Cupcakes, a whinge and a cuddle: Two artists on crafting a decades-long friendship

Artists Merrick Fry, 75, and Rod Holdaway, 68, met at a gallery opening in Sydney’s inner west 25 years ago and have been mates ever since. The pair like nothing better than a cup of tea, a bit of cake and a good whinge.

Rod Holdaway (left) holds a bust he created of Merrick Fry (right).Credit: Brent Lewin

ROD: My first impression of Merrick was that he was charming, a total gentleman. He was on his best behaviour. He asked questions about my work that other people hadn’t. It was the first time that somebody was able to see behind the surface. Both of us are realist painters, but with an expressionist feeling. I guess you could call it post-post-modernism.

Merrick doesn’t hold back. On one occasion, he looked at a painting of mine depicting a car parked in a driveway and said, “Rod doesn’t know what he’s doing here.” It upset me, but then I thought, “Well, I’m painting pictures that are questions, not answers, so maybe he’s right.”

He’s a wonderful character, really. The boy from Bathurst comes out when we’re working together. I’m from New Zealand and have never been a particularly blokey person, and Merrick’s taught me some pretty crude Australianisms, such as “as slippery as a butcher’s dick”. What does that even mean?

He’s verbally impulsive. Someone in the street bumped into me and said something and Merrick told them to go f--- themselves. That surprised me. He thinks I should stand up for myself more. I’m perfectly capable of that, but I do it differently.

‘Merrick complained about being lonely and I said: Try being nicer to the friend you’ve got.’

Rod Holdaway

He has also acknowledged his professional jealousy. During a show we had together in 2009 at Sydney’s Dank Street Gallery, I sold well and he didn’t. He got the shits with me and said, “We’ve seen enough of each other lately.” It was disappointing. I was confused because he was the senior artist with many shows under his belt.

In 2015, I had another exhibition. I’d sold a substantial work called Elysium, but later heard from someone that Merrick had said the painting wasn’t very good, that others in the show were better. After a few weeks, I told him how I felt and he apologised, but said I’d taken his comment out of context. After that we were fine. We walked back to his place and he complained about being lonely and I said, “Try being nicer to the friend you’ve got.”

In 2019, his youngest son, Luke, had terminal brain cancer and, in the months and days leading up to his death, I saw a change in Merrick. He’d come here every week because I was working on a portrait of him for the 2020 Archibald. While I painted, he talked about Luke and I listened. Merrick was terrified of what was coming, but he said he had to remain strong for his wife, Sally. He said, “I don’t know how to do this.” I never submitted the portrait. It’s too raw, he’s too vulnerable. It’s like an intrusion into somebody’s most intimate grief.

He’s changed since Luke’s death. He’s gentler, quieter, not as sure of himself when it comes to the big questions. He’s said there’s no God but, in his recovery, he’s created paintings about Luke that are intensely spiritual.

Odds are he’ll probably go before me and I’m not looking forward to it; this is the closest male friendship I’ve ever had.

Merrick Fry (left) and Rod Holdaway. “I told him I’d like to look at his art, so he invited me round for a cup of tea and we’ve been friends ever since,” says Fry.Credit: Brent Lewin

MERRICK: I met Rod at a gallery opening in 2000. He walked up to me and said, “I went and saw your drawing show; it was beautiful.” I was taken aback. In the art scene, there are cliques and jealousy; people don’t just come up to you and say something nice. I told him I’d like to look at his art, so he invited me round for a cup of tea and we’ve been friends ever since.

We get together at Rod’s house in Newtown every other week to talk about art. His style is expressionist-realist, whereas I’d call myself a gritty-realist. As with me, Rod’s subject matter is the things that are going on around him. He takes note of local information, even the shoes people are wearing. He spends a lot of time on King Street, sketching. Even waiting at traffic lights, he’ll do a quick sketch.

Rod’s knowledge of art is exceptional and he’s very inquisitive. We might be looking at a Rembrandt and he’ll ask lots of questions – I know a bit more because I’ve been around longer; it stretches my brain. I often come home with a headache.

‘We cuddle a lot. Every time we say goodbye. We’re not bothered with that male shit about cuddling.’

Merrick Fry

Our meetings often start out with me doing some carpentry for him. His wife, Jennie, makes us beautiful little cupcakes and we’ll have a cup of tea. There’s always a bit of gossip. If there’s a show on that people are raving about and Rod and I don’t like it, we might make some jokes about it and tear it apart. Being an artist is fairly lonely, so it’s good to have a bitch session every now and then.

There’s absolutely nothing I wouldn’t talk about with him, except sport; we hate sport. Maybe we hate it too much: it makes us outsiders, confirms the belief that people in the arts are “poofters”. Annoyingly, he’s an even bigger talker than me. I’ll say, “I’ve got to go home in five minutes,” but he doesn’t take any notice. I often interrupt him because I get impatient.

One of the worst times between us was when some gossip got back to him that I’d said nasty things about one of his works. In fact, I’d been excited for him. I’d asked who’d bought the painting and been told, “Oh, I can’t say,” which I’d thought was pretentious, so I’d said, “They should’ve bought the other one; it’s better.” Just to f--- with them. I could tell something was up with Rod and, finally, he said, “I didn’t like you saying that about my painting.” I said, “Who are you gonna believe? Them or me?” It really challenged our relationship. I blamed him for believing the gossip and I was upset that he didn’t trust me.

When I lost Luke to cancer, Rod was a rock. I remember going to his house and saying, “Luke’s got two months left to live.” He made me a cup of tea and we had a cuddle. We cuddle a lot. Every time we say goodbye. We’re not bothered with that male shit about cuddling.

Both of us are serious about what we do but, over the years, we’ve developed a sense of humour, we have a little go at each other’s weaknesses. We can laugh about it now. He’s my best friend and I love him to bits.

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