For Indigenous artist Jonathan Jones, even painting a landscape is ‘political’

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 Jonathan Jones. The Wiradjuri and Kamilaroi artist, 45, is renowned for site-specific artworks – such as 2016’s barrangal dyara (skin and bones), which occupied Sydney’s Royal Botanic Garden – and has exhibited in major galleries globally.

Jonathan Jones: “Engaging with Country, for me, has become that touchstone that keeps me sane.”Credit: Live Photography Australia

SEX

Is the art world as sexy as it looks? Oh, there’s nothing sexy about it! It’s a really grimy, dirty space to work in. It’s really hard. You’re baring yourself, you’re naked and pretty vulnerable.

Which sounds a lot like sex, right? It’s so strange. I’m quite a shy person, but then I spend all my time trying to express ideas and exposing myself, which really doesn’t make sense. You might have to ask some of my exes. I imagine they’d say I’m really awkward; it’s all elbows with me. So there’s a correlation [between art and sex] where you feel as if you must expose yourself while retaining some sense of dignity.

What do you find sexy in another person? It took me a long time to figure it out. It’s a slow burn, that one. I’m really, really lucky to have found my partner, Gen – that person you can sit down and have really amazing conversations with. It helps to find someone you really admire, someone who allows you to feel open and relaxed. That really helps. Oh, and when your elbows stop getting in the way.

Do you know what attracts Gen to you? [Laughs] Well, she’s obviously a really poor judge of character.

POLITICS

True or false: to be an artist is to be inherently political. True. There are days I wish I just painted landscapes and didn’t have to think about it. But even painting a landscape in this country is political.

Expand on that for me. I imagine some people would think, “Landscape painting? How is that political?” Recently we moved to Bathurst, the first inland town in Australia. People crossed the mountains and came into Wiradjuri country, where my nan’s from. Martial law was declared [in 1824]. The British Army declared war on the Wiradjuri people and started a process of government-sanctioned killings. So coming home and looking at this landscape is really challenging; you think about those histories. Two hundred years ago isn’t that long ago. [Local elder] Uncle Bill always says it’s like having a secret in your family. In Australia, there are some big secrets that we’re not dealing with, which are slowly tearing us apart – especially on “family” occasions like Australia Day.

What are the conversations you want people to have – and the questions you want them to ask – when they encounter your work? There are ideas around Aboriginality and this country – and how we all fit together – that we’re not able to have. And the thing that really irks me is that those conversations are often posed as problems: Aboriginal people are often [framed as] problems and impediments; too difficult and too hard. In that scenario, we lose something. We lose something of ourselves and we lose something of this country. And non-Aboriginal Australia loses an opportunity to learn something amazing. For me, it’s about trying to say that we have something magical, beautiful and special here that’s available to everyone and that everyone can learn from. I’m always blown away by how every time you go through the history books, when first settlers come into Country, Aboriginal people show them where the good watering spots are, where the good pastures are. That hasn’t gone away today. Aboriginal people are still saying this country is here for everyone. We all have something to learn and we can all work together. If some of those artworks can reopen those conversations and make them less intimidating or threatening, hopefully that’s doing something.

RELIGION

Religious. Spiritual. Atheist. Agnostic. Do any of those labels apply to you? It’s really hard. As an Aboriginal person, you’re meant to be really spiritual and connected. For most of my life, I couldn’t say that was true for me. It has really troubled me: I feel as if I’m not a “good Aboriginal” for not feeling that. But as I’ve gotten older – and I’ve lost a lot of family and life gets more complicated – the thing that has anchored me is that process of going into the bush. Engaging with nature and spending time in Country – going slow and really absorbing what happens out there refreshes me and taps into something that I’m still figuring out. Engaging with Country, for me, has become that touchstone that keeps me sane.

What are your commandments for making art? You should not do it for the money because there is none. Try and stay true to what you want, which isn’t easy. And especially for me, do it for a purpose. Come back to that purpose and make sure that you’re staying on track because everything pushes and pulls you in all sorts of directions.

Complete this sentence for me: “Other people go to church, I …” Go for a bushwalk – particularly this spot up here called Dunns Swamp [or Ganguddy in Wollemi National Park].

“Dunns Swamp”? Sorry, it doesn’t sound appealing. [Laughs] It doesn’t sound appealing! And it’s, literally, a dammed river where they made cement …

Gee, now you’re really selling it. But it’s, literally, the most beautiful little spot to go to.

OK, I’ll look it up if I’m ever your way. Trust me, you’ll be packing your bags.

Bagan Bariwariganyan: Echoes of Country will show at Bundanon Art Museum, NSW, from November 2.

[e-mail]

To read more from Good Weekend magazine, visit our page at The Sydney Morning Herald, The Age and Brisbane Times.