Musonga Mbogo: Awake Before the Porsches
Image credit: Rachel Yabsley
Ambition flows beneath the surface of Awake Before the Porsches, Musonga Mbogo’s bold new exhibition at Hake House of Art. Based in Canberra and proudly African Australian, Mbogo draws on his own experiences to present an autobiographical body of work that transforms vintage car logos into symbols of memory, cultural identity, and aspiration. It’s a show about drive, both literal and metaphorical, and what it means to grow up in Australia dreaming of visibility, legacy, and a career as an artist as a viable future. Entirely self-taught and now widely recognised for his visual clarity and cultural voice, Mbogo has emerged as a leading figure in the next generation of Australian artists. He has built a practice that spans fine art, public work, and high-profile commissions, always grounded in community and collaboration. But Awake Before the Porsches takes us somewhere more personal: to the origin story. To the kid searching for someone like him in galleries, on TV, or in the paper and becoming that person for the next generation.
What drew you to the symbolism of cars, particularly the Porsche in this show? How does a Porsche they speak to ambition, hustle culture, and the way material possessions shape our sense of success?
Something, when the idea came up for the show, at first glance, I thought cars are fairly interesting, it was prompted by my own kind of relationship with cars.
I feel like the show itself is a journey that reflects my own life and aspirations as an artist.
It starts with a Ford, which is the first car that my family bought when we moved to Australia. The title of the work is Land of Opportunity. My parents' vision for us was to come to Australia, a country they'd never been to, and just give us the best opportunities possible for me and my three younger siblings.
And the Porsche is a reference to a very successful artist I met in London. He’s very well-known and has gained a lot of traction. He has resources I'd never really seen a visual artist have like the ability to buy a Porsche and be successful enough that he is now sustaining himself from his visual art. That was something that I'd never seen or experienced.
The Porsche piece is a reflection of that. It's the aspirations that young people can have, where success is having this car. I looked at those two cars, that beginning and end point, then I filled the middle. There’s one artwork that's a Mercedes-Benz, which my grandfather had in Zimbabwe, where my siblings and I visited last year. My siblings had never left Australia prior to that. So, for us to go back home and see this car that was driving us around my mother's hometown, the motherland and that being our vehicle to actually see the world around us, I reflected on that. They all pinpoint moments in my life, reflections on my relationship to cars. But I think the most beautiful thing is that when somebody sees like a Lamborghini, Ferrari or Porsche logo, they'll have their own story attached to it.
I found it interesting because it's like a very simple concept. In the past, a lot of my exhibitions have been very complicated, and focused on really deep things. I wanted people to feel a sense of relief. But then also question it a bit more. To think: “Okay, this is very simple. But why is it this way? What does it mean?”
Image credit: Musonga Mbogo, Land of Opportunity, 2025, acrylic, oil pastels, spray paint, 93cm x 120cm. Musonga Mbogo, Sekuru’s Mercedes, 2025, acrylic, oil pastels, spray paint, 93cm x 120cm. Photo: Rachel Yabsley. Courtesy of the artist and Hake House.
Cars hold a lot of symbolic significance. Whether we notice it or not, they’re loaded with stereotypes and social meanings that influence how we view ourselves and the world. You mentioned heading to London and experiencing a different kind of arts ecology. How did that experience, being immersed in a system that values and compensates artists differently, shift your perspective? And how has it affected the way you approach your own work?
I love it because, for me, I've been practicing for eight years now. I am completely self-taught. I didn't go to art school. I picked up a Kmart art set one day and just kind of winged it, and doors started opening from there. But I definitely reflect on that moment when I started, being a young African-Australian who didn't really have anyone to look up to in my community who had done it before. So, stepping into it was a very isolated experience. I didn't have friends around me who were into art, or an art scene that understood the musical references I used or spoke the way that I did, to really look to.
I was definitely very hopeful that I would do my thing to the point where younger people would see me and feel inspired, feeling like they could do it too. That was definitely my mantra coming in and my guiding light, thinking, “Okay, as long as my practice is visible to the right people, then I'm doing the right thing because they'll have the resources that I didn’t.”
Going to London was the most eye-opening and beautiful experience because I was able to meet a lot of people who were around the same age as me, from a similar background, same influences, same love for art, and finally I found a community of people just like me, which I hadn't experienced up until that point. I recognised the importance of communities, and established artists who foster these incredibly self-sustaining community, where he has been successful and facilitated other artists to open doors and find avenues for themselves and each other.
Coming home, it helped me recognise that, because up until that point, I had young people looking to me and asking for advice on what I'd been through. On returning home, I was more determined to actually develop infrastructure and opportunities where artists can come together. We started an art club where the more established artists in my network are now teaching younger artists how to do what they d; fostering more community engagement and having more people just come together, even just to talk. I feel like that can really go a long way. It was quite daunting, but it's ultimately very fulfilling.
You’ve spoken about how there wasn’t really a blueprint for you when you started out—no one to ask how the art world works. Those kinds of networks and connections are often taken for granted. But you've also talked about drawing strength from your community outside the arts. How has that shaped your practice and helped it evolve into what it is today?
It's really interesting because a lot of opportunities I never would have anticipated have, I wouldn't say presented themselves, but have come to life because I planted the seeds. Early on, I would have loved to be in a gallery space, so my friends and I created our own gallery spaces together. I knew that album art always piqued my interest, so I started making things that looked like album covers. I honestly love music; any opportunity to work in and around music was always my guiding light.
My path isn’t linear, which means that now I’m able to spend time in spaces I never would have dreamed of. In 2021, I went to the ARIA Awards, which is so random as an artist, and I was meeting my idols.
On the other extreme, I’ve worked on projects at a children’s hospital, where I drew on my life experiences and was given the opportunity to inspire more kids to engage with art.
Working on campaigns with triple j is a blessing, as I get to pursue what interests me and figure it out as I go.
You’ve worked across many different contexts—from galleries to billboards and music videos. How do you manage the differences between creating work inside traditional art spaces versus outside them?
I view my career through two different lenses. There’s the traditional, conventional art route—getting into galleries and being gallery-represented. Even though I’m self-taught, I’ve always strived to be a technically skilled painter, focusing on portraiture, and developing a style that’s both technically solid and visually appealing.
I see that as the “art world” side—where, if you’re an art viewer, you can look at my work and say, ‘This is interesting,’ ‘This is engaging,’ ‘I understand what the artist is doing here,’ and ‘I can see why this work is in a gallery.’ Even with limited resources, I’ve always wanted to be a great artist.
But when I first started, I didn’t have access to gallery spaces. My introduction to art wasn’t through galleries – it was through music videos, performances, fashion, and billboards. Outside of the galleries, I think art should also exist for everyday people.
A big part of it is wanting to create art that’s recognised for its quality and conventional appeal – but also ensuring that if someone can’t afford to buy a piece, they still feel included. Whether it’s through how it’s promoted, marketed, or experienced, I want people to feel like they’re part of it.
Especially in a world where it can be hard to feel included or access certain spaces, I’m working to break down some of those barriers.
How do you envision a more inclusive and representative Australian art scene, especially through a diasporic lens, that reflects the diverse lived experiences of many people here?
When I was in London, I recognised they were three to four generations ahead in terms of multiculturalism. In Australia, we’re still transitioning, from the first to second and third generations, for a lot of communities, which is really cool to see.
But we’re still ahead when it comes to people of colour being involved in curating exhibitions at an institutional level, or seeing more inclusive emerging artist shows. We are starting to see young people who now actually have the platforms and resources to bring their ideas to life.
I can definitely say that for my cohort, my friends and peers who are first generation, we had many ideas in the early days, but we just didn’t have the access or resources to turn them into action.
But now I look at my younger brother, who’s a DJ, and his circle of creative friends, and they’re already able to start their careers. They’re leaning on my generation for support, like, if I have a show, I’ll ask him to do the music. They’re getting their ideas out into the world now.
I just see an Australia where there are fewer barriers for young people of any background or culture to enter the creative space.
Ultimately, I want the art scene here to better reflect Australia as it truly is. We have our shortcomings—like every place does—but I genuinely believe Australia is somewhere exciting. It’s just that the rest of the world hasn't quite realised it yet.
I see Australia finding our groove, finding our stride, and getting the global recognition I feel we’re still missing out on.
What you’re saying really highlights how diasporic communities instinctively support and uplift one another—opening doors, making connections, sharing opportunities. That mindset differs greatly from tall poppy syndrome in Australia, where success can sometimes be perceived as a threat. But what if we viewed someone else’s win as a win for everyone? Such thinking could transform the culture—not just in the art world, but beyond it.
Absolutely. But recognising it takes time. In many ways, it has to be undeniable to attract attention. And you really can't fall into the tall poppy syndrome mentality either. Instead, you have to be willing to bring everyone around you into a position where they can do their best, too. You have to challenge a lot of industries at the same time to make it work. But I can't lie, it's a lot of fun as well when all of my friends are doing the same thing.
Seeing Genesis Owusu at the ARIs being unapologetic and willing to take on a whole industry on his own, doing things that we'd never seen, from a place like Canberra; it inspired me to do that, too. And then joining him on that journey and having fun in these spaces I couldn't have dreamed of as a kid.
Image credit: Musonga Mbogo, Aldgate East, 2025, acrylic, oil pastels, spray paint, 110cm x 135cm. Photo: Rachel Yabsley. Courtesy of the artist and Hake House.
We need people who are brave enough to push boundaries and humble enough to let go of ego for a bigger vision. Creatives are change-makers—they require self-confidence and ego to gain attention, but they must also set that ego aside to stand firm and be unapologetic without centering themselves. That balance is rare, which is why you don’t see thousands of people like that—most tend to swing one way or the other. How has that balance worked out for you personally?
Absolutely. And it’s so hard as well. I have to accept I come from a background where I didn’t have all the resources I needed. Naturally, I was on the defensive, always worried, anxious, or scared. No matter how much success I achieved, those feelings were always part of me. Early on, I was closed off and tended to gravitate towards environments that felt familiar.
It took a massive ego death for me to pivot then and say, “This is the world that you know, but how willing are you to let go of it and step towards the unknown and things that inspire you? To try and become the person you had always wished to see?”, quickly realising it’s one of the scariest journeys, and that it’s way easier just to stay in the familiar and comfortable. Not many people are willing to do it because there’s so much at stake as well.
Your show has a poetic quality to it. What does that poetic edge mean to you, and what do you hope visitors take away from the exhibition?
I feel like this is my most mature show so far, with a very clear theme. I’ve never really been a car person, but I’m starting to become one – it helps when you paint a whole show about them.There’s very direct messaging across all the artworks, and I’ve been intentional with each story. In the past, as a young artist, I wanted to say everything at once. Now I realise it’s about telling a story that’s relatable to all kinds of people.
It brings a personal touch, a personal connection. It also inspires, even if someone says, “I dreamed of a particular car and don’t have it yet,” it reminds them of that dream and aspiration. I wanted to show my friends what’s really possible as creatives.
Ultimately, it’s about maturity as an artist. This is the first show where I haven’t been rushing to finish the work at the last minute. I’ve been more mindful of my practice, how I’m looking after myself, how I’m sharing with those around me, and the opportunities shared within my community as a direct result of this show. I hope to present a more complete picture of who I am, where I’ve come from, and where I want to go in the future.
