Slim Barrie

FINDING SLIM

Nigel Lendon and I used to have ​many a conversation about ​Outsider Art in general, and we ​both held hopes that one day we ​would find the true Australian ​equivalent .....for we had both ​been looking in many out-of-the-​way places in the hope that ​something would indicate that ​there was a true artist at work ​well under the radar.

Garage sales and op-shops became prime targets of our ​search. So you can imagine my thrill when Nigel (who ​lived in Canberra) rang to say that he had found a ​handmade boat in cardboard, and it looked promising.

He had found it in an op-shop in Lakes Entrance in ​Eastern Victoria. As luck would have it the lady who was ​on duty the day Nigel called just happened to be the ​lady who gave the gentleman a few dollars for his boat ​some years ago.

Nigel, on that visit, made some inquiries and found that ​the maker of the boat was living with an aboriginal ​family in Lakes Entrance, and directions were given. But ​it appeared that the chap had moved on and was living ​somewhere else in Lakes.

Nigel was on the hunt, and his perseverance paid off; he ​was soon knocking on a door to a small unit with no ​obvious signs of life. Windows closed. Blinds drawn. The ​lawns are a tad unkempt. But his knocking paid off; the ​door opened a tiny slit.

Slim had been found.

What emerged was a man who was very private and of ​few words. Nigel engaged him in conversation, but he ​was unable to convince him that he was keen to see any ​artworks he might have been doing or even get inside ​the house.

I wrote a long letter to Slim and waited for a reply. ​None came. Weeks went by; I could not get Slim out of ​my mind. And so Nigel and I arranged to make another ​trip down to Lakes Entrance.

This time, the door opened, and Slim invited us to come ​inside. (We learnt that Slim had taken my letter to the ​Men's Shed, where he sometimes dropped in for a coffee ​and had someone read the letter to him. With almost no ​schooling Slim couldn't read or write.)

Slim had soon formed the opinion that we were trying ​to help him, to appreciate his art and to be a friend to ​him. Not someone wanting to take him down (as ​apparently had happened often in the past.)

Into the main room we went. Unforgettable. The walls ​were running with nicotine as all the windows were ​permanently closed; (one had to get to the door to ​breathe fresh air.)

The room contained only a chair and a table. The sink ​was full of cigarette butts, and there was one cup and ​an electric kettle next to the sink.

There was only one extraordinary object nailed to the ​main wall. It defied description, and it sent shivers ​down my spine. (I felt an equivalent experience when I ​first saw Meret Oppenheim's Fur Cup and Saucer and ​Spoon.)

The piece was constructed from a turned piece of wood ​that had been marked with a hot poker, two plastic ​flowers mounted on its sides, with a biro sticking out of ​the top.

That day, we got to hear a little of Slim's life story. But ​first, the man. He was about 60 years old (he didn't ​know his birth date), slim build, roughly shaven, looking ​like a man who had lived a tough life, not dirty but not ​clean, in a three-piece suit and a shirt that needed ​washing.

He wore a cowboy slip-tie in his collar and a pair of ​well-worn Adidas sneakers. He only had one or two ​teeth and an Aussie Akubra hat with a wide brim. ​Cowboy style. He was quite a character.

We were offered a cup of instant coffee, which we ​declined. We had brought a Lamington Slice, which Slim ​appreciated, and he offered us a slice before he made ​short work of the rest of it.

Time and time again, we drew him back to talk about ​any art that he might have made. He told us that he ​had been making art ever since his mother died. She ​was an artist too he informed us.

Do you have any of your work here in the apartment? ​“Oh yes, but I keep it locked away; there are people who ​try to steal your ideas.”

But Slim did come to trust us after some time talking, ​and from the fob pocket of his waistcoat coat, he took ​out a small key and unlocked the room, running off the ​living area. What was revealed was the equivalent of ​Tutankhamun's tomb.

"They're all Masterpieces."

The little room was packed to the gunnels. What was ​immediately obvious was that there were a number of ​boats in the style that Nigel had found in the Op Shop.

We asked Slim to take them out and place them on the ​living room floor so that we could better see them. ​There were nine in total. Each was quite different in the ​construction and in the way that he had painted them.

We knew immediately that these boats had to be shown. ​We told Slim of our plans to show these boats and to ​have them for sale. He was pleased with this plan, so ​we set about giving names to each boat.

We would suggest a name, but Slim would not be ​happy, and we seemed to be getting nowhere when Slim ​said, "Well, they're all masterpieces." So we had our ​names: Masterpiece No1, No2, No3, etc...These boats ​were shown in the Helen Maxwell Gallery in Canberra.

They all sold, and the National Gallery of Australia ​bought one. Alas, it never made it into the gallery as on ​the night before, when it was to be picked up from ​Nigel's home, the rats ate chunks out of the boat. Slim ​had painted it using instant coffee, and that was just ​too attractive to the rats in Nigel's garage where it was ​being stored.

The Night of Slim's Show at Helen Maxwell Gallery.

Slim shared the space with eX De Medici, and there was ​a bumper crowd in attendance. Slim's boats held the ​wall magnificently, and all soon had sold stickers on ​them.

A post-show dinner

Slim had been asked to give an artist's talk the next ​day, and he said that he would sing some Slim Dusty ​songs. As he was looking around the room, he noticed ​that there was no chair. He sidled up to me and said, ​"I'm a sittin' singer." In a very noisy room, I thought ​that he had said that he’d shit himself.

When we had sorted out the problem, I told him there ​would be a chair for him there tomorrow, and we set off ​to the restaurant where the Gallery owner had arranged ​a post-show dinner.

Slim was in all of his finery, three-piece suit, ‘at (hat), ​and cowboy tie. The young waitress thought that he was ​the real Slim Dusty. She was all over Slim, showing him ​to his seat.

I suggested to Slim that he have the salmon as I ​assumed that with few teeth, many of the items on the ​menu might prove difficult. With the waitress hovering, ​Slim looked her in the eye and said, "I'll have a pie." and ​with perfect professionalism, the girl answered, "I'm ​sorry, Sir, but we don't have pies."

Slim looked up and down the table, set with a crisp ​white tablecloth, damask serviettes, silver cutlery in ​abundance, water carafes, wine glasses, and flowers. In ​effect, the full monty. Slim took it all in and said to me, ​"Wouldn't you think a joint like this would have a pie." ​...out of the mouths.....

The next afternoon, Slim entertained a full house in the ​gallery with his guitar and his huge repertoire of ​country and western songs.

Slim

At the National Gallery of Australia

The next day, I took Slim to the NGA. It well might have ​been his first experience with a gallery of this size and ​importance.

Not wanting to overload him with visual stimuli, I took ​him to look at Jackson Pollock's Blue Poles. Slim moved ​ever so close to the painting and seemed to look with an ​intense observation.

He turned and said, "Every inch a paintin'." His response ​to David Smith's free-standing aluminium sculpture "top ​welding". The Gallery had recently purchased at huge ​expense a Lucien Freud painting based on a Cezanne ​painting of a ‘Brothel Scene’.

The painting was large and in an L shape, as Freud had ​added a canvas to accommodate the standing figure. ​Slim stared at the work for such a long time. I thought ​it might have been the naked figure of the woman that ​was drawing his attention.

Then he turned and asked, "Is this a good picture?" ​"Well," I replied, "it cost a lot of money." "I could have ​lent ‘im a bit of cardboard so ’e could finish it off." That ​is the best critique ever given to that picture.

Who would have thought that on Slim's next visit to the ​National Gallery of Australia, he would be there to open ​the exhibition Home Sweet Home: Works from the Peter ​Fay Collection?

By this time, Slim had works in the collection of the ​National Gallery, and he entertained a huge crowd with ​a medley of songs. With the audience calling for more, ​he said, "No, no. This is Peter's gig."

The next day, Slim was asked to be a part of ‘artists' ​talks in front of their work in the exhibition. Slim took ​the mike, looked at one of his works, and said, "Well, ​it's a masterpiece." He had nothing more to say.

Some of Slim's Art materials.

Over the years, Slim made use of many and varied ​materials and objects in his work. Here listed are just a ​few that will give you some idea of his range.

First and foremost, cardboard was his go-to canvas for ​painting, and instant coffee (Golden Roast) was a ​greatly favoured colour choice.

Slim was inspired to create works that incorporated ​everyday objects, some of the following featured often ​in his work:

Biros, screwdrivers, alarm ​clocks, colourful figurines, ​emu eggs, coat hangers ​(often as structural support), ​tinsel, gum nuts, razor ​blades, cake decorations, ​cotton buds, shells, timber, ​bottles, broken glass, ​jewellery, cutlery, and plastic ​flowers. I could go on and ​on.

Shallow cardboard fruit boxes were a much sought-after ​item for Slim to paint on and decorate. He would paint ​his narrative on the inside, and the outside sides and ​back of the box would be painted with an abstract ​design.

When I asked why he painted the backs of his work, he ​replied that “they could be displayed, hangin’, or sittin' ​or lyin'." When I asked, "Why would you want to put ​them on the ground?" Slim replied, "Well, you could put ​your tatters in 'em."

Bleedin’ obvious...

a little damp, Slim—style

Slim had Just three rooms in his house: a living ​room/kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom (never used). ​The whole house was his studio for making and storing ​work. He never stopped making.

I had a telephone installed so that I could talk to him ​and keep an eye on his well-being. I managed the ​money from his gallery sales and would send him ​money in the mail.

Cigarettes and meat pies were his main ​staples. But the delights of the Dollar Store ​took his eye where he found an abundance ​of things to be included in his work.

In the early days, he would coat his ​paintings in phosphorus paint so that they ​would glow at night. “Saves money not ​having to put on the lights to see your ​work.”

One morning in Sydney, I was listening to the news ​when it was reported that there had been a major flood ​at Lake's Entrance. Now Slim's house was in a rather ​flat part of the town, so I rang him to see if he was ok.

He reported that he was ok. When I mentioned the flood ​report, he said, “Yes, it is a little damp.” I left it at that.

When next I visited Slim I noticed that he had tied his ​guitar to a nail on the wall, quite high up. He was ​worried that it might be damaged by the waters. He told ​me that the water was up to his knees.

That's a little damp, Slim style—nothing to fuss about ​and no reason not to keep on working.

Once a week, Slim would entertain the blokes at the ​Men's Shed, and they would give him some lunch. This ​was the only contact he had with the world at large.

When it came time for Slim to have an exhibition at the ​La Trobe Regional Gallery, he asked if the men from the ​Shed could be taken to the opening. This was arranged, ​and their response was mind-blowing. They couldn't ​believe that Slim had produced so much work without ​saying a word about it.

Exhibitions

Each year, I would arrange for Slim to have an ​exhibition at The Gitte Weise Gallery in Paddington, ​Sydney. Over the course of a year, I would make the ​seven-hour trip to Lake's Entrance a couple of times and ​fill my car with Slim’s work. This would then become ​the show at Gitte's gallery.

On the long drive home, I would have to have the car ​windows open as the works had been housed in Slim's ​house. The cigarette smoke had truly infused the ​cardboard. It would have been lethal with the windows ​closed.

Returning to Sydney, there were three stop-off points ​for first dibs on Slim's work. The lady who ran the Op ​shop at Cann River, Nigel Lendon in Canberra, and ​Katrina and Neil Hobbs, also in Canberra. Over the years, ​they built up a wonderful collection of Slim's work.

When it came to the show in Sydney we had to go into ​action to arrange for Slim to get from Lake's up to ​Sydney, with an overnight stop in Canberra.

I would book a bus ticket that would take him from ​Lake's to Canberra—a call to the Men's Shed to get ​someone to get Slim to the bus stop.

Nigel would meet Slim at the Canberra terminus. I ​would have spoken to Slim and told him to go to St. ​Vinny's to get clean clothes, pyjamas, and some soap ​and deodorant—nothing but the best. Nigel would report ​that Slim moved through the house like a toxic wave of ​Brut as the shower was often avoided.

Then on to Sydney the next day with strict instructions ​that he was not to get off the bus until he saw me ​waiting for him. He would alight as if it had all worked ​by magic.

The exhibitions were always a sell-out success. Artists ​first in line to secure a Slim Masterpiece. By this time, ​the category had shifted from Masterpieces to ​Masterworks. And eventually, the works would be titled ​Top Drawer.

And the numbers kept mounting. By this time, Slim had ​quite a following.

A Brief bit of BACKSTORY

Slim was born Brian Barrie in the Swan Hill area of ​Victoria. He had an elder sister, Rita. His Father had ​long ago vanished. His Mother, Neta would follow the ​itinerant workers at fruit picking time, taking in ​laundry, while Slim would do odd jobs on the properties.

It was all very hand-to-mouth. They lived in two cotton ​‘kids' Cowboy tents, which Slim’s Mother would pitch ​each day.

To earn a few extra dollars, Slim and his Mother became ​a Country and Western singing duo and sang in the ​clubs and pubs in the local area.

They were, from all accounts, a great act, and they even ​had a tape recording made of their show.

At night, by candlelight, Slim’s Mother would do ​wonderful petit-point tapestries, and Slim sees this as ​where he gained his creative flair.

Slim adored his mother, and she took great care of him. ​So when she died, Slim vowed to continue as an artist, ​inspired by the way he had seen his Mother's dedication ​to her Art.

Slim in the press & on film

The well-known and award-winning filmmaker Judy ​Rymer, once she saw Slim's work and met him, was ​determined to make a documentary film (links below) of ​Slim, his life and his work.

Over a period of several years, Judy had filming sessions ​in Lake's Entrance, at the National Gallery of Australia, ​and at several of the exhibitions held at the Gitte Weise ​Gallery in Paddington.

The ABC were, for a time, interested in what she was ​filming, but negotiations broke down for reasons known ​only to the ABC.

However, Judy was committed to the project and has in ​her film archive some magic moments of film making.

I owe her a deep debt of gratitude, and so it is that ​many years after Slim's death, we have a fantastic film ​that captures the magic and the genius of this modest ​man.

Anne Loxley wrote a glowing review of one of Slim's ​exhibitions at the Gitte Weise Gallery. It was published ​in the Sydney Morning Herald on the 3rd of July 2002. I ​quote from it:

"While his work would be totally at home in any ​contemporary art biennale....his work is radiant with ​real naivety. The beguiling innocence of his worldview is ​matched by an impressive inventiveness. I take ​voyeuristic pleasure in the similarities between Slim ​Barrie and such celebrated contemporary artists as ​Anish Kapoor and local heroes Jenny Watson, Hany ​Armanious and Mikala Dwyer."

A further press review

In the SMH, Lenny Ann Lowe wrote:

“At the age of 60, Slim Barrie has become Sydney's ​latest Contemporary Art Star. At his latest exhibition, a ​documentary film crew buzzes around him and his 64 ​artworks, painted cardboard fruit boxes containing ​everything from emu eggs to fake flowers. The show is ​almost a sell-out.”

"I've got a vision when I leave the house", Barrie said of ​buying materials at his local shops. "I don't know really ​why I like them; they just look great."

Some Examples

Paintings

domestic Objects & shells

Fruit boxes

Collage

sculpture

On one of the filming days, Judy Rymer and her crew ​were shooting a film of Slim ‘at Large' in Lakes ​Entrance....walking the streets looking for treasures, ​buying a pie for his lunch, and at home doing some ​work with his glue gun.

Well, we were out and about, and Slim nipped into a St. Vinnies to emerge with a Rye Whisky container (pictured above) ​in the form of a Daughter of the American Revolution. Judy asked him what he had in mind to do with the bottle, and ​he looked straight into the camera and said, "I want to make a statue for Peter to have when I die".

We were all left in floods of tears. It summed up so many thoughts I have had about Slim. The most generous of men, a ​dear, dear friend, a man without a malicious thought and wanting always to do good for others. And from Slim, I saw ​just what a life in art might be.

He was totally focused on his work, even forgoing food in order to buy some trinkets that he wanted to incorporate into ​his creations. On one occasion, he was hospitalised as a result of being malnourished. Art supplies had to take priority.

If I can find half of the energy and focus that Slim had in going about his life in art, then I will be doing well.

His death came on suddenly, but he was working right to the end. No longer Masterpieces, no longer Masterworks, but ​now, finally, "Top Drawer". They don't make 'em like Slim anymore, how he enriched the lives of those who knew him.

Nature's gentleman. R.I.P.

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