A guide to the Archibald Prize, for the people who don’t speak art

If, as we all know, guest-programming Rage is the ultimate proof of local cultural status, I guess getting painted for the Archibald is a close second. This year’s prize is, as ever, an intriguing mix of celebrity paintings, artists’ self-portraits, and a tribute to comedian Aaron Chen from Aaron Chen’s own dad. It’s fun. But what should you see? Here I am, the people’s guide, to help you.

First, a note: my reactions came from viewing the works after hurriedly drinking three whisky highballs in, hmm, 10 minutes at the Archibald’s opening night party, as most honest reviews do. I had also eaten only one canapé all night, which was basically guacamole on a corn chip, because the catering was so scattershot. If this is how the art establishment lives, they can keep it.

The famous faces

It’s what we all come for and, as always, the celebrity portraits can be separated into two camps: which sitter will be hanging their portrait over their living room couch, and which will be pulling a Pip Edwards circa 2020 and hoping the whole thing is quickly buried and forgotten?

Jackie O is the No.1 fan of her likeness by artist Kelly Maree. Credit: Art Gallery of New South Wales / Jenni Carter

In the first camp is, obviously, KIIS 1065 radio personality Jackie “O” Henderson. Jackie O loves her portrait so much. I know this because she posted about it on Instagram three times in one day, and I watched her stand in front of it for at least three hours at the Archibald’s opening night. Artist Kelly Maree, who painted Heartbreak High actor Josh Heuston as a sensitive dreamboat last year, paints Henderson like she’s a Vogue cover model; if the pose is awkward, the portrait takes on an ethereal quality thanks to the ghostly, billowing blue gown. Archibald portraits are rarely so flattering.

Case in point: Col Mac’s portrait of Miranda Otto. Otto’s been painted draped across a sofa, lazing around like it’s wine o’clock. She’s even got her shoes on the couch. Mac said the scene reminded him of a “Pierre Bonnard painting”, but there’s none of Bonnard’s grimy solitude in the work. It more reminds me of Gogglebox. At least there’s a hidden black cat in the foreground, which is more than I can say for Jaq Grantford’s portrait of the Kidman sisters, Antonia and Nicole. “Nicole Kidman doesn’t look like that” was my first response, but then again, the real Nicole Kidman is something of a moving target, too.

More successful is Sally Ryan’s semi-surrealist portrait of Kathy Lette, which – with its Magritte clouds, bright colours and over-the-top muchness – captures the Puberty Blues author and columnist in all her gaudy, mischievous, Australiana glory. It’s titled Lette Loose, but considering how pungently it captures her spirit, you could call it Eau du Toi-Lette.

Bright and mischievous, Lette Loose by Sally Ryan captures its Puberty Blues author subject. Credit: Art Gallery of New South Wales / Jenni Carter

Look, from what I feel I know of Hugo Weaving (including his wonderfully bloviating performance in STC’s The President last year), the guy has the right kind of shit-stirring sense of humour to appreciate Jason Phu’s wildly unserious portrait, older hugo from the future fighting hugo from right now in a swamp and all the frogs and insects and fish and flowers now look on. Like his stream-of-consciousness titles and descriptions, Phu’s portraits – with their crude likeness, dripping paint streaks and casual blemishes – have a rushed, instinctive, unbothered energy that I’ll never not enjoy. “Here’s your f---ing portrait,” it feels like he’s saying as he reaches for a Gatorade, to which I imagine Weaving replied, “Pffffft thank you!”

The ultimate selfies

Why bother with celebrities when you can get results like these from self-portraits? Yvette Coppersmith’s Self-portrait with two cats is mesmerising in its serenity, the artist’s heavy-lidded visage matching her snoozing cats alongside her. She looks quite glamorous too, like Cleopatra-via-Old Hollywood, evoking advertisements from the art deco era. Even from afar, it stands out in the room, a result of Coppersmith (the Archibald’s 2018 winner) mixing her oils with sand to lend the picture an interesting, fleshy texture.

Cleopatra-via-Old Hollywood: Yvette Coppersmith’s Self-portrait with two cats.Credit: Art Gallery of New South Wales / Jenni Carter

On the opposite end of the same wall hangs Tsering Hannaford’s Meditation on time (a left-handed self-portrait), painted several months after the artist – an 11-time Archibald finalist – suffered a tendon injury in her right wrist, her dominant hand. There’s something stoic and determined in her still gaze, emanating from a heavy swirl of darkness, that’s hard to look away from.

From the always enjoyable Studio A collective in Sydney, first-time finalist Mathew Calandra’s His face like my face – self-portrait as Robert Englund playing Freddy Krueger is sure to be a crowd-pleaser. The subject might be playful but the portrait is deceptively intricate, all obsessive ink work awash in a swathe of blood-red watercolour. Fun and creepy, like my soul.

Mathew Calandra’s His face like my face – self-portrait as Robert Englund playing Freddy Krueger.Credit: Art Gallery of New South Wales / Jenni Carter

The short kings and tiny queens

Little portraits have a rough time at the Archibald, maybe in galleries in general where bigger is always considered better, grander, more striking. But look at Natasha Bienek’s portrait of artist Cressida Campbell and tell me that’s not some painstaking ambition. At 15 x 20 centimetres, it’s barely larger than a postcard but filled with photorealist detail so intricate, you could stare at it for hours. Sombre and reverent, Bienek paints Campbell in front of her garden and a tiny print from 18th-century Japanese artist Utamaro that I urgently need for my Sylvanian Families collection.

Cressida Campbell, by Natasha Bieniek, at 15 x 20 centimetres, is barely larger than a postcard but is filled with photorealist detail.Credit: Art Gallery of New South Wales / Jenni Carter

Another small wonder is Callum Worsfold’s impressionistic Self-portrait in the studio, where he puts the process on display, depicting himself in a paint-splattered jumpsuit and a gas mask, surrounded by the chemically hazardous tools of his trade. Grimier than a Roc Marciano cut, it’d be suffocating if it was any larger than its merciful 23 x 13 centimetres.

The bonkers crowd favourite?

Marcus Wills’ Cormac in Arcadia stretches the definition of portrait in a way that would probably annoy his fellow finalists, which is exactly why I’m here for it. It’s supposedly a portrait of 13-year-old actor Cormac Wright, but it’s actually a dramatic tableau done Rembrandt-style, filled with about two dozen mysterious figures, a frontally naked Jesus figure at dead centre, and even someone in adidas stripes. Wright, meanwhile, stands left of centre in a green Uniqlo hoodie, facing in the complete wrong direction, barely an onlooker in his own nightmare of a portrait.

Marcus Wills’ Cormac in Arcadia is supposedly a portrait of 13-year-old actor Cormac Wright – that’s him in the green jacket. Credit: Art Gallery of New South Wales / Jenni Carter

It’s unsettling and addictive and a crowd-pleaser judging by the number of people who hovered in front of it all evening. That the Archibald judges deemed this a finalist is perhaps a promising sign of bonkers things to come.

The Archibald, Wynne and Sulman Prizes are showing at the Art Gallery of NSW until August 17.

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