Natasha Bieniek’s latest exhibition, Cocoon, is both a continuation and an evolution. The Melbourne-based painter, known for her exquisite miniature works and a staggering 11 inclusions in the Archibald Prize, has spent more than a decade painting inner-city gardens.

“Gardens are some of the most sensory-stimulating and information-rich environments that people ever encounter,” she tells Broadsheet. “They are like living, breathing artworks that are constantly changing over time.”

In Cocoon, now showing at Sophie Gannon Gallery, storied Melbourne gardens including Rippon Lea Estate, the Royal Botanic Gardens and Fitzroy Gardens all serve as muse.

Bieniek’s practice draws on the centuries-old tradition of miniature painting. Most of the works in Cocoon are no larger than eight by six centimetres. The addition of one large-scale work – the largest Bieniek has ever painted – flips that experience, demanding viewers step back and be overwhelmed by detail.

What is it about gardens, and particular inner-city gardens, that interests you?

As a culture, we are busier and more work-oriented than ever before. Inner-city living is noisy, fast-paced and busy. Trains are packed, traffic is a nightmare. It can be an assault on the senses. So many of us are totally divorced from the natural world and we infrequently question the impact on our physical or mental wellbeing. It’s the small pockets of nature, like the gardens depicted in my paintings, that offer a sense of escapism and respite from the surrounding city chaos. I’m interested in the notion that a stronger connection to nature could enable us to further thrive as a species.

You usually work in miniature form, but in this exhibition, you’ve painted a two-metre-wide work.

I wanted to create an exhibition that features two extremes of scale – there’s no middle-ground. The addition of a large-scale painting presents a deliberate counterpoint to the miniatures. It toys with ideas of scale and perception and forces the viewer to physically step back and respond in an alternate way. I wanted to create an experience where the viewer is both pulled in and pushed out as they navigate my exhibition. My large painting intends to confront, overwhelm and amplify.

What’s appealing about painting at a grander scale?

My larger paintings are generally looser and executed with more gestural brushwork. Although I maintain a strong focus on detail, the larger format allows for a more intuitive, technical freedom.

You are renowned for your miniatures. What is it about the art form that appeals to you?

My aim is to create a one-on-one relationship with the viewer and what I like to term, “an unavoidable intimacy”. Working at a small scale requires the viewer to slow down, to approach and observe closely.

I’ve painted on a miniature scale for 15 years. I’m drawn to the ancient tradition of miniature painting, particularly from England and France in the 16th century – jewel-like portraits that often resemble medals or pendants. Their purpose was to portray an individual’s characteristics, acting as a keepsake or providing a visual representation for someone afar – photography was not invented.

This is an art form that has long emphasised intimacy, detail and reflection. The invention of photography in the 19th century inevitably led to their decline. My intention was to revive the tradition within a present-day context. My work is largely about drawing on notions of past and present and bringing them together.

You’ve noted that the scale of your miniatures is actually indicative of the way we often engage with images today.

As a culture we are constantly glued to our phones or devices. They have become an extension of ourselves and as a result, we see the world through a screen that can fit in the palm of our hand. Miniatures reflected the values and aesthetics of their time. Today’s digital imagery, especially what’s shared on social media, functions similarly.

How long did it take you to paint the miniature works versus the large piece?

My larger artwork was painted over three months. The miniatures on average take about one month. The entire exhibition was painted over 18 months. Whether large or small, my paintings are approached in a fairly similar way. However, with miniature painting, there’s not a lot of room for error. One small slip can spell disaster and it can often take several attempts to arrive at a satisfying point. I’m often asked whether I use a magnifying class, which I don’t, however, this work requires a steady hand, patience and concentration.

What made you use these particular gardens as subjects for Cocoon?

When choosing a garden to paint, I’m not looking for any particular style or theme. I love a traditional garden as much as I love a native, tropical cottage or Japanese garden. What I’m looking for is detail. I want to see diversity in plants and dense garden beds. I’m looking for plants of varying heights, colours and textures. This series focuses on gardens located close to Melbourne’s CBD, which is where I live. All of the paintings feature a grey sky. This is the best light for capturing detail. Direct sunlight can add too much contrast and reflect the intricate details. My paintings often feature pathways or bodies of water. This creates an entry point and can help lead the viewer into a painting.

Tell us the story behind three of the works.

Dapple, 2025 – The Fitzroy Gardens, East Melbourne

“I’ve painted this garden a few times. I’m drawn to the variety of green textures but also the water feature which is titled Boy on a Turtle. Interestingly, this bronze sculpture was stolen from the gardens in the ’70s which is incredible given its weight. It was later found in an abandoned Richmond car park. The garden is on the edge of the CBD and coexists with the noise and bustle of city life. It provides a sanctuary for those who encounter it. Painting a heavily detailed garden scene like this one forces me to slow down. It allows me to get to know my subject over many weeks or months. Oil painting also allows me to reference present-day culture in a very poetic way. For me, it’s the perfect antidote to the constant influx of media and advertising we are exposed to in our daily lives.”

Drift, 2024 – The Royal Botanic Gardens, Melbourne

“Every time I visit this particular area of the gardens, I hear bellbirds. They have a very distinct ‘ding’ sound which is completely calming. I feel like I’m in the middle of the bush when I’m in this space. It’s hard to believe [this is] located in the middle of the city. This is a view of the ornamental lake from “Long Island”. I’ve always been drawn to painting bodies of water. I think our fondness for scenes containing a body of water stems from our biological origins. The human brain evolved in a biocentric world, rather than a machine-operated world. An intimate relationship with nature was imperative for basic survival. I also think this is one of the reasons why we pay more for a hotel room overlooking water or why we bring indoor plants into sterile environments or gift bouquets of flowers on sad or special occasions.”

Pulse, 2025 – Rippon Lea Estate Gardens, Ripponlea

“Rippon Lea estate is a Victorian-era mansion surrounded by seven hectares of amazing garden. I’ve painted an area which is just outside of the garden’s fernery. Painting ferns at this scale is technically very challenging. I used my tiniest brushes, which are about twenty times smaller than a match head. It took many attempts and several layers of paint. I sometimes spend the entire day working on a section that is the size of a 10 cent coin. I’m driven by detail, so this proved to be a good subject for me. When I was in high school, my class visited these gardens. It was the first time in memory that I felt completely awe-struck by a garden. That feeling never left me and it’s the reason I continue to make work like this today.”

Natasha Bieniek’s Cocoon is showing at Sophie Gannon Gallery until October 25.

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