Guy Grey-Smith has been criminally
overlooked by the powers that be in Perth for the past 30 years since his death
in 1981, says Andrew Gaynor, the author of the first book devoted to the
influential artist.
https://thewest.com.au/entertainment/art/finding-a-new-life-force-ng-ya-300975
Fred
Williams You Yangs
https://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/collection/works/207.1980/
Fred
Williams’s paintings of the You Yangs stand as a testament to an artist deeply
attuned to his environment. His long-term engagement with that terrain endowed
him with a painterly memory rich in nuance, allowing him to distil its essence
through a distinctive visual language in oil. The You Yangs were not merely a
subject—they were a lived experience, revisited and reinterpreted over time,
resulting in works that resonate with authenticity and aesthetic maturity.
In
contrast, Williams’s foray into the Pilbara lacks that same depth of
connection. His brief time in the region, while perhaps visually stimulating,
did not afford him the immersive experience necessary to translate the
landscape with conviction. The resulting works, though technically competent,
often feel like fleeting impressions—akin to holiday Polaroid snapshots—rather
than profound meditations on place. They lack the visceral engagement and
emotional resonance that emerge from sustained observation and lived
familiarity.
Guy
Grey-Smith’s Pilbara paintings, by comparison, reveal an artist who earned his
authority through time, toil, and intimate exploration of the land. His
canvases pulse with the raw energy and geological grandeur of the region,
rendered through a bold, tactile approach that speaks to both physical presence
and emotional investment. Grey-Smith’s works do not merely depict the
Pilbara—they embody it.
A
comparative analysis between the two artists underscores the importance of
duration and depth in landscape painting. While Williams’s You Yangs series
exemplifies the power of sustained artistic inquiry, his Pilbara works serve as
a reminder that true landscape art demands more than a passing glance—it
requires immersion, patience, and a willingness to be shaped by the land
itself.
Fred
Williams’ You Yangs (1963) stands as a masterful example of his painterly
precision and deep connection to place. The modest hills between Melbourne and
Geelong—those “pimple-sized” motifs—are rendered with raw, assured strokes of
oil paint. Williams worked not from direct observation alone, but from a rich
internal archive of aesthetic encounters. His marks are confident, unlaboured,
and speak to a visual fluency developed over years of immersion in the terrain.
As John Brack famously said, Williams “changed the way we see our country: an
achievement which will live long after all of us are gone.”
Yet
while Williams redefined the visual language of eastern Australian landscapes,
Guy Grey-Smith had already begun a radical transformation of how landscape
could be experienced as image—particularly in the context of Western
Australia’s remote terrain. His Mount Vernon series, painted several years
before Williams ventured into the Pilbara, is not merely a depiction of place
but a visceral encounter with it. Grey-Smith’s work captures the alien
strangeness of the Pilbara with a force that feels like first contact. For
those familiar with the region, his paintings resonate with the uncanny truth
of lived experience.
The
contrast between the two artists is stark. Williams painted the familiar, and
did so brilliantly. Grey-Smith painted the unknown, and did so courageously.
His contribution to Australian art—particularly in expanding the visual
vocabulary of landscape painting beyond the eastern seaboard—is profound. And
yet, his legacy remains under-recognized.
This
raises a troubling question: how have national institutions, curators, and
critics failed to properly acknowledge Grey-Smith’s groundbreaking work? The
continued marginalization of his contributions in favour of Eastern states
artists reflects a cultural bias that borders on institutional neglect. It is a
national disgrace that the remote landscapes of Western Australia, as seen
through Grey-Smith’s pioneering lens, remain underrepresented in our major galleries
and historical narratives.
Where
are the national art historians and critics willing to confront this imbalance?
Where is the effort to place Grey-Smith’s work in its rightful context—as a
foundational moment in the evolution of Australian landscape painting? Until
these questions are addressed, our understanding of Australian art remains
incomplete, skewed, and regionally myopic.
Guy
Grey-Smith (1916-1981) - Mount Vernon, 1961
oil
and beeswax emulsion on muslin on composition
75.0 x
119.0 cm (29 1/2 x 46 7/8in).
https://www.bonhams.com/auction/25470/lot/53/guy-grey-smith-1916-1981-mount-vernon-
Guy
Grey-Smith’s Mount Vernon Roebourne Pass (1961) stands as a radical departure
from traditional Australian landscape painting. Created nearly two decades
before Fred Williams ventured into the Pilbara, Grey-Smith’s work captures the
region’s alien, isolated terrain with a visceral immediacy. For anyone who has
lived or worked in the Pilbara, the landscape evokes a sense of
otherworldliness—like a first encounter with Mars. Grey-Smith painted that
sensation with remarkable conviction, translating the unfamiliar into a visual
language that felt both raw and revelatory.
In
contrast, Williams’ later efforts in the same region seem comparatively
restrained. His Karratha Landscape (1981) carries the stylistic residue of his
You Yangs series—gestural, abstracted, and rooted in a visual vocabulary
developed in the familiar terrain just outside Melbourne. While Williams was a
master of depicting the known, Grey-Smith was pioneering a visual response to
the unknown. His paintings weren’t just representations; they were acts of
discovery, describing a landscape that had not yet been seriously painted
within the Western tradition.
Yet, both artists achieved something profound. Williams’ strength lay in his
intimacy with the landscape he knew—his images resonate because they are
grounded in long observation and deep familiarity. Grey-Smith, on the other
hand, confronted the remote with aesthetic courage, capturing its strangeness
and sublimity in a way that felt like first contact. Each painter, in their own
way, translated terrain into experience: Williams through the lens of memory
and habit, Grey-Smith through the thrill of encounter.
Together,
their works form a compelling dialogue about place, perception, and the
evolving language of Australian landscape painting.
Guy
Grey-Smith, Roebourne pass, 1961. Janet Holmes à Court Collection
https://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-03-28/guy-grey-smith-major-retrospective-exhibition/5342120
Guy Grey-Smith: Painter in Isolation by Barry Pearce - Art and Australia, v. 15, no. 1 (1977)
https://archive.artandaustralia.com/PDF/b1112309-00057-00001.pdf
Fred Williams’ Karratha Landscape (1981), painted in the
Pilbara region just 40 kilometres from Guy Grey Smith’s Roebourne, invites
comparison not only in geography but in artistic approach. Created two decades
after Grey Smith’s work, Williams’ painting feels less like a deep engagement
with place and more like a fleeting impression—akin to a Polaroid snapshot
taken by a passing tourist.
The work carries the unmistakable residue of Williams’ You
Yangs series: the same gestural mark-making, the same compositional rhythm. But
here, those marks seem more habitual than investigative. It’s as if Williams
brought his visual vocabulary with him and applied it to the Pilbara without
fully recalibrating to the new terrain. Given the brevity of his stay, it’s
difficult to imagine a truly forensic or penetrating analysis of the landscape
emerging from such limited exposure.
That said, Karratha Landscape still holds its own kind of
charm. It may not offer the depth one might expect from a painter of Williams’
stature, but it succeeds as a vivid, almost celebratory record of a moment.
It’s a very good holiday painting—light, spontaneous, and visually engaging.
While it may not dissect the land, it does evoke the experience of encountering
it.
In that sense, it’s interesting—not for what it reveals
about the Pilbara, but for what it reveals about Williams himself: a painter
whose habits, even when transplanted, still manage to capture something
essential, if fleeting.
Fred Williams Karratha landscape 1981
Oil on canvas - Collection National Gallery of
Victoria
https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/explore/collection/work/69554/
Juxtaposed with Fred Williams’ celebrated Karratha painting
above is Guy Smith’s Roebourne—a
painting that doesn’t just depict landscape, it confronts it. Monumental,
alienating, and blisteringly hot, Grey Smith’s work evokes the raw, unforgiving
terrain of the Pilbara. It’s the kind of place where losing your car keys
without water isn’t just inconvenient—it’s life-threatening. The painting
doesn’t romanticize the outback; it dares you to survive it.
And yet, despite the power and significance of Grey Smith’s
work, the National Gallery of Australia has never exhibited him solo. Fred
Williams, by contrast, has been featured six times across various media. This
disparity is not just an oversight—it’s a symptom of a deeper cultural
imbalance that has persisted for nearly six decades.
Western Australian artists have long been marginalized by
institutions dominated by the eastern states. The cultural narrative of
Australia is being curated without fair representation from the west, despite
the fact that Western Australia’s mineral wealth has underwritten much of the
nation’s prosperity. It’s time for that contribution to be reflected in our
cultural institutions.
Secession may sound radical, but when equity is perpetually
denied, radical becomes reasonable. Perth deserves its own National Gallery—an
institution that champions Western Australian artists, curates its own voice,
and holds a significant portion of the national collection. Not as a token
gesture, but as a rightful claim.
Art is not just about aesthetics—it’s about identity,
history, and power. And Western Australia is ready to reclaim its place in that
story.
The ongoing story
Peter Davidson - Mine
Cut Mt Whaleback 1988
Oil on
hardboard A4 approx
BHP
Utah - desk calender 1989
During my time as an art student in Perth, regular visits
to the Art Gallery of Western Australia were both enriching and inspiring.
Among the many works I encountered, several paintings deeply resonated with
me—particularly those depicting landscapes that felt remote, alien, and
hostile. These included Guy Grey-Smith’s Skull Springs Country (1966), Mac Betts’ Goldfields (1979), and Frank Norton’s Depuch
Red. For me, these works marked the beginning of a journey into understanding
how artists interpret the unique and challenging environment of the Australian
outback.
Researching these artists and their paintings at AGWA
throughout the 1980s gave me the confidence to venture into remote regions
myself and begin painting. I wanted to bring back another story—one that could
ripple outward from the red heart of the country to the leafy green rim of
coastal Australia. Inspired by Grey-Smith and others, I embraced the challenge
of capturing the essence of the land.
Peter Davidson
Waiting for the Powder Monkey, Linger and Die Relics Siberia, Kalgoorlie
Goldfields 2025
Charcoal pastel pencil on paper 14 cm h x 11 cm
w
I was fortunate to receive valuable commissions from mining
companies, which enabled me to live and teach full-time in the outback for four
years. This experience allowed me to document and share images of mining
landscapes—places that held personal significance, as both my maternal
grandparents were orphaned in the remote desert Goldfields of Western
Australia. Through painting, I sought to connect past and present, personal
memory and collective history, and to contribute to the evolving visual narrative
of Australia’s interior.
Peter Davidson
