The Archibald prize is awarded annually for a portrait by an artist living in Australia. The subject is usually someone prominent in the arts, science or politics: the founder (the Archibald was established in 1921) would probably be startled to find chefs in this celebrity mix. As well as the main prize of $AUD100 000, there is a much more modest packing room prize, and a people’s choice prize. I realise again what a rich life I can live in country Australia when I discover that the 2016 finalists in this prestigious exhibition are on show in the Bega Regional Gallery, a mere hundred kilometres from home.
I’m interested in portraiture, how it reveals a person, and what it might tell me about writing portraits and biography. I head off down the familiar coast road, past the site of the Four Winds festival, stopping for a walk along Cuttagee Beach.
The gallery is small and spacious. There aren’t too many people around, and there’s a comfortable bench in each room for seated contemplation. With each painting there’s an illuminating artist’s statement, telling the story of both subject and painting process; and a question for children, asking them to look at something specific. To cater for the other end of the age demographic, the artist statements are available in a large-print booklet. On the Archibald website a short video in sign language accompanies each painting.
I prowl around, following the empty spaces in front of paintings. I note the ones I’m drawn to, and also that there’s no pattern, except that I prefer complexity over simplification. I notice how much of the body is shown: head only, head and shoulders, to the waist or just below, the whole figure. I notice backgrounds: mere and not-so-mere paint, detailed setting, a blurry landscape. I also find myself oddly drawn to conceptual paintings: two that I categorise thus are self portraits.
How can I curate my impressions? Maybe I’ll take a hint from pop song charts and work my way from least liked to favourites.
This lot have faces too blank for my liking, or is it too artificial? I don’t have the urge to meet the subjects, or to look deeper into the paintings.

Kate Benton “Claudia”; Belinda Henry “Louise Olsen”; Sally Ross “Roslyn”; Carla Fletcher “Twin souls”
Sam Harris is a fashion model from the Bundjalung people, traditional owners of land in north-eastern NSW. The artist arranges her studio with things that speak of Harris’s interests, and then inserts her into the set after only two sittings. She borrows the pose from Manet’s “Olympia”.
A businessman and generous arts patron, Pat Corrigan is shown rising from his desk, in front of part of his impressive art collection. The colours of his hands and face look bizarre close up, but create a person full of character and echo the colours in the background paintings.
The composition of this one is what takes my fancy, a half figure and negative space. I’m also amused by the setting: the chef holding a toilet roll and sitting on the loo, which is the ultimate destination of all her hard work.
I find myself drawn to two paintings because of the concept as much as the artistry. McWillams portrays species who have destroyed the Australian landscape, including man, represented by a self portrait in the style of the 16th century Italian Renaissance painter, Giuseppe Arcimboldo. The animals are beautifully painted: the artist wanted to show their innocence, despite their depredations in an environment not theirs and not of their choosing.
I’ve encountered Imant Tillers many times and have always been a bit puzzled by his art. This time, he provides a gateway in. He calls this painting a visual poem, and explains that it came about when he finally had to acknowledge that he exists as a “self”. Suddenly it becomes accessible, and I wonder whether I could construct a similar account of my “self”, making use of photography. I immediately acknowledge that such an attempt would be guaranteed to show me just how complex “Double reality” is. The paintwork in “Terry Serio” is glorious, thick and textured: the palette elegant: the subject relaxed and perfectly placed against a geometry of horizontal and vertical lines:Maybe my delight in “Lucy and fans” is the result of imprinting because it’s the first painting I see as I enter the gallery: it doesn’t hurt that these birds have been rescued from a future as animal food at Mogo Zoo. The perspective from above allows the birds to show off their characteristic fans, and portrays Lucy surrounded by creatures she loves.
The two paintings I keep coming back to are both portraits of anguish.
“The cost” portrays Craig Campbell who intervened in a violent mob attack on a train during the infamous Cronulla race riots in 2005. He now suffers chronic PTSD and needs a carer. The colours, the downturned eyes, the wrinkled ravages of his face convey the damage he suffers from his act of courage.
Garry McDonald is an Australian comedian who suffers from anxiety and depression. This painting captures the pain and inwardness in which he lives during dark episodes: the stillness, the greyness, the unreachability, the isolation, intensified by stormy grey cloud-like background.The winner? Go back to the first photo of the gallery. That small one against a black background is it: Louise Hearman’s “Barry”, a portrait of Barry Humphries in oil on masonite.
The packing room winner is hidden around a corner and hard to photograph.
The people’s choice is almost impossible to see whole, overlaid as it is by reflections in the glass. Deng is a former child soldier in the Sudan, a refugee and now a human rights lawyer. He is depicted almost photographically against a plain background, from the shoulders up, wearing a white shirt. You’ll probably notice that I’m a sucker for a story. I wonder how much of my pleasure comes from story and how much from artistry.
It’s fascinating to see what you like and why. I could not live with the red anguish and the ladies in their textiles are a lot of fun. I don’t at all understand how the effects are produced but recently we have been watching a televised portraiture competition. Sometimes I sit up close to the screen but some things look better from a distance. Interesting the reactions they produce though. I could linger with the guy in his depression. But I won’t today! Jobs beckon. I chased pink ‘snow’ blossom through the park yesterday. Must be much more responsible today. 🙂 🙂
LikeLike
If I were to hang one it wouldn’t be the anguish: it’d probably be the blue man with the thick paint. I need to revise my chart perhaps. I love watching the process behind the art. MOMA has a series of short videos where a tutor paints “in the style of …” Gives me a lot more understanding. Now if I could paint, it would be that lovely image of you chasing pink snow blossom. Pity you have to be responsible – don’t think I’d want to paint or hang that!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Really amazing work, you’re lucky to be able to see it. Mind you I don’t take advantage of what’s on offer here very often. I’m not keen on portraits that are too photographic although they show the skill of the painter, but not keen if they’re too abstract either. From these I’d choose Sam Harris and Easton Pearson, that probably shows what a simple soul I am!
LikeLike
I take more advantage of what’s on offer here than I did once upon a time long ago I lived in Sydney. I’m still fumbling my way into portraits: I tended to despise them because … they weren’t landscapes? They were photographic? Simple souls (if that’s what you are, and I doubt it!) are lovely things – and whatever you are is an especially lovely thing. Your soul is loving and generous.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Like you, I do love a good story (and try to tell stories in my photographs), and there are some interesting portraits here. Certainly seems like you had a good prowl around, Meg!
LikeLike
It was a manageable number. I wasn’t wildly enthusiastic when the guardian tried to persuade me Bega needs a bigger gallery in keeping with it its regional status.
LikeLiked by 1 person
😳😀😀
LikeLike
I know none of the subjects so respond from a necessarily limited & superficial dimension — but that said, am very drawn to the Terry Serio portrait. And in general I applaud how this gallery recognizes the range of audiences it attracts, and creates a distinct approach to each — for e.g., the specific something for children to find in a given work.
LikeLike
The only subjects I actually “knew” were Barry Humphris and Garry McDonald. You don’t need to know the subject to see the portrait – probably better if you don’t. I think my appreciation of the art was in fact sidetracked by the stories, which were all snaffled from the accompanying text anyway.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your comments touch on why AGO benefactor Ken Thompson insisted there be no titles/explanations next to the galleries of his donations — he wanted people to react directly to what they see, not react to what they read about what they see …
LikeLike