No kids, car or mortgage: How 2024 Venice Biennale artist Archie Moore makes a living

Each week, Benjamin Law asks public figures to discuss the subjects we’re told to keep private by getting them to roll a die. The numbers they land on are the topics they’re given. This week, he talks to Archie Moore. The Kamilaroi/Bigambul artist, 53, will represent Australia at the 2024 Venice Biennale – making him only the second solo First Nations artist to take over the pavilion at the world’s oldest contemporary art exhibition.

Archie Moore on his public face as an artist: “There’s a bit of vulnerability. But I’m also pretty proud of myself.” Credit: Janie Barrett

RELIGION

What do you tick on the census under “religion”? I pick “No religion”. I’m not really fond of organised religion and what it has done, especially in Indigenous history: putting kids into missionary schools and beating them if they practised their culture or tried to speak their language.

Do you feel connected to a sense of Aboriginal spirituality instead? I’m not very spiritual at all, but I enjoy the stories and beliefs. They’re much more fascinating than some old man with a beard in the sky. And something happens to me when I go out into the bush. I remember reading about this concept of “archaic residue” – about inheriting stuff from your ancestors. I wasn’t brought up in a traditional way and neither was my [Aboriginal] mother. But I feel as if the land is trying to talk to me; I just don’t have the tools to know, decode or understand what it’s saying.

Do you have rules or commandments for making good art? Whenever I’m invited to take part in a show that’s in a building or place I haven’t been to before, I usually start by looking at the history of that place. What’s happened there? What was the building’s function? What Indigenous history occurred there? Another rule: have a good idea to begin with and then think of materials or media. I change my medium a lot. Could be a perfume; could be a paper sculpture; could be a video.

MONEY

You were born in Toowoomba to a Kamilaroi/Bigambul mother and a Scottish father. What was money like, growing up? Very scant. My father was an earth-mover: he drove bulldozers and graders, making rows and dams, clearing land. My mother was on the pension. She only had a few years of school, so she wasn’t really able to work in many jobs. We didn’t have much money. We lived in a house that had holes in it: it was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. I remember eating white bread broken up in milk with white sugar when we had no money.

Did you know you were poor at the time or was it something you realised later? I was aware of it when I saw other kids getting Christmas presents; we weren’t able to do that. My father always said that we had no money. It was always in the background and the back of your head. You always knew.

These days, you’re an internationally exhibited and celebrated artist. How do you live off your art? Don’t have any kids, don’t have a car, don’t have a mortgage. I’ve always managed to find cheap places to live. Even in inner-city Brisbane, I’ve never paid more than a hundred dollars a week [in rent]. I don’t really buy new clothes. I’m a bit eco-friendly, I guess.

In the many decades of Australia’s participation at the Venice Biennale, only Tracey Moffatt – in 2017 – has exhibited solo as a First Nations artist before now. What’s it like being the second? It’s a great privilege and honour to represent Australia on the international stage. I appreciate it very much – and the money’s good.

How much money is it? [Smiles] A hundred thousand. Plus airfare and accommodation.

BODIES

You were often the only Aboriginal kid in your entire school. How did that feel? The racial slurs made you feel a lot darker than you were. I just felt dirty and black. I felt as if I looked really dark – when I probably didn’t – and that it was a bad thing. There were a couple of other Aboriginal kids that came and went in the school, but I was the only one in my class each year. No Indigenous history in school. It was all colonialist-settler virtues of mining and agriculture.

Did you feel attractive in your teen years? No, I just felt stupid, dirty and ugly. The big feeling was not being really there; I wanted to be invisible. Didn’t talk out loud, didn’t play any sports or involve myself in any activities. There was no support from anyone – not even my parents, really. So I kind of have body dysmorphia; I don’t really like looking at images of myself.

How do you feel about your body now? Are you more confident? A lot more than I used to be. The big difference was coming to a city and having female students come up to me and say, “I really like your tan.” I thought, “Are you taking the piss? Is this some racist joke?” But no, they actually did like it. At university [Moore studied visual arts at Queensland University of Technology], you just met so many different people: a Saudi Arabian girl; single mums; someone just out of jail; someone who used to be a junkie; gay people. So it was like, “Wow. All these different people.”

When do you feel most comfortable in your skin? When I’m alone, reading something or watching a film. And I like travelling, but alone.

When do you feel least comfortable? Public speaking.

Which superpower do you wish you had? Do you still wish that you could be invisible? No, I don’t really feel like that so much.

Well, given your status as an artist nowadays, you’re super visible. How do you feel about that? There’s a bit of vulnerability. But I’m also pretty proud of myself.

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