GFL Fine Art

Irwin Crowe Exhibition

I was first saw an Irwin Crowe picture in a framing studio in 1976. Being a collector, investor and student of the Australian art market for five years back then, I was astounded that someone of such senior years and astounding talent was unknown to me.

The framer told me Crowe was unknown to most people as he was a difficult person to deal with and the more I inquired about him the more horrifying the stories became. Stories about people being thrown out of his house; rude letters to the Art Gallery of WA and horrifying outbursts at public exhibitions were told. The stories just went on and on and on. But he had won art prizes and awards and his details were recorded in the Encyclopaedia of Australian Art, which was uncommon for WA artists back then so he was obviously someone of note.

The stories surrounding Irwin’s eccentricities were many on the Perth gallery circuit in the 1970’s, and none of the commercial galleries handled his work. “How do I get one” I inquired of the gallery owners … “deal with him yourself” came the unanimous retort.

After finding his address and contact numbers, it was with a degree of anxiety that I rang. Irwin answered the phone and he had a deep and ponderous voice. After explaining who I was and how my collection was suffering through the lack of representation of his work and how I couldn’t buy a picture anywhere, Irwin reluctantly agreed to see me one week later at 3 pm.

When I told some of the gallery owners about the forthcoming meeting, the stories became even more dreadful. I began to query in my mind the desire to have an example of this artists work, but then the more I heard, the more determined I became to own a piece and an important piece to boot, and I began to wonder why I was being actively discouraged by the gallery owners from meeting with him.

The day and time arrived and I went to that first meeting with Irwin mustering all the confidence and good humour available, dressed in a suit and tie. I rang the doorbell at the appointed time and Irwin opened the door. He was a tall thin man casually dressed and with a gentle handshake. I could tell immediately that my presence was an inconvenience as he met me (I can’t say greeted) without the slightest hint of emotion in his face or voice. He ushered me into his day room and sat me down in a 1950’s Spartan-type chair that offered no comfort or feeling of welcome. The chair was as hard as a bricklayer’s plank and I thought to myself, that the stories I had heard seem right so far and thank goodness I wouldn’t have to struggle out of a deep and comfortable chair when I had to make my get away. I could snap to attention without a struggle and bid him farewell.

Irwin’s wife Lalla (short for Eleanor) then appeared and the thaw started. The iciness in the room disappeared. What Irwin lacked in social graces, Lalla more than made up for. She was happy, animated and friendly. Lalla made me feel comfortable and not an imposition. After tending to the tea and biscuits Lalla left Irwin and I alone to talk and discuss things arty. I was disappointed when she disappeared because the chilliness and awkwardness was restored between Irwin and myself.
Other than two small works on the day room wall, I still hadn’t seen any of Irwin’s pictures and I wasn’t sure that I would, as he wasn’t forthcoming in that manner at all. He wasn’t one to surround his living space with his pictures and I came to understand why, many years later.

When Lalla left, Irwin began the interrogation. He wanted to know all about my collection, who were my favourite painters, what type of work I liked, how long I had been collecting, it went on and on and on and when he was satisfied he announced “I like you son, you can buy one of my pictures if you want.”

Irwin was determining if I was literate in art and was worthy enough to be taken into his studio, as he did not want the frustrating difficulty of explaining his pictures to a novice. I had been on trial and thankfully the verdict went my way. In later years I was to learn that most of the outbursts his notoriety was established upon were bought about by having to explain his paintings to nincompoops (his terminology). He detested the throw away lines that were often thrust upon him like – I’ll know it when I see it or I mightn’t know anything about art but I know what I like. These were two lines that particularly irked him and he questioned the mental capacity of those that uttered them in his usual blunt and forthright manner.

He led me into his bright sunlit studio that had a nice panorama overlooking Cottesloe Beach. I was allowed access to his current work and he steered me in the direction of some completed pieces he was particularly satisfied with. During the discourse that took place I learnt that none of his paintings were ever completed in one sitting and that they all literally took years to finish. He would constantly revisit them and alter them as they evolved from blunts (his terminology for unfinished works) to completed pieces. Only when he was satisfied with the finished result would he let the picture leave the studio.

I also learnt that he never sat down with an image in mind, he let the picture develop and with a little bit of help from himself the subject would emerge. I saw landscapes, religious scenes, abstracts, works on paper, works on panel, prints, drawings, sculptures, pottery and found objects that delighted him, like an old rams skull with a wonderful patina or a piece of old pottery with character. The longer we went the more animated he became and the hard as nails exterior melted away. The passionate, highly intelligent (though not really sociable) artist who was proud of his work emerged. His stubbornness also showed through and his irascible nature surfaced on occasions and it wasn’t until many visits later that his humour emerged and his delightful wit exposed itself.

It was discovered that he didn’t tolerate foolish questions sympathetically and he shared with me some of his opinions about individuals in the local arts scene and he wasn’t concerned about mine. Some opinions I found telling and others not so. When I asked why he didn’t exhibit with the Churchill Gallery a popular place of that time, that I knew had approached him for a show, he said, “the upstairs gallery in that place overlooks the outdoor dunnies of Subiaco and I don’t want my works to compete with the outdoor dunnies of Subiaco.”  Of course Irwin believed that gallery space should be focussed towards the artworks and the artworks should not have to compete with a vista, be it inner suburban or outback panorama.

It became apparent how a man of his experience, intelligence and knowledge could offend the ego’s that abounded in the Perth art-world of the time. It became easier to understand why most of the commercial gallery operators had little nice to say about him, and I understood how the legends surrounding him developed.

When I reflected on that meeting with a friend and associate I told him that the main obstacle to Irwin Crowe becoming collectable is Irwin Crowe. He will not comply and he will not play the game as the gallery owners want. Irwin held the simple belief that his work should speak for him; that his attendance was not required at exhibitions to assist in the appreciation of it. He was not the public figure, his art was and if you didn’t understand or appreciate it, then don’t damn well buy it. He did not move from that position until he was into his late 80’s and perhaps understood that he had erred over the years by not making himself available to the audience. Lalla always understood his error, but never admonished him for it or had him change his belief.

It was 8pm when I left Irwin and Lalla that day. I had gone to purchase one or maybe two works for my collection. I left with 14 and wanted to buy another 50. More than anyone else Irwin Crowe taught me to see and opened up even further the stimulating world of art. He used to say to me “ a good picture never exposes itself to you in one or two sessions. ‘It keeps on letting you discover it for years and years and when you think you finally know it, it shows you something new.”