I live in the Sabi slip dress. The red colourway didn’t exist, so I worked with Mon—Sabi’s founder and a friend whose eye and ethos I really admire—to bring it to life. Sabi is all about slow fashion: classic, refined design with a bad girl twist. Mon uses deadstock fabric wherever possible—reworking leftover materials that would otherwise go to waste.
I love joining forces with creative women across different spheres, and supporting small Australian businesses doing things with care and intention. Below is a short interview about art, style, and things in between.
What's the first thing that comes to mind when someone asks you to introduce/describe yourself?
I’m a bit of a split creature - I’ve never fit neatly into one box, though that’s often what people want. But I’m probably a classic Aquarius: independent, adventurous, a little unconventional, deeply committed to disappearing without warning. I often feel like a pig at the trough of life - snout-deep in the full spectrum of human experience. Grit and gloss. Some days I’m covered in paint or dirt, living low to the ground, tucked away from it all. Other times I’m dressed up and out ‘til sunrise, riding the social high and quietly ignoring every internal signal to go home. Contrast is what makes life interesting. I probably feel most connected to myself when I’m out bush - moving, sweating, swimming, surrounded by open space. Country girl at heart - nothing like a swarm of mozzies and a muddy creek to remind me of who I am.
Just like your father, you are an icon - so many are familiar with your work. If you can gas yourself up for one moment, what do you think is your biggest superpower as an artist? Would you say this is your same superpower as a human?
Perhaps it’s my ability to strip ideas and imagery back to their bones. There’s real power in simplicity - in reducing something to its essence. Whether it’s a political message or a striking image, it’s often the most distilled form that lands hardest and is most memorable. It’s about finding the essential shape or idea that cuts through the noise. That’s probably my thing as an artist - distilling.
As a person, I think my strength is actually the opposite - I’m able to hold contradictions. I’m open minded and make room for duality and complexity, in both myself and in others.
When we came to you with this collab, choosing a new colourway for the re-release of the sabi slip dress (now dubbed the Minna Dress), what drew you to the fiery red?
I’m drawn to red because it’s the colour of passion - it’s fiery, sexy, and full of life force. Red represents power, love, danger, energy, strength - even resistance. It’s the colour you’d wear to break hearts or start fights at a gallery opening or a family dinner. I use a lot of reds and oranges in my work for this exact reason. There’s heat in it. Red feels alive, and it carries that intensity that I’m drawn to in both art and life.
Do you feel your art and your personal style are enmeshed? Or is the way you express in your paintings totally different to how you view getting dressed and expressing yourself via style?
My artwork and personal style are closely linked, though it might not be immediately obvious. I’m drawn to clean lines, strong silhouettes, solid and saturated colours, and a sense of visual balance - whether I’m painting or getting dressed. Simplicity is key for me, but it’s always considered and deliberate. Creating stripped-back artwork that still holds power takes intention, and I approach style the same way: minimal, but thoughtful. I like to look feminine, but in a way that feels grounded and strong - not overly sweet. If anyone called my artwork sweet, I’d need to lie down. I like my creatures to walk that fine energetic line between playful and ominous. I like ambiguity - that’s where the tension lies. I try to create that same sense of tension in how I dress. It’s not overt, but it's there.
My work is grounded in a deep respect for the natural world - country, animals, ecosystems. I paint to protect, to draw attention to what matters. That same instinct shapes how I dress. I buy less, choose carefully, and stick to pieces I can wear on repeat until they become part of my nervous system - without looking like I’ve given up. My artwork’s the same - anchored in recurring motifs and characters that have become a personal visual vocabulary over time.
Whether it’s clothing or a canvas, I want to honour what endures. In both art and style, I value simplicity, sustainability, and purpose over noise.
What’s next on the horizon for icon Minna Leunig?
I’ve been living in the Northern Territory for the past year, and it’s lit a raw, charged, feral energy in my work that I’m keen to carry forward. I’m increasingly drawn to work that feels politically engaged, environmentally conscious, and socially grounded - work that aligns with my values.
I want to keep creating pieces that tap into feminine energy as I feel it. Not the soft, nurturing traits so often projected onto women - I feel those things too, but they don’t define me. To me, femininity is far more complex, untamed, and alive - assertive, magnetic, mischievous, irreverent, and yes - horny as fuck. It’s not about being sweet or palatable. It’s about being electric. Instinctive. Full-bodied. I want my work to reflect that kind of feminine energy - the kind that’s always being asked to shrink. A femininity that bites back, that plays, that holds its ground. One that feels true to me, and to so many women I know.
At its core, my work is about reconnecting people to their spirit - the raw, untamed parts of themselves that often get buried. It’s about protecting the inner fire: that force that fuels not just our fight for the world, but our capacity to feel. Because if we can’t protect what’s within us, how can we protect what surrounds us - the earth, each other, the things that matter?
Sometimes my work invites reflection or action. But just as often, it’s about absurdity, chaos, joy. Not everything needs to be logical or serious. I want to keep making space for the ridiculous, the unhinged, the feral - for work that doesn’t try to make sense, because sometimes that’s what’s most needed. Sometimes I’m just making myself laugh. Over intellectualization is a curse. I want to hold space for both: the work that ignites, and the stuff that’s just a bit cooked.
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