For many Indigenous people, both in Australia and globally, art exists as a continuum where the old meets the new, where materialities clash, and where perspectives converge. When people think of contemporary Australian Art, they often refer to the emergence of European art following the British arrival in 1788. In contrast, Indigenous art stands as the only art form entirely unique to the Australian continent.
Long before the invention of written word, Indigenous people in Australia conveyed critical cultural knowledge through art, song, dance, and storytelling. Lands, seas and skies were vast mnemonic repositories of cultural information accumulated and remembered over hundreds and even thousands of generations. Before the British arrived, the continent known today as Australia was home to over 250 language groups, with more than 500 distinct dialects, each with its unique culture and kinship structure. The diversity of Indigenous art in Australia is profound; yet, post-colonization, there remains a tendency to view Indigenous art as a singular, homogeneous entity. Colonization itself is often framed as an event, yet as historian Patrick Wolfe observed, it is not merely an event but rather an ongoing process—one we are still navigating today.
Over millennia, Aboriginal people have witnessed the shifting configuration of continents, the ebb and flow of ice ages, and the rise and fall of empires. To put that into perspective, modern humans walked into Europe around 40,000 to 45,000 years ago—at least 20,000 years after Aboriginal peoples voyaged to and established their presence in Australia. While the expansive timeline of Indigenous Australia can be difficult to fully grasp, its significance resonates powerfully through art.
The lands and waterways we inhabit today are the same that our Ancestors lived on. The arrival of the British fundamentally changed the course of our history, and saw many of our ancestors dispossessed and missionized, children were taken from their families, and our languages and ceremonies were forbidden. And yet in spite of this, Indigenous people remain strong and connected to culture and Country, often using art as a way of reclaiming all that was lost (or perhaps more accurately, was taken).
Colonization was enacted by the British under the doctrine of terra nullius, meaning they viewed Australia as ‘nobody’s land.’ This inaccurate perspective often leads to framing Australia’s art history as starting with the arrival of British explorer Lieutenant (later named Captain) James Cook. It is, however, essential to remember that Aboriginal people have had a long history of global encounters predating colonization by thousands of years. Before the British came, both the Dutch and French visited Australia, and Aboriginal peoples in northern Australia regularly traded with Makassan fishers from the island of Sulawesi in modern day Indonesia. Torres Strait Islanders used their huge, sea-voyaging sailing canoes to establish strong connections with both Papua New Guinea and far north Queensland.
This rich history of interaction and exchange laid the groundwork for a vibrant art-making tradition that has evolved over time. While the history of art-making in Australia stretches back through the ages, there have been key moments in the last century that have catalyzed significant changes in contemporary Indigenous practice. One such pivotal moment occurred in 1971-1972 when senior male artists at Papunya in the Western Desert underwent a profound transformation, translating previously ephemeral ritual designs into modern acrylic paintings. This moment is often regarded as the first time these ancient designs were recognized as art and not artifacts. Rendered in acrylic on board and canvas, these ancestralpaintings seamlessly aligned with the principles of modernism.
However, positioning the birth of contemporary Indigenous art at Papunya is not without its complications, as it can overshadow artists of immense consequence, by the likes of Tommy McRae, William Barak, Albert Namatjira, and so on. Nevertheless, the moment was significant because it formalised the establishment of the first Indigenous-run art center, Papunya Tula Artists. While I would argue that the first true art center was at Coranderrk in southeast Australia, founded in 1863, where Wurundjeri ngurungaeta (clan leader) William Barak helped his community build a self-sustaining village after their dispossession, Papunya Tula Artists did set a national precedent which has led to many Aboriginal-owned art centers throughout Australia today.
During the 1980s and 1990s, more and more artists built upon the innovations of those pioneering men at Papunya, expanding their techniques and transforming small boards into larger and more expansive canvases while developing sophisticated iconographies that map their ancestral stories. These ‘conceptual maps’ feature circular pathways representing songlines connected to the lives of ancestral beings. Sometimes referred to as ‘Dreamings’, these narratives recount the formation of people and Country. The word ‘Dreaming’ is itself an anglicized word that helps to explain the sacred laws and narratives recounting the formation of people and Country, the details of which vary between nations and clans.
The word ‘Country’ also, is a similarly complex and ultimately untranslatable concept. It might best be understood as the nexus of land, water, sky, animals, bodies, and law. Capitalized, ‘Country’ signifies a living, sentient entity that requires both physical and spiritual care, intricately tied to a person’s identity and ancestral links to place.
No collection can claim to be an encyclopedia. Collectors, whether private individuals or institutions, often present their collections as definitive representations of a movement or era. Yet, at the heart of Two Collections—by Steve Martin, Anne Stringfield, and John and Barbara Wilkerson—lies not an attempt at being comprehensive, but a simple yet profound love and commitment to collecting, admiring, learning from, and supporting Indigenous Art from Australia.
For over thirty years, Martin, Stringfield, and the Wilkersons have diligently built their collections, which continue to expand each year. As their understanding of Indigenous history has evolved, so too have their collections, reflecting a growing diversity of tribal groups, practices, and perspectives. At their core, these collections embody a deep reverence for Indigenous art, aiming to inspire, challenge, and connect people and communities to these exceptional works that hold contemporary significance for Aboriginal peoples today.
The distinction between private and public collections is crucial. Public collections should strive for breadth and diversity, accurately representing the art that matters to the community, regardless of individual tastes. In contrast, private collections offer a glimpse into the collector’s eye and heart, often favoring personal affinity over balanced representation.
When culturally significant works enter the secondary market or find their way into private collections, there is a risk that they may simply ‘disappear’—visible only to those with access to private spaces. Both Wilkerson and Martin/Stringfield are acutely aware of this risk of disassociation; the works of our ancestors, now in the hands of collectors, carry great meaning and relevance today. Publishing these collections in a library format on this website serves as a powerful demonstration of the importance of access for Indigenous peoples. For decades, Indigenous communities have sought transparency regarding the objects and works of their ancestors held in museums and collections.
While it may seem straightforward to publish the contents of one’s collection, it remains remarkably rare for most collectors to take this step. Often publication is associated with a lavishly illustrated auction sale catalogue that marks the end and dispersal of a private collection and brief public viewing prior to the next chapter in private ownership and sequestering. By sharing their active collections, Wilkerson and Martin/Stringfield empower Indigenous people, enabling them to access and research the works of their ancestors.
There can be a tendency to perceive some Indigenous art—particularly the conceptual maps of central and western desert regions—as mere abstraction. Yet, Indigenous and curatorial scholarship underlying these collections reveals that such works embody a visual language, where coded symbols and inherited iconographies connect contemporary viewers to stories that have endured for millennia. When I first met Steve Martin, he remarked on his love for Indigenous painting, saying, ‘the more I know, the less I know.’ This reflects a profound acknowledgment that these works represent layers of knowledge accessible to different audiences based on their varied perspectives. An initiated person from the community will grasp a work's nuances with far greater cultural specificity than someone without prior relationships with Indigenous cultures.
Rather than hide works that may be secret or sacred, or culturally sensitive, the collectors have made the important decision to publish the collection in full. They have implemented necessary safeguards to ensure that uninitiated viewers who do not wish to engage with works requiring cultural protocol can opt out. Such works are blurred and accompanied by warnings, allowing audiences to proceed at their discretion.
Striking a balance between accessibility for those who find contemporary relevance in the art—be it cultural or academic—and ensuring protections for Aboriginal viewers is no small feat. However, the alternative—locking a collection away from most—is far more dangerous than making material available to those who value it.
While neither collection aims to be exhaustive, certain gaps warrant discussion. Both Martin/Stringfield and Wilkerson show a particular affinity for the Central Desert and Kimberley regions, resulting in fewer works by artists in new media or from urban settings. Notable exceptions in the Martin/Stringfield collection include two works by senior Kaiadilt artist Mirdidingkingathi Juwarnda Sally Gabori, who established a painting tradition for the Kaiadilt people in 2005, despite their prior lack of any two-dimensional art traditions. Another significant piece is Richard Bell's recent acquisition, Where is the Outrage? (2023), a provocative work that actively challenges the misconception that Indigenous art lacks authenticity when created in contemporary styles.
As a member of the Kamilaroi, Kooma, Jiman, and Gurang Gurang communities, Bell works across various media, including video, painting, installation, and text. His 2023 painting, Where is the Outrage?, reflects the style of Emily Kam Kngwarray, who is well represented in the collection, featuring layered dots that obscure text. Bell developed this technique in 2001, creating what he refers to as ‘dot paintings’—a somewhat pejorative term used to describe central desert artworks—aimed at sparking discussions about authenticity and modernity.
In this context, Bell serves as a deliberate and important counterpoint, using a complex and humorous style to challenge preconceived notions of Indigenous art. The phrase ‘Where is the Outrage?’ offers a political commentary on the ongoing prejudice, inequality, and extreme poverty experienced by Aboriginal peoples today. His technique also echoes Ishihara tests for color blindness, embedding digits or figures within compositions of colored dots to provide a statement about race, racism, and the misconceptions that persist around collecting Indigenous art.
Contemporary Indigenous art encompasses a broad spectrum of practices, from traditional ochre on bark to innovative new media. The antidote to absence is presence. While the beauty of a private collection lies in its reflection of the collector's spirit, it is vital to recognize that these collections are built with reverence for Indigenous art. The gaps within them speak volumes about the ongoing conversation surrounding representation and inclusivity in the art world. In acknowledging these gaps, Two Collections reminds us of the dynamic and evolving nature of Indigenous art as a living testament to resilience, creativity, and cultural connection. As we engage with these collections, let us remain committed to amplifying diverse voices and fostering a deeper understanding of the diversity of art that makes up Indigenous art in Australia.
