Hector Jandany, renowned for his eccentric paintings and dry commentary on people’s odd behaviour, the hazards of old age or ‘those mad bastards in Canberra’.
Hector was a deeply spiritual man who blended his Gija upbringing and beliefs into a unique interpretation of Catholicism. His religious philosophy is best understood through works such as Mary and Joseph (1993), consisting of two bird-like carved statues created after Hector had been invited to share Christmas lunch with the residents of the local hostel. He was sensitive to the spiritual meeting point between two vastly different traditions of religious practice, and enlivened this cross-fertilisation with an animated sense of humour.
Perhaps it was this ability to accommodate different beliefs and perspectives on life that enabled Hector to work so effectively with our friend Adam Rish, with whom he collaborated on several occasions. They both shared a great, but very odd, sense of humour. Rish was also a doctor of medicine, and took a particular interest in Hector’s poor eyesight. Together they worked on a series of paintings in which Rish located Hector’s spirit beings in foreign settings, such as television sets. In one such case, ‘Dunbi, the Owl’ became the anchorman on a late late late show. Last time we were together, I asked the near-blind Hector if he had a message for me to take to his mate, his crazy eye doctor in Sydney. After a moment’s thought looking at the distant horizon he responded with a simple question, ‘You still there?’ That just cracked me up.
Freddie Timms, the instigator of Jirrawun Arts.
All of these great old artists painted for Maxine Taylor and Serge Brooks. There has never been any doubt whatsoever that the works produced for them were genuine, yet several auction houses have unjustifiably treated millions of dollars worth of paintings bearing Warmun Traditional Artists’ certification with a degree of prejudice. In comparison to those from other sources, their value has been diminished. The same applies to works painted for Narranguny Art Traders, the name Taylor and Brooks traded under following their departure from Warmun. Were it not for their dedication, many of the greatest Kimberley artists would have spent their final years far less comfortably, and their artistic legacy would have been greatly limited as a result.
Freddie Timms was already a highly respected Gija artist when I first met him in the presence of the old people at Warmun in 1996. He was difficult to talk to and obviously depressed. It was less than a year since he had accompanied Rover Thomas to Melbourne for the controversial workshop at Neil McLeod’s studio. During this and two subsequent trips to Melbourne, hosted by Peter Harrison, he completed a large number of major paintings. He was, however, deeply unhappy over the financial outcome. He famously told Frank Watters and Tony Oliver that he’d received only $300 for his efforts. He failed to mention the substantial amount of cash and bank payments that he’d received during these visits – as well as the very generous living allowance; thousands of dollars worth of goods including saddles and clothing; the $20,000 Toyota that he was still driving; and the cost of a constant stream of ‘personal’ favours. Watters made a big deal about the fact that Timms would now be treated like a white artist (and no longer underpaid), which generated a lot of publicity around his next exhibitions in 1997 and 1999. But Timms never showed with Watters again. Instead, after a moderately successful yet garish show with Rob Gould in Sydney, he forged a firm friendship with Tony Oliver which led to the creation of Jirrawun Arts.54
Timms was in his mid 20s when he first met Rover Thomas in Warmun. After an eventful life as a stockman at Lissadell Station, he had worked as a gardener at the Argyle Mine and lived at Frog Hollow with his wife, Berylene Mung, and their four children. While assuming responsibility for the general maintenance of the small community, he’d begun painting in 1986 at the age of 42. From the outset, Timms’ confident style attracted the attention of Joel Smoker, the first art coordinator at Waringarri Aboriginal Arts in Kununurra. His aerial map-like visions of country were less concerned with ancestral associations than with tracing the responses of the Gija people as they were exposed to the brutality of colonisation. They were intimate interpretations of these experiences, rather than overtly political statements. His first exhibition, held at Deutscher Gertrude Street Gallery in Melbourne in 1989, was received with critical acclaim, and included a superb masterpiece depicting Glen Hill and the Argyle Diamond Mine to the north of Turkey Creek.55 These paintings featured irregular geometry with soft yet boldly defined blocks of colour and signalled the arrival of an important new artist. They were all the more poignant because Timms’ major Dreaming site had been flooded by the damming of the Ord River. There had been no consultation with the traditional Gija owners and the places where Timms and his countrymen used to walk and camp, along with all their ancestral burial grounds and sacred places, were drowned by the rising waters.
By the mid 1990s, Freddie had become a seasoned exhibitor. He had begun to use vivid colours as well as traditional ochres. This was widely perceived as a move away from traditional practice, and was attributed to Watters’ influence. His 1999 solo exhibition explored the history of the Indigenous bushranger Major, who was shot by police in 1908 after killing whites at Blackfella Creek. Major holds a strong place in Gija history, similar to the legendary bushranger Ned Kelly’s importance to Irish Australians. He is an ambiguous hero, as he was accused of leading white men to Gija camps where massacres ensued. Timms’ depiction of Major with a squarish-shaped head was influenced by his visit to an exhibition of Sidney Nolan’s Ned Kelly paintings. References to European and contemporary art were to become the hallmark of Freddie Timms’ works, and those of other artists who would later coalesce around Tony Oliver.
BOGUS!
I t was summer, 1999, and 40 people sweltered on a terrace overlooking the Brisbane River, as the second national conference of the Indigenous Art Trade Association (Art.Trade) got under way. We were a fascinating mix. There were experienced and respected gallerists.56 There were also mavericks, along with some of the most vilified dealers in the industry. We were joined by Indigenous painters, writers and entrepreneurs – even a country and western singer. What was so pleasing was that at least a quarter of those attending represented Aboriginal-owned and run businesses, and two of the seven Board members were Indigenous representatives. What we had in common was our years of direct experience out in the bush and the desert. We had dirt under our fingers and dust in our lungs.
It was this membership, unified for the first time, which decided to appoint a Cultural Advisory Council of Indigenous Representatives, in order to investigate issues of authenticity and appropriate cultural practice whenever they arose. This council’s findings and recommendations would be binding on the Board. Delegates unanimously agreed that, as each and every Aboriginal clan and community has its own cultural conventions, the last people who should be making decisions or public comments about them were white Australians or foreigners.
I put this point of view during an ABC national television debate with Susan McCulloch and the prominent Indigenous artist Barbara Weir several weeks later. Mahathir Mohamad, the President of Malaysia, had just accused Australians of being racist. I certainly didn’t think that Susan McCulloch’s motivation was racist but in the heat of the moment I pointed out that her ongoing series of articles wouldn’t have been helpful in counteracting this impression.
Some of the delegates at the Art.Trade conference in Brisbane in 1999.
As we were all leaving after the show, the three of us were joined by Barbara’s son, Fred Torres. Still at loggerheads, we waited for a taxi, and finally decided to make our way toward the city together. En route I thought we might ease the tension if we visited Beverly Knight’s Alcaston Gallery together. It turned out to be a very bad idea. Weir became agitated and accused Knight of having spread the rumour that she (Weir) had painted a Kathleen Petyarre work being promoted in the front window of a nearby gallery. Knight denied that she had ever made such a comment. McCulloch said, however, that Knight had made this same state
ment to her only recently. At this point, Knight exclaimed, ‘This is not a Star Chamber,’ and asked us all to leave. My naive attempt to clear the air and broker a peace between us all had failed miserably. As I turned to Knight to apologise she told me, ‘Hang round with dogs, and you get fleas.’
Four months later Fred Torres responded to an unsolicited commercial opportunity. Contacted by fellow Indigenous artist and Katherine-based entrepreneur Bill King, he organised a workshop with Ginger Riley in the Southern Arnhem Land community of Ngukkur.
The year 1999 had already been tumultuous. It had begun with the Clifford Possum fraud in January and the Turkey Tolson case throughout April and May. Now Knight alleged that the paintings produced by Ginger Riley during this workshop were fakes. Art.Trade’s Indigenous Cultural Council had its first test case, even though neither Knight nor Torres were Art.Trade members. Vice President Greg Singh, an Indigenous gallery owner and artist from Far North Queensland, immediately enlisted several Aboriginal representatives from the Katherine region, and the Council tended its report several months later. It advised that while Ginger Riley had quite clearly referenced a number of his own works from books and gallery catalogues, the 42 paintings in question were authentic. It cited abundant documentation including albums of photographs and lengthy video material. Knight aggressively defended her exclusive contract with the artist, but refused to release a copy of it, insisting that it was ‘commercial in confidence’.
These works may have been produced outside of an exclusive contract, but that does not mean that they are fakes. Ginger Riley was said at the time to fear legal reprisal. Yet Knight would never have considered taking legal action against him. Regardless, Knight continues to insist these paintings are fakes whenever they appear for sale and refuses copyright permission for their reproduction in books and catalogues.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
As the end of the millenium approached the entire world prepared to party.
On the evening of the 31 December Anne and I set up our teepee festooned with coloured lights, and filled with exotic rugs and cushions at Happy Daze, Richard Neville and Julie Clarke’s magnificent Blue Mountains property. A hundred artists, writers and environmentalists danced in front of views across the escarpments all the way down to Sydney. At midnight all the lights suddenly went out. Confusion reigned. Had the Y2K bug stopped the celebrations in their tracks? Out came the candles and the terrace became a magical wonderland. Live musicians replaced the stereo. Moments later Julie’s brother Rolley Clarke cheekily turned all the lights back on. He had not been able to resist the joke and was applauded by one and all.
The year ahead was full of promise. Even the cynics were excited. Sydney would host the biggest party in the world, the Olympic Games. Everyone in the Aboriginal art world was concerned to put controversy behind us and make the best of this once in a lifetime opportunity. But the tourist trade was flooded with bogus product, including didjeridoos, bargain dot paintings and faux rock art T-shirts, probably made by backpackers in Cairns and villagers in Indonesia and the Philippines.
Since the early 1980s, many people,57 black and white, including myself, had all advanced the idea of a ‘label of authenticity’ for Aboriginal art and craft. During the mid 1990s the federal government had charged the National Indigenous Arts Advocacy Association (NIAAA) with creating an authentication scheme so that labels could be applied to Indigenous products in time for the Sydney 2000 Olympics. Millions of dollars had been lavished upon it.
Now Charlie Perkins, the master tactician, was determined to push it through. Perkins was without any shadow of a doubt the most important Aboriginal activist of the 20th century. An elite sportsman and former soccer champ, he became the first Aboriginal person to graduate from Sydney University. He played a leading role in the Freedom Ride of 1965, during which he famously attempted to swim in the public pool of the stinking hot New South Wales country town of Moree, sparking a riot. The pool, which barred Aboriginal people, was subsequently opened to them. In 1969 he became a public servant, and by 1984 he was Secretary of the federal Department of Aboriginal Affairs. A high-profile national figure, he was a superb political agitator who often attracted controversy due to his outspokenness, which was thought inappropriate in a public servant. After clashing with his Minister, he resigned his post in 1988 and returned to his Arrernte birthplace in Alice Springs.
By 1993 Perkins had been elected to the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission (ATSIC), later serving as Deputy Chairman between 1994 and 1995. He fiercely coveted the chairmanship and determined to fight the incumbent, Gatjil Djerrkura, in what would be the first election for the position since its creation in 1990. With up to seven candidates competing for the top job, it was shaping up to be a real contest. Having inched closer to his goal by getting elected to represent the New South Wales Metropolitan Zone on the ATSIC Board, Perkins chose NIAAA as his Trojan horse. NIAAA, originally established as a copyright agency, was now charged with the introduction of the much vaunted National Label of Authenticity: a system that would once and for all highlight genuine Aboriginal artworks in the marketplace.
The big problem was that the scheme NIAAA devised required artists to prove their Aboriginality in order to participate in it. The remote community art centres, which had invested time, effort and money into their own regional labelling, didn’t want to be strong-armed into a scheme devised by urban Aboriginal bureaucrats from the south. No-one could agree. The system they’d devised was never going to work. Though the basic idea was sound, NIAAA’s plan was a fiasco.
Charlie Perkins felt strongly about the need for a Label of Authenticity and it was an ideal platform for him to generate press exposure on the national stage. He was now firmly back in the spotlight as the public face of an enterprise that the federal government had committed millions of dollars to establish and promote. Clearly playing to his Aboriginal audience, six months before Sydney became an official showcase, he provocatively declared that the city would ‘burn’ during the Olympic Games, and accused some of Australia’s major sports clubs of being racist.58
The fear of bogus product overwhelming Sydney during the Olympics now became a political hot potato. In late 1999, Perkins and the NIAAA Board arrived at the long-awaited National Indigenous Visual Arts and Crafts Conference in Cairns, and began lobbying to launch the authenticity label immediately. The conference included 60 Art.Trade members in whose domain it would need to work. But under intense questioning, NIAAA seemed to have no answers about how they intended to introduce, monitor and police the scheme.
The dealers believed that adding yet another label to products at the point of sale would be very messy and confusing. They already had Australian Made, Woolmark and other labels on products, plus brand and shop labelling. The Art. Trade board and many of the delegates agreed that as an alternative, approved dealers should be able to register with NIAAA and be supplied with window decals (ironically this is just what the Indigenous Art Code59 introduced ten years later). Approved dealers could then report new products being offered to them by suppliers, so they could be investigated, and if approved, be promoted to the industry.
Professor Jon Altman addressed the delegates with his concerns. As the Director of the Centre for Aboriginal Economic Policy Research at the Australian National University, he believed that rushing to implement an immature scheme was decidedly ill-advised.
For a sizeable number of delegates, NIAAA’s push to launch the authenticity label was simply a rather annoying diversion. They had come to the conference to learn how they and their artists could benefit from the Olympic Games. Unfortunately the Sydney Organising Committee for the Olympic Games (SOCOG) sent only one representative, Lee Madden, a member of their Indigenous working group. He was unable to reveal any information about the opportunities that the event might present. During the final plenary session, delegates condemned SOCOG for failing to use this unique opportunity to inform the in
dustry of its plans, and a motion was passed requiring NIAAA to provide transparent information on how it intended to implement, monitor and police the labelling scheme, to all of the stakeholders, within 90 days.
During the following three months, Art.Trade persuaded the increasingly frustrated federal Department of the Arts to organise an industry round table on the Label of Authenticity in Brisbane. Just prior to Christmas, after two days of deliberation, the meeting gave only cautious approval to the scheme. Always the agent provocateur, Charlie Perkins precipitously launched the Label of Authenticity at Sydney’s Government House two months later. With less than six months until the Olympics, it was a grandiose event, with no expense spared. There was still no agreement or widespread industry support, but following congratulatory speeches and a performance by the great Yorta Yorta maestro Jimmy Little, Perkins proudly revealed the label itself for the first time, a tick in Aboriginal colours.
In no time at all, literature produced by the Department of Fair Trading, as well as Qantas and other organisations, began advising international visitors against purchasing any products that did not bear the label. Yet just a month prior to the Olympics, not one single label had appeared in shops or galleries. Not one art centre, genuine Aboriginal art and craft manufacturer or licensee had been able to join up. And so, in order to prevent an utter disaster in which all legitimate products would be branded as bogus, it was left to Art.Trade to threaten the Department of Fair Trading with legal action. Art.Trade demanded that it withdraw all advertising brochures and material referring to the label immediately. In the end, despite all the furious controversy, the label was stillborn, and within a year or two it was completely forgotten.
The Dealer is the Devil Page 42