As it’s exhausting to be indignant on a permanent basis, and there are so many things in the arts that induce this condition, I’m taking leave from the Powerhouse, the AGNSW, the NGA, the APYACC, and other hobby horses, to say a word about two major anniversaries in the Australian art world. First of all, there’s Ros and Tony Oxley celebrating 40 years of the Roslyn Oxley9 Gallery in Sydney’s Paddington, and then, Philip Bacon clocking up 50 years as an art dealer in Brisbane.
There are many today who know Ros Oxley only as the silver-haired grand dame of Australian gallerists, but for most of her career she was a flaming red head. Ros came from the family that owned Walton’s department store, and married Tony Oxley, whose family gave us Bushell’s Tea. Both entities sound a little quaint nowadays, but it was a Sydney high society union that has never faltered.
Roslyn Oxley9 Gallery – the “9” being added for its numerological value – was Sydney’s go-to venue for cutting edge contemporary art almost from the day it opened, and it has never relinquished that mantle. Hardly a month goes by without someone saying, “I hear Ros is going to give it away,” but I’ve seen no evidence of that. Now in their 80s, the Oxleys seem to be enjoying the business as much as ever.
Part of their success has been the fact that the couple never really needed to make money from a gallery. They came from wealthy backgrounds and could have lived happily on their investments. The art game has been a huge distraction for them, into which they’ve thrown themselves wholeheartedly for decades. When times were lean the gallery must have been a useful tax deduction, but for the most part they’ve been consistent sellers of high-end material to public galleries and adventurous private collectors. Their stable is a Who’s Who of Australian contemporary art, including Bill Henson, Fiona Hall, Patricia Piccinini, Tracey Moffatt, Gareth Sansom, Dale Frank, and so on. The list of artists who’ve shown with them over the years – both Australian and international – is monumental. The entire roll call is printed on a wall at the gallery, and reproduced in a massive volume compiled by Felicity Fenner, titled Roslyn Oxley: The First Forty Years. It’s bound in leather coloured a shade of deep, imperial purple.
Over the years I’ve written about many exhibitions at the gallery, sometimes admiringly, sometimes critically, but it has never been a place that could be ignored. The Oxleys have had an amazing ride for the past 40 years, and may it continue for many moons to come.
Unlike the Oxleys, Philip Bacon is a self-made success. His achievement is even more noteworthy as the gallery has always been based in Brisbane – far from the centres of the Australian art market in Sydney and Melbourne. Philip might argue that this has been his trump card. For many years, he has almost certainly been the most successful dealer in Australia, working with a wide range of artists, dabbling in the resale market, and constantly refreshing his list of exhibitors. He is known for his close association with artists such as Margaret Olley and Wiliam Robinson, but also with rising stars of a younger generation, such as Cressida Campbell and Michael Zavros.
Philip has been a trustee of public art museums, and a generous sponsor of art and music events. Always something of a mandarin, he is the greatest diplomat in Australian art. It’s not unusual for clients to fly to Brisbane to buy works by artists they could acquire through Sydney and Melbourne dealers. He doesn’t do the art fairs and doesn’t worry whether he is as “cutting edge” as the Oxleys.
Fifty years in the art market is its own testament to his acumen and determination. Like all dealers he’s shown some great art, and not-so-great art, but has always been able to keep the sales rolling. Whatever he has, it should be studied by students of commerce, and perhaps geneticists.
Reflecting on these two major galleries, and the role they’ve played in the history of modern Australian art, I’m more convinced than ever that public art museums should make a greater effort to note such achievements. The old Macquarie Galleries passed without a retrospective at the Art Gallery of NSW, and so did Watters Gallery – although there was a makeshift survey at the S.H. Ervin; while Anne Lewis’s Gallery A was surveyed in Campbelltown. Australian Galleries is overdue for some institutional recognition.
While public venues are reluctant to celebrate private commercial enterprises, they constantly acquire works from a handful of favourite dealers, notably Ros Oxley. Their admiration is expressed through discreet transactions, rather than an open acknowledgement. Because public museums are now obsessed with all forms of fund raising, they might accept that the commercial end of the art world deserves its moment in the spotlight. These dealers, after all, have risked their own money backing artists in whom they believe. The public museums have too often used taxpayers’ and donors’ money to indulge their fantasies. (Take a bow, Dr. Nick!)
Time to come clean and take a look at the way commercial galleries have shaped the face of Australian art over the past 40-50 years. Time to celebrate honest commerce and put ideological affectation back in the cupboard.
This week’s art column features In Our Time, a survey of the Geoff Raby Collection of Chinese art at the National Art School Gallery. As is so often the case with private collections, there’s an uncommon interest in the anarchic, unpredictable nature of Raby’s acquisitions, which largely followed his social engagements in China where he was Ambassador from 2007-2011. Nowadays, Raby is riding high as a businessman working between Australia and China and has gifted his collection to La Trobe University. Perhaps it’s time to start on Collection No. 2?
The movie this week is Aki Kaurismäki’s Fallen Leaves, a melancholy fable from Finland, about two working-class lovers who almost fail to connect. Shabby karaoke bars, drab factories, a cute dog, yes, it’s a typical Kaurismäki movie, and any one with a heart will succumb to its down-at-heel charm.
A bonus this time around is a profile of Makoto Azuma, the famous “punk florist” of Tokyo, who has shot flowers into space and dropped them to the bottom of the ocean. Azuma’s work may currently be seen in the NGV Triennial, although he’s been all over the world during the past decade. He’s also remained a strictly commercial proposition, taking daily orders at his shop in Tokyo, while preparing his next contemporay art extravaganza. It’s another happy symbiosis of art and commerce, articulated in the language of flowers.