Prime Ministers | Tjilpi: Vincent Namatjira OAM 24 May - 14 Jun 2025

NON SELLING EXHIBITION

Courtesy of Biddy and Chris Van Aanholt & the Arthur and Suzie Roe Collection.

“I started painting portraits because I’m interested in people, and power, wealth and politics. For me, portraiture is a way of putting myself in someone else’s shoes as well as to share with the viewer what it might be like to be in my shoes. I use portraiture to look at my identity and my family history. It’s also a way for me to look at the history of this country, to ask who has the power, and why?”

Taking a moment to put ourselves in Vincent Namatjira’s shoes we see him playfully and boldly blend personal reflection with political commentary in his exploration of Australian colonial history and power dynamics. His vivid part portraits, part caricatures, amplify the features and flaws of the rich, powerful and personally familiar - drawing attention to the contrast between public perception and lived experience. This approach has positioned Namatjira as one of the most important voices in Australian contemporary art. He won the 2019 Ramsay Art Prize, received a Medal of the Order of Australia for his contribution to the arts, and became the first Indigenous artist to win the Archibald Prize in 2020. 

Much like his renowned great grandfather, Albert Namatjira –the watercolourist who immersed audiences in Central Australian landscapes at the time – Vincent has also become known for his radically distinctive style. However, Namatjira grew up unaware of his famous relative. Placed in foster care in Perth from the age of six, he only learned of his famous relative at eighteen. The experience of displacement and state intervention profoundly shaped his worldview—and his work.

“The reason why I paint politicians is really because of foster care,” he says. “When I was six, I was taken away by strangers. I lost connection with family, Country, and culture… That’s why I paint the politicians and people in tuxedos and suits. That’s what they meant to me and my sister—they raised us until we were eighteen. But there was no goodbye, no care. No apology.”

Unsurprisingly, it is here that we see his 2016 series The Prime Ministers, documenting the seven leaders who governed the country since the artist’s birth to the time of painting: Bob Hawke, Paul Keating, John Howard, Kevin Rudd, Julia Gillard, Tony Abbott and Malcolm Turnbull. Each is painted with sharp wit, their postures and expressions exaggerated, their personas reimagined in narrative scenes that critique their legacy and disconnect from Vincent’s world. “I am really interested in people in positions of power” he explains. “When I see politicians, world leaders, royalty and other power players on the news, I see this huge disconnect between their world and the day-to-day reality of life in a remote Aboriginal community. They have the power to make decisions that can seriously affect Aboriginal people’s lives from thousands of kilometres away in their offices in Canberra!”

That same year, Namatjira painted the Tjilpi Elders, a tribute to senior Anangu artists and lawmen of the APY Lands: Alec Baker, Kunmanara (Mumu Mike) Williams, Kunmanara (Pepai) Carroll, Kunmanara (Hector) Burton, Kunmanara (Harry) Tjutjuna, Witjiti George, and Keith Stevens. Here, he dares to imagine a world in which Indigenous leaders and those with deep and longstanding cultural knowledge are revered in broader Australian culture. This counter-narrative challenges the idea that leadership is defined by Western, capitalistic terms. Instead, through Namatjira’s lens, leadership emerges from community, cultural knowledge, and lived experience. The Tjilpi series asserts that true authority lies not in Canberra, but in Country. And, when you consider the lives, dreaming, stories and art of all seven sitters as a whole, a collective narrative begins to form of their wisdom and its complex meanings.

In this way, Namatjira’s work is not only satire, but a form of resistance. His portraits, especially when viewed side by side—Prime Ministers facing Tjilpi—subvert the colonial gaze. They question who gets remembered, who gets revered, and who holds real power.

“I was just a normal person, but when I touch the paintbrush, that sort of gave me some sort of power.”

His mockery is clever, not cruel. It mimics and unsettles in exhibitions at major institutions—spaces historically dominated by white narratives. In 2024, his Australia in Colour exhibition travelled from the Art Gallery of South Australia to the National Gallery of Australia. His work was also included in the British Museum’s 2015 exhibition Indigenous Australia: Enduring Civilisation. In both shows mockery becomes mimicry that reveals the absurdity of colonial power while asserting Indigenous strength. “We don’t need any more heroic portraits of royals and colonial figures,” he says. “Portraiture records our history, so I want to make sure Indigenous leaders—especially those who’ve been overlooked—are properly recognised. My three daughters are growing up now. I want them, and other Aboriginal kids, to see strong examples of Indigenous leadership, and to feel proud.”

Now, the Prime Ministers and Tjilpi get the opportunity to meet eye to eye in a tin shed gallery in Mparntwe, two weeks after a federal election. What will they have to say to each other?

Exhibition Catalogue (PDF)