I still remember the first time I saw an aquatic bonsai. God, it must’ve been…2016? 2017? One of those international aquascaping competitions in Singapore. I’d been wandering between displays all morning, and honestly, they were starting to blur together. You know how it gets after the fifteenth “mountain landscape with carpet plants” setup.
Then I turned a corner and—BAM!—stopped dead in my tracks. Nearly spilled my lukewarm coffee all over some poor guy’s shoes.
There, in this unassuming 12-gallon long tank, was what looked exactly like a miniature tree growing underwater. Its little branches reached up through the water, and the creator had somehow gotten pearl weed to grow in these perfect little bubble-shaped clumps that looked EXACTLY like the foliage of a maple tree. The “trunk” was this twisted piece of spider wood that seriously looked like it had been shaped by decades of wind and weather. Found out later the whole setup was only four months old. FOUR MONTHS!
I must’ve stood there gawking for, I dunno, fifteen minutes? Completely blocking foot traffic until the creator—this super quiet Japanese guy named Hiroshi—tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I had questions.
“How?” was literally all I could say. He laughed and offered to show me over coffee.
That afternoon changed everything about how I approach aquascaping. Turns out, I’d been making things way harder than they needed to be—trying to recreate entire freakin’ landscapes when sometimes all you need is one perfect focal point. The aquatic bonsai technique (some people call it “aquabonsai”—sounds fancier I guess) has become my absolute favorite style to create and teach.
Here’s the funny thing about these underwater trees—they LOOK impossible to make, but they actually don’t require any special skills. Just patience. Lots and lots of patience. I’ve taught complete beginners who created stunning pieces their first try. The real trick isn’t some special technique but learning to slow the hell down and think like a bonsai master would.
My first attempt was…well…a disaster. Let’s just say it looked less like an ancient miniature tree and more like someone had dropped a random stick with moss glued to it into a tank. The proportions were completely wrong—which, if you know anything about bonsai, is a cardinal sin. The relationship between trunk thickness, height, and canopy spread is EVERYTHING if you want to create the illusion of a mature tree in miniature form.
I’d picked this gorgeous piece of manzanita wood with a beautiful natural curve, but totally failed to consider how it would look once partially buried in substrate. Rookie mistake. And the “canopy” portion—I’d used java moss—grew in these weird patchy clumps instead of the lush, unified crown I’d pictured in my head. And don’t even get me started on my disastrous attempt to create exposed “roots” using cotton thread and fishing line. My girlfriend at the time took one look and said it looked like the tree was having a bad hair day…underwater. She wasn’t wrong.
These days, I always start with a sketch—something I fought against for YEARS until a workshop with this traditional bonsai master in Tampa made me realize how much time I was wasting through plain old trial and error. Now I draw out the shape I want first, thinking about how real trees actually grow. Most beginners make this mistake of creating perfectly symmetrical trees that look super artificial. Real trees respond to light, wind, competition—they’re beautifully imperfect, ya know?
For the hardscape (the “trunk” and “branches”), I’ve tried pretty much every wood type you can buy—and some you probably shouldn’t. Spider wood and azalea roots give you these natural branching patterns that don’t need much work. Malaysian driftwood makes these powerful, twisted trunks but usually needs extra branches attached. And yeah, I’ve absolutely super-glued smaller branches onto main trunks. Purists might clutch their pearls, but it opens up so many possibilities for getting exactly the shape you want.
The absolute nightmare of my early attempts taught me to secure EVERYTHING like your life depends on it. Nothing ruins the magic of an aquabonsai like having a branch suddenly float to the surface during a water change three weeks in. Talk about heartbreaking. I now use this weird combination of fishing line, super glue gel (the cyanoacrylate kind that’s aquarium-safe once it cures), and sometimes even tiny stainless steel screws for bigger pieces. Sounds like overkill until you’ve experienced the soul-crushing moment of a tree collapsing after months of growth.
For the “leaves,” picking the right plants makes all the difference in the world. My go-tos are java moss and Christmas moss for trees with that rugged, pine-tree look. For delicate, deciduous-looking trees, nothing beats pearl weed (Hemianthus micranthemoides) or Monte Carlo when you grow them partially emersed. Bucephalandra species make amazing “leaves” for tropical-looking bonsai, though they grow so dang slow it tests even my patience.
The trick with mosses—which took me way too many frustrating attempts to figure out—is to start with tiny amounts. Like, ridiculously small amounts attached to the branches. My first big mistake was using too much moss, creating these bulky, fake-looking shapes. Now I do the complete opposite—attach the tiniest strands and let them grow naturally over time. The transformation between week one and week eight blows my mind every time—from these sparse, barely-visible strands to lush, naturally-shaped growth.
Lighting makes a huge difference in selling the illusion. Too even, and the bonsai looks flat and fake. I position my lights slightly off-center now, creating subtle shadows that make the tree look three-dimensional. For this restaurant setup in Miami last year, I actually installed two separate lights—a stronger one from the “south” direction and a weaker fill light from the “north”—mimicking how sunlight would actually hit a tree. The owner told me customers kept trying to touch the glass, convinced the tree was real and somehow surviving underwater. Best. Compliment. Ever.
The maintenance is where most aquabonsai setups either thrive or slowly turn into an underwater jungle. Unlike regular planted tanks where a bit of wildness adds to the natural vibe, bonsai requires regular pruning to maintain the scale illusion. I literally set a weekly reminder on my phone labeled “tree trimming”—it’s this meditative process that takes about 20 minutes with fine scissors and tweezers. Sunday mornings: coffee in one hand, trimming tools in the other, my cat judging me from the doorway as I carefully shape each tiny section. Weird? Probably. Satisfying? Absolutely.
One unexpected bonus of the aquatic bonsai approach: these setups use way fewer plants than traditional aquascapes, making them cheaper and often more stable. My favorite one right now—this windswept juniper style in my home office made with spider wood and Christmas moss—has been running for 14 months with barely any algae issues despite pretty intense lighting. The limited plant mass means fewer nutrients needed, creating a system that’s just easier to keep balanced.
If you’re thinking about trying this style, here’s my advice: start small, both in tank size and ambition. A 5-gallon tank with one well-executed bonsai tree creates WAY more visual impact than a larger tank with a mediocre attempt. And don’t get discouraged if your first few tries look like crap—mine sure did. Each failure teaches you something new.
The most rewarding part isn’t even the finished product—it’s the process itself. There’s something deeply satisfying about creating these underwater sculptures that combine traditional aquascaping with classical bonsai arts. When someone visits your home, does a double-take, leans in close to the glass, and asks “Wait…how is that tree growing underwater?” Well, that moment makes all the trimming, gluing, and failed attempts worth it. Even when your fingers are permanently stained green and your significant other is questioning your sanity for spending three hours arranging moss with tweezers. Their loss, right?
