Ngamil-a gunagala-ga!

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.

At first I was stunned by the emotion captured in the sharecropper’s face. To think that the removal of linoleum, which is to say, the discarding of material, could create so much. I was struck, too, by the symbolism of this particular subject: sharecropping is, after all, just slavery with bells on. Otherwise put, Catlett depicted a people that had so much taken, yet who are so rich, by a process of taking in order to make. But my appreciation didn’t end there – I was amazed, as well, at how with simple straight lines she created the curve of a hat, the vibration of the background, and the texture of this Black woman’s hair. 

It is fair to say that I then very quickly fell down the linocut rabbit hole. I found Lill Tschudi’s working class folk and their sharp angles (see, for example, Fixing the Wires (1932)) just as mesmerising as Cyril Power’s curves of modern life (though I don’t think it’s his best work, I particularly love The Tube Staircase (1929). If you take the wrong turn at the Russell Square tube station you will still have the misfortune of climbing all 177 steps). Eventually though, and with a great deal of luck, I stumbled across the works of Uncle Badger Bates.



Now Uncle Badger’s works, though linocut, are different in essence, form and function to all of these other pieces. They are not layered or coloured, and so are more reminiscent of woodcarving. Indeed, it might be argued that they are best viewed as the continuation of much older practices. Though a little different to the art of my mob, they remind me sometimes of our sacred bora trees¹. Note that bora trees are not the same as scar trees, found throughout the continent. Scar trees are the result of the production of something else; shield or canoe. The designs on bora trees, however, found only in my nation and some of the neighbouring Wiradjuri clans, have significance unto themselves. This is what I mean when I say Uncle Badger’s work reminds me of our trees and that their essence is different: they remind me of life marked with meaning. 



While as mentioned there is an element of continuation in Uncle’s linocuts, to label them only as such would be a disservice. Traditional woodcarving, at least for my Gamilaraay mob, is guided by grain. In moving from wood to lino, Uncle Badger has acquired an extra freedom.





Notes

^{1. Note that in 1949 alone at least 52 of our bora trees were cut down for museums not unlike the one I am writing for. The South Australian Museum, the Museum of Victoria and the University of Queensland in particular still have them imprisoned. See Carved Trees: Aboriginal cultures of western NSW, catalogue for an exhibition, State Library of NSW, 18 April to 26 June 2011, State Library of New South Wales, 2011, accessed 24 June 2021↩
2 Note, I suspect, that this is more generally true of other Blackfullas on the continent. Broad stroke Pan-Aboriginal concepts however are a particular type of stupidity in which I will not partake. ↩
3 Gammin↩
4 Note that, for Gamilaraay mob at least, certain groups are banned from eating certain animals. My extended family and I, for example, are not permitted to ever eat emu. This has the effect of lessening the hunting load on most species. ↩
5 Note the tacit understanding of Archimedes’ principles.↩}

This innovation allows for more explicit story telling. It does not, however, budge on the marking of meaning. A perfect case in point is Emu Sky (2008) chosen by Zena Cumpston for this exhibit.

Emu Sky (2008) features, unsurprisingly, the emu in the sky. If you look for it by joining stars, as Wanda are want to do, you will likely fail. The dhinawan is found instead by looking for the negative spaces, those left behind by the stars. In many ways, this is similar to the linocut process. In my view this makes Uncle’s subject choice, like Catlett’s, all the more rich. It also hints at a core difference between Western and Gamilaraay or Barkandji² Astronomy – where focus is not only on the bright spots. The real richness of this piece (and I suspect the function), however, comes from the imbedded cultural knowledge that might be easy to miss.


For instance, I would bet my next paycheck³ that in Emu Sky (2008) the dhinawan on the left is male while the dhinawan on the right is female. The clue is the position of the emu in the sky. When its leg is rested as is depicted (it goes through many changes), we know that male emus will be starting to incubate eggs. The female, in fact, leaves as this happens (note from the tracks that, the dhinawan on the right, though facing the left, has in fact walked away). The dhinawan in the sky, then, tells us when it is both safe and possible to harvest some of the eggs.

It tells us so much more than this though. When running, it signifies that the land emus are mating. In turn we know to minimise our consumption of their meat⁴. Later in the year, it is said that, and looks as if, the sky emu returns to a watering hole. Soon after, with over-spillage⁵, we know that rains will come. Knowledge of the rains, in turn, informs when it is safe and sensible to burn. The emu in the sky, more generally, sets a rhythm for our lives.

This rhythm, however, is fundamentally different to those of Wanda. Which is to say, it is not one we have forced on ourselves. Instead, the rhythm is one that is observed and, more importantly, participated in. It is, strictly speaking, bigger than humans. In a word it is ecological. 

Uncle Badger’s Emu Sky (2008) has provided a snapshot of this. Zena Cumpston’s up scaling, I hope, will enlarge the view. At the very least it will provide more of the dark space to focus on. If it does not get you thinking about our important but unseen knowledges, it should at a minimum get you to stop looking at the stars.

Instead, as we do in Gamilaraay:



Ngamil-a gunagala-ga!



Look at the sky!