Initiation Into The Aborigines' World

I have little propensity for art appreciation, I'll be the first to admit.

So naturally, I walked into the National Gallery, looking for pieces by well-known names - for the experience itself - instead of engaging with the exhibition. I found Monet's water lilies, a number of Picasso's paintings (which I was surprised to find, to be more than just weird disfigurations) and Andy Warhol's Mick Jagger series. But within an hour or so of taking in the European and American Art section I began to yawn; a habit I recognise as the hallmark of my contact with galleries.

I needed help, so I went downstairs to look for a guided tour. I would have preferred there to be others in the tour - my ignorance would not have been so pronounced, but come 2.30 p.m., I was the only one standing in the line. A kind elderly man introduced himself as the guide, and took me to the Aboriginal Memorial:

Taken, naturally, from here.

Now, I could not be blamed for thinking of these as mere woodwork and intricate paintings done by Aborigines, in a manner which is uniquely theirs. I saw it as a manifestation similar to batik prints and the like. My guide stood at the beginning of the path dividing the two sets of poles, and said in the most nonchalant manner, "These are hollow wood coffins."

I could not recall his description of the piece, therefore I take the liberty to quote the gallery website:

"The Aboriginal Memorial is an installation of 200 hollow log coffins from Central Arnhem Land. It commemorates all the indigenous people who, since 1788, have lost their lives defending their land... The path through the Memorial imitates the course of the Glyde River estuary which flows throughthe Arafura Swamp to the sea. The hollow log coffins are situated broadly according to where the artists' clans live along the river and its tributaries. The different painting styles apparent in groupings are related to the artists' social groups (sometimes described as clans) which link people by or to a common ancestor, land, language and strict social affiliations"

Every stroke of the brush had its story - the colours (representing the types of material prominent in certain areas), the heights of the coffins (representing the varied tides of the water), the symbols characteristic of the clans (patrineal, dots), orally-passed traditions... I feel that I could not do enough justice: there are thousands of stories in this piece, beyond what outsiders like myself could ever hope to grasp.

"The work is unified by an array of common themes: the celebration of life, respect for the dead and mortuary traditions and people's connection with ancestral beings... Whilst it is intended as a war memorial, it is also a historical statement, a testimony to the resilience of indigenous people and culture in the face of great odds, and a legacy for future generations of Australians"

"These stories that I just told you are very superficial. The clans regard these stories as sacred - they're passed down between generations - and all of them are kept between themselves. Just look at this brushwork" said the guide, after I professed my appreciation of indigenous art to be constrained to their beautiful intricacies, "How do you think these people paint it as if it is scrapped with one straight brush? They use ochre instead of paint, and brushes of no more than three hairs"

An example of the patterns on the coffins.

Monet's Nympheas.

I remembered remarking inwardly of the above piece which I saw just before, that the paintwork was rather untidy upon close inspection - but I kept it to myself for fear of exposing my stupidity. Ochre on tree bark, oil on canvas; what would I know of them?

My tour lasted for an hour, but it easily felt like no more than 30 minutes. My guide showed me piece by piece of the vast diversities of Indigenous Art. He did not have time to show me many; he hasted from one piece to another. 

I do not remember most of the overwhelming information, but I retained this as a unifying theme: the paintings, if willed by the observer to speak as they may, serve as an invitation to their culture.  They tell of their history, their beliefs, their struggles, and their hopes - only not in a blatant manner. One painting may tell of nine separate clan legends, while I may only, upon first encountering it, see dots beautifully arranged. I may see a series of scrawlings of colours which are actually stories of the women of the deserts - through the colours, the imagery, the passion on the strokes of the brush (with both hands, sometimes) - coming out of the context set by the artist. 

The observer would feel as if they are initiated into the clan, whom, through art which whisper rather than scream, reason rather than force, are earnestly in want of the outsider's understanding.

An example of those pieces with many hidden stories.

Another example: which I understand nothing of.

I may have felt myself turn into a humbug (a tendency I am becoming increasingly aware of) - so I apologise for this. It is just a kampung person's awkward contact with things which are not her own. Experiences such as these, however, may make beautiful memories later on, so write of them I will.