actually you probably need to invest in other things to set yourself up for tougher times. Saving might not be enough. Recently, I’ve heard the phrase “invest in your own demise”. They were talking about AI, and I guess there is a chance the robots will come to eat our lunch, in which case investing in AI could be a wise hedge (for any profession maybe?). Anyway, my point is to utilise funds from good times, as they won’t last forever, and it’s scary to say it, but your career is also not forever. 

5. Accept that money matters. I’ve wasted some time worrying about money, but I’ve wasted a very stupid amount of time worrying about what others thought of me worrying about money LOL! There’s so much shame around making art and selling it. This notion that art should somehow sit outside of commerce is likely a construct to keep brokers in the profit and artists poor.

6. Be innovative in the studio. “Play” leads to discovery, discovery leads the way on this otherwise undefined path. You make your own path by trying new things, experimenting, making mistakes, and solving problems. 

7. Once you can afford it, make the majority of your materials top quality. In my opinion, if you’re at a point where you are selling your work for 1k plus, you should not be using those Chinese made canvas stretchers. This is about respecting your collectors and respecting your artworks longevity. I totally understand, if you’re selling work for less it’s unviable to use quality canvases. My challenge to these artists is to try using quality materials, and see just how much your work improves. You may soon find it essential, and your works naturally ask a higher price. 

In regards to paint and mediums, for me Golden is my go-to brand for paints (although I have a number of others that I experiment with). Golden as a company seems to be at the forefront of paint technology, and this aligns with my practice. 

8. Don’t use coffee cups for your brush water. You will spill them, or worse you’ll brainlessly drink from them. Use large heavy jars. 

9. When you are in the deep flows of work and you’re in a brainless state, try to make habit the labelling of the concoctions you make (I mean literally write on the jars). Also, write down/photo/diarise when you’ve made a discovery. You THINK you’ll remember these things, but you won’t.

10. Inspiration finds you working (I think Picasso said that once). It’s a myth you need to travel, or take a break, or honour your artist block with time-off. You need to consistently show up to your practise, especially if you don’t want to. I regularly need to remind myself of this, and sometimes I think it might be the number one issue for all creatives, especially now that we have so many enticing distractions, and a rise in ADHD. Things I find help me to go back to work include meditative music, adaptogens, playing with a new product, or breaking things down into 15-minute intervals or small tasks.

11. Be habitual, and set a (flexible) routine. As for a lot of artists, I’ve found this challenging. Organise your day, and organise your month. I was fortunate to have a family member teach me to set up my own Work in Progress reports, and this served to increase productivity and prevent overwhelm. Artist burnout is real so set a time to work, and then “go home”, but… remain flexible as when to set those times. There has to some benefits to working for yourself :). 

12. Listen to your inner-critic and recognise when it’s working for or against you. You may need a psychologist to help with this, or mindfulness coaching. You are spending a lot of time on your own. I’ve seen it in other artists and in myself. Divorced critical observation of your work (or yourself) leads to growth, but too much negativity leads to an unravelling. Be kind to yourself.

13. Alternate listening to podcasts and music and notice how it influences your work and or your ability to focus and mood. 

14. Swim in your own lane. There are some icky feelings that come with what really is a profession with mountains of opportunities to fail. If you can objectively observe what another artist is doing successfully, and you think it aligns with your practice, then copy them. If it doesn’t align with what you’re doing, then leave them be, and be happy they have found something that works for them. 

15. Work on your writing. This is how we communicate in the digital age. Try to be clear, and try to know when to explain in depth and when to be concise in the business dealings. Also learn how to best talk to your audience on your website and your blog. Is art w@nk required? Or is your audience likely to feel alienated by overly artsy or seemingly intellectual art-speak? I guess this comes back to respecting and understanding who it is you’re communicating with. 

16. Associate with all kinds of people. Artists that only associate with other artists are super boring.

17. Social media. Sigh, they own you. I had a shocking experience a few years ago when I lost access to my accounts due to a hack. I don’t mean the kind where you get access after you go through some ID checks, etc. I mean a complete thorough and forever disconnection of you as a person and a business to the community you’ve worked hard to build online. You don’t hear about this, because they’re not online to let you know, but there are hundreds of thousands of people out there who have lost access to their businesses and communities. If I didn’t know someone who knew someone that worked at Facebook, I wouldn’t have regained my livelihood. 

Obviously this has to change to another model, and I think it will; one where we have open source and “ownership” of what we’ve built, whether that be our content, or our community lists. It is a necessary evil for now, but I will also say, my gut feeling is we’ve reached a saturation point, and these platforms are not working well for artists, especially if you’re starting out. There is a movement towards a fairer internet for creators. It’s coming, so keep an eye out for innovations in this area to get in early. 

18. Surf the digital wave. I don’t mean make digital art (unless that’s your thing), but try and keep up with tech and the net. If you want to use galleries, make sure they have a fab web presence. Otherwise, use online galleries or work on your own networks, or a combination of all. Keep your feelers out for new innovations. I owe a lot to being early in two places: eBay and Instagram. I wasn’t the first, but I was early. As I wrote above, my gut tells me some big change is coming for artists. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m playing around in different hoods until something points to a clear direction. 

19. OMG Scams! If you are an artist with a web presence, you have the same target on your back as your 90-year-old grandma with a landline. As with all scams they get cleverer, and frequently it’s unclear how they’re trying to scam you. It’s a daily occurrence so you will get a feel for scams pretty quickly, but it’s very cruel to those first starting out. They prey on those desperate for opportunities. There are outright scams, and then there are just dud “opportunities” that may actually be real, but ultimately are a money grab, so basically scams too, really. The best way to tell the difference between a true collector, client or opportunity, is to gauge the level of generality of the message. Ask “How specific is this message related to me and my work?” 

A scam will say something like: 

“Hey Amanda, I love your style! It really strikes a chord with me. I’m a New York collector. Can you send me a list of all the artworks you have available and price list?”

A pseudo opportunity (might be real, but likely not good for you) might look like this:

“Hi Amanda,

My name is Amelia. I saw your artwork on Saatchi Online. I particularly like your work ‘Diaphanous’. I’m an executive of ArtworksONline magazine and I want to invite you to join a select group of artists to appear in this month’s online publication looking at Innovation in Art. We believe you are at the forefront of your field and therefore a great fit for the publication. There are limited spaces for a reduced amount of 500 euros.”

Note this email does have a specific artwork named, but bots can pick up one artwork from each Saatchi artist and send them a seemingly individualised email. Even if the mag is real, I’m betting is has limited subs. Obviously the request for payment is a giveaway, but it’s not uncommon to pay for publications. The biggest giveaway is their attempt to appeal to my ego.

What a real opportunity looks like:

“Hi Amanda,

My name is Leanne, and I’m an art consultant at ArtStax. We’re currently working on a cruise ship project, and we think your work could be a good fit. It has that underwater vibe, and the distinct colours appeal to the client. 

I’ve looked through your website, and I’ve selected and attached some images of your work that interest us. Are you able to create an original in this vein? We’re looking for something larger than usual, say 4ft by 9ft, and possibly in 3 panels if that’s easier than one. If it is doable, please give us a price indication. 

I look forward to your reply.

Regards,

Leanne”

I hope the subtleties between these are noticeable. You want the vibe of someone who has spent time on your site, or someone who has been following you online in some capacity. 

20. Don’t say you have 20 lessons when you only have 19 ;) 

Paper Processes: Collage and Marbling

For much of the last month in the studio I’ve been experimenting again with paper as my painting substrate. In the past I’ve found this to be a freeing exercise, without the pressure of results-based art making. It opens up possibility for discovery and innovation (well that’s the hope, but no pressure, right?)

Around 15 years ago, I attended a series of camping workshops on Moreton Island (in Queensland, Australia) with teacher Stephen Newton (@newtonsculpture on instagram). This was held through the Brisbane Institute of Art. I’m unsure if these Moreton trips are still happening, but if you get the chance to take a workshop with Stephen, I’d grab it with both hands. Although a sculptor by profession, he has a deep and eclectic grasp of materials which is evident even in his paper works. On these trips we worked with condes crystals, and paper marbling (with tar! Yes, the black sticky stuff on roads and roofs). I was a professional painter at the time, but I was working mostly in oils (on canvas), and had yet to explore the versatility of acrylics. I didn’t believe in their value compared to oil paints. I don’t mean to give Stephen too much credit (winking), but in hindsight these trips to Moreton, and especially the initial one, led to the cambrian explosion of discoveries for me in acrylics, inks, resins, acrylic skins, and an experimental mindset that has governed my practice. 

Examples of papers made with the Oil on Water technique

Recently, on my latest jaunt in Honolulu, I was giving my own workshop to a group of teenagers, and we began with some of the same processes. Paper marbling, being around for centuries, is the act of floating pigments on water and creating organic patterns that are then imprinted on paper when placed on the surface. I was only familiar with oil paints on water, and I suspected if I want to teach more younger folk, I may need to research a less toxic method. The Japanese use the sumi ink method, and I’ve yet to try that, and I knew water-based pigments were possible, but it just didn’t square with my understanding of physics. 

How do you get a water-based pigment to float on water? One solution I found on this wonderful tool called the internet, was a solution… I mean literally a solution. ;) The key ingredient to this solution is a water thickener called carrageenan. Apparently it’s a food additive and it does exactly what you think. It makes water thicker, and it is most surreal to work with this stuff. It’s water, but not quite. It’s actually a little creepy :) 

Here are the acrylic on thickened water baths. This solutions bodes well for varied and colourful results, but it takes some practice to get all the solutions right. The bath itself, as well the consistency of the pigment fluids need to be just right or they’ll either disperse too much and fade, or sink to the bottom of the bath.

Some of the resulting papers from the acrylic marbling.

Here are some base layers that were used to create the latest paper pieces. They consist of different layers of watercolour paper and washi paper (semi-traslucent), and have been deconstructed and collaged.

Thanks for reading this far! I hope that means this was interesting and inspiring for you. Feel free to leave a comment, subscribe to the monthly newsletter, and/or follow me on instagram for more studio going’s-on @amandakrantzstudio. For a look at the finished products, just head over to the originals page.





For the Love of Moss

‘For the Love of Moss’ is progression from my Big Bonsai Series, where I ask what a bonsai may look like if left alone for awhile to let nature take over. The initial idea was inspired by the broken-pot sculptures of Dutch artist Patrick Bergsma (credit where it’s due, his sculptures are extraordinary).

As with the Big Bonsai Series, both disciplines of rearing bonsai and painting with pours and fluid acrylics, hinge on the delicate dance between control and spontaneity. I try to harness the forces of nature and the fluidity of paint to create living, evolving works of art. Just as cultivating bonsai demands patience, a deep understanding of natural growth patterns, and an intuitive sense of when to prune or nurture, my fluid painting process requires a keen eye for balance and harmony. I seek to capture the essence of growth, transformation, and the dynamic interplay between human intention and the inherent, uncontrollable forces of nature.

Incorporating the notion of “nature taking over”, I try to convey the relentless power of nature, and a reminder that in the grand tapestry of life, our creations and interventions are ultimately transient, while the forces of nature endure. This painting itself will likely become a canvas for real organic growths of moss or fungi, or become compost or ash. Not too soon though I hope!

Oh Buoy! (part 2)

A few years ago now, I created some work reflecting the ecosystem of life that lives beneath the buoys that I swim between at Ala Moana beach, here in Honolulu. (check out the print of ‘Oh Buoy!’ and/or read about the initial artwork here ).

Something I’ve noticed on the latest stint in the Honolulu studio, is the abundance of Manini fish living in the weeds, and there is one larger Manini that for some reason lives alone under his own buoy. I took a video to show a neighbour, who has in turn named the fish Barry (after Barrack Obama who has been sighted in these parts over New Year).

Anyway, just for fun, here’s a quick video so you too can meet Barry. He’s usually very friendly and inquisitive, but he was a little camera-shy, me thinks :)

Barry under the buoy

'Oh Buoy!'

I’m a swimmer, and when I reside and work in Melbourne, I share a lane with a handful of others at the Melbourne City Baths. It’s an indoor heated pool - it’s climate controlled inside and out (which is just as well since Melbourne winters can be a bit bleak). Prior to my arrival in Hawaii, I loved the idea that I would be taking my swimming to the ocean… a more natural experience. However, the reality once here was that it was a big change and I found it frightening. I was used to swimming along a black line, but here I could see very little. It was just big deep space. I could only hear my own stokes in the water rather than a cacophony of reflected slaps and splashes. I was also at the mercy of the weather and currents, and strangely even the taste of the water made me feel uncomfortable.

Now, about the Buoy :) Over a few weeks I grew in courage and came to appreciate this very different experience of swimming. I love that every swim is vastly different, and the solitude, and the sense of being more connected to the planet. One day when I finally got myself out enough to swim between the buoys, I noticed these amazing microcosms of life beneath each of them. There are a number of buoys that run parallel to Ala Moana beach, and they are shelters for different small tropical fish amongst reeds, and seaweeds. Each buoy is unique, and I now stop and marvel at each of them. They breakup such a vast and empty space… like little fish rest stops on a highway, or space stations.

Oh Buoy!
from A$100.00

Commission for Design Shanghai 2020

I was fortunate enough to be commissioned by Debut Studio in Hong Kong for these three pieces to be shown at Design Shanghai 2020. They all have that flavour of the East… Mono no Aware 5 (landscape), Pine Tree Bonsai, and Poon Choi which is a popular Southern Chinese and Hong Kong dish (roughly translates as “to share”). You can purchase these limited edition prints at www.debutstudio.hk. It was a pleasure working with them!

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Wilsons Promontory

Wilsons Promontory (the Prom) is a stunning national park down on the south-eastern most tip of the Australian mainland. I had the privilege of staying in one of the hikers huts recently (yes, it was freezing) to work and gather inspiration. What I saw there, especially at first light, was truly breathtaking. Here are some photos of the reflections of the boulders in Tidal River. You can see the universe in these rocks.

And below are some of the sketches made on paper….

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The Big Bonsai Catalogue

The Big Bonsai Painting Show, Melbourne 2019. Music by Olafur Arnalds

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 Big Bonsai Painting Show!

The larger than life bonsai paintings are on show for ONE NIGHT ONLY!

Where: Meat Market Stables, 2 Wreckyn St, North Melbourne, Australia (Online later for everyone else)

When: Saturday 27 April, 2019. 6-9pm

'The Big Bonsai Painting Show' will be happening in the history steeped warehouse stables of Melbourne's Meat Market. All your favourite trees will be there ;)

It's a free event and open to all the public, with wine and regular gallery opening fare.

Join the Facebook event for updates

Spread the love, and see you there!

The show will be online shortly after.

Me finishing off a large Wisteria

Me finishing off a large Wisteria

‘Japanese Maple in Bespoke Pot’ 130cm x 110cm

‘Japanese Maple in Bespoke Pot’ 130cm x 110cm

Meat Market Stables in North Melbourne seemed like the ideal venue

Meat Market Stables in North Melbourne seemed like the ideal venue

Sorry about Comments

Unfortunately all your comments on my blog have been lost into the ether (sigh). It had something to do with Disqus and the changes Squarespace made when it went to “https” from “http”. I tried to reclaim them through URL mapping, but alas it did not work for me. Apologies to all! We now have the regular Sqaurespace comment system so it should be smooth sailing from here. :)

The funny things you see

One of the greatest joys of painting in the semi-abstract to abstract genre, is hearing what my audience sees within. Whether on social media or in person, here are a few memorable remarks to perhaps you can relate:

  • I can see an upside-down mermaid in a bowl of spaghetti! (See image below)

  • I can see a blue Holden Barina (an Aussie car) that’s fallen off a cliff into a shrub! (In this person’s case, I believe this actually happened to her! I’m not sure I like being a ptsd trigger :S)

  • I see a group of babies screaming

  • It’s a butterfly party! (Children are the best at this)

  • Animals. Always animals. Penguins, donkeys, lots of accidental cats apparently. One woman could only see elephants, lots of elephants and it took a longtime convincing they were flowers. Bless :D

I would just like to say that whatever you may see in my paintings says a lot more about YOU than it does the accidental creator :D

‘Wisteria Bonsai’ or aka an upside-down mermaid in a bowl of spaghetti

‘Wisteria Bonsai’ or aka an upside-down mermaid in a bowl of spaghetti

Chef’s Table (Palette and Palate)

My girlfriend kept harping on about this show called Chef’s Table on Netflix, and insisting as an artist I would find it interesting. 

I was reluctant at first, because well, are chefs like artists? And also, I’ve never been able to understand the recent wave of cooking shows. When you think of the number of hungry people, I thought it all in pretty poor taste; kinda tough to swallow, or hard to stomach. ;) 

But as it turns out, Chef’s Table is about the chefs themselves, and their “journeys” for lack of a better word. And it is surprising the parallels between the life of a chef and that of an artist. This might not be surprising to some of you… it is called the “culinary arts” after all. But I went to art school, and there were no culinary skills taught, believe me!

To start with, one of the hallmarks of an artist is individuality, and the chefs in this show are no different. The personalities, cuisines, cultures and approach are as varied as a modern art fair. Variety is the spice of life, they say. 

Another alarming parallel is chefs and artists seem to name their creations with word play and puns. In the episode featuring Will Goldfarb, we were taken to his dessert bar ‘Room 4 Dessert” with such dishes as ‘Pandan-bert’. I’ve come up with some groaners for my own work, but chefs truly take the cake! ;) 

The chefs exposed are not necessarily on the gravy train, but they are the cream of the crop. Cherry-picked. Some are the avant-garde of food, taking molecular gastronomy to the next level… often employing “food labs” which are kitchens dedicated to experimentation. Methinks this is much the same as an artist’s studio… where hours are spent, mistakes and discoveries made. Chefs on the show create organic bubbles of flavour inside algae skins, foams and flosses of unconventional flavours. It’s a similar kind of innovation that I see with painters who use gels, fluid acrylics, paint skins, and artists in general who push the limits of the materials in their given medium. If you were to look into a modern studio and a modern kitchen/lab, you’d find tools that wouldn’t be traditionally be found in either. Blow torches, industrial moulds, plastics and dry ice, for example.  

Artists long ago escaped the confines of the square canvas, and chefs are no longer bound by a round white plate. Grant Achatz at his restaurant Alinea, (whom, on a side note, often visits contemporary art galleries for inspiration for his dishes), serves food on pillows of scented air. And in the ephemera, there’s Vladimir Mukhin’s White Rabbit restaurant in Moscow, which aims to create an overall experience much like an installation artwork.

There is a definite familiarity with chefs’ obsession with… well, familiarity. Nostalgia and childhood features throughout the series. Notably, and one of the strongest episodes, was Christina Tosi: a New Yorker who invented cornflake milk ice-cream. You know, that flavoured milk left over after a bowl of cornflakes? I thought that was quite brilliant! You don’t have to look far in the art world to see that “flavour” of nostalgia, from Chardin’s ‘Boy with a Top’ to Jeff Koons’ ballon dogs. I guess it alludes to an overall occupation with childhood (some of us have even been accused of painting like one). And I think too, it’s important for innovation to approach our work with a notion of “play”… if not in concept, then in the creative process.

Another memorable episode featured Francis Mallman who lived and cooked on a seriously remote and wild Patagonian island. Along with Jeong Kwan, a Buddhist nun of the Baegyangsa temple in South Korea, these two chefs are all about immersion with their natural surrounds. Mallman is primeval in the connection to his surrounds, and Kwan spiritual, and the episode leaves you with same feeling you get after a week-long meditation retreat. For me, and I hear it from other artists too (especially those in cities), it highlights our dissonant need to be a part of the human city machine, and the desire to be out and grounded in nature. 

This blog post probably has enough on its plate, but it wouldn’t be right not to touch on the effect of patriarchy on the cheffing and art worlds. In the first season of Chef’s Table, there is just one female chef featured. The woman I speak of is Niki Nakamara, and all she had to do to be on the show was train in Japan for decades in the uber-male dominated world of Kaiseki, realise there was never going to be much opportunity there, move to Los Angeles, start her own restaurant, and become one of the top Kaiseki chefs in the world. Hopefully you can detect my snark here, but of course, this lack of equality is a reflection on the world of elite chefs more than on Chef’s Table, who to their credit, made more of a concerted effort to represent equally in following seasons. 

Similarly, women have long been fighting for equal representation in major museums, or to in general be taken seriously as artists. This is not easy given the “artistic genius” label that has a long history of being given to only men, leaving society with an inherited (mostly) unconscious bias. There are signs things are changing, with projects such as The Jealous Curator’s book ‘A Big Important Art Book - Now With Women’, The Other Art Fair London’s ‘Not 30%’, and revisionist history documentaries like ‘Kusama, Infinity’.

In a nutshell, the life of a chef is far closer to that of an artist than I thought. Granted, I can see that is a rather glorifying statement given cheffing is a pretty hard slog. It’s long hours, split shifts, hot kitchens, high pressure, and until you make it into the top tier, the pay is peanuts. But I’d like to point out that artists are not exactly living the life of leisure that’s expected of them. Most artists  I know are working long hours (usually second jobs too), in studios that are freezing cold in winter and baking in summer, and might be happy to be paid in peanuts. It’s almost like the life of a chef is going through a period of romanticisation not dissimilar to what must have happened to artists at some point. 

I can’t complain though. I’m not a starving artist. In fact, this is where I should probably mention that the gf and I had the good fortune of nabbing a table at n/naka (Niki Nakayama’s restaurant) when in LA for The Other Art Fair (to say it was tricky getting in is an understatement. Bookings for tables open three months prior, and are booked within literally seconds. It was insane, and took a number of attempts before we were finally successful). The evening was one of the most memorable of my life. Each morsel of food was a brand new experience, from a heavenly dashi broth, cuttlefish and lobster sashimi with wee medallions of weird stuff and yummy purees, to cherry blossom jelly and yuzu sake. Not just the food, the hospitality was above and beyond, even for Japanese standards (and American for that matter). The waiters, the chefs, all know you by name, and know why you are there prior to your arrival. It was a first class experience, and to think I could be repeating that in the future, is probably pie in the sky

Clearly, I can no longer judge our culture’s food fetish. I know the struggle for protein for some is still very real, and the excess of food we have in the West, and waste, should be acknowledged. But I have to say, when you start viewing food as art, and chefs as artists, our preoccupation with food and these food shows become a whole lot more palette-able ;) (perhaps conveniently).

One of the 15 courses at n/naka. It was a seared scallop with a puree of some delicious sort and jelly.

One of the 15 courses at n/naka. It was a seared scallop with a puree of some delicious sort and jelly.

Dashi broth with clams and special crystal weed found on the side of road.

Dashi broth with clams and special crystal weed found on the side of road.

Pasta made with seafood somehow.

Pasta made with seafood somehow.

Me having a jolly time.

Me having a jolly time.

The Other Art Fair - Sydney!

People of Sydney, do you have your tickets to The Other Art Fair starting this Thursday 26 October? I'll be exhibiting there along with 100 other artists chosen for the event. I haven't been involved in the Sydney event before, but the Melbourne event earlier this year was good fun, and the caliber of artwork was inspiring! Read on for info on how to get yourselves in for free. 

I have a large space in Sydney, with some large works to show (and a few small, and the Samsung sponsored Saatchi Art lounge will also be showing some of my work). Here are a few: 

'Bonsai: Spring', 100cm x 120cm, Acrylic on canvas

'Bonsai: Spring', 100cm x 120cm, Acrylic on canvas

'Sakura', 208cm x 130cm, Acrylic on Canvas

'Sakura', 208cm x 130cm, Acrylic on Canvas

'Bonsai: Autumn', 100cm x 120cm, Acrylic on canvas

'Bonsai: Autumn', 100cm x 120cm, Acrylic on canvas

The fair runs from Thursday 26 - Sunday 29 October at Australian Technology Park, and you can get your tickets here: http://sydney.theotherartfair.com/free (use promocode TOAFAmanda).

See you there! 

This was hard

The 30 paintings in 30 day challenge was so exhausting that I'm only just getting around to publishing my notes. (Okay I did sneak in a wee trip to Japan there). Here are my notes ripped direct from my diary during the challenge. They're pretty candid, a little rough, and perhaps boring in parts... but there are some pretty pictures! As you'll see, a strong food theme emerged...

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    30 Paintings in 30 Days

    Have you heard of NaNoWriMo [http://nanowrimo.org/] -- National Novel Writing Month? It's an internet-based creative writing project that challenges participants to complete 50,000 words (or a novel) within the month of November. It started in 1999, and in 2015 they claim that 431,626 people could call themselves novelists at the end of the 30-day period. Pretty impressive.

    Now there's something similar started for artists called, "Thirty Paintings in Thirty Days" [https://www.saetastudio.com/30-in-30.html] which takes place in September. My schedule doesn't allow me to sign up, but the idea got me thinking. Could I complete 30 paintings in 30 days? Would the pressure to produce a quality painting every single day (for 30 days in a row!) trigger new creativity...or stymie it? 

    Aside from completing one painting a day, there is NO pressure.. no pressure to create anything good. It could be quite freeing, so for the moment, I’m quietly confident of the latter… it would trigger new creativity. However, those that know me well, know that such optimism could be short lived, and it’s entirely possible I would at some stage lose my sh*t and decide instead to set fire to the studio. 

    Nonetheless, the challenge of it has intrigued me, and I have decided to go for it. I've given myself an internal deadline: September 15 to October 14. At the end of that time, I should have 30 new works to share. I will be giving daily updates on Instagram and Facebook, and weekly reports on my blog. You’re welcome to follow my efforts as I navigate through the challenge. 

    Are there any other artists/writers/creators interested in joining me in the challenge? :D

    Canvases supplied by Southern Buoy 

    Canvases supplied by Southern Buoy 

    A Gift of a Gif

    I have been enjoying the subtle animated gifs showing up on social media lately, and thought I'd try my hand at animating paintings... just a little, and just enough to enhance the intended 'vibe' of the piece. I hope you enjoy this wee version of Maple Over Rock :) (It's a bit clunky, but like with all gifs, it's the thought that counts ;) ) 

    krantz_maple.gif

    P.S. Limited Edition Prints of 'Maple Over Rock' are now available in the shop!

    Painting Bonsai

    How's everyone going? These blog updates have thus far been few and far between, and it's something I plan to rectify... soooo if there's anything in particular you'd like to hear about from me, feel free to drop a comment in the Disqus section below (for those reading this via email, just click a link to view the blog on the net... or simply reply to this email).

    Without further ado, I give you 'Blossom Bonsai' where the Japan trip's inspiration is starting to seep into my thinking and making. (While we're here, I recommend visiting Omiya bonsai village a northern day trip from Tokyo. There you'll find the most beautiful trees you're ever likely to see.)

    'Blossom Bonsai' 130cm x 120cm, Acrylic on Canvas, framed in Victorian Ash

    'Blossom Bonsai' 130cm x 120cm, Acrylic on Canvas, framed in Victorian Ash

    It’s hard to gauge from this photograph, but at 130cm x 120cm, this a LARGE bonsai, which I know… is a totally oxymoronic statement. How is it not simply a tree, you ask?

    In the Zen art of Bonsai, by making tiny trees, or I should say, assisting to keep trees tiny, our perception of scale is tickled. It’s the same feeling you get when viewing sculptures like giant tubes of toothpaste by Claes Oldenburg, or the eerily life-like creations of Ron Mueck who works in both the giant and the pint-size. The newborn baby should not be the size of a swimming pool, and that middle-age spooning couple shouldn’t fit within the palm of my hand. It confuses us, but tickles us too. 

    A LARGE bonsai adds another layer to that skewed scale perception, and in so doing, highlights what it is that makes a tree a bonsai. It’s not merely about size, it’s about the character of age,  its shape and balance,  its root structure, thick tapered trunk and gnarled branches. These are the attributes a bonsai master is careful to maintain, and ditto when I create my bonsai works. 

    Although executed through very modern painting techniques, these bonsai are “grown” and “guided” in much the same way as a traditional bonsai tree. (Thankfully for me, in slightly less time.) When working with paint-pours, I surrender to Nature (gravity, paint viscosity, surface tension, etc.). I can do little but guide Nature to create what could be used to represent a trunk, age spots, or a gnarled branch. 

    It is in the surrendering to Nature, that allows for the mimicry of Nature… and that’s all pretty bloody Zen. ;)

    'Maple over Rock', 120cm x 80cm, acrylic on canvas

    'Maple over Rock', 120cm x 80cm, acrylic on canvas