What Emily Kam Kngwarray Knew About Bliss and Duty

A note to young leaders.

Should you freely follow your bliss or loyally serve your community?

The most instructive rebuke to this false binary died in Alice Springs in 1996.

Emily Kam Kngwarray was, by every account, difficult to boss. She painted sitting cross-legged on the earth, canvases laid flat on the ground, exactly as she sat to dig yams or paint up for ceremony.

When an art dealer asked her about the dog prints across one of her canvasses, she explained that a dog had walked over it and she saw no reason to run them out.

So far, so lone genius.

Except that Kngwarray was never alone. According to indigenous custom, her substantial earnings were to be distributed amongst her kin – and remarkably, she honoured her duty – giving some AUD 20 million to her Anmatyerr community at Utopia.

There’s something uncomfortable about that to the modern ear. We tend to imagine that self-actualisation means forging your own path, unencumbered by the claims of others. Not so for Kngwarray.

And she poured out her art till the very end. At about 85, she painted Anwerlarr Anganenty (Big Yam Dreaming), a single white line travelling unbroken across eight metres of canvas. A masterpiece.

The lesson for the young leader is not “be more selfless”, which is pious and useless. It’s that if you root yourself in an ancient tradition and accept the obligations that come with it – you can be as strange, as stubborn and as singular as your talent demands.

The dog can walk across the canvas. You won’t even look up.