Profile: Greg Weight

By Rob Ditessa | 16 September 2025

It’s probably no surprise that Greg Weight recently swapped his camera for the pen to work on a yet-to-be-published book.

Now 78, he has never stood still, and has turned his hand to many genres of photography over the years.

He describes the book, Time Exposure, as both an exploration of the cultural, social, and artistic shifts during the last half of the twentieth century in Australia, with a particular focus on the important artists.

But at the same time, it looks deeper, into photojournalism, and how photography can also reinterpret reality. “It’s been an absolute pleasure to write,” he says.

The book will feature a variety of Greg’s work, much of which has received significant recognition.

His images hang in the National Portrait Gallery, and his awards include the inaugural Australian Photographic Portrait Prize (tied to the Archibald Prize) in 2003, and the Head On Alternative Photographic Portrait Prize in 2006.

In addition, his work is showcased in landmark publications including Australian Artists and Artists of the Western Desert. But among these, one portrait stands out – an image of acclaimed aboriginal artist Emily Kame Kngwarreye.

Capturing the essence

Years ago while in Alice Springs, a friend tipped him off that Emily was painting nearby. Over two days, Greg shot around 150 frames but felt none captured her essence.

“Emily asked through Lilly, her friend and interpreter, why I was taking so many photographs. She thought I wanted only one.”

“Like a painting,” Greg told her, “not every photo is good—you’re waiting for the right one. She understood that I hadn’t taken anything that resonated.”

Moments later, a distant sound—the community ute—made Emily shift into profile, creating the perfect, fleeting composition. Greg fired four shots. “I thought, ‘I’ve got it - it’s in the camera now.’”

That moment reinforced a crucial lesson: persistence bears fruit, Greg reflects. “I just had to believe that I should put in the time. It paid off.”

The beginnings

In 1965 Greg landed a job as an assistant to Alan Nye, a leading Sydney fashion and advertising photographer. Ordinary tasks like carrying camera bags and taking light readings in Surry Hills ingrained discipline and darkroom mastery.

As the majority of the work was for publication in newspapers, it required a certain contrast, a set of stringent specifications.

“Alan’s motto was,” Greg remembers, “that you are as good as your last job, and you’ve got to treat every job as important, not because you were going to get well paid for it, but because your reputation depends on it.

That was pretty much drummed into me, and after three years, as his studio assistant, we parted ways and I set up a studio of my own in South Dowling Street, Redfern.”

Martin Sharp, The Yellow House, 1971. “Martin stands with his hand on one of his ‘Artoons’, possibly titled ‘Blue Boy in Sofala.’. Placing his hand on his hip there is a hint that he sees something of himself in Thomas Gainsborough’s famous painting which he collaged into Russell Drysdale’s painting of the outback town of Sofala.”

In the heart of Sydney’s art scene

Greg’s studio work soon brought him into Sydney’s avantgarde community. He assisted Martin Sharp with his exhibition, Art for Mart’s Sake, and joined the iconic Yellow House collective.

There, he met luminaries like Richard Walsh and Richard Neville, as well as Barry Humphries, Garry Shead, and George Gittoes, to name a few.

Trace Moffatt with Mirror, 1995. “Tracey showed me a film titled ‘Meshes in the Afternoon’ by a surrealist filmmaker called Maya Deren which had inspired her. In the film, the camera follows a cloaked figure from behind as the protagonist hurries along passages and stairs eventually tuning to the camera to reveal a mirror in place of a face. It is a chilling climax. I chose to play the same game with Tracey being the subject descending the Argyle stairs at the Rocks in Sydney, with her eyes reflecting back into the camera.”

“I wanted to inquire and interrogate what it meant to be an artist,” explains Greg. “So, I pursued artists, and was invited into their studios. I’ve had close contact with hundreds of artists over the years. I find them all interesting and very obsessed by their practice, and all very different.” Greg says.

Brett Whiteley Sleeping, 1976. “Turning up at Brett and Wendy’s house one morning I found the front door open. I knocked and walked in. Wendy had gone shopping and Brett was asleep on the couch. This picture was waiting to happen. Quietly I unpacked my Nikon with its 28mm lens, set it on a tripod and made a few exposures – this is one of them. He woke up and said, ‘G’day man, we better have a coffee,’ and headed for the kitchen. From then on for the rest of the morning it was about his drawings, his paintings and his opinion that we were Australasians not Eurasians as we lived closer to Asia than Europe! He was always crackling with ideas and highly energised, which is what makes this portrait so special.”

Photographing performance artists like Mike Parr brought new challenges. Parr famously sewed his lips shut in protest against the Government's treatment of asylum seekers.

“He was a hard nut to crack. He insisted to me, ‘I’ll burn myself while you take the photograph,’” Greg recalls. Behind Parr was a blank white sheet. “I focused on the man with one arm, and the burning candle. He sat with his eyes closed until he was ready, then nodded his head and said, ‘Let’s do it.’’

The result was an image with a quiet intensity stark against its provocative context.

Greg’s early work was influenced by the street photography of Henri Cartier‑Bresson, who championed being the invisible observer. But Greg realised he preferred a more participatory approach.

“I prefer consent from my subject, in order to reveal or get close to who she or he really is, to look into their soul,” he says. “I like to get past the veneer of the person, into the soul, if possible,” he laughs lightly. Yet he still admires Bresson’s humanistic discipline.

This idea of understanding the subject and creating a rapport with them was key in making the photograph that won Greg the 2003 Australian Photographic Portrait Prize.

His portrait of harmonica virtuoso Jim Conway captures both the artist and his instrument in a moment of blues intensity. The setting was unconventional: Sydney’s Central Station at sunset.

Jim Conway, Railroad Blues 2003. “After an attempt to make this portrait in January 2003, Jim and I returned to the location in Central Station a week later with a more definite idea of what we were going to strive to achieve,” says Greg. This image would later win the Australian Photographic Portrait Prize in 2003.

“I had a 300mm lens because I wanted to get those railway lines winding around him,” explains Greg.

“I had it all set up and he was completely comfortable positioning his harmonica close to his mouth. The light was perfect in the magic hour after the sun has gone down.

Suddenly, a train started to appear in the background, coming down the line behind him. It was completely random.

The light started to change against the horizon, and there was this network of steel and lights, red lights, orange lights, coming on and off. I took the shots, and soon the train came in, and the session ended.”

“Back in the car Jim said to me, ‘You’re going to win the competition.’ I replied, ‘In your dreams.’ But he was right. I could not believe it.”

Evolution of equipment

Greg’s journey spans equipment evolution—from his first Nikomat 35 mm SLR, a Rolleiflex TLR, and Nikon F with 28, 50, and 105mm lenses, to a Hasselblad 6×6 and a Mamiya RZ67.

Shooting large-format 5×4 sheet film with a Sinar brought a precision required for fine-art exhibitions in the desert and beyond.

“When digital arrived, it felt like news from hell,” Greg admits. But eventually he embraced it, investing in a Nikon D800E - 36 megapixels of sharpness and post-production flexibility.

Brandy Tjungurrayi, 2006. “I flew to Balgo, Northwest of Alice Springs where I met several artists. Brandy Tjungurrayi stood out, not just for his reputation as an artist but for his compelling appearance. When I asked Brandy if I could photograph him, he bent down and picked up a stick off the ground and placed it in his nose incision. He just stood there without any direction from me and I made this portrait of him.”

Today, he travels light - perhaps his D800E and a pair of Sigma 23mm and 55mm lenses, 64 GB cards, and a compact bag. Still, whether digital or analogue, manipulation is part of the process. “Yesterday I printed the same image five times—changed paper, re-profiled. You can’t escape it.”

Greg cites American pictorialists Alfred Stieglitz and Edward Steichen, who promoted the potential of photography as fine art, and the idea that an image should do more than interrogate the subject matter. It should take you somewhere else.

“I found that essentially the best thing is to recognise that there was a moment of inspiration that must be equalled throughout the process, whether the result is printed in digital or analogue. That’s what I’m always trying to do with a photographic print. If the print doesn’t do the moment justice, I walk away, then return later with fresh eyes.”

He reflects: “I see myself as a photographic artist, a student of discovery. Reality remains a mystery. I haven’t found answers—only more questions.” ❂

You can see more of Greg's work on his website.

Greg's tips for great portraits

Taking good portraits is a matter of putting the subject at ease, which is not all that simple. The camera can be really confrontational. Make it as painless as possible. I will often leave the camera and tripod, stepping away from it and using a cable release
I do not like too much central composition. I like slightly off-centre composition, so that there is a little bit of ambience, of the environment, taken in. Sometimes some things in the background can say as much about the subject as the expression on their face
You can ask a subject to lean forward a bit, or relax their position, or make a few hand gestures, or just talk about any topic, and then I try to capture a moment in that process
I find that the more equipment there is, the less relaxed people are. I often think cameras are like a cyclops, with one eye, that is peering at something. I think it is often more nerve wracking for the subject to have lights popping. Sometimes you have to do that, but I do like available light. Usually, I seek out available light, and then go through the process of making sure that the technicalities are correct.