George Gittoes and Hellen Rose on making art and love in war zones

Artist and filmmaker George Gittoes, 74, and his wife, performance artist and singer Hellen Rose, 60, have devoted their lives to making anti-war art. It’s in the world’s danger zones that they feel most connected and in love.

Hellen Rose and George Gittoes in Bucha, Ukraine: “Because George goes to such dangerous places, he must organise and corral people, but if he ever tries to organise and corral me at home, I just say, ‘Do not. Do. It.’ He backs off.”Credit: Kate Parunova/Courtesy of Gittoes Films

George: I met Hellen in 1991 at The Gunnery in Sydney’s Woolloomooloo, an artists’ squat. She was singing and I was immediately taken by her beauty and her wonderful voice. I’m 15 years older and was married and didn’t think such a beautiful woman would be interested in me. I asked her to be in an exhibition I was curating. She suggested she hang upside-down naked in it, which she did.

A friendship developed. In 2007, my wife and I separated and I moved into a hotel in Kings Cross. I invited Hellen over to see the rough-cut of my documentary, The Miscreants of Taliwood [about how the Taliban was destroying the Pakistani film industry]. When I opened the door, we knew we loved each other. Later, at hers, she played AC/DC’s Highway to Hell and we drank vodka. It was so romantic.

In 2010, I got an Oxfam grant to go to Ayubia [in Pakistan] to make three films. Although I’d worked in war zones for years, I’d never let anyone come with me as it’s just too dangerous. Hellen just turned up at the airport unannounced. In the end, I cast her in one of the films, Moonlight, as a heroic vampire slayer of werewolves.

I’ll always have Hellen’s back and she’ll always have mine. In Ayubia, I hired a gunslinger to protect us on set [from the Taliban]. One day, when we were filming with children, Hellen asked him to stop some noise outside. He fired his gun into the air above the children’s heads, terrifying them. She tore into him for doing that. That night, when we were in bed, he burst into our room, shouting, “No woman speaks to me like that.” I told him he couldn’t talk to her like that and sacked him on the spot. It’s still one of our most romantic memories.

We’ve been making art together in war zones for 15 years and complement each other perfectly. I produce, direct and shoot and Hellen co-produces, acts and does the soundtracks.

She got me on a special plane and flew me home. She saved my life.

I find her adorable and beautiful – and I love her strength, which equals mine. In 2013, I fell sick in New York. I was on blood-thinners because I was recovering from knee-replacement surgery. One night, I started vomiting blood and the hotel called an ambulance. Because I had blood all over me, they thought I was a derelict and tried to throw me out onto the street. I put them on the phone to Hellen in Australia, who blasted them and insisted they take me straight to hospital. Then she got me on a special plane and flew me home. She saved my life.

Hellen has a very unique voice with incredible range. It’s such a joy to me to hear her sing [she’s currently working on an album of country covers to be recorded in Nashville]. The only thing that maddens me is that she gets up late and I’m an early riser. Still, we’re lucky to have found each other.

One of our happiest memories is our 2019 wedding at our home in Werri Beach [on the NSW South Coast]. We’ll be together for the rest of our lives – and probably into the spirit world as well.

Says Hellen: “In 2010, I told him I was going to go with him to Pakistan. He said, ‘No, I’ll just get you killed, kitten.’ My first thought was, ‘He just called me kitten.’” Credit: James Brickwood.

Hellen: When George walked into The Gunnery that day, I was struck by his energy. He was just back from working with rebel artists in Negros [in the Philippines] and I thought, “This guy’s so exciting.” Our paths kept crossing and I was always in awe of him and how he was changing people’s minds through his art.

When he opened the door of his Kings Cross hotel room that time, it was the most extraordinary thing. I just knew I loved him. Watching the rushes, I just wanted to kiss him. When he told me he’d separated from his wife, I was like, “That’s terrible; tell me more.” We’ve been together ever since.

In 2010, I told him I was going to go with him to Pakistan. He said, “No, I’ll just get you killed, kitten.” My first thought was, “He just called me kitten.” When I called him from the airport at 3am to say I was there, he said, “Oh, f---” – but he was secretly thrilled that I had the guts to do it.

Later, I joined him in Afghanistan. He met me at the airport dressed in traditional Pashtun clothes, carrying flowers and flanked by two handsome Afghani film stars. He kissed me in front of everybody, which isn’t done there. We got in the back of the car and grabbed each other’s hands. It was electric.

Before I left Australia, he’d called me and said, “Darling, we’ve bought a house.” I thought he meant in Sydney because we were living in a grungy old warehouse in Arncliffe. When he said, “It’s in Jalalabad [in eastern Afghanistan],” I was like, “Great, darling!” We renovated it to create The Yellow House [the only art school in the city], which opened in 2011. That was an amazing experience. George had to speak to the local mullahs; he was so incredibly ballsy.

We could hear the bombs getting closer, but I knew we’d find a way out. I trust him with my life, literally.

I was terrified when we bought our first home together in Werri in 2016 because I’d been independent my whole life. I thought, “If something goes wrong, I’m f---ed.” We’ve had some explosive fights, usually over stupid things, like how messy he is. It was as if I wanted to destroy the relationship because I was afraid to trust him. Then one day I almost made George cry and I thought, “What have I done? He really loves me.” We’ll never leave each other.

Because George goes to such dangerous places, he must organise and corral people, but if he ever tries to organise and corral me at home, I just say, “Do not. Do. It.” He backs off.

He’s solid as a rock. We were in Kyiv in March 2022, just after the Russian invasion. We could hear the bombs getting closer, but I knew we’d find a way out. I trust him with my life, literally. [George’s Ukraine Guernica exhibition is at Melbourne’s Deakin University Art Gallery until August 16.]

It’s amazing to find a man who challenges you. I’m more in love now than I was when we met. He’s my hero. No one messes with Hellen Rose when George Gittoes is around.

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