In a sun-drenched corner of Fitzrovia – once seedy, now sizzling with the energy of Tracey Emin sightings and Ian McEwan prose – Australian-born London gallerist Rebecca Hossack, and German-born, U.K.-based journalist Josephine Grever settle into conversation. It’s the kind that drifts from art fairs to memories of Dame Edna Everage, from Aboriginal desert paintings to the rhythms of daily ritual. There is evidence of their long-standing shared love of Australia. Hossack, a force of both flair and focus, reflects on her pioneering gallery – one of the longest-running galleries to focus on showing Aboriginal art in the world – and the changing face of the art market. Between curating exhibitions and circling the globe for shows, she crafts a life rich in texture. Her London home, a maximalist dream layered with meaning and colour has quietly become an Instagram darling from the outside. On the inside, it is filled with pieces made by artists and friends, and imbued with stories, culture, and connection.
JG Rebecca, I remember how we met at the gallery in the early 90s. I was researching your neighborhood – which is bohemian – Fitzrovia (London), once a home to writers such as Virginia Woolf and friends. At the time, there were also a lot of Greek restaurants, and generally it was wonderfully vibrant. What's it like now here?
RH When I met you, we were in Windmill Street – a little street off Charlotte Street. And people used to be astonished that I opened a gallery there, because it was such a backwater. But I loved all the Greek restaurants, and I loved the feeling of open-air cafés because it reminded me of Melbourne. And I've realised that my whole life is traveling around the world to find places that remind me of Melbourne or Australia, and so I felt incredibly at home in Fitzrovia. It was very, very run down. It wasn't trendy or fashionable like Soho, and in fact, it wasn't even called Fitzrovia. It had no name. It was a sort of seedy area. You know, this very, very nice man who owned the spaghetti house, Stefano, frequently had a campaign to change the name to Fitzrovia, and the minute he did it, it became very sought after. And as you know, Fitzroy Square, just next to the gallery, is full of celebrities such as Tracy Emin – the artist lives there – Ian McEwan, the writer, Gary Kemp from Spandau Ballet, Guy Ritchie – Madonna's ex and film producer. They're all my neighbours, and of course, the Charlotte Street Hotel, which is incredibly chic, was not there. It was a dental factory manufacturing false teeth. So, it's really changed.
JG And do you remember, after meeting you at the time, I went to see someone called Matthew Sturgis? And you said, “Oh, I'll come with you!”. I like to tell the story that I brought the two of you together.
RH Josephine, I think you did. So, when I met Matthew, an Australian friend of mine was studying at Oxford and sharing a house with him. I met Matthew just once. I went down to see my friend and have dinner, and then many years later, when I opened the gallery, it turned out he was living around the corner. I was very keen on him, because he was very funny and very clever, but I didn't really know how to further the relationship. So that was fantastic that you were going to interview him. Thank you. And, you did.
JG It's one of my highlights. But we also have another connection. My [late] husband, Willie [Landels], had an exhibition with you.
RH How did I meet Willie? He was so famous, he was this sort of amazing figure in London, one of the greats. London was so great in the 80s and before – it was so creative. There were people with real style, you know? They didn't want to be Instagram heroes; they genuinely lived life in a marvelous and stylish way. And Willie was one of those people. And yes, God, isn't it weird, I cannot remember how I met him. Somebody told me it was Nicholas Ward-Jackson. What a good painter he was. My God, he was a good painter, most outstanding. And so, we gave him a show, and it was just incredible. And then we wanted to show him with Tim Olsen, a friend of mine in Sydney. I remember that wonderful show. We all went to Sydney together. Do you remember we used to tell everyone that you were the Baroness von Krieger? Sydney siders were, like, bowing to you.
JG Yes, but before that I had complained to you that everyone was circling around Willie, and nobody talked to me. You said, “we are going to change this”.
RH It worked. And you are Baroness von Krieger to this day – and you look like Baroness von Krieger. You look fantastic! I wish everyone could see you – beautiful red and blue beads and great twists around your neck and a beautiful blue ombre caftan, and then a wonderful navy turban around your head. And in fact, we're both wearing ombre. I can't believe it. I'm wearing an Etro knitted dress.
JG But anyway, when you opened the gallery, your ambition was to bring the best of Australian art to Britain?
RH Aboriginal art was in its infancy in those days and only known to a very small coterie of people, and definitely not outside Australia. And so, I think not only are we now the longest established Aboriginal Gallery in the world – 37 years this year – but I think we were definitely the first in England, and I think the first commercial gallery in Europe to show Aboriginal art consistently.
JG But now you show other art, apart from Aboriginal art?
RH Well, Josephine, I've always found the art world rather like lemmings, you know? They find somebody and latch onto something, and then everyone runs blindly following. And you know, for example, if you think that, 36 years ago, I wrote to the then-director of the Tate Gallery, Sir Nicholas Serota, and I said, “Dear Nicholas, would you consider buying this Aboriginal painting from my current exhibition?” And he wrote back a very nice letter. He said, “Rebecca, the Tate Gallery will never, ever show Aboriginal art. Of course, I'm not going to buy this picture.” It was by Emily Kame Kngwarreye, and it was only £800. We were the first gallery to show Emily outside of Australia. And now, 36 years later, the big show at the Tate Gallery this summer is Emily, yes. So, I have always liked to lead, not follow. So, for example, I was the first gallery to really show Indigenous artists. I worked with the African bushman from the Kalahari and did several shows with them, which were the first shows ever in U.K. or Europe. The same with Papua New Guinea. I work with them very closely and support the community. We've worked with so many indigenous peoples from all over the world. And I love that, because I think the art world has become very, very mercenary, cynical... really quite boring, quite frankly. And on the whole, Indigenous artists still have a sense of spirit, a sense of joy. Many young artists I find are so avid for fame and fortune that they almost live in a perpetual state of anxiety. I mean, art should be the last bastion of the spiritual, of fun, of eccentricity. For example, we are going to show Andrew Logan this autumn to celebrate his 80th birthday. And Andrew is an incredibly important artist. He should be. And he’s a genius. I just think I want him to get the recognition he deserves. That's what I'm doing it for. On the other hand, I just show artists that I love, that I think are not following fashion, that are eccentric and have a really strong personal vision.
JG I’ve known your gallery for many years, and I know you make everything look fun, but there must be a lot of hard work behind the scenes.
RH You are so lovely to say that, because sometimes I know that you've seen me when I have been looking like it's not fun – like Friday. We had the judging of a competition for young artists called The Gilchrist Fisher Award for a young artist under 30, and all these big-wig art critics were here to judge the prize. But at that time, we got a delivery unexpectedly of these four, two-meter paintings from a framer. And then the next day, we were having a children's workshop for local children in the community. I was just, just like, “Aaaahhh!” Yeah, it is fun, but I've got a really lovely team at the gallery, and they are fantastic.
JG So the team is a part of a successful gallery, a key ingredient?
RH Well, yes, I think so. But it's really hard because, of course, my name's above the door, and I love it so much that working seven days a week for 20 hours is nothing for me. It literally is from the minute I wake up. So far, we had yoga in the gallery this morning, which was so fun I don't think of what I do as work. Many people say, “Oh, my God, you work so hard”. But I'm always surprised when they say that, because I really don't think I do. I think I live, and I live a lot.
JG In 1994 you became the Cultural Attaché at the Australian High Commission with the task of raising the profile of Australian arts. How did you find the time, and how do you remember that time?
RH It was fantastic. I love Australia more than anything. I am obsessed with it. And I was so honoured to do that job. And I was so thrilled when Barry Humphries sent me a signed photograph of Sir les Patterson, saying “all the best Becky, with love from your unworthy predecessor”. In my opinion, he is the greatest Australian. There'd been many, many great Australians, but he was so modest, so self-effacing, so clever, so kind, such a wonderful man. But anyway.
JG I met him too, and we held hands at the dinner table. Yes, with Dame Edna.
RH I'm so jealous.
JG Your home is just around the corner from the gallery and outside, with all the plants and flowers and the two bicycles, it's become an Instagram hit. It’s famous.
RH It's the most Instagrammed house in London, which is so weird, because it's not like a posh house done up with millions of pounds. There are so many beautiful houses here, but it got on the cover of a book called Pretty City London, which became a bestseller. And I didn't even know, because apparently you can photograph someone's house without asking. I was riding my bike past Dawn's bookshop in Marylebone High Street, and the whole window was full of pictures of my house, and it was the cover of the book. And I was like, "what? You could have told me!” But anyway, it's really funny, because sometimes we open our front door and people are standing there like, getting married on the doorstep. We have to all say sorry and go back inside, or go out the back door.
The bicycles – one is pink, and one is pale green. Matthew’s is the pink one, and I bought it for his birthday because it was half price because it was pink. No one wanted a pink bicycle, but it was really good. So, I rang him up, and I said, “would you ride a pink bicycle?” and he went, “yeah, of course”. But the years went by and it fell apart, so then I bought him a new bicycle, and it was red, and it caused the Instagram sensation. People were furious. They were going, “where's the pink bicycle gone? We want the pink bicycle back.” Seriously, hundreds of people. So, we spray painted it pink.
JG Inside the house, there is an eclectic mixture of, I don't know, textiles from around the world, Aboriginal paintings, artefacts from everywhere, thousands of books.
RH There are thousands of everything. I just love things. Griff Rhys Jones came around the other night and he said, “I can't work out why I like this house”. And then at the end of the dinner, he said, “I know, there's nothing mundane in it”. He said, “where are all your mundane things?” And I said, “well, there aren’t any”. A pepper pot is a mundane object, but our pepper pot is a beautiful, genius creation by your husband, Willie Landels, and it's blue and orange and yellow and green. And in fact, every week we have this glass vitrine in the house, and every week, one of us takes alternate turns to choose an object to go in the vitrine from the house.
Everything in the house is from someone we know, or an artist that we know, or an artist that we love, or a person that's made something. Every single thing. So, all the things we eat off of are made by a 90-year-old potter called Anne Stokes.
JG Everything has a story. Everything is a friend.
RH And there is not one thing that I cannot talk to you for an hour about; about the person that made it. Like the cactuses in the window. You think they’re cactuses, but they're made of solid bronze by this amazing artist called Eddie Cronshaw.
JG Do you have a favourite space in the house?
RH I suppose, bed. I'm quite lazy. I lie in bed a lot and read.
JG Is there a typical day in your house?
RH I've realised that I'm never in my house, so I'm so excited that I'm here for four weeks. This year already I've done 16 international art fairs, so I've only been in London for about three weeks since January. But now I'm here for four weeks. So today, we woke up and went to Regents Park at 7am to play tennis. It's beautiful, and we have the park to ourselves, and you hear the birds sing, and it's lovely. Then we came back, and I had Matthew make me porridge, because I can't cook. I've never cooked anything in my life. Well, I made one meal for Matthew, and I went to Marks & Spencer and bought a pre-cooked chicken, and then I bought a bag of watercress and put it around the edge. Anyway. Then we came over to the gallery at 9am, and we had yoga with my friend from Columbia and all the girls from the gallery and lots of local residents came. And then at 10am, while we were still sitting on the yoga mat, I had a team meeting with my staff. We went and had coffee, then I went home and watered all the flowers. And by that stage, it was 12:30pm and so I suddenly realised that I had to send out 20 letters. I'm on the board of the Fitzrovia partnership, and I wanted to email all the directors and say to come along to the concerts this week. Then I came over and we had the opening of the Table Top Museum. And then two friends from Beverly Hills in America dropped by unexpectedly, two artists. And then I suddenly went, “oh my God, Josephine is coming, and I better get ready for the concert and to see her”. That's a very typical day.
JG I'm really lucky to have caught you. You travel around the world so much these days, from one art show to another. It is obviously necessary for you to travel so much.
RH If you think about how, in the 80s, there was no Internet, there were no nice restaurants, there was no Netflix. So, people used to come to art galleries for social engagement and to meet other people. Now they can meet online. And also, it's incredibly expensive. It’s easier for people to go and see all the galleries in London in a one-stop-shop, such as an art fair; the London Art Fair, or Freize Art Fair, New York Art Fair or wherever. And so really, art fairs have taken off. I love it when you can be in the gallery and people drop in all day.
JG So where are you off to next, after these four weeks have passed?
RH I'm organising a museum show in Whitby called Revisions in Whitby in Yorkshire – where Captain Cook sailed from. It's with this incredible photographer, Patrick Waterhouse, who won some very prestigious photography prize, and bought memorabilia from Captain Cook's voyages and early explorers maps and took them back to the center of Australia to an Aboriginal community who read them and asked the artist to revise them. They painted over them. They redrew the maps in their song lines, and so we're going to be showing it in Whitby, which is really fantastic. As soon as that finishes, we're doing some workshops with local Yorkshire children. I'm getting on a plane and flying to Seattle for the Seattle Art Fair. We have some lovely clients there. Paul Allen from Microsoft was one of my best clients. I used to love dancing with him at the art fair. And then from Seattle, I am flying to Darwin for the Darwin Aboriginal Art Awards, which one of my artists is in. And then I'll come back. We still haven't had our film night, Josephine! Oh, there's so much we haven't done! And in fact, I wanted to ask you so many things but, oh my God, we better go into the concert. It starts in 17 minutes.
JG Yeah. We’d better go.
