[Walkthrough (77 seconds)]

Paul McGillick: I'm Paul McGillick. It's October the 15th, 2014, and I'm in the apartment of Frank Watters, above the Watters Gallery in East Sydney, which Frank established in 1964.

Paul McGiillick: Frank, you grew up in uh, Muswellbrook in the coal mining area of New South Wales. And in fact, you went down into the mines when you were 15. Could you sketch in uh, the background, your family background, in those early years for me?

Frank Watters: We were very much lower, bottom of the heap middle class, um, working class family. But my um, parents just didn't have enough money for me to go on to school. I was the eldest of seven children, and so it would have been a hell of a strain.

I didn't go directly to work for the mine company. I, first of all, worked as a tool boy for the Theiss' people, who were working on the open-cut mine. And the tool boy was somebody who stood behind the counter and handed out the tools, and kept a record of them.

Although, eventually, my father came home one day and said, "There's a very good job for 'im at the pit." I was horrified. You know, working in the coal mine really just seemed to be the absolute end. And I looked to my mother for support.

And I remember my mother saying, "And it's very good money." And so, I went. But, I...everyone thinks, you know, you work in the coal mine, they've an idea of you in a seam, hewing at the face. Well, I happened to be a very, very, skinny, sickly boy. I'd had pneumonia many times.

And the...I worked for the surveyors, who had a very, very pleasant office on pit top. I did spend a lot of time underground, which I, first of all, was terrified of, um, but I grew to think it quite wonderful. It's very beautiful, much more beautiful than people realize.

Paul McGillick: So this must have come to an end at some stage. So, how did it come to an end?

Frank Watters: Well, I ... It did go on for quite a long time. I found later that the miners had taken up a sweep, when I went there, to see how long I would last. And the longest anyone guessed was six months and I was there for eight years.

But I became involved in every single cultural activity in the town. I was, um, working with a dramatic society. Um, and I probably would have gone on to become an actor. I'd got to know Doris Fitton at the Independent Theatre. And she was wonderfully helpful.

But I became very deaf. So a stage career was just not on. And then a group of people in town started, um, working, doing paintings, a painting group. There was one woman who pioneered it. She was a very, very good water-colorist. A woman called Terry Cheadle.

And I joined that and started painting. Then I...I was very keen on painting, but I didn't regard our paintings as real art. And we were having an exhibition in a local parish hall and Terry persuaded Weaver Hawkins who was the Director or the President of Contemporary Arts Society, to come to Muswellbrook, talk about our pictures and open the show. And he brought with him a group of paintings. And they were real art.

And I couldn't believe it because they had prices on them. And they were 20 guineas and I had 23 pounds in the bank. So I bought a painting, which is my first painting, which I still have and still love.

Paul McGillick: So how did you come to move to Sydney?

Frank Watters: I had become very bored with Muswellbrook. I used to come to Sydney... I'd come down just for the day, shopping, which meant a hell of a long train trek down and back. But then I had met somebody who organized a job. I was first of all working in a factory at Mascot, which was a bit grim.

And I, I had a dual job, because I was clever enough so the boss had me doing all of the book work. But it was the time we were just getting migrants in Australia and he had conned these people so that he said if they didn't work for a flat rate he could organize for them to be deported.

So my job with the books was to falsify the hours, so it looked as if everyone was getting penalty rates, etc. And I did that for a while and then I became very bitter about all that and organized a strike. And so the only person who got sacked was me.

Paul McGillick: As is usually the case?

Frank Watters: Yes.

Paul McGillick: Now, you, uh, came to work for the art dealer, Barry Stern. So how did that come about?

Frank Watters: Well, it came because I still was buying pictures when apart from Weaver Hawkins [inaudible] and every single cent I earned was spent on buying paintings. And I'd got to know Barry when he was first setting up his Museum of Modern Art, which was supposed to be a non-profit museum.

And I used to just go and help him, and I also bought paintings from him, whenever I could afford it. And because I spent every cent I had, Barry thought I was a lot richer than I was.

And eventually he offered me a job. And it was terrific, because, at that point, he was, um, showing very interesting artists. He had the first Ken Whisson show in Sydney. He had the first Dick Watkins exhibition in Sydney.

And I'd loved that show. Whissen, at first, I thought, was the worst artist I'd ever seen in my life, but as the show went on I became more and more excited about the paintings and loved them. Whereas Barry, because he couldn't sell any, grew to hate them with a great and vehement hatred.

Paul McGillick: So at this time, um, with you as, uh an art collector, were you already developing a particular taste? Did you have a certain inclination? Or were you eclectic in your collecting?

Frank Watters: Well, I've always been fairly eclectic, I think. But I've only ever, ever bought things that I really liked. Even I have, for instance, a wonderful, original Japanese, and when I say "original," I mean this was one made by the artist at the time... Japanese print. And I loved that, but I still collect and I buy whatever. I buy sculpture, drawings, paintings.

Paul McGillick: Now the time at Barry Stern, was that when you started to think about the possibility of opening a gallery of your own?

Frank Watters: Not at all. I did begin to be, um, very frustrated at the way I saw Barry treating artists. And I thought it was appalling. There was one artist whom I thought was very, very good that I think Barry treated abominably.

And I was very close to leave. No way I could have just gone and formed my own gallery. I had no capital. But at that stage, um, Geoffrey Legge had come to live in the flat next door to Barry's gallery. Geoffrey was an economist who had a job as, as a statistician with a major firm in Sydney.

And Geoffrey had just become very interested in the gallery. I remember him coming in, Geoffrey doesn't remember it like this, but I do... But saying something about, um, "You don't look very happy." And I said, "I'm thinking of leaving." He said, "Well, who's going to teach me about art."

And I said, "Oh, you'll have to get Barry." And he said, "I don't like Barry." And I said, "You'll have to wait until someone buys me a gallery." And he said, "Oh, I'd better buy you one then, hadn't I?" And I said, "Oh, yes." And that's really how it all began.

Paul McGillick: This is like 1964. Is that right?

Frank Watters: Yeah.

Paul McGillick: Can you tell me a little bit about the arts scene in Sydney at the time?

Frank Watters: Well, it was Barry had been having, I think, some of the most interesting exhibitions, but then they had turned into... He would just show anything that would sell. So it, it went from being the experimental people like Watkins and Whisson, um...

Well, certainly I'm not going to mention names, but just people who were painting little terrace houses or pretty girls with flowers. And it was just rubbishy tap that people just hung. And they sold well. But at that point there were some really important galleries opening.

Um, Gallery A opened about that time. And that was an extraordinary impetus on the scene. The same for people like... Rudy Komon was going. Rudy ran a very, very fine gallery. And he had been the agent for some of the best artists in Australia.

Paul McGillick: Who's the... Well, the, there was a shift going on at this time, wasn't there, in the sort of galleries that were beginning to appear in Sydney?

Frank Watters: Well, there were more galleries opening, but they were very, very serious spaces. They were, uh, places where there were some wealthy people backing them and that was a big help. But there were really experimental things like, um, Central Street opened, and that was, that was electrifying. It was a wonderful, wonderful...

Paul McGillick: That was 1966.

Frank Watters: Yeah. That was a wonderful space. And the other various experimental places. But the lynchpin, for me, and the gallery which we modeled ourselves upon, was the Macquarie Gallery as was.

And I'm talking at the times when it first of all was in Bligh Street and people like, um, Treania Smith was still running it. Lucy Swanton had been running it prior to that, with Treania.

And Lucy ended up becoming an intensely close friend of Watters Gallery and became a very good friend of Alex, Geoffrey and I. And a major supporter of the gallery. She bought fabulous work.

Paul McGillick: In, in what sense was Macquarrie modeled, uh...

Frank Watters: It was the gallery that was serious. They very definitely had always followed the line that they were the agents for artists. And for them the artists were paramount.

Paul McGillick: So the first gallery... Where was the first gallery?

Frank Watters: The first gallery was up in Darlinghurst, up near St. Vincent Hospital, in Liverpool Street. It was tiny. It was just one room downstairs, one room upstairs. It was a very pretty little building. But we had quite, quite extraordinary shows there. We had a lot of first ever exhibitions. We also had lots of music.

We'd become involved in various things like jazz. Um, there were modern art, not especially mine. But we became friendly with people who, uh, wanted to organize organize concerts. And they did.

Paul McGillick: Let's talk briefly, a little bit, about how you and Geoffrey Legge worked together. I think you're describing really kind of almost a silent partner. What, I mean, what was his role? How did the two of you work together?

Frank Watters: Well, Geoffrey was very much a silent partner. And I didn't really find out anything else until we were doing our 10th anniversary and Daniel Thomas was interviewing us. And he said, "Now tell me about the beginning." And I went, "Blah, blah, blah." And he said, "Oh, shut up. I've heard your story."

And pretty much as I've just said. Then he said, "I want to hear Geoffrey's story." I thought, "What?" He turned to Geoffrey and Geoffrey just said, "Oh, well, I'd seen Barry and Frank working together. Barry seemed to make a lot of money. I thought Frank was a lot cleverer than Barry. So I'd thought I'd make a lot of money."

I nearly fell off my chair. Because we'd been going for years and years, losing money at that point. And that man... Daniel said, "But, Geoffrey, you must have quickly realized you weren't going to make money." Geoffrey said, "Oh, but I'd become interested by then."

[inaudible]...I then was given mainly because a lot of people who represented, represented Australia overseas had all had their first ever exhibitions at Watters Gallery.

So it really came up... The Australia Council decided that I should go overseas to see one of these exhibitions. It was James Mollison who really pushed it. James, at that point, said to me, "Well, why don't you go?" And I said, "Oh, come off it. I, we can't afford wages, let alone me traveling overseas."

So it was James who actually pushed the Australia Council to give me a grant. Which, literally, um, gave me the ability to travel anywhere in the world, for a period. Which, in one way, was very good. And in the other was the worst thing that could ever have happened to me.

Because I was traveling by myself. I knew nothing of the world. I left Australia, ended up with the most appalling culture shock you can ever imagine. And came back to Sydney resolved never to leave again. And I haven't.

Paul McGillick: Tell me. How did you about setting up the gallery? How did you find artists?

Frank Watters: They came to us. Or we... Not entirely, because people did recommend people. I remember it was Daniel Thomas who said he'd seen this really interesting artist and he'd been judging a prize. And it was Richard Larter. We'd written to Richard Larter and he arranged for us to come down to visit him. He was living out beyond Penrith, at a place called [inaudible]. And we traveled there. It was Alex who drove me, Alex had a marvelous big Wolseley car at that point.

We arrived and he brought out all the paintings. I thought they were wonderful. Alex was rather taken aback. But Alex has just never interfered. So that's how we came to find someone like Richard Larter. But all the other people just started to wander in.

Paul McGillick: The shift to the, the new premises, at Riley Street, which continue to be the premises of Watters Gallery, how did that come about?

Frank Watters: What, what happened was, in the little building we'd been showing more and more artists who were becoming quite famous. And then what happened, richer galleries like Gallery A, with Max Hutchinson, would just offer the artists a better deal. And so we were losing artists. Not all of them took it. A lot of them stayed with us. But, um, we were just losing artists and the excuse was always that the premises were too small.

And Geoffrey used to nose around and he had discovered this building. It was utterly derelict at the time. And, uh, it was tenanted, but Geoffrey was just very persistent and we finally managed to buy it ... from a gangster.

Paul McGillick: Yes. You can tell me a little bit, I think, about the, shall we call it the urban context of Watters Gallery in those days. It was not a likely place for a gallery, I don't think.

Frank Watters: It definitely was not. What had happened was, it had been owned by a man called Joe Borg, and Borg was a gangster. He, uh, owned a whole series of brothels throughout Sydney.

And he eventually, I think it was...maybe I think it might have been the first car bombing in Australia. But he got into his car one morning and pressed the starter button and blew up.

He uh, a lot of the, this property was left to his family in Malta. But rows of terraces was left to places like the RSPCA, which meant they were able to sell them and that's how they built their tremendous refuge that they now have.

But because this building was literally owned by the family in Malta, and they all disagreed, nobody had ever been able to buy it. And so this man rented the entire property for a very small amount of money, and they even subdivided the landings and the stairs as just extra little rooms, and he was just renting them out, many to Maltese fishermen.

And the place was surrounded by brothels, and that, it still is, I think, the safest this area has ever been. The, mainly because at that point it was no secret the police controlled the brothels. The police even used to have a car once a week, collecting all the rents, which was there it was straightforward. But I got to know the girls, we couldn't, we wouldn't directly speak to one another.

But I remember taking my dog for a walk, and the girls used to speak to the dog and I would reply for the dog. And there was this wonderful woman called Shirley who, I just saw her change as she got older. She was very, very clever and she realised, she couldn't be just a pretty young thing forever. So, she'd become this academic woman with glasses studying in a doorway, which appealed to certain men.

And Shirley would talk to the dog. She said one day "Oh darling, you look tired." I would say "Oh, we think she's pregnant." Shirley said "You filthy little thing."

And I was so shocked, but then I remember when we, like she asked about the dog and I told her that little dog had had two puppies. And she said "Oh God, I'd love to see them", and every time I'm standing there talking to her there'd be a couple Maltese blokes outside the [inaudible] who'd been nudging one another and going "Urgh, look at me talking to the prostitute." She said "I'd love to see them" and I went "Can't you come out for a while, come up and see them?" And she talked to the other girls, and so we went over.

Then one of the girls chased her and Shirley turned to me and said "Ah Frank, the other girls want to see the puppies too." I said "Oh, you can all come." And so they closed the brothel, all to come to my flat. And by that stage, the Maltese blokes were having a fit. But we came up here, and as soon as they saw that big Larter painting, they were shocked. And one of them said "We thought you were a nice man."

Paul McGillick: Tell me about the, sort of the unique model of the gallery. Because you had all of these other things going on, over the years, the music concerts and poetry readings and performances and stuff like that. I mean, how did that come about?

Frank Watters: Well we never designed, we never set out what we wanted to happen, but we responded to the requests from people. And a lot of that, it was a time right at the very beginning when artists were first doing a lot of performances and really quite extraordinary performances.

There are very memorable things, also installations, which had never been done. And we were open to experiment, and that went on for quite, quite a number of years. And it was some of the most exciting times in the gallery's history, I think.

But what happened was, oh, for a period, performance installation became mainstream. And then you have the art colleges teaching performance, and I felt they just became unbelievably boring, and I'd like the more raunchy and experimental things.

And then we slowly went through a stage of beginning to think that the, um, most revolutionary thing that was happening anywhere was good old fashioned painting. And so we, people were coming to us wanting exhibitions, and we responded to people.

Can we stop for a minute?

Paul McGillick: Yeah, sure.

Frank Watters: Good.

Paul McGillick: So, you mentioned how you kind of reached a conclusion that the most radical thing you could do would be to focus on painting, so you kind of stopped doing all the other things. When did that happen?

Frank Watters: We didn't actually stop doing them, they ran out of steam.

Paul McGillick: Ah.

Frank Watters: I mean, we never made a decisions like, saying to others "Well no, we're not doing that any more." But it was the impetus, the very creative people who were making the performances and making these, had moved on to other things. And quite a few of those people started making paintings.

Paul McGillick: Now, tell me. To what extent does your own personal taste, or did your own personal taste influence the kind of work you showed?

Frank Watters: Um, well, we only ever showed work we liked, only. And we got some surprises, some things were not quite what we expected. Our things were, oh just very exciting and quite wonderful.

But we often didn't know what was going on the walls until it arrived in the gallery for hanging. And that was, I think one of the things that kept the gallery alive and lively.

Paul McGillick: In what sense do you think the gallery's character has changed? Because we're talking here about a long period of time, we were last speaking about the 60's, so we're now talking about 30 years. Then, how does the, how does the character of the gallery change?

Frank Watters: Well, I think people see us now as much more conservative, and this is probably true, but I also think the society has changed. I mean, one of the reasons we were completely active in the end of the 60's and certainly the early 70's was because Australia had horrendous censorship laws.

And it was not just for the visual arts. It was also for the theatre, and we ran a campaign to raise funds for Mike Brown's defense when he had been charged with exhibiting obscene paintings. But also, we got very involved with the New Theatre, which I happen to think wonderful.

We got to know the people there, but they had a play which was closed down, and I thought that was appalling, certainly appalling that the police could actually censor theatre.

And it was a play called "America Hurrah" by Jean-Claude van Itallie, and it was shocking. Shocking in the sense that it really did shock us in the audience, but we sort of have to have it...it was set up in a motel room, and in the last act, these two people, these two huge dolls just started to graffiti the room, and they wrote words like fuck, cunt, shit, piss.

And you can imagine, at that period one didn't do things like that. And I remember being so taken aback, and we saw the play a couple of times, and then the police closed it.

And we raised money for a protest performance. We had to get enough money to be able to get a different theatre because the police had arranged that if a New Theatre didn't it, they would lose their license altogether.

But we rang, I got extraordinary people and I deliberately rang very establishment people. And I remember ringing people like James Fairfax, and James said "Oh, dear." I said "Come on James, this is important." And he was really terrific, so James gave us quite a handsome amount of money.

But I rang people like graziers in New England, and the president of the Camellia Society, deliberately getting establishment figures so that, when the protest performance came on and the police had descended they were expecting a lot of ratty little left-wing union people instead of which, they copped the absolute establishment of Australia.

And they, um, we finally managed to do it because we kept losing hall after hall, but it was the Teachers Federation who ultimately made their hall available.

And at one point...it had to be a free performance. There were three and a half thousand people queued in the city, and it ended up the government changed the law.

Paul McGillick: Well, you're speaking of a period where the censorship laws were challenged, especially through the theatre. Some people might argue that we're, in a sense, come almost full circle where artists are again being, shall we say victimized, most notably Bill Henson. Do you think that's the case? I mean, does it seem like that to you?

Frank Watters: It's not as extreme, but it's definitely the case. And I think there is always a group of people who like censoring things, and they really like having that authority. And I think the Bill Henson case was appalling.

I think it was handled badly, I think the way the invitation went out was quite deliberately provocative and asking for trouble. But having said that, I just think there was no, absolutely no way that they should have taken the exhibition down.

Paul McGillick: I think over the years, you've had artists like Richard Larter, you've had performances which I think involve nudity and so on. Did you ever have any difficulty with authorities?

Frank Watters: We had, we had problems. At one stage, that was before we came to this building, we were put on a proscribed list by the vice squad, and being on a proscribed list means that you're treated as a brothel and you get inspected every two weeks by the vice squad.

And we used to get these blokes come in, absolutely bemused by what they are looking at. And, uh, this happened, at that point we had a whole lot of exhibitions of purely abstract pictures. And one of the policemen became interested in art, and started painting.

And I remember they came into one of the Richard Larter exhibitions, one of the early ones with hypodermic syringes, nudes and I thought, "Oh-oh, here we go." And it was like they said, "Oh Mr. Watters, this is a really interesting technique. How did he do this?"

Um, eventually the uh, the vice squad chief rang me and said, "Oh, Mr. Watters, this has begun to get a bit ridiculous." I said, "Well, I think it is ridiculous." And he said, "Well, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll stop sending people round to inspect you. But if you ever have a show you're a bit worried about, get us to come down and have a look at it, and we'll give you the OK."

And I said, "Well, of course I will. But I've never seen a show that I was worried about." And he said, "Smart ass," and gave up.

Paul McGillick: So, how has your role changed over the years?

Frank Watters: Uh, mainly in recent years, I've become older and frailer, and I stay away upstairs. But I still...we have very much...we don't have the ability, and we haven't had because we very much stick to artists.

We don't chop and change, and we don't dump artists. So, there hasn't been...apart from the amalgamation with the Legge Gallery, we've pretty well just gone on with the same artists for showing. We have very close relations, we have many close friends.

Paul McGillick: How would you say the -- shall we call it the arts scene -- has changed in recent years, if it has changed?

Frank Watters: I think it has. It's become very much caught up in bureaucratic procedures. There are more and more and more people who get fine arts degrees etc, who need a job. And the only jobs they can get are sort of um, administrative; who knows. So, they think up all sorts of things where they can all really help control the arts scene. Um, I think very often it's, it's not a good thing for the arts scene.

Paul McGillick: Do you think the arts scene is less spontaneous and less natural than say the 60's, 70's period?

Frank Watters: Definitely. I mean, well in the 60's, 70's, it was mainly spontaneous because people were just responding to something that was new. And they were looking for something that was new, whereas now um, that seemed to be fairly stable. I mean, I think people are very, very conscious, seem to be much more conscious of money.

Paul McGillick: Have you been able to retain your passion for painting?

Frank Watters: I still buy pictures. I kick myself but I just still find myself absolutely unable to resist things. I mean, a show downstairs at Roger Crawford's works on the paper, and I bought three.

Paul McGillick: Well, Frank Watters, thank you very much.

Frank Watters: Well, thank you.

Credits

Interviewer: Dr Paul McGillick

Cameraman, lighting and sound: Cameron Glendinning

Video editing: Dr. Bob Jansen

Technical & assembly: Dr. Bob Jansen

Director: Dr. Bob Jansen