When I spoke to Guy Warren three years ago, on the occasion of his hundredth birthday, I walked away feeling like I’d never felt following an interview. I felt energised. Talking to Guy, 100 not out, and so full of life he could have kept going all day, I realised that if I managed to live so long, it would mean I could have my entire career all over again.
Yes, there’d be the inevitable slowdown that accompanies old age, the illnesses, aches and pains, but hey – look at Guy – he overcame prostate cancer and a quadruple bypass. He lived and worked in the often poisonous atmosphere of the art world, and never lost his innate affability. He must have had built-in immunity of some kind. Retirement was never an issue. He painted and drew right up until the end. I can’t do better than quote the words he used:
People talk about embracing the dignity of old age. Fuck the dignity of old age! I don’t want to know anything about it. If anyone thinks you should go into an old people’s home while you’re capable of doing what you’ve always been doing, you should tell them to go get nicked. Retirement is an absurdity! I’ve never understood the idea.
If anybody ever wanted to prove that old age was merely an undesirable state of mind, it was Guy. He reminds me of Emily Dickinson’s famous lines:
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me
Guy was far too busy, too cheerful and preoccupied to make time for Death, so Death didn’t insist, and simply let him carry on his merry way – painting, talking, setting an example for all of us that we need not feel depressed or beaten by something as trivial as getting old. In fact, I don’t think he ever did get old. At 103, Guy was as young as most people in their twenties.
He complained that once you turned 100, that’s all people wanted to talk about, as if it were the major distinction of his life. There were plenty of other topics that got him talking, as he raked back over the events of his biography, remembering people and anecdotes in glorious detail.
We know most of these highlights, so I’ll run through them quickly: his early years in Goulburn which he described as “cold as buggery in winter, hot as hell in summer”; the canoe trip down the Shoalhaven with his brother, Arthur, in 1939, as a huge bushfire descended on Nowra; the years spent working as a copy boy and an illustrator at the Bulletin; his time in the army, which included a posting in Bougainville that would stay with him for the rest of his life. It was also where he met Joy, who was working as an officer’s assistant. The couple would marry in 1950. Most people remember their war experiences as a time of horror or relentless boredom. Guy was never bored, as he spent his down time painting and drawing. The brutality of war made no permanent dent in his positive outlook on life.
The war also allowed him to attend the National Art School, as part of the Commonwealth Reconstruction Training Scheme. He was one of a notable group of artists who took advantage of the scheme. His two closest companions were Tony Tuckson and Klaus Freideberger, who could tell him stories about the art they’d seen in British and European museums. Guy and Joy would set off for Europe in the early 1950s, basing themselves in London until 1959. Showing the kind of pragmatic spirit that was his trademark, Guy earned a living working in an advertising firm, painting when he could on evenings and weekends. It was a pattern that would be repeated throughout his life: get a job when you needed money to support your family, pack it in when you had some modest savings and couldn’t stand the routine any more. It meant he never achieved the professional income and status of which he was capable, and never went for broke trying to make it as an artist. He pursued a happy-unhappy compromise, but always managed to do well enough to keep the wolf from the door.
He said he didn’t know why Joy put up with him, but she did. It may well have been because he was never selfish enough to put his artistic career and his ego ahead of all other considerations. Guy was the most empathic of human beings. He thought of others, he took his responsibilities seriously, he was angered by corruption and incompetence, but wasn’t troubled at all by the green eyed monster. He did his thing, and wished others well with their own work.
Guy was often asked about his friendship with David Attenborough, which began in London in the 1950s, when he wrote to the BBC to see if he could access some stills from a TV documentary about New Guinea. This brought a response from Attenborough, who was yet to begin his stellar career as the world’s best known naturalist. They stayed in touch throughout the years, which may seem remarkable, given Attenborough’s busy schedule, but when one thinks of these two long-lived, generous spirited, natural enthusiasts, it’s only right they would enjoy each other’s company. One imagines that for Attenborough, Guy wasn’t just an artist, he was a kindred spirit.
One thinks of Guy sitting with Ian Fairweather on Bribie Island, shooting the breeze over a bottle of wine while Joy and the kids spent five hours on the beach, waiting for him – a story he often told against himself.
From 1976-1985, Guy worked as Head of Painting at Sydney College of the Arts, where he struggled to put his many good ideas about art education into practice. Robert Linnegar reminded me this afternoon, that one of the things Guy did was to bring Terence Maloon over from England to teach philosophy at SCA. Given his subsequent career as a critic and curator, we can count this as one of Guy’s successes during a frustrating stint at the College. I was also reminded that in England, Guy showed at gallery run by Nick Waterlow, another figure who would make a huge contribution to Australian art.
When he won the Archibald Prize in 1985 with a portrait of his old friend, Bert Flugelman, it didn’t change Guy’s life or propell him to stardom. He carried on, just as he had carried on throughout his career, working through ideas, experimenting with different techniques, striving always to keep things fresh. Looking back on that painting in the AGNSW’s Archibald Prize 100th birthday survey, what came through strongly was the genuine warmth of Guy’s feelings towards his subject. It was a painting, not just of a fellow artist, but a friend. It’s a very simple painting that manages to say a lot. It reveals Guy’s self-confidence and his modesty.
In the interview I did wth him three years ago, I tried to find out if Guy had any regrets, if he would have liked to have been richer or more famous, to have made as big a mark as Sid Nolan or Arthur Boyd or Ben Quilty(!). Guy’s answer said everything one needed to know about his personality and worldview.
I suppose I’ve never had any illusions about my work or my position in the universe, or even in the small world of the Sydney art scene. I don’t think it matters at all. I’ve never thought of myself as Australia’s greatest painter or as someone destined to make a fortune out of art. I’ve never worried about the money because I’ve always managed to get a job when I needed one. I don’t know if this was a matter of self-confidence or ability, I think I was just lucky. To be an artist is such a privilege I can’t believe I’ve been so lucky.
Guy, I can’t believe we’ve all been so lucky to know someone like you. Few artists have been so unselfish, so willing to help others as an educator and mentor. Fewer still have been able to ride the waves of fortune and misfortune, fame and obscurity, triumph and frustration, and remain so utterly true to him or herself. When we remember Guy here today, it’s not with sadness, but with gratitude for showing us all that the secret of longevity is a positive mental attitude – and perhaps a glass of whisky every night. If Australian art is only slightly sadder this evening it’s because Guy’s massive contribution of positive energy has been removed. It’s up to us to honour his memory by striving to be as bright, as positive, as modest and charming as he was. It may be a big ask, but for Guy these things were second nature.
Guy may be gone, but it’s important for all of us that his spirit lives on.
Guy Warren 1921-2024
Address for the National Art School, Sydney, 25 July 2024