The Spirit of Sea Rights - Law, Fire, and Identity in the Art of Dr Djambawa Marawili AM The Spirit of Sea Rights - Law, Fire, and Identity in the Art of Dr Djambawa Marawili AM  

As the Royal Australian Navy marks its 125th anniversary, the significance of this milestone is deepened by the enduring wisdom of Australia’s First Nations custodians. In the Yolngu worldview, the concepts of protection and conservation are inseparable from leadership, defined by Djambawa Marawili as the responsibility "to protect and preserve life, language, country, designs and sacred knowledge".  

This ethos challenges us to view maritime security not just as defence, but as a continuous act of stewardship over Sea Country—a duty the Yolngu have upheld through Rom (law) for thousands of years. Embracing these values today ensures that the "spirit of this country" continues to guide the protection of our waters for future generations. As Chief of Navy, Vice Admiral Mark Hammond AO RAN, observed at the 15th anniversary of Sea Rights at Baniyala:

As the Royal Australian Navy approaches its 125th anniversary in 2026, it stands as a modern institution with a recognised duty to defend waters under continuous stewardship for millennia. This dynamic—the ‘young’ 125-year-old Navy operating within a 60,000-year-old maritime domain—offers a strategic advantage. It allows Navy personnel to draw upon the wisdom of one of the world's oldest continuous civilisations. 

In the contemporary landscape of Australian art and politics, few figures bridge the divide between Indigenous customary law (Rom) and Western legal structures as powerfully as Djambawa Marawili. A senior leader of the Madarrpa clan, Marawili’s artistic practice is not merely aesthetic; it is a political and spiritual act—a "title deed" that asserts the enduring sovereignty of the Yolngu people over their land and sea. His new work, titled The Spirit of Sea Rights, stands as a profound testament to this philosophy. Within the context of his broader career—from the Saltwater bark paintings to the Blue Mud Bay High Court victory—this artwork resonates as both a political statement and, intimate to his own identity, a form of self-portraiture. 

The tangible symbol of this shared narrative is the Spirit of Sea Rights bark. Created by Dr. Marawili specifically for the Navy, this artwork is not merely a gift; it is a diplomatic document and a transfer of spiritual capability.

The bark depicts the ancestral Madarrpa bäru (crocodile)—the artist's totem and source of the Yirritja gurtha (fire)—standing alert at the sacred homeland of Yathikpa. The lirrtji (tongues of flame) emanating from the bäru represent a force that is both powerful and dangerous; a fire used historically by the ancestor to defend against provocation, but also to build connections and strengthen the region.

Dr. Marawili draws a direct line between this ancestral fire and modern maritime security, noting that this fire kept us safe when I patrolled and defended our coastline from illegal fishing in the 1990s. Even when poachers desecrated the area and shot the crocodile to intimidate the community, the Yolŋu fought them with this fire and won recognition of our sea rights in the High Court of Australia.

In presenting the bark to the Navy, Dr. Marawili explicitly framed the artwork as a functional tool for national defence:

Senior Navy Indigenous Champion, Commodore Malcom Wise AM RAN, reflects on the strategic importance of accepting such a gift: 

To understand The Spirit of Sea Rights, one must first understand the artist’s name. "Djambawa" is a powerful ancestral name selected by his father, Wakuthi Marawili, meaning "the source of the fire on the rock in the sea". This name anchors Marawili’s identity to the elemental forces of his country—specifically the ancestral fire that burns even when surrounded by the ocean.  

It is a metaphor for resilience and the enduring nature of Yolngu culture. When interviewers ask if The Spirit of Sea Rights functions as a self-portrait, the answer lies in this deep synonymy between the artist and the ancestral narrative he paints. He does not just paint the landscape; he paints his spiritual genealogy. As Marawili asserts, the land cannot speak for itself in a way Western parliaments understand, so the artist becomes its voice:

Marawili’s work operates within a specific "ceremonial economy," where painting is recognized as djama (hard work) that translates sacred knowledge for a broader audience. This practice has historical roots in the Saltwater collection, a series of 80 bark paintings initiated by Marawili in 1997 following his indignation at discovering illegal fishing on a sacred site in his clan estate. These paintings were not created for the art market alone; they were legal documents—a comprehensive map of saltwater country from Wessel Island to Blue Mud Bay—demonstrating the Yolngu people’s intricate knowledge and ownership of the sea.

The Saltwater collection became the catalyst and evidence base for the landmark Blue Mud Bay legal case, which successfully concluded in the High Court in July 2008. This victory recognized that Yolngu ownership extended between the low and high water marks, granting them rights over the intertidal zone for the first time in Australian history. The Spirit of Sea Rights, therefore, is not an isolated artwork but a continuation of this "Saltwater" legacy. It visualizes the legal reality that the sea is not nullius (empty) but is crisscrossed with minytji (sacred designs) and songlines that bind the people to the water. 

The authority to paint The Spirit of Sea Rights stems from Marawili’s lifelong dedication to the homelands movement. He argues that for the Indigenous voice to be heard in Canberra, the homelands must be strong. His own community of Baniyala was resettled in the early 1970s, a move driven by elders who wished to escape the "damage of drink and drugs" in the towns and return to a life governed by cultural safety. Marawili himself used his skills as a plumber, carpenter, and truck driver to literally build the community—constructing tin houses and hand-cutting airstrips.

This physical labour parallels his artistic labour. Just as he built houses to shelter his people, he builds paintings to shelter their rights. He asserts that "homelands are places of strength and opportunity," and his art is a vehicle to advocate for their resources, such as better housing and recognition. The Spirit of Sea Rights is thus an assertion of presence: we are here, we are watching the sea, and we are governing our estates. 

A critical aspect of Marawili’s practice is the negotiation of secrecy and revelation. In the past, the designs used in his paintings (minytji) were ṉuŋgaṯ (restricted/secret), available only to elders initiated into the correct ranking systems. The authority of the owner was absolute. However, Marawili and his peers made the strategic decision to make these designs public—displaying them in art galleries and sharing them with "old people, even little kids," and Ŋapaki (non-Indigenous people).

This disclosure was a deliberate political strategy to prove ownership. By placing these designs on bark and sand sculptures, the Yolngu could demonstrate their system of law (Rom) to the world. The Spirit of Sea Rights embodies this openness. It invites the viewer to see the "bone" of the country—the structure that lies beneath the surface of the water. Yet, it retains its sacred power. As Marawili notes, the designs are "dangerous and safe"—dangerous to those who transgress the law, but safe and welcoming to those who live with honour and respect. 

In The Spirit of Sea Rights, Djambawa Marawili offers more than a visual representation of the ocean; he offers a philosophy of coexistence. His work challenges the viewer to recognize that the Australian coastline is not merely a border or a resource, but a sentient entity governed by ancient laws. As a self-portrait, it reflects a man who is the "source of the fire," standing on the rock in the sea—unmovable, radiant, and eternally connected to the tides that shape his world. Through his art, the silence of the sea is broken, and the voice of the country speaks clearly to those willing to listen: