Harold Thornton: The Psychedelic Artist Australia Forgot – Until Now
If you checked out the Archibald Prize finalists back in , one painting in particular might have caught your eye. Taking up seven feet of wall space, Dr Brown and Green Old Time Waltz is a psychedelic portrait of Bob Brown, rendered in rich colours and filled with hidden details – from faces smuggled into the trees to little green men walking around Brown’s feet. But just as noteworthy as the painting was the man standing next to it: Harold “the Kangaroo” Thornton, the artist and self-described “greatest genius that ever lived.”
Thornton, clad in hand-painted clothes, with painted false teeth and a walking stick he didn’t really require, became a fixture at the Archibald exhibition. “He became good friends with the art gallery staff,” says Philip Thornton, the artist’s nephew. “He really did want the recognition.” Recognition, however, largely eluded Thornton during his lifetime, and continues to do so, despite admirers like Martin Sharp and Ken Done. Done even once helped Thornton by paying to ship a crate of his paintings around the world.
Thornton’s perform, marked by a mischievous sense of humour, always seemed poised for mainstream success. Yet, even as surrealism gained traction in Australia’s art world, Thornton remained largely overlooked. “Maybe he was ahead of his time, maybe he was behind his time,” Done muses. “Maybe he was just on Harold Thornton’s time.”
Today, Thornton is perhaps better known in Amsterdam, where he spent many years living and painting, often working on the streets with an empty cup and a sign reading: “If you like Harold’s art, Harold likes beer.” A mural by Thornton on the front of the Amsterdam cafe and marijuana shop, The Bulldog, remains a local tourist attraction, and a monograph of his work was published by a friend, Pienke WH Kal.
Throughout his life, Thornton was a relentless self-promoter and a prolific painter, producing murals, comic strips, poems, and a self-described “autobiography.” He was known for tall tales, even claiming that Paul McCartney and Jimi Hendrix had ripped off his musical compositions. But beneath the embellishments lay a deep kindness, according to those who knew him. “He was a great self-promoter but he just wanted to be friends with people,” says Dale Trueman, an artist and compatriot. “From the moment I met him, I was star-struck.”
Born in Enfield, Sydney, in , Thornton’s childhood was difficult. His great-nephew, Chris Osborne, describes his upbringing as formative, marked by a harsh mother and relentless bullying due to dyslexia and his physical appearance. He carried insecurities about his intellect throughout his life, often self-deprecatingly referring to himself as having “no brains,” a sentiment reflected in the deliberate spelling errors in his comic strips.
Painting provided Thornton with solace. He would immerse himself in his work for days, followed by periods of low mood. He was pathologically resistant to financial success, often living in poverty and relying on the generosity of family members, promising them paintings he insisted would never be sold. His art, he believed, was for the people. “He worried if he sold his art it would lose its accessibility,” Trueman explains.
This stubbornness often led to conflict. Thornton once painted a portrait of the mayor of Wagga Wagga, exaggerating his red nose, which resulted in a physical altercation with some locals. He also staged a small protest on the steps of the Archibald gallery after one of his paintings was rejected, accompanied by a giant papier-mâché head in a shopping trolley.
Thornton’s painting of Bob Brown, now housed in the National Portrait Gallery in Canberra, represents his closest brush with lasting recognition. The commission came about after Thornton joined the blockade of the Franklin Dam in Tasmania, a move orchestrated by his nephew Philip, who admits it was partly to get some space from his uncle.
Brown recalls Thornton as a “colourful” presence at the blockade, particularly noting his painted false teeth. Initially, Brown was somewhat embarrassed by the painting’s “apparent halo,” but his perspective has evolved over time. “I see some Hieronymus Bosch in Harold’s painting,” Brown says. “It’s not a portrait. It tells a whole story.” Christine Milne, who met Thornton during the blockade, remembers him as remarkably open-minded and recalls his stories from his time in Amsterdam’s red-light district.
Thornton’s portrait captures a pivotal moment in Australian environmental history, and Brown now keeps a large print of it in his office. “Plenty of artists came and went during that time,” Brown says. “But it was Harold’s picture that laid out such a record of that crucial period – not just of the Franklin, but of the environmental and social history of Australia.”
Thornton always hoped his paintings would be displayed together in a dedicated gallery, a wish that remains unfulfilled. His great-nephew, Chris Osborne, is currently working to get a film made about Thornton’s life, hoping to capture his infectious laugh. Done continues to support the preservation of Thornton’s legacy. “Not everybody will understand Harold or Harold’s work, but that’s OK,” Done says. “He was Harold, and he didn’t give a fuck.”
Thornton himself seemed to anticipate his enduring presence. “I am told everybody dies,” he once wrote. “But not me.”