On Whose Shoulders I Stand — Susie Raz storms the archive of art history head on
Susie Tax, Homage to Thea.
[Suzie Raz_transcript_V4_3Oct 25 On Whose Shoulders I Stand – Interview conducted 10:00AM Wednesday 2 October 2024.Additional info collected by email 8 October 2025]
Susie Raz On Whose Shoulders I Stand
Melbourne-based artist Susie Raz’s exhibition On Whose Shoulders I Stand just opened at Hawthorn Town Hall Gallery!
Exhibition details: https://www.boroondara.vic.gov.au/events/whose-shoulders-i-stand-susie-raz
Exhibition opening: https://www.boroondara.vic.gov.au/events/town-hall-gallery-program-launch-and-exhibition-opening
Panel discussion: https://www.boroondara.vic.gov.au/events/panel-discussion-whose-shoulders-i-stand
It was also exhibited at The Long Gallery, Monsalvat, Eltham in 2024. The series of self-portraits reveals Raz’s passion for honouring the legacy of female artists. Raz adopts styles and ideas from that legacy in her paintings. This article surveys how the project came to life, the significance behind the homages. Raz talks about her archival collaboration.
Preface
Congratulations on On Whose Shoulders I Stand! It’s a powerful, multifaceted idea. Today we’re going to be talking mostly about how the process relates to collective archiving.
First, in a general sense, what is your journey in art?
My journey as an artist is echoed in the concept of this exhibition. A series of 10 self-portraits, On Whose Shoulders I Stand is an homage to Australian women painters. Women artists are still poorly represented in institutions and history books. By unearthing these artists and by painting myself into their paintings, I am saying that they are important, and I am important, and all women’s contributions to art are important.
I grew up influenced by European art. I was fascinated by the Impressionists and had dreams of going to Paris and being part of the scene in Montmartre. It’s interesting because, when I look back, I always dreamed of being a life model. I never dreamed about being an artist. I find that really sad, because I obviously have an artistic talent, but I could never ever conceive of myself as an artist. As I became older and went back to art in my 50’s, I started to realise that there were all these years of missed opportunity. I started to explore art, yet all the time in the background was the question why is this happening so late?
Why did you launch On Whose Shoulders I Stand?
Around the age of 50 I joined a group of quite eccentric women in Kangaroo Ground. We used to meet to paint together. We met one day a week for about eight years. It was a very nurturing environment. That’s when I started to explore my own art. I was all the time looking at art books – just reading – and during that process I fell in love with Australian Modernism. Whereas earlier I had been into European art, I actually fell in love with Modernism, particularly Charles Blackman, who is still one of my great inspirations. As I was exploring the Modernism on my own; looking books, looking at exhibitions, looking at the history, I thought where are the women? It just niggled away all the time. And every time I’d open another an art history book, I’d say where are the women? Putting that question together with my other thoughts of why did I not paint, why couldn’t I conceive of myself as an artist? This exhibition emerged.
Then, during lockdown, I thought I’m going to do an homage to Nora Heysen. Really, from there it grew. It wasn’t I’m going to sit down and do a big series. It was something that evolved. It was very organic because, being self-taught, you’re not in any institution, which sets you deadlines and projects, so this came organically from within me.
What is the significance behind the homages you’ve created?
We ask ourselves that question and, always in art, we are asking that question after we’ve had the impulse to create. So, we create something, and then we try justifying it, or in a way, to intellectualise it. I think that’s important, but I guess there’re so many layers to it. There’s my layer of my own emotional needs. Of making a statement. And there’s the Artavism of making a feminist statement and a political statement. Those are often intertwined—that concept the political is personal— so there are all those layers to it.
When I did my first homage to Nora Heysen, I read about her and realised she was first woman to win the Archibald, and nobody knew of her. Nora Heysen was not in the books. I was astounded. I said to myself I’m going to paint a homage to Nora Heysen. Really, that was deep as it went. I’m going to do this. So, I sat alone in my studio during lockdown and did this homage to Nora Heysen. I chose the self-portrait. I decided I’d put myself in her position and paint it as a version of me. This would be a multi-layered representation of me making the statement here I am, as well as here is Nora Heysen.
Then I looked on the website ArtsHub and saw that entries were open for the Gosford Art Prize. Being a self-taught artist, I had never heard of the Gosford Art Prize. I had to look up where’s Gosford. I took … literally, this is true … I took a photo of the painting and sent it in. They said, ‘You’re in the competition, you’re a finalist out of over 900 paintings.’ They had accepted around 130 and mine got in.
Why I tell this story is because, suddenly, I realised that my quality of work was competing at a national level. So, from sitting at Kangaroo Ground, mucking around, having lunches and champagne with these women (and working alone during lockdown) was a big jump in my self-concept as artist. More and more, the acceptance strengthened my self-concept as an artist. And, more and more, it strengthened this idea of missed opportunity.
I don’t say that it in self-pity. It’s important to understand I’m saying it almost as a commentary wow, if I’m a missed opportunity, how many missed opportunities are there?
Your works are self-portraits: did putting yourself in the ‘world’ of past artists trigger any unexpected reactions?
It’s interesting because when I paint the self-portrait people will often ask me is it weird painting yourself. But I feel I’m painting the woman whom I’m doing the homage to more than I’m painting me. I’m – in a sense – in a performative role. So, when I choose an artist and I choose the painting that I’m going to homage.
For instance, my last portrait is inspired by Tempe Manning’s 1939 self-portrait. I posed like that. My son is photographer. He took a photo of me, so we actually workshop the pose. I’m always holding paint brushes. I’m always in jeans and singlet as a working woman. All the 10 portraits have me in jeans and singlet.
Because I pose, I will have up in front of me a photo of me, as well as a photo of Tempe Manning – the woman I’m referring to. I’m never painting without her in front of me.
It’s multi-level. I’m constantly looking at both photos, and, while I’m painting a woman, I’m reading about her. I have biographies about her. There’s a wonderful biography about Nora Heysen by Anne Louise Willoughby that came out just after I was painting her. Willoughby is coming to the exhibition because she’s going to be Melbourne (she lives in Perth).
I read about the artists, so I’m immersed in their lives rather than focussing on me. Each portrait is not a reflection of where I’m at necessarily, it’s more a reflection of that person.
Has your work bringing past female artists to the fore had an impact on your own story as an artist?
It has had a huge impact because I took a stand about myself in the process. I said here I am, this is my work, this is what I can do. I took back my own power – the power that I’d never had as a younger person – and in that way the process is empowering for me as an individual. By honouring them, I’m honouring me.
What can female artists today do to make sure their work is archived securely for the future?
I’m new to the world of archiving, so I won’t pretend that I know anything that I don’t know. I learn as I go. I try to get professional photographs taken of my work. So, these 10 works … most have been professionally photographed (there are three still be photographed).
And – this might sound really weird – but actually put in your Will what happens to your art. It is just something that you have to make sure of, so, hopefully, it won’t end up in the op shop, because it’s important. I know it’s not usually what people expect to hear. With the art that I’m looking at – whether it’s Grace Crowley or Hilda Rix Nicholas – all these works were looked after, and a lot of it was looked after by the families.
Putting your art in your Will is one thing you can do.
Then of course there’s the Women’s Art Register and looking at organisations that can help perpetuate your work for the generations to come.
Did any of the artists that you’ve worked on express any frustration that their story was not getting out? Did you come across anything like that or was it just a total void?
They often expressed a frustration with the environment around them. One example is Hilda Rix Nicholas. When she came back from Europe after World War 1, she was devastated. Her mother and her sister had both died from typhoid and the Australian soldier she had married had died in action only a few months after the wedding. So, she had lost her mother, her sister, and her newlywed husband within in a period of about a year. She was a broken woman, and she painted the most remarkable paintings of grief. When she came back to Australia, she offered these paintings to the War Memorial in Canberra. They refused to buy them from her saying that they were too personal, too intimate, and not patriotic enough. She was devastated, because she had painted from the viewpoint and experience of a war widow, a woman whose life had been completely broken, and yet, they said they too personal. She “got it” that that was gender prejudice, that was gender discrimination. The War Memorial, subsequently, bought those works in 2015. Sixty-five years after she died.
That’s an example that the women knew what was going on. It was huge what they were up against.
Each portrait you create is not only an individual piece but also a collaboration with the past. How does it feel to engage in a creative dialogue with these women through time?
That’s what I was touching on when I was talking about reading about them. When I paint them, I read. So, if there’s a biography on the artist, I look for it. For some of the artists there are biographies. Stella Bowen wrote an autobiography, and she wrote some memoirs which are powerful. There’s Stravinsky’s Lunch[Drusilla Modjeska, Picador, Sydney, 1999] about Stella Bowen and Grace Cossington Smith. I read as much as I can to try and understand their world.
Could you feel that knowledge changing your direction or influencing your images?
Not consciously, but I think unconsciously it was all there. It was a nurturing the process.
Do you consider your work as part of an ongoing conversation?
It might be. It might be that I keep doing a couple a year. This has been a huge process, and it still is. I have to support myself. None of these works is for sale. I’m not making any money from this. There’s only so much that I can do.
I probably will continue. As I become interested in a particular artist … there’s 10 in the exhibition, but I have a folder with 15 or 20 different artists.
I selected 10 that I had the time and the energy to do.
I think, yes, the work is ongoing. It’s fascinating. Artistically, each time I do a portrait, I do something slightly differently, so I’m learning artistically as I go.
Is there one piece that you feel connected to the most?
I probably feel an emotional connection to the Nora Heysen one because that was the first. She was the entry point. That her portrait got into the Gosford Prize was the turning point in many ways. Then two other portraits got into Gosford; the homage to Thea Proctor got in and the homage to Hilda Rix Nicholas also. They [the curators] are very interested in the series. I’m thinking maybe they’d like an exhibition of the series, but then I’m thinking, how will I drag them all up to Gosford? It’s not so easy, because you have bump them in, then bump them out. But three of them got in, so obviously somebody there was very interested in the series.
How did you conduct your research for these homages?
If there was a biography, I would read the biography or, in the case of Stella Bowen, the memoir. Otherwise online. Also, you start reading and one thing will lead to another, so you go down the rabbit hole and you start to find things.
Looking at their work must have been an influence?
Absolutely. The Ian Potter recently had Grace Crowley and Ralph Balson together as an exhibition. I went to see the show. That was the first time I’d seen in real life the Portrait of Lucie Beynis (1929), which is the one I’ve done my homage to. So that was exciting. Here is a painting that I’ve looked at, I’ve printed it out, I’ve had it in my studio for so long, and then I see it. Getting to see the painting, and other works by that artist, is always exciting.
But I look at them critically. So, when I went to the Crowley/Balson exhibition I asked where did they hang Ralph’s work, where did they hang her work?
It’s part of assessing this story, isn’t it?
Yes.
What was the size of Grace Crowley portrait in comparison to the self-portrait you painted?
It was similar because I check the size. I know if I’m doing it a similar size. I know if I’m doing it much larger. I don’t generally do them smaller. So, it was similar size to what I’ve done.
Do you rely on online resources at all?
I use websites. When the exhibition is hung in October, next to each homage to an artist, there will be a photo of the painting that is referenced, and a short bio of the artist. For those bios, which are each about 200 words, I will have collected information from a range of sources. For some, I’ve used online websites. For example, for Tempe Manning I couldn’t find a lot. I had to go to a website to find more information about her. I reference the research at the bottom of the bio.
If there’s enough about an artist from books, I always prefer to use books.
You have an Instagram account called ‘the great australian women artists.’
What impact has the account had on recording your own practice? In terms of growth and feedback from other people?
It’s very much exploring as I go along. I decided to do that Instagram account inspired by Katy Hessel’s ‘the great women artists.’ When I read the story about how she went through an exhibition in London where she was so appalled by the number women exhibited there that she formed ‘the great women artists’. Instagram was a tool that she had, so she formed the account. So, I thought let’s have a look and see if there’s one for Australian artists, and I looked, and there wasn’t, so I thought I’ll just do it.
The first post I did was my image, which sounds really arrogant, but it wasn’t. It was I’m going to start. And I’m going to call myself a great Australian artist because one story is not of more value than another. This idea of the canon and who is important – and again it goes back to the missed opportunities – and debunking the myth about who is so talented and a genius – is deconstructed.
In a way the self-portrait series similarly deconstructs those ideas, because I’m taking these women, who are now mildly in the canon, and I’m taking them off the pedestal and saying I’m painting myself in their poses. So, I’m deconstructing this whole elitism around art as well.
When I started the account, it was like why not? So, I put in a fibre artist, and I put in a woman who works with cardboard. I put in all kinds of artists. I put in a woman who won a competition, she might have been some local art group.
All of this division into the gifted and the not gifted … I think it’s just crap really.
I try to break down what they call (not the glass ceiling) but the glass wall. The concept of the glass wall refers to the barriers that we create between so called art and craft, professional artists and amateur artists, different genders etc. These are some examples of the constructs that put different values on different people’s creativity. Some are central and some are marginalised. The Instagram account ‘the great australian women artists’ is about that concept.
What impact has the account had on your recording your own practice?
It’s not focussed on my practice. It is focussed on other people’s practice. That’s why it exists. It exists to empower others. It exists to recognise that there is talent everywhere.
You have a personal Instagram account?
I have a personal account. That’s different. But ‘the great australian women artists’ is about other artists. I’m putting myself in it now … with the exhibition approaching … I’ll put those images in here and there. But I don’t put in other paintings that I have painted. I have my ‘susie.raz’ Instagram account where I put my paintings. Also, I teach art, so I put in the work of my students.
In contrast, ‘the great australian women artists’ account is about empowering other people. For example, somebody messaged me on that account recently and said, ‘May Vale was a relative of mine. Can you do you do a post of May Vale?’
And I said, ‘Of course. I know May Vale.’
May Vale was one of the Heidelberg Group, one of the ignored women from the Heidelberg Group. The relative started sending me information and photos. It’s really nice when you get that dialogue happening … people taking interest and wanting somebody they know, or somebody they’re related to, to be noticed and recognised. That’s satisfying.
It is magic, and it sounds important.
It is important. And another thing is – when I do a post – I try to alternate somebody from the past, who is deceased and a living artist. What’s nice with the living artist is I’ll do a post and tag them. It might be someone well-known, and then they’ll send me back a message saying, ‘Thank you very much for that.’ They appreciate it, even well-known people. Women, especially, appreciate it, as we have this intergenerational self-doubt.
When you boost somebody and say, ‘Hey! Look at this!’ people appreciate it.
There’s no personal interest in there. There’s nothing commercial for me. So, people just go ‘Thank you, that was lovely’. Or ‘Thank you, you really got me,’ if I’ve written something that captures something about that artist. They get really excited.
The posts take a long time to do. That’s why I don’t do a lot of them. Its quality not quantity, because I’m so busy, and because I want to read about the artists and say, in a few words (people have such short attention spans) something that is meaningful.
What impact will social media have on shaping how artists’ stories are remembered?
I’m more interested in social media that promotes community than in promoting yourself. That’s why I formed the ‘great australian women artists’ because I like that model of what Katy Hessel was doing with ‘the great women artists’ Instagram account. And feminist writer Jennifer Higgie, who wrote The Mirror and the Palette, has own website where she talks about other artists. There are a few others, for example, ‘this is not a man-date’ by artist Tracy Lamb. So, there are a few around that are on exactly that same paradigm: that we need to make women’s art from the past and the present known. Some focus more on the past. Some focus more on the present. Some both. But that is what interests me. We need that cooperation between us. We need that empowering of each other. We need to break down, what I call those glass walls, to encourage each other and compete against each other. I see that as powerful.
And by comparing artists from the past with contemporary artists that’s why your title On Whose Shoulders We Stand is so right.
Exactly. Exactly, and I can do so many more on Instagram than I can do paintings. I might go into an art exhibition and go, ‘Oooh! That’s a woman I’ve never heard of.’ I’ll do a bit of research, make a post, and I’ve done something for that woman. It’s very empowering.
Similarly, I did a Wikithon – an entry on Wikipedia. I did that during lockdown with feminist art historian Louise Mayhew at the Queensland Museum and Art Gallery (QAGOMA). I wrote an entry of an indigenous artist Yinarupa Nangala and that was really empowering because you feel like you’re giving someone a voice. You feel like you’re making someone present who was invisible.
Do you think there is a responsibility for artists to document their own practice, or should this be left to others?
Documenting your own work is an act of self-respect to a large extent—it’s honouring your own work. I think it’s part of walking your talk. If you think women’s art, or if you think art in general, is important, then you need to be documenting your own art. It’s a self-respect.
Do you think that entering something like the Gosford Prize is part of the process of documenting?
Now that you mention it, it’s probably important because a lot of the women whose self-portraits I did … we now know of them because they did those things, they took those steps. I need to research more about this whole thing of documenting. It’s something that is very important, and I still need to explore.
The prize thing is a double-edged sword. When people are not successful – unless they have a thick skin – there’s a danger of the person thinking, especially, of women thinking, I’m not good enough because I didn’t get into the prize. That’s the problem.
Because I’m doing this at older age, I have a thick skin. I don’t care. I don’t worry. I go into the next prize … whatever. But if I was younger and more vulnerable … there’s a danger with prizes that can be quite problematic.
So, submitting to a public institutions like Gosford Council can be a bold way to get your art recorded?
Yes. That’s going back to the Instagram account. That’s why I walk around and just do posts about random people, who I think do fabulous work. They’ve never had the confidence or thought of themselves of entering a national prize. But you can do this stuff on Instagram and empower people. Their self-concept starts to rise, and they go, ‘Ooh, somebody wrote about me on ‘great australian women artist’ maybe I’m a great Australian woman artist.’ The name is intentional for that reason.
How has this process of honouring these women helped you "own" your story as an artist?
Completely. It’s just been two birds with one stone. My self-concept has completely transformed through this process. Having people like yourself interested in it, having the Women’s Art Register interested in it, having received a grant from the Nillimbuk Shire Council for it, having Anne Marsh agree to do the opening—things like that came with no expectations. That I’m getting the recognition for the amount of work I’ve put in here, and for the other artistic skills, has been extremely rewarding and confirms to me that my work is worthwhile. That’s very, very rewarding. As an artist we work, to a large extent, in a little vacuum, which is our own studio, with our own little thoughts. I guess it’s the same for a writer and a composer. Getting back that feedback from circles that I value is very, very affirming. It’s completely transformed my own self-view.
Do you feel more connected to your own creative path through their histories?
Yes. They are my inspiration and the title On Whose Shoulders I Stand was chosen because I have so much respect for their courage and persistence that it inspires me to be courageous and persistent.
Is there anything else you’d like to add?
I just want to say thank you from my heart. I’m really touched by how seriously you guys are taking me …
[Discussion winds up re photos, further contact etc.]