In April 2015, two years before Australia’s same-sex marriage law was passed, one of the country’s most popular TV presenters, Faustina ‘Fuzzy’ Agolley, took to Twitter: ‘As black as my skin, as Chinese as my blood, and as Australian and British are my nationalities, I’m also a proud Gay Woman.’ In an accompanying blog post titled ‘I’m gay’ Agolley reflected on the relief she felt at coming out on her thirty-first birthday, as well as the joy of finding her ‘tribe’ – a group of women she ‘could truly connect to’.
The ‘tribe’ Agolley talks about is one which features in the instantly recognisable paintings of Kim Leutwyler. The Australian artist, who is queer herself, creates heroically scaled canvases of LGBTQIA+-identified and queer-allied women. Her subjects – represented on their own, embracing in pairs or allied in groups – are painted with exquisite realism. They are also positioned against abstracted decorative backgrounds, painted in a palette of luminous rainbow colours to celebratory effect.
Since coming out publicly, Agolley has had her portrait painted by Leutwyler on numerous occasions. The first time was for a large oil and acrylic on canvas, Faustina the Fuzz (2019) in which she stands, hands on hips, wearing a strappy red dress. Presented in a relaxed pose, Agolley wears her natural Afro hair loose and smiles slightly; this is an assured woman, portrayed on her own terms. She is also brought to life by surrounding shapes painted expressively in bright blue, white and red: ‘Welcome to the tribe,’ the affirmative painting seems to shout. By sitting for the portrait, Agolley joined Leutwyler’s diverse cast of queer muses, including the openly gay athlete Michelle Heyman, who proudly represented Australia at the Rio Olympics in 2016, drag queen Trixie Mattel, and Teddy Cook, the manager of trans and gender diverse health equity at ACON, Australia’s largest HIV prevention, HIV support and LGBTI health organisation.
Leutwyler says she feels a significant connection to each of her subjects: ‘I paint people who are thought provoking to me, and who have impacted my life in some way.’ The choice of who she takes as a muse also carries a crucial message:
‘My paintings are absolutely a celebration of the queer community. LGBTQIA+-identified and allied people are massively under-represented in the history of portraiture. In historical art, queer people are often erased, or when seen, reduced to tropes as opposed to the individuals they are/were. Queer women have largely been left out altogether. My hope is that my work will spark dialogue and action, and help raise the profile of queer people in the arts by amplifying voices and diversifying representation.’
It’s not just who she paints, but how she paints them, that matters to Leutwyler. While painting a community, she is interested in capturing the individuality of her sitters beyond stereotypical ideals. She therefore picks out defining features, such as Agolley’s Afro hair, to depict her subjects with intricate levels of detail; the artist’s close physical observation demands the viewer’s attention and appreciation for each muse’s unique characteristics.
At other times, Leutwyler focuses on the fashion choices of subjects, including the Australian model, Ollie Henderson, who she painted in 2015. Standing before a wallpapered backdrop of abstract shapes painted lime green, pink, white and baby blue, Henderson is dressed in a sharp black blazer and white shirt, buttoned to the very top. Her dark hair is slicked back in a ponytail, although a single strand falls onto her pale face, framing her intense green eyes which stare directly out at the viewer. In many respects, Henderson has embraced the classic androgynous businesswoman look. However, she has also given it an edgy makeover. Bringing her hands together, Henderson’s fingertips touch in front of her, making visible an unusually large white ring. Her neat collar is studded with one silver spike on each side and joined by a neck chain which falls in four fine strands. As light falls on Henderson’s jewellery, it is illuminated and shines prominently out of the canvas; Leutwyler cleverly draws attention to her muse’s playful, punk aesthetic.
‘Androgyny, body art, gender confirmation surgery and piercings are not uncommon among the people you see in my work,’ says Leutwyler. Many members of the queer community – as we see in the portrait of Henderson – turn to body modification, tattoos and alternative accessories to express their unique identity, align themselves with marginalised subcultures, and oppose more dominant heterosexual ideals. Turning her own queer gaze on subjects such as Henderson, Leutwyler often picks up and hones in on subcultural signifiers, from studded punk jewellery to short haircuts and symbolic tattoos. Using chiaroscuro effects to dramatically light details that deserve attention, Leutwyler emphasises the individuality of her subjects and the fluidity of gender beyond societal expectations of femininity:
‘Over the years my work has evolved to deconstruct gender-based power dynamics of “the gaze”. Queer people are not depicted as sexual objects for the pleasure of the heterosexual viewer. My desire is that my subjects are accepted and seen for the things that make them unique. This creates space for plural identities and possibilities.’
So often across art, the media and popular culture, queer stories have been forced to fit into heteronormative narratives – just think of the trope of the gay best friend, always a sidekick to the straight female lead in films like My Best Friend’s Wedding. Instead, Leutwyler holds up her queer muses as protagonists and frames them as heroines in their own right.
Additionally, Leutwyler deliberately uses paint, ‘because of its primarily masculine history in the western art canon’ – women had to fight for access to painting academies and life modelling classes – to upend heterosexual norms of identity and sexuality. Art always has the power to either echo conventional ideals or question gender norms, as Sylvia Sleigh did with her paintings of undressed male muses in the ’60s. Without doubt, Leutwyler uses her disruptive gaze to validate sexuality and gender identity beyond the status quo.
Despite this, Leutwyler is honest with herself about the gaze she turns onto her muses: ‘By the very nature of a painting being on canvas the portrait itself becomes an object, and thus objectifies the sitter.’ To combat this inevitable objectification of her models, she deliberately creates an environment that is collaborative between artist and sitter, inviting the painted subject into the process of portraiture. After an initial live sitting, Leutwyler takes a series of photographs – at times hundreds – of her muses from which she will work alone in her studio. But, unlike many artists, she allows her models into the artwork’s development; as Leutwyler works up the canvas, she will send photos to the sitter, asking them for their thoughts and direct feedback, which she will then take on board.
The artist also invites her subjects to wear what they want, and feel most comfortable in, for their portrait. For her photo shoot, Henderson chose to wear no make-up, pull her hair back in a ponytail and don the sharp suit embellished by its distinctive silver studs. As a model, Henderson is used to performing through fashion and playing to the camera; however, on this occasion, she wanted to represent herself. As we have seen, her choice of clothing clearly makes a statement on gender body politics.
There is another message coded in Henderson’s choice of outfit, one which is hinted at in the painting’s title. Leutwyler typically names her paintings, such as Faustina the Fuzz, after the sitters. However, in the case of Henderson, she used three punchy words, Start the Riot. Why was this? What does this title refer to? What riot had Australia’s young model started?
Born in Creswick, central Victoria, Henderson’s entry into modelling was what many young hopefuls dream of; she was scouted while shopping for a dress in Melbourne, at the age of sixteen. By the age of twenty, she was walking runways for the likes of Calvin Klein, and shooting covers for leading fashion magazines, from Vogue to Harper’s Bazaar.
Through her modelling work, Henderson soon perceived that the clothes we choose to wear are an expression of both our individual and collective identity, stating: ‘Fashion is a reflection of society.’ She also recognised, perhaps more importantly, that clothing ‘has the power to catalyse societal change. It’s a great medium to use because fashion involves everybody.’ Henderson decided to take action – using her platform as a model and fashion as her medium – to start productive conversations about social change in Australia.
At Australian Fashion Week 2014, Henderson hand-painted one hundred T-shirts with positive messages on topics from feminism and marriage equality to ethnic diversity and the climate crisis: ‘Love is Love’ read one; ‘Reject Racism’, ‘Welcome Refugees’ and ‘Save the Reef’ were scrawled on others. The model distributed these T-shirts to friends, fellow models and the public who wore them for the event – bringing activism to the catwalk. Henderson received national, and then international, attention for her stunt: the catchy T-shirts were featured in fashion magazines, including Vogue, and it was not long until stores wanted to stock the items.
Monopolising on this success, Henderson launched her own fashion label, which she called House of Riot, with a focus on utilising fashion to encourage young people to become both aware of, and involved in, social and political activism. The name of the label evokes the Riot grrrl movement, which was born out of America’s underground music scene in the ’90s, with bands such as Bikini Kill and Bratmobile. It originally focused on encouraging women to become more involved in the male-dominated punk scene, but grew to stand for a new kind of feminism fuelled by rebellion and creativity. The movement opened up spaces for frank views and discussions on sexuality and body politics. At the very heart of the Riot grrrl movement was fashion: women pushed gender stereotypes by dyeing their hair bright colours, modifying their bodies with piercings and dressing in deliberately unfeminine outfits. Members and allies wore studded boots and ripped T-shirts with anarchic messages, harking back to Vivienne Westwood’s political slogan-plastered punk clothing from the ’70s. Like Westwood and the Riot grrrls, Henderson had found her voice through fashion, realising its power to raise awareness of social and political issues, particularly among a younger generation, and lead to tangible action. For the portrait, she had chosen to wear the sharp black and silver-studded blazer because, as she explains, it captured her move from teenage model into a ‘more adult place’ and a specific point in her life which had brought about real ‘responsibility’.
As a portrait painter, Leutwyler also feels a sense of responsibility. She is mindful that she captures truthfully, and with integrity, each muse’s reality: ‘I want to make something that the model will be proud of.’ This she does successfully, positioning queer women as unique individuals, centre stage in canvases which celebrate non-conformity, legitimise queer sexualities and validate the perspectives of the LGBTQIA+community.
Like Henderson, Leutwyler wants to use her platform to share these important messages with the wider world. This is why it meant so much to her that Start the Riot was selected for the Archibald Prize in 2015. Awarded annually in Australia, the contemporary art prize aims to foster portraiture, as well as support artists and perpetuate the memory of great Australians. The prize is a big deal, as the artist has explained: ‘The hype of Archibald Prize is hard to explain to people outside of Australia. Exhibited annually at one of Australia’s most prestigious museums, the Archibald Prize is often referred to as the exhibition that stops a nation. Nearly everyone in the country has an opinion about which portrait is most deserving of the $100,000 prize!’
Exhibiting her portrait of Henderson through the Archibald Prize was an act of intervention for Leutwyler – she had brought queer art, and her queer muse, to the heart of Australia. Inclusive representation matters, including in galleries where the queer community has historically been woefully under-represented. Her selection for the final was a culturally significant moment and one of personal significance for the artist, who, as a gay woman herself, has experienced homophobic discrimination:
‘There is still a long way to go for true equality for the LGBTQIA+ community. In short, the next step is anti-discrimination protections for all sexual orientations and gender identities. I can’t speak for the role that all artists can play, but I’d like to continue making portraits of individuals who are making positive impacts on the community individually, locally and nationally. I hope that my work will stimulate a dialogue about equality and human rights in Australia and beyond.’
In 2017, Leutwyler was once again in the running for the Archibald Prize with her portrait of Michelle Heyman. Two years later, in 2019, her painting of Faustina the Fuzz made the final. ‘A powerful moment for the Archibald Prize: could a portrait of a black woman win?’ wrote Shantel Wetherall in the Guardian. ‘Change can only happen if artists can feel hopeful enough to take part’, she continues, reflecting on the prize’s ‘power to transform outsiders into insiders’.
Leutwyler didn’t win the prize but she’d won a battle – for the bold and public representation of queerness on a national stage. By painting LGBTQIA+ muses, she gives pride and power to these women, both as individuals and as members of a marginalised community. Sparking conversations on the mutability of gender, spectrums of sexuality and identity beyond stereotypes, Leutwyler – like Henderson and Faustina and so many others before – is a riot girl, using the muse to amplify her statement of solidarity with the queer community.