Karen Standke is a contemporary Landscape Artist who has worked and exhibited internationally for over two decades. Born 1973 In Munich, Germany and based in Australia since 2000, Karen has exhibited work nationally and internationally. Awarded the Pollock Krasner Foundation grant in 2008, Standke’s work has been a finalist in several of Australia’s most prestigious painting awards, amongst them the John Leslie Art Prize in 2020 and 2018, the Pro Hart Outback Art Prize in 2017, the Albany Art Prize in 2014 (where her work won the People’s choice award) and the Glover prize in 2011.
Most recently, Standke was awarded the Noel Counihan Art Award in 2018, and her winning work “Now selling” was acquired by Moreland City Council for the public collection in 2020. “Road to Maralinga II”, an early work of Standke’s, painted in 2007, was part of the nationally touring exhibition Black Mist Burnt Country, which included work by Sidney Nolan, Arthur Boyd and Rosemary Laing, amongst many other notable contemporary artists. Standke’s works are held in private collections in Australia, New Zealand, Austria, Germany, France, Norway, Japan, India, UK and USA
Known for their depth, mood, and strong sense of place, Karen's works often reflect remote environments and landscapes shaped by history. With a process that’s both patient and deliberate, each painting draws you in slowly, rewarding close attention.
Congratulations on your upcoming exhibition. Can you share with us what inspired
the collection?
About two years ago, on a winter trip to the NSW South Coast, my son and I stayed at a
dog-friendly motel near Merimbula. Early the next morning, I took our dog for a walk to the
lake and stumbled upon the Millingandi wetlands.
The light that morning was magical — I was completely mesmerised by the colours. I snapped a few quick photos on my phone, as we were only staying for one night.
Back in the studio, I began working on the first painting — Merimbula Landscape No. 1 — which isn’t included in this exhibition, as it sold almost immediately when a friend visited the studio looking for a birthday gift for her husband.
I created two more landscapes from that first impression, then returned to Merimbula for a longer stay — this time for three nights — so I could properly observe the wetlands at dawn, dusk, and in the brightness of midday.
That visit gave rise to Merimbula Landscapes 4 and 5, and inspired the Millingandi Landscapes 1–5 series. I suspect I’m not quite finished with Millingandi yet. Alongside these works, this exhibition also includes selections from my ongoing — and seemingly never-ending — series of eucalyptus tree paintings. The most recent of these is titled Lost Limbs.
I’ve always found the broken or chopped branches visually compelling, but they’ve also taken on a more personal meaning over time. For me, they represent the insights of midlife — shaped by experiences of challenge, loss, and grief. Like the tree, we survive, but we carry our scars. And those scars tell a story of resilience and healing.
Your connection to the land feels both personal and profound. What is it about the
Australian landscape that continues to inspire your work?
The light, the space — I felt it the moment I arrived in Sydney 25 years ago. There’s a
unique sense of openness here, a vastness that brings both possibility and responsibility.
Australia’s landscape is breathtaking in its diversity, home to an extraordinary and fragile array of flora and fauna. Through my work, I try to express a deep sense of stewardship — a belief that we must care for this land with respect and humility.
Tread lightly. Do no harm.
And yet, the scale of this country can make it easy to look away — to ignore the harm that’s being done. But we can’t afford to be complacent.
This land is ancient. It will outlast us. But I wish we were doing a far better job of honouring and protecting it while we’re here.
You’ve lived and exhibited across several countries. How has working
internationally shaped your artistic outlook or the way you view place and identity?
The concept of identity has long fascinated me — perhaps because I chose to uproot
myself from my home country in my early twenties. Being born in Germany in the 1970s,
identity was already a complex and often uncomfortable subject. My generation grew up in
the shadow of history, still wrestling with questions of who we were meant to be.
Over time, I’ve come to see identity as more construct than truth — a fluid idea rather than a fixed definition. We are, at our core, swirling atoms — what connects us feels far more profound than what separates or labels us.
Freed from the constraints of an imposed religion, I explored spiritual philosophies from an early age. Encountering Zen Buddhism in Japan in 1994 left a lasting mark on my worldview. I was deeply moved by the stillness, the restraint, and the subtle elegance in Japanese art — from painting and woodblock printing to temple gardens and architecture.
Later, in New Zealand, where I lived for several years in the late 1990s and early 2000s, I found a vibrant and supportive creative community at a time of intense cultural momentum in Wellington. It was there that I embraced painting — first in acrylics, then oils — and began responding to both the raw wilderness and cultivated landscapes of Aotearoa.
It was also in New Zealand that I became aware of the complexities of post-colonialism and the fragile balance of native ecosystems. The scars of deforestation, the impact of introduced species — all of it shaped how I began to engage with land, history, and place through my work.
You’ve received a number of major awards and residencies throughout your career.
How do these moments of recognition sit with you creatively? Do they influence
your practice in any way?
It’s always a wonderful feeling to be selected as a finalist in a major art prize — and of
course, winning is even better. But simply being included among your peers in a respected
exhibition is a significant affirmation, both for your career and your confidence as an artist.
Recently, I had the honour of collaborating with Monash BrainPark on a project where several of my large paintings were reproduced as fine art prints for their pilot program. It was deeply meaningful to be part of such an initiative.
Currently, a large-scale reproduction of my painting Tree Spirits Triptych XXX — also featured in this exhibition — can be seen at three public tram shelters outside the Royal Exhibition Building (Tram Stop 11). I’m incredibly proud of that. To have my work displayed publicly in Melbourne, a city I love dearly, feels like a way of giving something back. The fact that it’s been up for over two years now is an honour I don’t take lightly.
Can you tell us about a particular work in this exhibition that felt especially
significant or challenging to create?
Each work came with its own unique set of challenges, particularly in my effort to capture a
specific quality of light in each scene. I'm currently pushing myself to be more painterly —
to say more with less — which isn’t always easy for someone who naturally gravitates
toward detail.
There’s a meditative rhythm to my process, especially when I find myself painting individual blades of grass with a tiny brush. That slow, focused attention is both challenging and deeply calming — a kind of quiet devotion to the landscape.
Over the years, how has your relationship with the land changed — and how has
that informed the way you paint it?
In many ways, my relationship with the land hasn’t changed all that much — I was
fortunate to grow up in a very outdoors-oriented family, spending time in the Bavarian and
Austrian Alps. I still clearly remember my mother always carrying an extra bag on our hikes
to collect rubbish left behind by others. That kind of care leaves a mark on you as a child.
Today, I mostly feel gratitude. I’m grateful to still be painting, grateful to have chosen this path in life. I continue to look to other artists for inspiration — especially those who manage to say so much with just a few brushstrokes. I strive toward that kind of simplicity and clarity in my own work, always learning, always trying to do a little more with a little less.
What do you hope people experience or feel when they encounter your work
in person?
I hope they feel a sense of peace and belonging.
Exhibition opening
Saturday August 9, 2025
11 am - 3 pm
Manyung Gallery Malvern
6-10 Claremont Avenue, Malvern
exhibition runs until August 23
For artwork enquiries or to request a preview catalogue, please contact sharyn@manyunggallery.com.au or 0419 595 222