Inside the Studio: Amanda Wall
- Art Dealer Street
- 1 day ago
- 5 min read
Amanda Wall’s paintings feel like overheard thoughts.
Not polished narratives or neatly framed stories — but flashes. Instincts. Scribbles that turn into presences. What begins as a frantic stream of consciousness in a sketchbook slowly transforms into strange, tender “entities” that hover between humor and unease, playfulness and psychological weight.
Her work doesn’t explain itself. It mutates.
Part intuition, part rebellion, part careful editing, Wall builds intimate mental landscapes where rules bend and unlikely elements coexist — an ungrounded square, a figure that feels both cartoonish and haunted, colors that clash and somehow hum together. There’s risk in every composition. And she embraces it fully.
Having moved through the art world as a critic, writer, instructor, assistant, and exhibitor, she understands both the poetry and the mechanics of making a life in art. That dual awareness gives her practice a rare clarity: instinct leads, intellect shapes, and the subconscious gets the final word.
In this Inside the Studio conversation, Wall reflects on automatism, dark humor, spiritual undercurrents, working small, and how trusting your inner voice — even when it feels unruly — is sometimes the most radical act of all.
Read on to learn more in an exclusive interview with Amanda Wall :
Your paintings feel like intimate psychological landscapes — almost like we’re witnessing thoughts form in real time. When you begin a work, what usually comes first: an emotion, an image, or pure instinct?
You are correct about thoughts in real time and pure instinct. My entities and imagery all begin as frenetic sketches in a moleskine sketch book, as I am a bit obsessive about preservation and keeping track of the order of their creation. This stream of consciousness drawing was not always my process. I began to focus internally, eliminating external observation.
You often describe your process as a collaboration between intuition and intellect through automatism. How do you know when to trust spontaneity and when to step in and consciously edit the composition?
The basic forms are very intuitive but during the process of bringing these psychological landscapes to life as a painting, many formal decisions are made concerning composition, color, transparency and most importantly some rule breaking decisions, like why is there an ungrounded square in the corner of the painting? I like the challenge of mixing elements that shouldn’t work together, but do. You know when you combine pieces to make a fashion statement and you fear criticism, but you take the risk, because you believe that it works? I think throughout my life, I have felt like a shamed rebel or black sheep. Now, I just own it. You can not be an innovator without taking risks.
Your figures and “entities” feel playful at first glance but carry an underlying darkness or tension. What draws you to this balance between whimsy and unease, and what does that duality reveal about your inner world?
Should I give you the dodgy Warholian answer, or be transparent? Let’s just say, I approach fight or flight, with more of a fight. I certainly have a dark sense of humor and the ability to laugh at life. I grew up in a cowboy, oil business and native american culture. Where I come from, even girls only cried at funerals. As a New Yorker, I think a little differently now, but any transformation of the soul is released through the subconscious and that is precisely what happens in my work.
You’ve worked across many roles — critic, writer, instructor, studio assistant, and painter. How do these different perspectives influence the way you approach your own studio practice today?
I do have the advantage of exposure to galleries, artist’s studios, and art fairs, etc. I am often floating around, in conversation with some art world professionals, I really admire and respect. Observing and taking notes, not only how artists create, but how they manage a business is just an extension of my education. There is so much that goes into the making and selling of art, from the artist’s studio to a small gallery, and then a mega gallery, and if they are really fortunate, an auction house or museum. It’s a complex system and so many hard working people are involved. I’ve learned that it takes more than a village. Everyone, from the assistants to the celebrity artist or art dealer, plays a crucial role.
Spirituality and the subconscious run deeply through your work, yet the imagery stays open-ended. Do you think of your paintings as storytelling, self-reflection, or something more intuitive and mysterious?
Admittedly, there are stories under the surface of some of them but I’m not trying to be an autobiographical storyteller. Yes, my work is so impulsive and intuitive, the meaning escapes me sometimes. They are like dreams — sometimes, I just can’t interpret them. I have a sense of what I was feeling in the moment and sometimes it plays a role.
Your recent works embrace an intentionally intimate scale. What does working small allow you to express that larger canvases can’t?
If you seek gallery representation, there is this pressure to paint huge works. I’m fully aware of the level of production that is expected, but again, I’m following my instincts. I gave myself the time and space to experiment. The excitement I felt for the ideas and seeing them materialize became more important than the flex of size. Bigger isn’t always better — it’s just more expensive.
You’ve both exhibited with and written about Clio Art Fair. From your perspective as an artist and critic, how has your experience with Clio impacted your practice or sense of community?
Clio Art Fair was my first exhibition in which I felt very proud to be selected. I met very cool artists, fair assistants, and Alessandro. I do feel a sense of belonging to the Clio community and I’m very honored to still be involved. It gave my practice a nice boost and I’m excited to see what happens next.
Looking ahead, where do you see these “entities” evolving next — new materials, sculpture, larger formats, or something unexpected?
I’ve already started working on larger canvases and I’ve been thinking for awhile about bringing my entities to life as sculpture. I like the idea of using materials that you don’t often see in sculpture. It’s that impermanence that says, I will continue to evolve while preserving the basic essence of what makes my work distinctive.
Amanda Wall’s work doesn’t try to resolve itself — and that’s exactly the point.
Each painting feels like a living thing: part dream, part diary, part instinctual release. There’s humor tucked inside tension, rebellion tucked inside composition, and a quiet spirituality that lingers long after you look away. The scale may be intimate, but the emotional charge is anything but small.
Her “entities” continue to shift, stretch, and evolve — onto bigger canvases, maybe even into sculpture — yet they still carry that same raw beginning: a sketch, a feeling, a thought caught mid-flight.
Some artists build images.
Wall captures consciousness itself.
And that’s what makes her world so compelling to step into.
You can learn more about Amanda Wall and her work via these links:
Website: Amanda Wall Instagram: @awallcrazyhorse LinkedIn: @Amanda Wall
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