Rupert and Me

I first met Rupe when he was fourteen. I was fifteen, tall and feeling displaced, having recently arrived in Australia from Calcutta. Rupert Betheras, a bunch of friends and I made a movie about racism called Wrong Colour. I was chosen for the lead role, being the only brown-skinned person in our group. At the time Rupe was already an enigmatic character who showed an interest in graffiti, hip-hop and surfing. He was a little guy with blonde hair and the last person I would have expected to play in the AFL, and certainly not in a grand final for Collingwood, which he did in 2002. But then life is full of tricks. Who could have predicted then that twenty-one years after we met we would be driving together into the remote Western Desert, in the centre of this ancient continent, in a blue Jeep Cherokee? 

This year wet weather and bad roads prevented many people from going to Yuendumu sports weekend, but together we are on the scenic 300-kilometre track north-west of Alice Springs. On the drive we talk about the past and our friendship and about sport and art. 

Both of us lost loved ones early. He lost a brother and I a father. Our lives were indelibly marked by these events. He talks about his blessed life and football and his career as an artist. 

For Rupe football is a metaphor for his art. Indeed he is part of a long line of Australian artists as diverse as Sidney Nolan, Albert Tucker, Russell Drysdale, John Brack and Ginger Riley who all found a place for sport, whether as part of the everyday scene or as a larger symbol of national character and aspiration. Rupe doesn’t like making distinctions between sport and art and life. 

“They are all one,” he says. “It’s a tribal thing.”

As we near Tilmouth Well, on the edge of Napperby station, the road is wet and soggy. Rupe is chatting about his heroes, the Swiss sculptor, painter, draftsman and printmaker Alberto Giacometti, and the iconic Russian colourist Kandinsky, and I’m asking him whether he likes the illustrator Ralph Steadman’s work. As I drive further on the treacherous Tanami Track I realise that much of Rupert’s painting reminds me of a chronicle. There is the Collingwood footballer with his face smeared out; the tribal simplicity of the Yuendumu Magpies; the large and wild series he did in Paris. Or Broadford Hold Up; and then there are all the paintings he did around Alice Springs.

He paints the way he played football: quick, intense and with obvious passion. His effort, as it was when he was playing, is to be admired, and his confident painting is now developing into something durable. He documents how he feels, where he has been and where he is going. His paintings portray his travels and experiences from Cue to Mumbai. 

To understand Rupe and his art you must recognise him as a traveller. With a pair of football boots, linen and acrylic paint, you never know where he will end up. As he wanders he collects knowledge and touches people’s lives. In 2009 for example he nominated Liam Jurrah from Yuendumu in the national draft. Rupert had played with Liam in Alice Springs. When the nomination was declared invalid for lack of a signature, Betheras went bush and got a signature. Today Liam is playing for the Melbourne Football Club. 

At the same time I was hanging out with Rupert, who was constantly looking for a space to paint. And when he does paint, he hovers around the canvas as if it’s a hot football. If the painting isn’t working he moves it, constantly looking for an advantage, a new light, a better angle, rather like a footballer seeking the best advantage over his opponent, deciding whether to handpass or kick the ball. There has always been a sense of urgency about Rupert: his commitment and focus whether he applies them to football or art are undeniable. Since leaving football he has thrown himself wholeheartedly into his career as an artist. 

As we approach the red desert oval we see Rupert’s Warlpiri friends. After a brief hello, and even before Rupert and I get out of the Jeep, he is asked if he is playing. “You wanna play?” asks the coach, Casman. “Put on football boots.” Rupe hasn’t had a game in ages and he feels tense, but there is no time to think about it now. Casman hurries him up. “We need players. You got boots and shorts?”

Rupe borrows shorts. He has boots. A few locals urge him on. Next he’s in the changing rooms, rubbing on Deep Heat and doing stretches, trying to limber up after the three-hour drive from Alice Springs. 

Casman tells him he is in the forward line. He nods slowly, trying to take it all in. The rest of the team are talking in Warlpiri which Rupe clearly doesn’t understand. He follows intuitively without really knowing if he is doing the right thing. He gets into the huddle. The team stands in formation. At no point does he look awkward. They run onto the ground. He makes sure he bunches up with the rest of the players. As they run onto the field I notice a few familiar faces. Ned Hargraves, Brett Badger, Bruce Hearn Mackinnon and Harry Nelson cheer the team on. As the ball is bounced in the centre Rupe runs around the forward line followed closely by his sturdy opponent. He marks one. I am thrilled. Later in the afternoon Rupert kicks a goal. It’s good fun.

After the game we visit our friends Harry Nelson, Brett Badger and Bruce Hearn Mackinnon and his wife Ria who are part of a group called the Industrial Magpies. We also visit Liam Jurrah’s grandfather and grandmother. My Indian friend Dilip, who works at Yuendumu, invites us to sleep at his place. He cooks a memorable fish curry, and this was the talking point the next day. As the games continue everyone wants to know when Dilip will cook them a fish curry. It is a terrific thing to see old and new Australians sharing ideas, laughing, and respecting one another. 

At the same time I notice Rupert is getting restless. “What’s up, Rupe?” I say.

“I just need to get back to my painting,” he replies.

A few days later I catch up with Rupe. He’s painting in Ilparpa, among the MacDonnell Ranges, wrestling with large canvases, moving around, seeking an advantage. At the same time he’s mentoring two young men who have the potential to play Aussie rules. Quietly, he tells me he will be having an exhibition at the Depot Gallery in Sydney in October. 

Chris Raja is the new Northern Territory correspondent for Art Monthly Australia. He wrote “Driving Mr Nelson” in the October Quadrant.