The controversial work of Richard Bell has been well-known for a long time in his native Australia, but he is still unknown to many Americans. Bell's art-cum-activism, now on view at the Tufts University Art Gallery, creates a dialogue around the still unaddressed plight of the Australian Aboriginal community. Until 1967, the Australian census counted Aboriginals not as citizens, but as "Flora and Fauna." Unfortunately, the stereotypes and racism arising out of this social imbalance are still very much ingrained in Australian society. Bell's work seeks to bring these injustices out from under the carpet and into the limelight. Daily Arts Editor Anna Majeski sat down with Mr. Bell to discuss his work, his history and how he uses his art as a vehicle for these issues:
Anna Majeski: You say in the catalogue that you identify more as an activist than you do as an artist. Why did you choose to express this activism through art as opposed to a different route?
Richard Bell: I was becoming a political "inactivist." You have to burn lots of energy in activism. I was getting a bit tired of it. [Art] was offered as an alternative to me. I came to fine art from tourist art doing Aboriginal painting. This white guy came to the workshop one day and said, "Why don't you get into fine art?" And I said, "What do you mean, look at these fine lines here!" And he laughed, of course, and said, "I mean high art," and I said, "F--k that s--t, that's for girls and gays." He laughed and said, "You're an activist. You realize that you can reach a much bigger and more influential audience with art. You can raise the issues in art." I said, "If I did that, I'd be telling these white f--kers exactly what I think of them." And he said, "Well, then do it."
AM: So how do you choose to address these issues? By presenting alternatives to the way we treat one another?
RB: I think a lot of these issues need to be discussed. They shouldn't be swept under the carpet anymore. I'd much rather that things were out in the open. I think it's much more productive that way. I've become a recovering racist, a recovering homophobe, a recovering sexist… People aren't going to take you seriously if you're a hypocrite.
AM: Have you found that visual art as a form of activism fits your image of what activism should be?
RB: I do, actually. In talking to people around the world it's quite apparent that artists are involved and have been involved in revolutions all over the world. So it's nothing new, in that regard. I'm asking people to consider the alternatives. How about tolerance? I mean, at worst. But the real place to be is acceptance.
AM: How do we need to address differences that are structured and absorbed into societal framework? Do we need a different technique?
RB: Well, of course. Why is it more likely for Aboriginal people to be arrested in Australia? It's because in training, [police are] taught this. They're taught to identify Aboriginal people… with criminal behavior. The whole of Australian society associates Aboriginal people with alcoholism, yet only 40 percent of Aboriginal people drink, as opposed to 60 percent of white Australians.
AM: So these are obviously stereotypes based on lies, but how can you even start to address something that is just a lie? Doesn't that make it harder to address if it's unfounded?
RB: Well the use of symbolism is very powerful; you can change thinking overnight. I use a lot of the techniques used in advertising in my work that go back to a guy named [Edward] Bernays, Sigmund Freud's [nephew]. He invented the [public relations] industry. I use a lot of three- and four-color combinations [that] are irresistible to the human eye. We can't help it.
AM: What would you hope the average Tufts student going into the gallery would get from your work?
RB: To make themselves open to engagement with difference. To accept difference as a normal part of life, rather than people like the Tea Party who would like everyone to close ranks behind ideals that they hold dear. Government can't always help people; people have to want to help themselves. People need to want to sell a different message than the old house with the picket fence. That's the old American dream, but it's not possible for everyone.
When you strip the work down, there [are] questions about humanity and how we treat each other. We have to ask ourselves, "How do we want to be treated?" And that's how we should be treating other people. There has to be self-examination, there has to be an honest critique. That's a good start.
