Bidjara and Garingbal Country – Carnarvon Gorge

It took me a while to appreciate linocut prints. At first, and I now know this to be false, in a way they felt cheap. This came from the fact that very many copies of the same image may be made. They lacked, or so I thought, the uniqueness that paintings possess. For a shamefully long time they also failed to move me to quite the same extent. Shameful, of course, because the fault was mostly mine. But then I saw it: Sharecropper(1952) by Elizabeth Catlett.

(An essay inspired by the work marrum (overflowing) (2021) which includes works and objects from Jonathan Jones, Aunty Kim Wandin, Simon Briggs, and David Doyle and is included in the exhibition Emu Sky)

One of the most striking things I remember being told about the University of Melbourne was that, if I was lucky, I might catch a glimpse of an eel through the drains on the Parkville campus. The university stands on the lands of the Kulin nation and before the uni was built, the Bouverie Creek was an important migration channel for eels. But, even though the creek had been drained and covered over, the eels still pass through, underground, and (mostly) out of sight, a reminder that Country survives, and continues to tell its story. As Barkandji woman Zena Cumpston writes1,

Consideration of place is very important to the expression of First Nations knowledges, as well as to the interrogation of how such knowledges have been framed by western systems. This is especially important in understanding and appreciating the situating of the exhibition, Emu Sky. Emu Sky is an activation of place, of country, and of knowledge. A rekindling of the fire of wisdom that runs across nations, through the veins and corridors of country. Emu Sky storytellers speak from within and against the colonial architecture of the gallery space, centring their knowledges to re-contextualise place and call for a re-negotiation of the ‘known’ and ‘understood’.

last time I looked for stars I saw what was lit up four made a simple cross pattern I'd been taught not what was between I felt expansive knowledge bigger held within sky

I’m learning to weave baskets, my fingers trace the now familiar pattern until they are red raw. I push my needle under, then over, and pull through the tail, over and over again, spiraling around until I hold a basket in my hands – wonky and misshapen.

Maman ik yurrongi dhumba ngat. Narrinik Brooke Wandin. Wurundjeri bagurrk. Dulap wurrungik Woiwurrung dhumbu. Babanik Bidelia ba mamanik Allan. Gugungik Olive ba ngabapik James. Liwikik Wandoon ba Borate ba Bebejern ba Barla. Gulinjik bambuth winthoonth. Gulinjik biik wadamba ba ngarradjarranun. Biik balitnganjin wilipgin. Bunjil gamadji gulinj birraurungu. Wan birraungu ba wan bigurnu. Biik kaydo wonthaggarook.

Country guides us every day, if we listen. Sometimes, it’s loud and you can’t escape it, other times it’s quiet, and you’ll miss it if you’re not present.