“Our art comes from our Dreaming” - UiO - DUO

“Our art comes from our Dreaming”

Exploring the Becoming of Ngan’gi Art from Nauiyu, Australia

Maria Øien

Dissertation submitted for partial fulfilment of the Philosophiae Doctor degree,

Faculty of Social Sciences, University of Oslo,

July 2014

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Plate 0.1 “Red Lotus Lilies” painted by Gracie Kumbi in November 2003

This bush tucker design is painted by an established Merrepen Arts artist and introduces the

figurative, decorative, and colourful style that Ngan’gi art from Nauiyu and Fitzmaurice

region has become recognisable for in the Australian art market. In this thesis I will illustrate

how Ngan’gi art is this and much more, embracing a multitude of pioneering styles, in designs

that are always founded on stories, such as the one presented below, because of the artists’

intention of sharing their cultural knowledge.

Red lotus lilies called miwulngini in my language have big pink flowers, large leaves, and

green pods that ripen at the beginning of the dry season producing a seed, midamuy. They are

found in all the billabongs around the Daly. There is a big billabong just the other side of the

community. The seed can be eaten raw or roasted on hot coals. These seeds are a rich and

abundant food source for the Aboriginal people of the Daly River. The root minginiginy is

eaten after roasting; it is also used medicinally to treat constipation. The new shoot

minytyangari is eaten raw like celery sticks. The leaf is called midetyeri. The large concave

leaves can be used to carry water and as a cup to drink from.

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TABLE OF CONTENT

TABLE OF CONTENT ....................................................................................................................... V

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS .............................................................................................................IX

LIST OF FIGURES ......................................................................................................................... XIV

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS .............................................................................................................. XV

INTRODUCTION ............................................................................................................................... 1 “We paint the stories of our culture!” ...................................................................................................1 Ngan’gi Art: Beyond Sacred … ..............................................................................................................4 What Is Art? ...............................................................................................................................................8 Steps Towards an Anthropological Analysis of Aboriginal Art .................................................... 13 The Creation of Merrepen Arts ........................................................................................................... 22

Summary.......................................................................................................................................................................... 29 The Chapters ........................................................................................................................................... 30

PART I ............................................................................................................................................... 34

1 METHODS IN ETHNOGRAPHIC FIELDWORK: STEPS TO EMPIRICAL RESEARCH .. 35 Outline of Fieldwork in Time and Space ........................................................................................... 36 Research Methods and Ethical Considerations When Doing Ethnography ............................... 41 Participant Observation in Nauiyu ..................................................................................................... 42

Going “Out Bush” ...................................................................................................................................................... 44 “Employee” at Merrepen Arts ............................................................................................................................... 45 Community Life ............................................................................................................................................................ 48 Language ........................................................................................................................................................................ 52 Climate and Seasons................................................................................................................................................... 54

Collecting Semi-Structured In-Depth Interviews and Life Histories ........................................... 55 Archive and Library Research ............................................................................................................ 57 Methodological Implications of the Visual in Anthropological Research ................................... 58

Summary.......................................................................................................................................................................... 59

2 ART PORTRAYS LIFE: NAUIYU NAMBIYU – THE PLACE AND ITS PEOPLE ............... 60 The People ................................................................................................................................................ 62

The Historical Origin of the People of Nauiyu: The Past Into the Present ........................................... 62 Kinship: Models for Ways of Being in Nauiyu Social Space ...................................................................... 70 Early Settlement History in Daly River: White Fella Goods and Government ................................... 74

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Settling in Daly River: From Hunters to Farm Hands .................................................................................. 76 The Jesuit and Catholic Mission Stations; New Organisation of Space and Life............................... 77 The Establishment of a Community Association.............................................................................................. 81

Living in Nauiyu ..................................................................................................................................... 84 Living Kinship: The Family in Nauiyu ................................................................................................................ 85 Ancestral Connections Acted Out: Child Spirits ............................................................................................. 94 Summary.......................................................................................................................................................................... 96

3 MERREPEN ARTS: A LOCALLY-MANAGED ABORIGINAL ART ORGANISATION ...... 97 The Governance of Merrepen Arts ..................................................................................................... 99

Merrepen Arts – An Aboriginal Organisation ............................................................................................... 100 The Official Role of Former and Present Managers at Merrepen Arts ............................................... 101 Aboriginal Leaders: Ngan’gi Notions of Authority ..................................................................................... 104

Developing Employment Structures in Merrepen Arts Management........................................115 Merrepen Arts – A Governmental Employment Project ............................................................................ 115 The Social and Practical Implications of Employment and Kinship .................................................... 117 Changes in Federal Policies and the Employment Structures of Merrepen Arts............................. 120 Summary....................................................................................................................................................................... 127

PART II .......................................................................................................................................... 130

4 NGAN’GI ART PRODUCTION PRACTICES AND MEDIA: EXTERNAL TECHNIQUES AND INTERNAL CONTENT ....................................................................................................... 131

“Traditional” Art Produced with “Contemporary” Media .........................................................135 Copyright: Contradicting Art Concepts ..........................................................................................141 Acrylic Canvas Paintings ....................................................................................................................147 Printing on Paper and Fabric ............................................................................................................150

Intaglio Printing; Etching, Sugar Lift, and Dry Point on Paper ............................................................ 151 Serigraphy: Screen Printing on Fabric and Paper ..................................................................................... 154

Silk Painting ..........................................................................................................................................159 Batik ........................................................................................................................................................160 Papier Mâché ........................................................................................................................................163 Fibre Works...........................................................................................................................................164

Fibre Works: Transformed From Craft to Fine Art .................................................................................... 168 Summary....................................................................................................................................................................... 171

5 NGAN’GI ART: MANIFESTING NGAN’GI LIFE-WORLD TRANSFORMING STYLES AND SUBJECT-MATTER ...................................................................................................................... 173

Ngan’gi Art’s Transforming Styles ...................................................................................................179 The Historicity of Ngan’gi Styles ........................................................................................................................ 183 Ngan’gi Artistic Stylistic Interpretations ......................................................................................................... 191 Regional, Local, and Individual Stylistic Idiosyncrasies .......................................................................... 195

Ngan’gi Art Designs: Analysing “Inside” Subject-Matter ...........................................................206 “We paint the stories from our Dreamings” .................................................................................................. 207 Dreamtime Stories: Change and Continuity .................................................................................................. 216 Bush Tucker Designs ............................................................................................................................................... 221 Custom Designs ......................................................................................................................................................... 227 Catholic Christian Designs ................................................................................................................................... 230 Decorative Designs .................................................................................................................................................. 237 Summary....................................................................................................................................................................... 238

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6 NGAN’GI ARTIST PROFILES: INDIVIDUALISED ART .................................................... 239 Marita Ann Sambono Diyini ..............................................................................................................241

“I hope that I keep on doing that painting until I get really famous …” ............................................ 241 Philip Joseph Merrdi Wilson .............................................................................................................253

“I paint cause it’s a stress free thing, it’s like my medicine ...” ............................................................. 254 Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart .........................................................................................................259

“We are living in two worlds today, but we can live both ways, and keep our knowledge by

painting and writing it down ...” ........................................................................................................................ 261 Gracie Bernadette Kumbi ...................................................................................................................273

“When I do my Barra painting people recognise my work, they come into the art centre to see my

art, and they know which paintings are mine ...”......................................................................................... 273 Christina Rebecca Yambeing .............................................................................................................279

“I just paint whatever I feel like, and when I make that gecko look like em’ moving, it makes me

happy and proud ...”................................................................................................................................................ 280 Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr Bauman ...................................................................................................286

“Aboriginal people are very spiritual. I do Christian spiritual paintings in an Aboriginal sense,

and that’s a special thing for me …” ................................................................................................................ 287 Summary....................................................................................................................................................................... 294

PART III ......................................................................................................................................... 297

7 THE “SEEING” AND “SHOWING” OF NGAN’GI ART: INSIDE AND OUTSIDE OF ART WORLDS ........................................................................................................................................ 298

Defining Art World Practices: The Seeing and Showing of Art ..................................................303 Aesthetic Judgments of Ngan’gi Art: “I want your traditional paintings!” .............................309 “Black” Art on “White” Walls? ........................................................................................................319 Ngan’gi Art Characterised by Stratified Art Worlds ....................................................................326

“My art is really fine, high art now, and people are seeing me!” ......................................................... 333 “I Paint my Stories!” Representing Aboriginal Art with Story or Not? ....................................339

Summary....................................................................................................................................................................... 347

8 FINE ART GALLERIES, MUSEUMS AND A FESTIVAL: THE SOCIAL PRACTICE OF SHOWING ABORIGINAL ART .................................................................................................. 350

Commercial Art Galleries Showing Aboriginal Art: Exhibitions for Sale ................................352 “Aboriginal Fine Art Gallery” ............................................................................................................................ 353 “Papunya Tula Artists” ......................................................................................................................................... 356

A National Art Gallery Showing Aboriginal Art: Exhibitions for Viewing ..............................360 “Culture Warriors” ................................................................................................................................................. 361

Museums Showing Aboriginal Art: Exhibitions with Contextualisation ..................................365 “Papunya Paintings out of the Desert” ........................................................................................................... 367

Art Centres Showing Aboriginal Art: Exhibitions of Local Art Production ............................371 “Endirrlup” Merrepen Arts Etching and Mini-Painting Exhibition .................................................... 374 The 21st Merrepen Arts Festival .......................................................................................................................... 381 Summary....................................................................................................................................................................... 391

EPILOGUE ..................................................................................................................................... 393

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APPENDIX ..................................................................................................................................... 405 Artist Biographies ................................................................................................................................405

A Kinship-Related Occurrence at a Public Meeting in 2003 ................................................................... 409 An Example of Avoidance Relation at Voting in 2007 ............................................................................... 410 Child Spirit Stories ................................................................................................................................................... 410 Changes in Nauiyu Community Caused by the Governmental Emergency Response.................... 411 Figure 3.1 Merrepen Arts Organisational Structure (2008).................................................................... 413 Dreamtime Designs .................................................................................................................................................. 418 Bush Tucker Hunting and Gathering Activities Conducted in Nauiyu ................................................ 421 Ngan’gi Seasonal Names ....................................................................................................................................... 425 Bush Tucker Designs ............................................................................................................................................... 427 Christian Designs and Stories ............................................................................................................................. 429 Decorative Designs .................................................................................................................................................. 434

Paintings by Marita Ann Sambono Diyini .......................................................................................436 Paintings by Philip Joseph Merrdi Wilson ......................................................................................441 Paintings by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart ..................................................................................444 Paintings by Gracie Kumbi ................................................................................................................452 Paintings by Christina Rebecca Yambeing .....................................................................................456 Paintings by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr Bauman ...........................................................................460

Aboriginal Art Producing Regions .................................................................................................................... 463 Description of Selected Works from the National Gallery Exhibition “Cultural Warriors” ...... 466 A Collection of Individual and/or Group Exhibitions of Merrepen Arts ............................................. 467 Parts of Endirrlup Exhibition Opening Speech Made by Sylvia Klienert ........................................... 468

REFERENCES ................................................................................................................................ 470

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

0.1 “Red Lotus Lilies” painted by Gracie Kumbi in November 2003 III

0.2 Philip Merrdi Wilson painting “Yerrwirimbi” in January 2008 12

0.3 Customers “seeing” the “showing” of Ngan’gi art at Merrepen Arts in 2007 19

1.1 Molly Yawalminy, Mercia Wawul, and I am looping a sand palm fibre dilly bag 49

1.2 The Green Daly River photographed by Maria Øien during the dry season 55

2.1 “Traditional Marriage Ngaga” painted by Christine Yambeing in 2004 91

3.1 Kenneth and Elaine painting together at Merrepen Arts in 2008 125

3.2 Kenneth, Karen, Bianca, and Yambeing painting together at Merrepen Arts in

2003 125

4.1 “Dreamings of Malfiyin” painted by Gracie Kumbi in 2000. 144

4.2 “Frilled Neck Lizard” painted by Marita Sambono in November 2003 148

4.3 Gracie Kumbi is preparing an etching plate in November 2003 151

4.4 “Stingray” etching made by Gracie Kumbi in 2007 152

4.5 “Crocodile Skin” etching made by Aaron McTaggart in 2007 153

4.6 “Red Lotus lilies Miwulngini” dry point made by Aaron McTaggart in 2003 153

4.7 Øien and Wilson screen printing Sambono’s “Pelican” design on material 155

4.8 Øien and Wilson screen printing Sambono’s “Pelican” design on material 155

4.9 “Crocodile Eye” screen print made by Patricia Marrfurra in 2003 158

4.10 “Red Lotus lilies Miwulngini” silk painting made by Marita Sambono in 2008 160

4.11 “Snake Skin” silk painting made by Aaron McTaggart in 2008 160

4.12 Painted and waxed batik t-shirts made in 2008 photographed by Maria Øien 162

4.13 Painted papier mâché bowl made by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart in 2008 164

4.14 Molly Yawalminy looping a sand palm fibre fishing net in 2003 166

4.15 Molly Yawalminy looping a sand palm fibre fishing net in 2003 166

4.16 A sand palm fibre dilly bag made by Molly Yawalminy in 2008 166

4.17 Pandanus basket made by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart in 2008 167

4.18 The base of a pandanus basket made by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart in 2008 167

4.19 Mercia Wawul and Maureen Warrumburr interacting with Fi-tour participants 171

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5.1 “The Spirit People Warrakuntha at Ferriderr” painted by Dorothy Sambono in

1987 177

5.2 “Travelling Woman” painted by Marita Sambono in August 2004. 181

5.3 “How the Moon Came” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 1977 187

5.4 “Kapok Tree” painted by Marita Sambono in 2002 187

5.5 “Loolo the Blue Fish and Nullandi the Moon” painted by Ungunmerr in 1987 188

5.6 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in February 2008 188

5.7 “The Rainbow and the Bread-Fruit Flower” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr

Bauman in 1987 189

5.8 “The Three Hunters” painted by Gracie Kumbi in December 1999 189

5.9 “A Child is Born” painted by Gracie Kumbi in 1989 414

5.10 “Why Tribes Speak Different Languages” painted by Ungunmerr in 1987 190

5.11 “The Brolga and the Storm Wind” painted by Gracie Kumbi in 2004 190

5.12 “The Brolga and the Storm Wind” painted by Benigna Ngulfundi in 1996 414

5.13 “The Brolga and the Storm Wind” painted by Philip Wilson in 2008 415

5.14 “Dreamings of Rak-Merrepen” painted by Philomena Mulvien in 1999 192

5.15 “Dreamings of Rak-Merrepen” painted by Ann Carmel Mulvien in 1997 192

5.16 “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle” painted by Marita Sambono in May 1999 416

5.17 “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle” painted by Marita Sambono in 2002 416



5.20 “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle” painted by Miller painted in 2007 196


5.22 “The Falling Star” painted by Mercia Wawul in 1988 197

5.23 “The Falling Star” painted by Marita Sambono in 2004 197

5.24 “The Falling Star” painted by Christina Yambeing in 2005 198

5.25 “Barramundi” painted by Marita Sambono in August 2007 200

5.26 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in 2006 200

5.27 “Dragonflies” painted by Christina Yambeing in December 2002 202

5.28 “Dragonflies” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 2003 202

5.29 “Dragonflies” in post card size painted by Marita Sambono in August 2003 203

5.30 “Dragonflies” etching on paper by Aaron Kingangu McTaggart printed in 2007 203

5.31 “Dragonflies” painted by Gracie Kumbi in 2008 204

5.32 “Dragonflies” painted by Melissa Wungung in May 2008 204

5.33 “How the Mermaid got Her Tail” painted by Bernadette Tyilngilin in 1994 209

5.34 “The Little Bat and the Mermaids” painted by Benigna Ngulfundi in 2000 210

5.35 “A Mermaid is Born” painted by Maureen Warrumburr in 1988 418

5.36 Pelican site in the Homeland Malfiyin located in Daly River region 211

5.37 “Pelican Dreaming” painted by Gracie Kumbi in August 2003 213

5.38 “Pelican Dreaming” at Malfiyin painted by Gracie Kumbi in August 2003 419

5.39 “Pelican Dreaming” at Malfiyin painted by Gracie Kumbi in September 2004 419

5.40 “Pelican Dreaming” at Malfiyin painted by Gracie Kumbi June 2007. 420

5.41 “Sore Eye Dreaming” painted by Philippine Parling in 2001 214

5.42 “Sore Eye Dreaming” painted by Philippine Parling in December 2004 215

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5.43 “Sore Eye Dreaming” painted by Philippine Parling in December 2007 215

5.44 “The Mic Mic and the Bottle Tree” painted by Benigna Ngulfundi in 2003 219

5.45 “The Mic Mic and the Bottle Tree” painted by Benigna Ngulfundi in 1999 420

5.46 “The Thirsty Sand Frog” painted by Marita Sambono in November 1998 220

5.47 “Bush Tucker” painted by Molly Yawalminy in 2008 223

5.48 “Miwelffirrmuy” painted by Mary Kanngi in May 1999 427

5.49 “Kapok Tree” painted by Geraldine Ungunmerr in December 2004 224

5.50 “Every Storm” painted by Philippine Parling in November 2007 428

5.51 “Underground Oven” painted by Kenneth Minggun in April 2008 226

5.52 “Apilirr” red and black ants painted by Christina Yambeing and Gracie Kumbi in

October 2004 228

5.53 “Welcome to Country Ceremony” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in 1991 234

5.54 “Welcome to Country Ceremony” silk painting made by Philip Wilson June 2008 429

5.55 “The Miracle of the Loaves and the Fishes” painted by Marita Sambono in 1992 430

5.56 “The Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary” painted by Marita Sambono in 1997 431

5.57 “The Sacred Heart of Jesus” painted by Susan Nurra in August 2004 432

5.58 “Our Lady of the Sacred Heart” painted by Susan Nurra in August 2004 432

5.59 “Our Lady of the Sacred Heart” silk painting made by Benigna Ngulfundi in May

2008 433

5.60 Ceramics statue of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart in the St. Frances Xavier

Catholic Church in Nauiyu 434

5.61 A decorative silk scarf painted by Aaron McTaggart in May 2008 237

5.62 Part of a decorative silk painting made by Philip Wilson in May 2008 434

5.63 Parts of a decorative silk painting produced in May 2008, artist unknown 435



6.1 “A Girl Must be Humble” painted by Marita Sambono year unknown 243

6.2 “A Girl Must be Humble” painted by Marita Sambono in 1998 244




6.6 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono 2004 246

6.7 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in October 2004 437

6.8 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in January 2005 437

6.9 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in March 2005 438

6.10 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in early 2006 438

6.11 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in late 2006 249

6.12 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in March 2008 250

6.13 “Smoking Ceremony for a Dead Person” painted by Sambono in August 2004 439

6.14 “Willy-Willy” painted by Marita Sambono in September 2004 439

6.15 “Long Neck Turtles Malarrgu and Short Neck Turtles Atyindirrity” painted by

Marita Sambono in 1999 252

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6.16 “Pig Nose Turtle Yirrng” painted by Marita Sambono in 2001 252

6.17 “Dragonflies” in black and white painted by Christine Yambeing in 2003 440

6.18 “The Old Man and the Mermaids” painted by Gracie Kumbi in June 2001 441

6.19 “Red Lotus lilies Miwulngini” painted by Philip Wilson in June 2008 441

6.20 “Red Lotus lilies Miwulngini” painted by Philip Wilson in August 2008 442

6.21 “The Old Man and the Mermaid Fallami Kurri” painted by Philip Wilson in

October 2007 256

6.22 “Mermaid Dreaming” painted by Gracie Kumbi in 2003 257

6.23 “Mermaids” painted by Marita Sambono in 2001 442

6.24 “Yerrwirimbi” painted by Philip Wilson in January 2008 258

6.25 “Yerrwirimbi” painted by Philip Wilson in February 2007 258

6.26 “Yerrwirimbi” painted by Philip Wilson in March 2008 443

6.27 “Footprints in the Sand of Time” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in 1998 263

6.28 “Mother Earth is Crying” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in 1998 264

6.29 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in February 2004 266

6.30 “Crocodile” painted by Marita Sambono in November 1998 443

6.31 “Crocodile” painted by Marita Sambono in August 2007 444

6.32 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in March 2004 444

6.33 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in September 2004 445

6.34 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in August 2004 445

6.35 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in August 2004 446

6.36 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in September 2004 446

6.37 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in February 2005 446

6.38 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in April 2008 447

6.39 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in May 2008 447

6.40 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in May 2008 267

6.41 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Helen McCarthy Tyalmuty in July 2004 448

6.42 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Helen McCarthy Tyalmuty in 2004 448

6.43 “Coolamon” painted by Kieren Karritypul McTaggart in November 2007 449

6.44 “Coolamon” silk painting produced by Kieren McTaggart in 2008 450

6.45 “Paper bark” painted by Kieren Karritypul McTaggart in March 2008 450

6.46 Papier mâché bowl made and decorated with “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” by

Patricia Marrfurra in May 2008 268

6.47 “Crocodile Eye” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in September 2006 269

6.48 “Crocodile Eye” etching on paper made by Patricia Marrfurra in 2007 451

6.49 “Crocodile Eye” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in 2006 270

6.50 “Mermaids” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in 1989 271

6.51 “Mermaids” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in March 2004 272

6.52 “Barramundi” drawn by Gracie Kumbi in 1987 274

6.53 “Barramundi” drawn by Gracie Kumbi in 2008 275

6.54 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in October 2001 452

6.55 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in June 2003 452

6.56 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in November 2004 453

6.57 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in February 2008 453

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6.58 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in May 2008 454

6.59 “Barramundi” painted by Philip Wilson in January 2008 454

6.60 “Barramundi” painted by Christina Yambeing in March 2008 455

6.61 “The Bat and the Rainbow Serpent” painted by Kumbi in 2003 277

6.62 “The Bat and the Rainbow Serpent” painted by Kumbi in 2008 277

6.63 “The Rainbow Serpent, Eagle and Fire Stick” painted by Kumbi in 1994 278

6.64 “The Rainbow Serpent, Eagle and Fire Stick” painted by Kumbi in 2007 278

6.65 “Geckos” painted by Christina Yambeing in 2003 280

6.66 “Gecko” painted on marbling by Christina Yambeing in June 2004 280

6.67 “Bushfire” painted by Christina Yambeing in March 2002 282

6.68 “Bushfire” painted by Christina Yambeing in May 1999 456

6.69 “Bushfire” painted by Christina Yambeing in June 2003 456

6.70 A bushfire photographed by Stian Thoresen at night in October 2007 457

6.71 “The Children and the Rocks that fell from the Sky” painted by Yambeing in 1994 283

6.72 “The Children and the Rocks that fell from the Sky” painted by Yambeing in 2003 284

6.73 “Traditional Birth” painted by Christina Yambeing in 2002 285

6.74 Banyan trees photographed by Maria Øien outside of Nauiyu in 2003 457

6.75 “Traditional Birth” painted by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart in 1998 458

6.76 “Traditional Birth” painted by Catherine Ariuu in October 2002 459

6.77 “The Light of the World” drawn by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 1987 460

6.78 Molly Yawalminy demonstrating the traditional way of carrying a Dilly bag 461

6.79 “Faith Healer” painted by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart in May 1993 462

6.80 “Both Ways to Heal the Spirit” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 1987 288

6.81 “The Tree of Life” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 1988 290

6.82 “Male Life Cycles” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 1987 293

6.83 “Male Life Cycles” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 2000 293

6.84 Inscribed mother of pearl shell from the Daly River region 463

7.1 “Barramundi” painted in “Arnhem land style” by Philip Wilson in October 2007 336

7.2 Exhibition PAINT at Raft Art Space in Darwin in 2008 343

7.3 “Mic Mic” etching made by Benigna Ngulfundi in 2007 346

8.1 Molly Yawalminy signing her “Bush Tucker” etching 375

8.2 The Endirrlup Exhibition invitation 468

8.3 Catherine Ariuu posing with customer at Endirrlup Exhibition 380

8.4 Marita Sambono posing with customer at Endirrlup Exhibition 380

8.5 Maria Øien hanging paintings by Gracie Kumbi in the Merrepen Arts display 383

8.6 Customers at Merrepen Art Festival in 2008 387

8.7 Art auction Merrepen Art Festival in 2008 388

9.1 “Shattered Man” painted by Marrfurra in 1991 403

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LIST OF FIGURES

2.1 Kinship Diagram 408

2.2 Kinship Diagram including the fourth generation change in kin terminology 409

3.1 Merrepen Arts Organisational Structure 2008 413

XV

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am indebted to many individuals and institutions whose invaluable encouragement and

support has contributed to making this thesis, and here I would like to acknowledge their

contributions and express my gratitude. First and foremost, I am especially thankful to my

friends and my “black one family” in Nauiyu, who welcomed me into their community, cared

for me, took me out bush, and generously shared their lives with me. The knowledge and

empirical data upon which this thesis is founded I have learned from them while sharing many

meals, bush trips, and working together at Merrepen Arts. In particular, I thank my brother

aba and friend Aaron Kingangu McTaggart, and my mother kala Patricia Marrfurra who,

since my first fieldwork has been my key informant, friend, and mentor. My deepest gratitude

goes to all of the Ngan’gi artists about whom I write, for trusting me by sharing their art and

stories with me. They are all presented with short biographies in chapter 6 or in the Appendix.

The manager of Merrepen Arts and their Arts board members were all very generous

when inviting me to act as an unpaid employee at their art centre, which enabled me to

observe and participate with them in production activities, create displays, plan exhibition

events, and interact with customers. They also allowed me to participate in meetings, both

within the community and outside the community, with governmental funding bodies.

During my fieldwork, I visited art centres in other Aboriginal communities. I thank

Apolline Kohen for allowing me to visit the Maningrida Art and Culture Centre in north

central Arnhem Land for two weeks. A warm thanks goes to Christine Margaret Miezis for

welcoming me into her home and to Munupi Arts, and for facilitating my two weeks in

Pularumpi, Melville Island. Lastly, I thank Cecilia Alfonso for her enthusiastic hospitality

when I stayed with her for a day at Warlukurlangu Arts in Yuendumu.

My Ph.D. fellowship was granted by the Department of Ethnography, Museums of

Cultural History, University of Oslo. During my fellowship, I have been privileged to benefit

from the resources of this institution. Professor Kjersti Larsen has been my main supervisor,

and I am very grateful to her for all of her guidance and generous support throughout the

process. I have greatly appreciated her strong encouragement, analytical insight, and inspiring

comments. I would also like to thank Professor Øivind Fuglerud and Associate Professor

Arne Perminow for our many conversations; your friendly advice and support throughout are

much appreciated. I am also grateful for the support, friendship and many conversations I

have had with fellow doctoral students in the Department, first and foremost Christian

Sørhaug, and also Tereza Kuldova, Inger K. Vasstveit, and research assistant Stine Bruland

Sørensen. I thank Marieanne Davy Ball for her thorough and skilful language check, flexible

availability and our friendly conversations. I thank the librarians at the Ethnographic Library

Frøydis Haugane and Berit Sonja Hougaard for their resilient and forthcoming assistance with

all of my requests in locating both referenced and unreferenced literature. Professor Arnd

Schneider from the department of Social Anthropology, University of Oslo, was my second

supervisor for the first part of my fellowship, and I greatly appreciated his always enthusiastic

and supportive guidance, as well as creative suggestions. Associate Professor Gro Ween, from

the Department of Ethnography, stepped in at a pivotal moment as my second supervisor for

the latter half of my fellowship, and I am sincerely grateful for her valuable and inspirational

contributions in structuring and finalising my thesis.

XVI

While participating in the educational Ph.D. program at the Department of Social

Anthropology, University of Oslo, several individuals have provided valuable assistance over

the years. I am thankful for friendship and many inspiring discussions with fellow doctoral

students, especially Stine Rybråten, Cecilie Nordfeld, Cecilie Fagerlid, Bengt Andersen,

Astrid Stensrud Bredholt, Nerina Weiss, David Ramslien, and Jon Henrik Ziegler Remme. I

received my bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the Department of Social Anthropology at

the Norwegian University of Science and Technology in Trondheim, and I have benefited

from conversations with my former tutor, Associate Professor Jan Ketil Simonsen, during my

work with this thesis.

During my fieldwork, I met with certain key individuals who all contributed to this

thesis. I would also like to thank Dr. Barry Morris and Dr. Andrew Lattas from the School of

Humanities and Social Science at the University of Newcastle; their extensive knowledge as

anthropologists in Australia provided me with valuable advice when preparing for my

fieldwork. I thank Tess Lea, Associate Professor at the School for Social and Policy Research,

Charles Darwin University. She provided me with valuable methodological advice concerning

strategies to address my close participation in Merrepen Arts management. I thank Margie

West, an Emeritus Curator at the MAGNT (The Museum and Art Gallery of Northern

Territory). West, incidentally, was the curator for the first Merrepen Arts exhibition in 1986.

As such, she provided me with a historical perspective on the beginning of the art movement;

and her valuable viewpoint concerning the developing Ngan’gi styles, as well as her views on

how Ngan’gi art is appreciated in many art world contexts. I thank Dr. Sylvia Klienert, a Post-

Doctoral Fellow at the Centre for Cross-Cultural Research at the National Australian

University in Canberra, both for her contribution in opening a Merrepen Arts etching

exhibition and for the valuable and interesting information she provided me, concerning the

history of the Australian Aboriginal art movement. I thank also Dr. Ute Eickelkamp, an ARC

Postdoctoral Research Fellow in the School for Social and Policy Research at Charles Darwin

University, and Honorary Research Associate in the Department of Linguistics at the

University of Sydney. We discussed our perspectives concerning anthropological research on

art, a conversation that proved vital to my research. I would also like to acknowledge the

Aboriginal art consultants, Christine Hosking and Garry Darby, and the many unnamed

individuals with whom I spoke in numerous art galleries, for sharing their interesting views

concerning the art market’s appreciation for Aboriginal art.

In Nauiyu, I was privileged to meet several individuals that have, in various ways over

the years, been involved with the management of Merrepen Arts. First and foremost I am

deeply indebted to Eileen Farrelly, for sharing generously with me all of her knowledge of the

historical Merrepen Art movement. I also thank Pat Hollowood, Fiona Syvier, Susan Daily,

and Angus Cameron. I show my appreciation, as well to, Nicolas Reid for writing a fantastic

dictionary on Ngan’gi languages in cooperation with Patricia Marrfurra, and providing me

with a complimentary copy that I have relied on repeatedly throughout my work.

My warmest appreciation and most heartfelt thanks go to my love Stian Thoresen for

his perseverance throughout my years of work for this thesis. I am endlessly grateful for his

patience, strength, immeasurable support and positive presence, especially during our

yearlong fieldwork experience that we shared in Nauiyu. My deepest gratitude also goes to

my family! A big thanks to my brother Jakob for being a wizard in computer editing on his

trusted Mac. Thanks my sisters Lisa and Jarbjørg, and my twin sister Ivanna, my mother

Elisabeth and father Snorre, for their unconditional support and always being there for me,

believing in me and encouraging my project. Last, but not least, thanks to Nikolai and Othelie,

my precious twins, for reminding me about the most important things in life.

1

INTRODUCTION

“We paint the stories of our culture!”

On a scorching hot morning I sat at the back corner of the Merrepen Arts gallery with

Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr Bauman, an artist and one of the founders of this art centre. Inside

the gallery, the air was comfortably cooled, and an elderly couple walked slowly around

gazing at the exhibited artworks, while the manager received some newly-painted canvases

proudly contributed by two local artists. Answering my questions about her art, Ungunmerr

said sincerely, “Look, we have been listening to the white fellas talking of their ways for a

long time. Now it is time for them to listen to our stories. We paint the stories of our culture!”

This thesis examines the art of a group of Aboriginal artists living in Nauiyu Nambiyu, a

community also called Daly River, with approximately 510 inhabitants, located in Northern

Australia.1 A majority of the community inhabitants are speakers of the Ngan’gi kurunggurr

and Ngen’giwumirri languages. The abbreviation Ngan’gi will be applied in the text when

describing both of these languages, the people of Nauiyu specifically, and their art; this term

distinguishes this group’s works from the art of other Aboriginal artists.2 Ngan’gi works of art

are produced and distributed for sale to largely non-Aboriginal tourists and collectors at

Merrepen Arts. This gallery was established as a non-profit, Aboriginal corporation in Nauiyu

in 1987. In the numerous conversations I have had with Ngan’gi artists, attempting to grasp

why they chose this particular creative extension of their artistic practice, many insisted, as

1 The term Aboriginal is not a neutral term as it is a constructed, collective, and originally foreign term assigned

to the Australian indigenous population by the European colonisers. The term further creates an illusion of

homogeneity, while in reality the Australian indigenous population is descended from several hundred separate

and distinct language groups (Attwood 1989; Broun 1995). However, the body of literature on Aboriginal and

the Australian indigenous people themselves applies the term Aboriginal to distinguish Australian indigenous

people from other indigenous people in the world and non-indigenous Australians. Therefore, the term

Aboriginal will be applied when speaking in general terms about indigenous Australians. 2 In this text, I apply art as a collective term when describing the general characteristics of Ngan’gi art, including

all of the art media incorporate in the works of this group. The term design is applied when describing imagery

illustrating a specific story by using particular visual styles, patterns and compositions.

2

did Ungunmerr, that their main motivation for painting comes from a fundamental wish to

share their stories. Art exchanges can facilitate cross-cultural discourse. Art has provided

those Aborigines who choose to paint with public visibility within the Australian society and

with a means to communicate and assert the value of their cultural production to the world,

through international art galleries, as well as local art centres (Morphy 2008).

The art production in Nauiyu is part of what began as a grassroots art movement in Aboriginal

communities; it gained a national scope by gradually including many diverse art world arenas

all over Australia. The first major and public Aboriginal acrylic art movement began in

Papunya Tula, a community in the Western Desert, in the early 1970s. A young, white art

teacher, Geoffrey Bardon, encouraged senior, mainly Pintupi men, to paint a mural at the

local school that depicted country, ceremonial life, and Dreamtime stories. These murals were

followed by the painting of similar designs on canvas and board. Pintupi men innovatively

transformed ephemeral symbols, referring to sacred designs, formerly painted on rocks, cave

walls, in the sand, on bodies or on ceremonial paraphernalia, by converting them into to

acrylic art (Anderson 1990; Bardon 1991; Bardon et al. 2006).

Similarly to other Aboriginal artists, Ngan’gi artists insist that the narrative subject-matter3 in

their art designs originates from, and refers to, the Dreaming. The Ancestral Law is popularly

known as “the Dreaming” or “Dreamtime” in English4 and refers to regionally-specific

narratives describing how the Aboriginal Ancestor created the world (Munn 1973; Myers

1986; Sutton 1988; Morphy 1991; Taylor 2007). When the Ngan’gi initiated the social

practices of producing commercial paintings and prints, this involved a translation of sacred

Ngan’gi religious imagery into a relatively new form. Though intended for circulation in the

commoditised and intercultural spaces of art exchanges, Ngan’gi works of art nevertheless

remain anchored in Aboriginal systems of “image making”; drawing upon practices and

relationships to the Land and the Dreaming (Myers 2002, 2006a; Morphy 2008). My

ethnographic material revealed certain dilemmas concerning how to facilitate this symbolic

3 I use the term subject-matter when referring to the total content of a painting including the imagery and style of

the design, the design story that is illustrated, and the layers of meaning communicated visually. 4 The potential for misunderstanding the connotations of the terms Dreamtime or Dreaming are well-debated,

and partly due to a problematic origin outside of Aboriginal language and culture (see Wolfe 1991; Hume 2002).

In spite of the controversies these terms currently encompass both scholarly and popular discourse. Most

importantly they are used by the Ngan’gi when describing their cosmology. The Dreaming incorporates a

mythical past and a contemporary omnipresence of their Ancestors, the Dreaming designs they paint, and the

Ancestral Law they respect and follow. Therefore, I will apply these terms in this text. Furthermore, I will

explain and present the concepts Dreaming and Law in more detail below and in Chapter 2.

3

transfer of sacred imagery into saleable art. I will illustrate how the creation of Ngan’gi art

involves complex interrelations between local art production practices and the art-exchanging

practices of national art worlds. Consequently, it is my argument throughout this thesis that

painting is, for an Aboriginal artist, both a promising and problematic activity. Furthermore, I

argue that Ngan’gi works of art are contextual and dynamic in their creation, and that their

participation on the art world bestows on them the status of intercultural objects.

It became my ambition to capture the dynamic characteristics of Ngan’gi art, while also

illustrating how Ngan’gi art designs are always in a state of emergence, as the artists modify

and develop them through interaction with other art world participants. Following this

objective I found major inspiration in Morphy’s book Becoming Art: Exploring Cross-

Cultural Categories (2008), in which he explores the changing socio-cultural context for the

production and interpretation of Yolngu art. Motivated by the wording in his book title and by

my interpretation of his perspective, which will be explored in more detail below, I chose to

use “the becoming of art” as an analytical term that embraces all the constitutive aspects

involved in the gradual creation of Ngan’gi art. To grasp Ngan’gi art one needs to describe its

origin, cosmological foundation, the particular art production practices it emerges from, its

styles and subject-matter, and the art worlds in which the art and Ngan’gi artists participate. I

argue that by capturing the becoming of Ngan’gi art one can provide a point of entry for

understanding how art exchanges facilitate changes in the art: When Ngan’gi artists produce

and sell art they participate in processes of value creation that have a direct consequence in

transforming their art’s value, status and meaning. I aspire to capture these value

transformations, while also taking a critical look at the paradoxes inherent in the circulation of

Ngan’gi art. Consequently, the main ambition of this thesis is to provide an anthropological

analysis of Ngan’gi art by thoroughly exploring, analysing and describing every side that

constitute its “becoming,” achieved through answering two research questions:

How is Ngan’gi art affected in its process of becoming by its state of entanglement with

interconnected art world contexts?

How do the art circulation and exchanges of Ngan’gi art simultaneously enable and limit

Ngan’gi art production, artistic intentions, and cross-cultural communication?

My approach is to answer these questions through the use of three research objectives that pay

attention to all of the practices that bring Ngan’gi art into being:

4

Firstly, I will explore the specific socio-historical contexts of art production within the

Nauiyu community and Merrepen Arts. The Ngan’gi artists’ being-in-the-world is a

combination of local traditions and kinship structures, together with governmental policies

and organisational structures. These diverse factors incorporate conflicting, yet intertwined

values and perspectives. I aim to capture how the entanglement of Ngan’gi art, artists, and

Merrepen Arts management with such internal and external structures constitutes the art

production in this community.

Secondly, I will analyse the emerging art created by Ngan’gi artists, with emphasis on their

acrylic paintings on canvas; originating from a particular cultural imagination. I will examine

the symbols used in each design to communicate stories of specific and manifested cultural

meaning. Moreover, I will illustrate how cultural conventions concerning how to paint are

entangled with artists’ senses of agency and the creative development of their personal styles.

Thirdly, I will include an examination of how Ngan’gi art is constituted through circulation in

art exchanging contexts, by questioning whether Ngan’gi artists can participate autonomously

in the discourses of the art market, when having to do so from “external”, and often foreign,

art world contexts.

Ngan’gi Art: Beyond Sacred …

Before presenting a more detailed theoretical discussion of my anthropological art analysis, I

shall briefly explain the landscape of Ngan’gi art production. In the present day contemporary

Aboriginal art has become an increasingly commercial and artistic success, and it is regularly

represented in significant art exhibitions, private and public collections in Australia and

internationally (Caruana 2003). Merrepen Arts occupies a small corner of the Australian

Aboriginal art movement, and for Ngan’gi artists, their local art centre provides their main

location for artistic experimentation and communication with customer. Their art has also

been extended to other privileged arenas of viewing, such as urban fine art galleries with

national scope. I suggest that these spaces act as cross-cultural meeting places, creating

interconnectedness between Aboriginal artists, customers, spectators, curators, and art critics;

all of these parties are brought together by a shared interest in art. I argue that in all art-

exchanging contexts such as these, there are two main activities performed that of “seeing” art

and that of “showing” art. I find it interesting to use these terms as analytic concepts to

explore important processes of art appreciation and presentations, incorporating a mutually

5

art-constitutive interplay among four entities: Artists, who produce art with certain artistic

intentions; art objects, with their visual and narrative particular attributes; the curator, who

exhibits the art; and customers or spectators, viewing or purchasing art in art market

institutions. It is precisely, I argue, through the social and aesthetic practices of seeing and

showing that objects are made into art, and granted a particular value. I will also show how art

objects are not passive, but integral in such processes of value production and in reproducing

social relations. To Ngan’gi artists, paintings act as markers of identity. Ungunmerr’s

comment, quoted above, highlights my main concern in this thesis of capturing how and why

the Ngan’gi artists have chosen to make painting a form of cultural performance that shares

and mediates their worldview. Through art, they receive an opportunity to communicate

culturally significant knowledge, messages and meaning to their spectators or consumers.

While so doing, they contribute in reorganising their relationship with the world, and finally

also to negotiating existing boundaries for Western concepts of “art.”

In this thesis, I intend to explore how the subject-matter developed by Ngan’gi artists in their

art features a particular cultural, socio-historical and religious foundation, which makes these

objects interesting subjects for human action. Ngan’gi art embraces ways of thinking and

being, skilled production, intercultural exchanges, and cultural change. Thus, I am analysing

works of art where the artists makes references to a sacred cosmology and their particular life-

world by illustrating everything from bush tucker to public Dreamtime stories; describing

how the Aboriginal Ancestor created the world and Ancestral Law. As described in former

anthropological research (Munn 1973; Sutton 1988; Morphy 1991; Myers 2002; Taylor 2007)

there exists, according to the Dreaming cosmology, a notion of shared substance, originated

in the past moments of Ancestral creation, between humans, Ancestors, the land, and the

animals. According to Ngan’gi ontological concepts their notion of shared substance also

extends to material forms. Therefore, many Aboriginal artists, including the Ngan’gi ,

interpret, experience and value their art as manifestations of spiritual and kinship-based

identity, providing re-embodiments of Ancestral acts and the ancestrally-created world,

linking the past to the present (Morphy 1991; Taylor 2007).

The Ancestors also left ownership of various sacred sites, referred to collectively as a

Homeland or Home Country, Dede Putymemme in Ngan’gi, to kin groups to be inherited

through patrilineal descent. Aesthetic painting practices are therefore structured and

controlled by Ancestral Law; encoding authorial claims over place and kin, permitting some

6

kin to paint particular designs, others to hold knowledge about them, and yet others merely to

be able to view these works (McCulloch 1999). These rights of ritual origin are regarded as

forms of inherited and shared artistic knowledge and they delineate the grounds for learning

to paint (Morphy 1991). Thus, the creativity of Ngan’gi artists is expected to operate within

the limits of Ancestral Law. In Ngan’gi production of commercial and saleable art, intended

for the public domain, the artist can only make illustrations of certain regional stories and

designs that are publicly known by all in the community, in contrast to the secret, sacred

designs only existing in a ritualistic sphere. Furthermore, the artists are bound to respect

kinship-based authority allowing for the reproduction of certain designs solely by the design-

owning kinship group. Regardless of these painting conventions, my ethnographic material

will illustrate how Ngan’gi art production allows for considerable artistic creativity in

recreating traditional patterns and practices, while incorporating and appropriating innovative

new art media. At Merrepen Arts, all artists master and produce acrylic painting on canvas,

screen printing on fabric, etching and serigraphy on paper, silk painting, batik, fibre weaving

and slumped glass. Each design is created with a wide colour palette and a variety of styles

and compositions. Thus, I argue that Ngan’gi artistic practices are situated in the nexus

between shared past and present cultural painting convention and individual artistic creativity.

Ngan’gi artists have a strong focus on artistic creativity, and their colourful, vivid, decorative,

and figurative designs have a slightly different regional style when compared with Aboriginal

art produced in other areas of Australia. While the art of the neighbouring Arnhem Land

regions and the Western Desert has been the subject of extensive anthropological research, the

art of Nauiyu has been relatively neglected as a research topic. In addition to engaging with

anthropological debates regarding art, I also aim to present new ethnography concerning the

Ngan’gi art of Nauiyu. As such, this thesis adds to the body of anthropological knowledge and

the analysis of Aboriginal art in Australia.

From early on in its history, the Australian state assumed the role as a powerful patron of

Aboriginal art (Lattas 1991), as the support of local art production was part of the

government’s wider aim of respecting Aboriginal wishes and supporting the development of

their cultural heritage (Taylor 2005). In 1975, the Australian Council for the Arts established

the Aboriginal Arts Board in which Aboriginal artists were represented. This organisation

provided important funding for the production and promotion of Aboriginal art (Altman

2007). Subsequently, following such funding and a growing art market interest in Aboriginal

7

art non-profit art centres, owned cooperatively by local artists, were established during the

1970s in many Aboriginal communities across Australia (Altman et al. 2005; Taylor 2005).

As noted by Altman (1990), employment prospects are constrained in rural Aboriginal

communities by the lack of a substantial economic base and limited access to external, well-

developed labour markets. Thus, for many Aborigines, local art centres became places for art

production and channels for distribution of their art, as well as providing steady income and a

primary source of employment through CDEP.5 The Aboriginal art and craft industry was

initiated on a local level, but became a national endeavour through state support. Champions

of this industry were motivated by the opportunities to maintain a living cultural heritage

embodied in the art and to improve the social and economic well-being of Aborigines by

providing employment and income (Altman 2007).

Ngan’gi art production has undoubtedly contributed to artistic development and recognition,

as well as providing income to the artists. However, my ethnographic material will illustrate

how these opportunities are simultaneously flanked by certain challenges, contradictions,

ambivalence, and intercultural confrontations that are particular to Aboriginal art. Ngan’gi art

is subjected to many contradictory and mutable art conceptualisations, financial and visual

judgments, and dynamic transformations when shifted to the aestheticised art worlds (Myers

1995). To put it bluntly, perhaps the only thing that is shared between customers and artists is

the exchange itself, that of art for money. Furthermore, one may also presume that this swap

does not always create a form of shared understanding of the significance of Aboriginal art, as

intended by the Ngan’gi artists. I believe it is most interesting to a current anthropological

study to explore how the Ngan’gi confront and engage with such challenges inherent in art

world exchanges. Questioning how particular contradictions may complicate art exchanges

and cross-cultural communication, as well as limit uninhibited artistic creativity, will be

central points of interest throughout this thesis.

Providing a preliminary summary of the most significant contradictions that may exist

between Aboriginal artists and their customers, the main one is the Ngan’gi artists’ insistence

that their art has a sacred value because these works are created with reference to the

Dreaming. In contrast most customers appreciate these artworks as commodities that, at best,

5 CDEP (Community Development Employment Projects) is a flexible scheme established in the late 1970s

through which Aborigines are given part-time positions in exchange for unemployment benefits funded by

DEWR (the Federal Department of Employment and Workplace Relations) to perform various administrative,

management, and practical tasks in their communities (Altman et al. 2005).

8

are “pretty pictures.” The authority of certain art world representatives to include the works of

chosen Ngan’gi artists in fine art contexts, while excluding others, remains a mystery to the

artists. They place great value on all of their works of art; for them, the sharing of culture is

what imparts value to a painting, not artistic reputation, financial worth, or a fine art style.

These are but two of the many contradictions between the local community-based art centres

and the global art market, with respect to interpreting and appreciating Aboriginal art.

Ngan’gi artists are also limited by institutional authority and structural constraints that are not

of their own making. The curators, critics, fine art gallery owners, and consumers of the art

are predominately non-Aboriginal. Although Ngan’gi art is produced at a local art centre, this

creative space is still, in many ways, governed by majority-based policies grounded in the

Australian National state. The art world contexts sustain agendas, perspectives, and values

that, while having conflicting properties, are mutually dependent and linked together in a

multitude of ways. Exploring the becoming of Ngan’gi art will illustrate why the Ngan’gi

artists have chosen the path of artistic inventiveness. This exploration will also inform how

their intention transforms the art’s meaning, status, and value, as it moves from its creators to

its consumers though intermediary and stratified art world contexts.

In the following section I discuss how a general approach to art is relevant to Aboriginal art.

Then a theoretical discussion of anthropological perspectives in the analysis of Aboriginal art

is provided as context for the perspective I use in my analysis of Ngan’gi art.

What Is Art?

Art is an instrument of value, and the paths chosen and theoretical perspectives adopted in

anthropological studies of objects are affected by specific notions of “art” and “culture,”

which have historically changed significantly through time and space (Morphy 1994).

Therefore, the introductory question preceding a theoretical discussion must be: What is art?

The word “art” derives from the archaic word ars being a Latin root with its source in the

word artus, meaning to join or fit together with skill (Vogel 1989; Morphy 1994). This

definition, in line with the etymology of the word art, focuses on craftsmanship, the necessary

knowledge, physical skills, and techniques an artist possesses to be able to create an object

with certain visual and material qualities (Hatcher 1999). Other definitions of art are more

focused on the non-practical, viewing art as exclusive and having sublime attributes when

compared with practical objects. From this perspective art is created by talented individuals

9

who hold an elevated status. Whether focused on the aesthetic or practical side of art

production, criteria for which attributes grant objects with the status of being considered art,

and include them in various art world contexts, are constantly changing. Therefore, the word

“art” is a contested term often used in a generalising approach, to classify seemingly

incomparable objects of a certain value under the same banner (Svašek 2007). The British art

historian E. H. Gombrich captures the fickle nature of art definitions by stating that “there is

really no such thing as art” (1963: 5). Or, similarly stated by Layton, “art is a difficult

phenomenon to define … because there is an imprecise boundary between art and non-art

whose location seems often to shift according to fashion and ideology” (1991: 4). Instead of

eschewing a definition of art I suggest that a useful starting point can be found in three art

definitions, originated in European art history. This approach was also used by Morphy

(1994) in his discussion of anthropology and art, because the Western term “art” has, through

anthropological discourse, and through global art market circulation, been extended also into

non-Western cultures. Morphy initially identifies, an institutional definition of art focused on

how the settings, contexts, and institutions in which art circulates contribute to the abstract

process of assigning objects the elevated status of art through inclusion (1994: 651). Then, art

is defined according to certain attributes of the object: being aesthetic, representational, or

functional (1994: 651). Finally, objects are defined as art if they are created by their makers

with the intention of being works of art (1994: 652). I believe that these definitions could be

usefully applied in an analysis of Ngan’gi art, and I will illustrate below how the combination

of anthropological and art historical perspectives can provide a useful analytical approach to

capture the totality of Ngan’gi art. However, before discussing the relevance of these

definitions in an anthropological analysis of Ngan’gi art specifically, it is necessary to first

question their cross-cultural application.

A critical rejection of the cross-cultural application of these art definitions could be founded

on a claim that in many indigenous cultures, the word “art” used in a Western manner does

not exist. Abiodun et al. (1994) argue that the terms art, aesthetics, and style developed in

such close connected to Western or European art history and art worlds, that they may resist

non-Western approaches to art. These terms may appear irrelevant simply because the core

meanings originally surrounding non-Western material objects are of a different origin.

Historically, art was a generally neglected theme in anthropological research, precisely, as

suggested by Morphy (1994) and Morphy and Perkins (2006), because of the difficulty of

cross-cultural application of the term “art.” Furthermore, the study of art, as that of other

10

material objects, was associated with social evolutionary approaches, which periodically

created a separation between the anthropology of art and mainstream anthropology.

Throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the anthropological interest in art was

limited to a focus on form, styles, decoration, and motives in objects studied as ritual or

functional artifacts; these attributes revealed cultural particularities. From the 1960s and 70s

onwards, there was a renewed interest among anthropologists to study art with an emphasis on

exploring the social complexities of art production in specific cultures in terms of symbolism,

meaning, and exchange, which closed the gap between material culture studies and

mainstream anthropology. The anthropology of art gradually shifted from being an neglected

theme of research, to receiving a more central position in the discipline, as new perspectives

united the study of form and content (Morphy 1994; Morphy et al. 2006).

To complicate the matter of defining indigenous art the art world representatives have created

their own diversified representations as anthropologists have simultaneously developed their

approaches to non-Western material objects. Michaels (1988, 1994) argues that because

Aboriginal art began circulating in our art world institutions, cross-cultural application of the

term “art” was and is problematic. This problem is mainly due to contradicting discourses that

immediately surfaced surrounding Aboriginal art resisting a resolution; that is, as mentioned,

Aboriginal artists themselves insist that their commercial products are founded in a sacred

Dreaming. Initially, Aboriginal art was defined as primitive, authentic, and exotic curiosa

crafted by “natural born Picassos” (Michaels 1994) or “magicians of the earth” (Lattas 1991).

Aboriginal material objects were exhibited in museums as ethnographic artifacts confined to

live dioramas. As saleable production increased, Aboriginal material objects came to be

regarded in certain art market contexts as skilfully made craft. This changed during the 1970s,

as particular Aboriginal art styles were elevated to the status of fine art and received

recognition as the “flavour of the month” (Michaels 1994) in certain art world contexts in

Europe and America. Each representation directly shapes the public’s comprehension of

Aboriginal art and, thus, also influenced Aboriginal art production and artistic status.

Art terminology is undoubtedly entangled with particular historical precedents and changing

conceptualisations, making the Western concept of art, to some extent, difficult to translate.

This is particularly true, when art in spite of its dynamic characteristics, is conceived by some

as a unique and essentialised category. Nevertheless, Morphy and Perkins (2006) claim that it

is possible to find cross-cultural equivalences in the understanding of art. However, it is

11

necessary to operate with a broad and expansive concept of art, because art is an

encompassing category with arbitrary connotations and fussy boundaries, including

innumerable and differentiated objects, activities, contexts, and multicultural concepts. Rather

than considering art as a universal, generalised category Svašek (2007) recognises the

profoundly processual nature of art; she uses her term “processual relativism” to describe and

capture art objects as social, dynamic, alive, and always in a state of emergence; created

through their embeddedness with, and participation in, society with its historically specific

and changing ideas and practices. Thus, partly inspired by these views, I suggest two possible

solutions to define art. Narrow definitions of art should be abandoned for an understanding of

art as an intercultural and complex term. It is necessary to recognise that the definitions and

representations surrounding art change, as described above, precisely because art is integrated

within continuing processes of value creation and aesthetic judgments, which are closely

associated with particular ways of understanding and valuing Aboriginal material culture. I

further suggest that a dismissal of the cross-cultural application of the concept of art, does not

engage with present art discourses. When defining contemporary art, one should not focus on

the particular cultural relativism of art in bounded cultures, but rather take a processual view

on art as part of universal, cross-cultural, and dynamic exchanges and contexts (Svašek 2007).

As commented by Morphy and Perkins (2006), the word “art” and the role of artists has been

adopted almost globally by indigenous artists themselves, describing a range of practices

involving creativity and the production of expressive culture. Today most Ngan’gi who

practice commercial art production identify themselves as artists, creating works intended to

be sold as art, and motivated by the opportunity that paintings provide for visual mediation of

the artists’ life-world and cosmology. Thus, painting is a creative activity, and art is born

initially when the artists give objects a reality emanating from their artistic will.

Caruana (2003) argues that objects, including Aboriginal material objects, can be defined as

art simply because the producers see themselves as professional artists creating something

with the intention of it being art. However, I believe that an isolated focus on intention might

simplify a more complex situation. Even though artists may produce and distribute art with

certain personal intentions, there is no absolute freedom in art production and no guarantee

that an artist’s work will be appreciated in the manner the artist intended. Intention is but one

element in the total becoming of art.

12

Plate 0.2 Philip Merrdi Wilson painting “Yerrwirimbi” (white gum tree) in January 2008.

“Yerrwirimbi” is Wilson’s creative intention to illustrate shark season. There is a shared

knowledge among the Ngan’gi that the time to hunt for sharks is when the bark starts flaking

towards the end of the dry season. Wilson chooses to interpret this seasonal sign visually by

painting the structure of a section of the bark of the white gum tree in this abstract design.

Aboriginal art is thoroughly involved and represented in various art world discourses and

contexts and Aboriginal artists share many of the same contexts and artistic intentions as

Western artists. Thus, I argue one cannot research Aboriginal art without acknowledging that

it has become embedded in Western art history through such cross-cultural encounters

facilitated by art circulation. Thomas (1997) goes so far as to argue that in the anthropology of

art, the former disciplinary framing of “Western versus non-Western art” needs to be rejected

as redundant, because it bears no correspondence to the current division of cultural domains

and practices. A sharp distinction between so-called indigenous and Western art overlooks the

entanglement created by an actual sharing of art media, art world institutions, and an

international art circulation. My material demonstrates that the exchange of Aboriginal art

does breach some boundaries; nevertheless, others remain, founded on differentiated painting

practices. In conclusion I will use the word art in this text when analysing the works of the

Ngan’gi of Nauiyu; which are particular in origin and content, yet also entangled with so-

called Western art concepts through processes of circulation.

13

Preceding further discussion, I find it useful to briefly summarise earlier anthropological

theoretical perspectives concerning the particular case of analysing Aboriginal art, while also

illustrating how these perspectives have inspired my own theoretical analysis of Ngan’gi art.

Steps Towards an Anthropological Analysis of Aboriginal Art

Among the many potential paths in the anthropological analysis of Aboriginal art, I have

chosen to discuss three main approaches; the first arguing that art is conceptualised according

to its symbolic attributes, the second that it is brought into being through its circulation, and

the third focusing on artistic intention.

A symbolic or semantic art analysis provides an exploration of the meaning and content

communicated in figurative and abstract designs. That is how the formal and abstract ordering

of ideas in representative signs is used as applied to visual forms in art, to symbolically

display an incorporated meaning (Layton 1991). In Australia, anthropological research that

unites a focus on form, function, and symbolism in Aboriginal material culture is well

established. Mountford (1961), Berndt (1970), and Munn (1970, 1973), among others, all

played an important role in promoting Aboriginal art as a field of inquiry through their

research on the Western Desert visual imagery of the Warlbiri, which was painted in the sand,

on wooden objects, or as ceremonial body painting, and were strongly embedded in a

cosmological and ceremonial context. Through an iconographic analysis of the geometric

elements and visual signs in Warlbiri designs their research attempted to decipher the

particular meaning and religious significance communicated visually as the designs made

reference to mythological events, features in the landscape, or human activities. In contrast, as

a former art research who employed iconographic analysis, (see Panofsky 1955)6, Munn

(1973) in her research of Warlbiri art, holds that the cultural background of the artists is of

great importance when analysing how symbols that incorporate meaning are context-

dependent and open to subjective negotiations, and thus, part of social action. In her

6 I am familiar with how Panofsky identified three levels of analysing objects of representation in European art

(see 1955: 26-30). Panofsky’s second level, which refers to his definition of the term iconography, explored the

“subject-matter or meaning of works of art, as opposed to their form,” where artistic motifs are carriers of

conventional meaning and connected to certain themes, may be considered relevant in an analysis of Aboriginal

art. In particularly Panofsky understood that people share culturally-specific knowledge that must be learned

before one can grasp the inner meaning icons symbolised in paintings. However, he wanted a form of art

analysis enabling an art critic to assess an object without resorting to the artist’s cultural background, which is

not relevant to an analysis of Aboriginal art. I will not apply the term iconography in my analysis because I am

more interested in analysing, in line with Morphy’s (1991), the relationship between forms and meaning in

paintings as negotiated in practice by individual artists.

14

structuralist approach and detailed analysis of Warlbiri iconography, Munn defined Warlbiri

art as a representational system that encodes meaning, with a particular interest in the

underlying symbolic structures of visual imagery.

Munn (1973) also integrated a focus on exploring the dynamics of meaning production by

describing how a few basic elements and forms are combined in a number of different social

contexts to create a single generative system, which mediate a range of meanings and

particular relationships between the aesthetic system and the wider sociocultural and religio-

cosmological order. Munn (1973) defines imagery as one of the mechanisms that maintains

peoples’ experiences of unity in the social order. However, I hold that she did not sufficiently

bring forward the actual qualities of Warlbiri subjective experience and personal conditions.

Morphy’s research (1991, 1994, 1998, 2008) on Yolngu art from north east Arnhem Land,

and Taylor’s research (2007) of Kunwinjku art in Western Arnhem Land, continued an

analysis of how particular worldviews and meanings are encoded in aesthetic systems. Yolngu

bark paintings are semantically dense objects part of a particular Yolngu system of knowledge

because they refer to the action of Ancestral beings who created the land. Because the

encoding of meaning is particular to Aboriginal art Morphy argues that one must question in

an anthropological art analysis how art objects and artists communicate meaning in a

culturally-specific manner, by applying visual styles and signs. In his words; one needs to

“seek explanation of form in relation to the ways in which meaning is encoded in paintings”

(Morphy 1991: 6). Thus, Morphy introduced a “working definition” in the anthropology of art

attempting to identify the attributes of art on the terms of the culture in which they were

produced: “Art objects are ones with aesthetics and/or semantic attributes (but in most cases

both), that are used for representational and presentational purpose” (Morphy 1994: 665;

Morphy et al. 2006: 12). 7

However, both Taylor (2007) and Morphy (2008) insist that an

analysis of the system for encoding meaning in Aboriginal art is merely the first analytical

7 I am aware that Gell (1998) rejects the symbolic or semiotic approach to art. Not seeing art as text, but as

having a practical mediatory role in social process, Gell (1998) focuses his anthropology of art around a theory

of agency. Not concerned with the communication of meaning he explores the “doing” of art objects, and the

effect they have on people. There is insufficient space to present the extensive discussions between Morphy and

Gell on this matter here in the introduction. However, I will elaborate on their perspectives in Chapter 5 where I

present my main analysis of Ngan’gi design. For now allow me to mention briefly that I suggest a combined

form of their perspectives. My art analysis will be focused on the paintings’ representational and visual

attributes, not with the narrow definition of semiotics dismissed by Gell (1998), but with a broad definition of

representations as suggested by Morphy (2008) as context-dependent, as manifesting certain meanings, and

including also a concern with artistic creativity, intention, and agency.

15

step, an approach much differentiated from sociologists such as Saussure (1959), who did not

sufficiently consider social practice when analysing structures. Art images and designs are

collective displays of sacred myths that manifest Ancestral power and the relationships that

kinship groups have to the land, and as such art mediates the social order. Yet, Morphy (2008)

and Taylor (2007) point out that signification is not fixed or given in one-way transactions.

Rather, it is a dynamic and continuing process of semiosis where individual artists plays an

important role in maintaining and constructing Ancestral knowledge through creating,

interpreting, and negotiating particular and interrelated meanings, forms, and values in art.

Symbolic art analysis, as it has been briefly introduced above, is inspiring to me because I

found many similarities between my descriptions of Ngan’gi art and the analyses made by

Munn (1973) of Warlpiri art, Morphy (1991, 1998, 2008) of Yolngu art, and Taylor (2007) of

Kunwinjku art. A wide and dynamic application of a symbolic art analysis is interesting when

analysing Ngan’gi art, because Ngan’gi artists also paint designs that communicate multiple

layers of meaning through culturally-specific signs in a manner that embraces a complex form

of symbolic representation. Although Ngan’gi artists produce contemporary acrylic paintings

for sale, their artistic practice is rooted in Ngan’gi painting conventions of depicting shared

and inherited knowledge of Ancestral creative acts. In all paintings, illustrating everything

from food gathered in the bush to Dreamtime stories, they use symbols that communicate a

particular meaning, in a manner founded on traditional visual forms: This conventional

painting practice is referred to in Ngan’gi as durrmu. Furthermore, as maintained by Morphy

(1991, 1998), stating that designs illustrating Dreamings simply represent these Ancestral

actions is not sufficient, according to Aboriginal semantics. Rather the art provides re-

embodiments of creative Ancestral acts (Morphy 1991; Taylor 2007). Thus, the most

immediate perspective that I use when analysing how Ngan’gi artists create art, is that the

Ngan’gi interpret and value their art not simply as representations, but as manifestations of

their shared knowledge of the Dreaming. Ngan’gi paintings also manifest the artists’

particular spiritual and kinship-based identity, a shared commitment to follow the Ancestral

Law, their relationship to the land, and rights to paint certain stories taught by elder kin. The

framework on which I base my symbolic analysis of Ngan’gi art on will therefore widely

embrace more than a simple signifier-and-signified relationship, because the former (symbols

in a design) is a manifestation of the latter (the communicated meaning).

16

Another central point of my symbolic art analysis is that in addition to these painting

conventions, the Ngan’gi artists encourage art production practices that allow for much

individual creativity. Ngan’gi art production is situated and varies according to context, the

identity and creativity of the interpreter and the knowledge the interpreter holds.

Consequently, each individual artist in Nauiyu is actively modifying, interpreting and using

multi-vocal symbols differently when establishing a link between the design story and art

production. Even when Ngan’gi artists illustrate the same shared Dreamtime stories, they can

choose to apply differentiated figurative or abstract styles. Where one paints a circle to depict

an Ancestor, another will use a figurative drawing. Using in this thesis a more inclusive and

broader definition of art, I will focus on how social practices, artistic intention and creativity,

and the attributes of the designs in a processual manner, create meaning and direct the

interpretation of signs along particular routes (Myers 2001; Taylor 2007). The broadness of

my art definition will allow me to explore, in particular how the symbolic attributes of

Ngan’gi art are developed in a wider process of signification, created in the dialectics between

cultural painting conventions and individual artistic innovation.

The second anthropological perspective on art analysis that I have chosen to explore is based

on an institutional definition of art. By analysing the settings, the art world contexts, and

institutions in which art is displayed and distributed, one can capture how the status and value

of art are closely linked to this art world circulation. Subsequently, the interaction between all

the actors and players within the art worlds, including producers, distributors, consumers, and

critics, is analysed (Morphy 1994). In short, art objects are not considered as coming into

existence merely in their own right; they are constituted, to a degree by their partaking in the

processes of art market classifications and representations, operating according to changing

concepts of “art.” The institutional approach makes art circulation into an analytical category

in itself, with a particular anthropological interest in addressing how the local artists interact

with an interconnected and globalised world. This is interesting because the art of small-scale

Third and Fourth World societies has become part of intercultural and international

negotiations, trade exchanges, and consumption.

Kopytoff (1986) developed a culturally-informed economic anthropology by introducing an

understanding that art is not a descriptive category of objects with isolated and inherent

properties, but rather has its own “cultural biography.” Kopytoff and Appadurai (1986)

explored the idea that works of art created for global markets should be understood as

17

commodities leading social lives. Through exchange and movement objects acquire, generate,

or even lose value, status, and meaning, which has certain implications for our concepts of art

and consumption. Several researchers followed their approach to viewing commodities as

“objects in motion.” Steiner (1994) studied objects’ circulation by focusing on how African

art traders manipulate art and negotiate with customers when interacting in public art

institutions. Clifford (1997) shifted his gaze from roots to routes, exploring more specifically

how painting for the art market links the artists with a global economy, with an interest in

how discourses about art, as well as the artwork itself, circulate broadly within society.

Marcus and Myers (1995) are also concerned with exploring the globalised networks existing

in the many contexts of art exchange, and therefore made the art worlds and their practices

their object of study, in their anthropology of art. They insist that in order to study art, one

must look beyond the created objects and local site of production, and rather explore how the

lives and works of the artists are inextricably embedded in particular forms of perception,

international politics, economics, history, and social and cultural realties.

Much anthropological research in Australia was also inspired by an interest in objects’

intercultural circulation. Myers (2002) contributed a critical study of the marketing of

Aboriginal art in fine art contexts, exploring how the acrylic paintings of the Pintupi in

Papunya Tula gradually acquired the status of high art as a result of complex interactions

between different agents, and through their inclusion within public art institutions. For Myers,

the activity of painting is a “making of meaning,” and the focus in an art analysis should be on

the art objects and the social relations and practices involved in this “cultural production”

(2002: 7). Myers (1995) also has a particular interest in how the production, circulation, and

consumption of Australian Aboriginal paintings form an “intercultural space” characterised

by heterogeneous practice and representations, which Myers describes as disjunctions (1995)

and “unsettled business” (2002, 2006b). Translation is difficult when incommensurable

regimes of value meet. For example, Pintupi artists appreciate their art as centred on aspects

of the sacred Dreaming and ceremonies, although, once their paintings are represented as fine

art, souvenirs, or ethnographic artifacts they are judged and appreciated by customers for their

aesthetic and pecuniary qualities. The art is simultaneously commoditized, while also holding

many connections to Aboriginal traditions, making it, as Myers puts it, “not ritual business

nor fully commerce” (2004b: 265). The gap between art world discourses and the significance

the Aboriginal artists assign their art, renders Pintupi paintings with an ambiguous status.

18

Michaels (1994), in his research among the Warlbiri of Central Australia and their use of

video, also focused on exploring these challenges of cross-cultural medium practices, and

maintaining local power and corporate control, when different modes of symbolic expression

meet. Michaels acknowledges a basic gap between painters and an outside audience due to the

latter’s unfamiliarity with the multiple Dreaming stories depicted in a painting, the

iconography it involves, and the specific knowledge signified by symbols.

Morphy’s (1998, 2008) interdisciplinary approach uses art history and art theory in

anthropology in a complementary manner to develop art theory that is applicable cross-

culturally while he also interpret how art circulation affect Yolngu art production. Morphy

(2008) is concerned with how Aboriginal art is received in the Western world, and he

describes how Yolngu art is subjected to two definitions of art once the artists are involved in

global art discourses. There is the cross-cultural definition of art including appealing and

skilfully made objects sharing certain attributes so that they are referred to as art and placed

in the analytic category of artwork. Works are also classified as fine art, due to their inclusion

in fine art museum and gallery contexts. Morphy (2008) points out that including Aboriginal

art into a category such as fine art creates a paradox: The Yolngu, and other Aborigines, have

produced art of sacred value to them in ceremonial and secular contexts over a long period,

though the art has only recently been recognised and valued as fine art by art world

representatives. Thus, Morphy (2008) illustrates how art is created by being part of a process

of value creation. The becoming of art happens through judgment and classification of art as

sacred ceremonial designs, curios, or fine art, as the art is considered to represent a particular

visual tradition and is included for viewing in selective public institutions.

When Ngan’gi artists enter these complex social fields by exhibiting and selling their

paintings and prints at Merrepen Arts, their local art creation efforts have become, similarly to

how Myers (1995, 2002) describes Pintupi paintings, an Aboriginal production of culture in

an “intercultural space” characterised by heterogeneous fields of practice and representations

(Bourdieu 1993). In my analysis of the becoming of Ngan’gi art circulation represents,

together with the art’s particular visual and symbolic attributes and artistic intention, a final

and constitutive piece. In my view, it is apparent that the status of an artist, both in Nauiyu

and on a national Australian level, is socially, historically, and institutionally constructed.

Ngan’gi artists not only have to suffer the consequences of the various hierarchical

representations and the aesthetic judgments their works are subjected to by high-status

19

members of the art worlds, but they actually depend on such institutional mediation for their

works to be construed as art. An integral part of this thesis is, therefore, to undertake a

detailed exploration of how Ngan’gi artists engage with art world representations,

appreciation, and judgments when exhibiting their works. It is important to investigate the

role of these aesthetic practices, which I label the “seeing” of art and “showing” of art, to

illustrate how Ngan’gi art is both moulded by and in turn shapes the art worlds in which these

works circulate.

Plate 0.3 Customers “seeing” the “showing” of Ngan’gi art at Merrepen Arts in 2007.

When exploring how the “seeing” of art is part of the becoming of Ngan’gi art, I use the term

aesthetics not as a search for abstract notions of beauty, but as a concept rather concerned

with the conditions of sensorial perception and responses, as the visual properties of art

objects create sensorial effects on the people viewing them. Gell (1992) describes art as a

technology of enchantment precisely because its visual qualities have the power to create

strong effects in spectators. Seremetakis (1994) also points out that because material culture is

not only constructed, but also interpreted and perceived, the senses play a crucial role in our

experiences of material culture. In return, –everyone –who participates in the art worlds

contributes, more or less, as art is coming into being, by evaluating its quality and marketing

value, and accordingly granting the objects they view with the particular characterisation of

“art.” My exploration of aesthetic judgments, as they are made both by artists and customers

when perceiving Ngan’gi art, will be made in more detail in the chapters to come. For now I

will only sketch my main focus, which will address on how aesthetic judgments differ, as they

are based on both differentiated personal and purportedly shared standards of taste.

20

Now, because Aboriginal art differs from so-called “Western art” made by non-Aboriginal

artists in its origin and content, the forms of classification, judgment and recognition it

receives in art world contexts also differs. As pointed out by Morphy (1994), how an art

object is presented and appreciated dictates which spheres it is allowed to enter. Herein lies

my interest in exploring the “showing” of Ngan’gi art. The case of Ngan’gi art contrasts with

art from the Western Desert and Arnhem Land concerning art market appreciation, as Ngan’gi

paintings have not been appreciated as fine art in all of the stratified art market contexts. In

particular the colourful and figurative Ngan’gi designs have occasionally been excluded from

certain selected fine art galleries, being judged as too commercial. Therefore, I find it

interesting to question where, how, by whom, for what, when, and under what conditions

Ngan’gi art is exchanged, to illuminate the authority of various art world participants in

judging art. This will enable me to capture the implications such art world practices of

inclusion and exclusion have on the artistic choices the Ngan’gi make when developing their

styles and designs, and how such practices of seeing and showing affects the status and

agency of the Ngan’gi art and artists.

Finally, I chose to present an influential perspective in the anthropology of art focused on

intention. Gell (1998) introduced an anthropology of art that takes an action-oriented

approach by focusing on “agency, intention, causation, result and transformation” (1998: 6),

that is, how objects have a practical mediatory role in social process and social interaction.

Gell defines a social agent as “one who exercises social agency ... caused by acts of mind or

will or intention” (1998: 17). Humans are intentional beings defined as primary agents.

Objects have the status of secondary agents because they are extensions of the distributed

intentions of their makers. Art objects nevertheless hold the power to change the world

physically and to impact their viewers by evoking ideas, emotional states, and social action.

Morphy (2009) critiques Gell’s application of agency, both to humans and objects, stating that

this creates an argument that obscures the overall role of human agency in artistic production,

and lacks a focus on how art can be a mode of action and a way of intervening in the world.

From my perspective intention is an important part of the becoming of Ngan’gi art. After all,

it was the artistic intention among the women of Nauiyu that initiated and has maintained the

Ngan’gi art movement. Furthermore, art objects can also have agency, in the way that they

create particular sensorial, aesthetic reactions among their audience. It is exiting to explore the

impact the agency of art has on social life, people, and relations. However, my perspective

21

differs from that of Gell, as I intend to combine an exploration of artistic intention and art’s

agency with a parallel exploration of the symbolic process of signification in art. I believe, as

pointed out by Taylor (2007) and Morphy (2008), that an exploration of artistic intention will

elucidate how signification processes are actually related to agency, as the communication of

meaning using symbolic forms is continuously negotiated through the creativity and intention

of individual artists. With a primary focus on the agency of the artists, I will explore their

intentions, goals, and expectations when they choose to create art designs for sale.

Thus, when analysing art according to intention it is my interest to locate what Myers (2005)

describes as the “boundaries of Aboriginality,” as they are expressed intentionally through art

by Aboriginal artists. Many Ngan’gi artists produce art with the intent of communicating a

culturally-based identity and their stories to customers, or they use art as a political platform

that can contribute to the levelling out of asymmetrical relations between Aboriginal artists

and white customers (Merlan 1998; Cowlishaw 1999, 2004). I also choose to explore how

intention and motivation in art production varies among the artists within Nauiyu. Whereas

the communication of Aboriginal identity is important to most of these artists, it is

accomplished in different ways, and all have different reasons for choosing an artistic career.

Some artists paint similarly to their elder kin’s teaching throughout their careers, concerned

with the intention of maintaining tradition. Others develop completely different individualised

styles with the intention of standing out in the art market, which might increase their

saleability. One artist can paint as an escape from alcoholism, while the next may cite the

need for income. Consequently, I explore intention in my anthropological analysis of Ngan’gi

art by describing how the artists’ intentions for painting vary and affect their art production,

as well as how the intentions of the artists are affected by the aesthetic judgments their art is

subjected to in the cross-cultural meeting zones of the market.

The art analysis perspectives introduced above will both be applied and critiqued throughout

this thesis, as I analyse Ngan’gi art in more detail. I introduced my theoretical queries by

questioning above what art is, and I have introduced several definitions of art, all originating

in art history (see Morphy 1994: 651), I respond that art holds particular symbolic attributes,

and that art comes into being through circulation in art world institutions, or from artistic’

intentions. Rather than selecting a single definition of art I see them all as sustaining a certain

interconnectedness. The answer to what Ngan’gi art is lies in the attributes of the art itself, its

gradual creation, the intentions of the Ngan’gi artists, and in the representations surrounding

22

Ngan’gi art when circulating under particular circumstances. Together, all of these elements

constitute the art’s existence, being, value, and status. Thus, I assert a broad theoretical

perspective, and the main argument of this thesis is well summarised by my particular

understanding of the term “becoming of art” as introduced by Morphy (2008). My interest in

becoming is also in compliance with a recent intellectual trend of recognising the profoundly

processual nature of art, as suggested by Svašek (2007), Myers (2002), and Appadurai (1986),

by focusing on the processes of art production, its movement, and the different ways in which

it is experienced. To achieve this methodologically, I have decided to escape static approaches

by following the complete path from origin to production of Ngan’gi art, to its distribution

among consumers, focusing on the multiple meanings of the art objects at various points in

their circulation. It is my ambition to illustrate through my analytic approaches how all art,

and including Ngan’gi art, has a processual character, as it is always in a state of emergence.

The case of Ngan’gi art will be introduced in the following section. I will clarify what

characterises the art created by Ngan’gi artists, in particular. I will also illustrate how Ngan’gi

artworks integrate the structures of an entire life-world for these artists, thus, earning their

status as interesting and valid subjects of ethnographic inquiry.

The Creation of Merrepen Arts

In 1984, a small group of senior women, led by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr8, started a Woman

Centre, funded by the Australian government9, which gradually became the focal point for a

thriving art movement in Nauiyu. The women’s endeavours grew out of several motivations:

Their main concern was the need for an adult educator to assist them in developing and

reviving basic educational skills. They also required a site where the elders could sit and

paint, and teach local children Dreamtime stories, painting, and ceremonial practices. Finally,

in a community in which many members struggle with alcoholism, they have a conviction that

providing an alternative location to the pub for social gatherings, and encouraging meaningful

work in the place of idleness, could help to minimise social problems caused by drinking.

8 Ungunmerr as both an educated teacher and former President of the local Nauiyu Nambiyu Council is a central

figure in Nauiyu, which enabled her to propose this initiative and receive support from the local women. 9 The Woman Centre was initially funded by The Department of Community Services and Health, The

Aboriginal Benefit Trust Fund, and The Department of Aboriginal Affairs. The Art Centre was, at the time of my

fieldwork in 2008, funded by the Commonwealth Department of Environment, Water, Heritage and the Arts,

(DEWHA), and by The National Arts and Craft Industry Support Program (NACIS).

23

Named the Magellan House Women Centre, it was officially opened by Don Dale in 1986.10

In 1987, they hired an adult educator who moved to Nauiyu from Perth. Assisted by her, and

motivated by the realisation that painting could also provide vital income, art production

gradually took over as the main activity at this institution. The number of painters, started

from a small group of female artists, has steadily grown, and now also includes many of the

men in the community. In 1993, the name of the now-former Women Centre was changed to

Merrepen Arts, Culture and Language Aboriginal Corporation. The abbreviation Merrepen

Arts is commonly used by artists, customers, and me when describing this art centre.

Merrepen is the Ngan’gi word for sand palm; this name was chosen as a gesture of respect

towards the older, local women. They maintain the knowledge of traditional fibre works

through their continuing production of dilly bags and fishnets of merrepen fibres. The art

produced at Merrepen Arts is also commonly known in the art market simply as merrepen art.

Nevertheless, I elected, as mentioned above, to describe this art as Ngan’gi art. A majority of

the artists I follow in this thesis are Ngan’gi kurunggurr and Ngen’giwumirri speakers. It is

my conviction that using the abbreviation Ngan’gi, rather than labelling their art with the

name of the art centre, identifies the artists more accurately according to their language group

and geographic affiliation. The works of artists of other language groups also producing art at

Merrepen Arts are also referred to in this text according to their language group affiliation.

Ngan’gi artists insist that “our art comes from our Dreaming.” Due to its sacred foundation,

commercial art production at Merrepen Arts grew out of historical and gendered negotiations

between local Nauiyu men and women. Before the women of Nauiyu could realise their

aspiration of painting for personal monetary benefit, they had to discuss with senior men of

Nauiyu, creating a preliminary agreement concerning new practices for public story depiction.

Previous to the Merrepen Arts movement the women of Nauiyu produced traditional fibre

string bags and they made landscape drawings on paper, in styles taught to them by Catholic

nuns. Painting of certain designs on wooden objects such as spears, rock cave walls, bodies,

and in the sand was performed by men and women as ceremonial activities, called durrmu in

Ngan’gi. Such designs depicted Dreamtime stories; personal and kinship-owned Dreamings;

and geographical Homeland sites, passed between generations in kinship-based

10

Don Dale was the Minister for Aboriginal Affairs in the Northern Territory government. The Woman Centre

was named after St. Gerard Magellan, an Italian Roman Catholic monk of the Redemptories Congregation, who

is considered the patron saint of expecting mothers.

24

apprenticeships, where the elders teach the younger (Taylor 2007). I observed in Nauiyu how

ownership of designs includes the right to own land and the knowledge of its Dreamings, but

also the shared responsibility of looking after land and stories; in the words of Stanner (1956),

“to follow up the Dreaming.” Morphy (1991) notes how these practises of narrating and

visually depicting Dreamtime stories were believed among the Yolngu to integrate individuals

with an ancestrally-created world. I observed a similar conviction among the Ngan’gi.

Furthermore, Morphy (1991) describes how, in Aboriginal societies, there exists a separation

between types of inherited and shared knowledge. There are certain Dreamtime stories that

are known by few and maintained in an inner, secret, ritualistic sphere. In contrast, there also

exist Dreamtime stories and designs known by all in a community and present in the outer,

open, public sphere. These two spheres of production, named by Morphy (1991) as “inside”

and “outside,” exist parallel to each other. Among the Ngan’gi, both men and women have

their sacred stories; however, the senior men play an ordained role in maintaining the

ancestrally-instituted cosmological order. This refers to their responsibility of protecting the

“inside,” kinship-owned, sacred and secret designs, ritual objects, Homeland, and Dreamtime

stories from public display, which is based on the belief that, for the knowledge to remain in

existence, it has to be protected and known by few (Myers 1986).

Thus, the disagreement predominantly revolved around issues of controlling and protecting

visual and oral knowledge. The men wanted to maintain control over painting, as a prestigious

medium to transmit and display their knowledge of the Ancestral world, acquired throughout

life.11

Myers claims that the restrictions on public painting are to assure the control of the

elder men who “can convert control of knowledge into authority of younger men and women”

(1986: 157). Therefore, when the women of Nauiyu asked for the right to paint Dreamtime

stories, the men were reluctant to open Dreamtime stories for public depiction, fearing that the

sacred and secret designs under their authority could be revealed. A group of local women

therefore initiated a two-year-long negotiation with the men of Nauiyu, as described by their

leader Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr:

11

Taylor (2007) also claims that among the Kunwinjku, from Western Arnhem Land, there was initially a shared

understanding that painting in public was a male activity, while women should focus on the production of fibre

works. In contrast, Munn (1970, 1973) clarifies the matter by describing that among the Warlbiri, there is a

fundamental difference in men’s and women’s contributions to the maintenance of the Dreaming; male cults

have greater social value, as they are tied to broader concerns of sociality that involves maintaining the total

cosmic order, while female religiosity and their rituals address the issues and dissonance on a more personal,

biological, and family plane of life maintenance.

25

We had a struggle with our men folk here. They did not want to recognize the fact that women

could paint, they kept saying that the women couldn’t paint. I think they were fearful that we might

start painting things from the Dreaming that were sacred and secret ... We argued with them saying

that we only wanted to illustrate stories that are publicly known to us and everybody, that is passed

down and told by ourselves. Then I started getting examples of work from women from Arnhem

Land … telling them that women everywhere are doing carvings and paintings and this seems to be

accepted by their men-folk. So we encouraged them to give their permission too. And people from

outside will come in and they learn from us and they can buy those things from you too, if you

wanted extra pocket money, you know. We argued like that.

In controlling the potential to shift from traditional media visible only to those initiated

through secret sacred ceremonies, to permanent and public art, the senior lawmen (elders) of

each Aboriginal community did hold considerable authority. The discussions between the

men and women of Nauiyu concerning what to paint in designs produced for sale eventually

resulted in the agreement that the women could paint only the safe “outside” designs

commonly known and shared by all in the community, illustrating non-secret Dreamtime

stories. Fortunately, these designs could also be seen by an external art audience. Thus,

cultural conventions, though appearing rigid, did allow for the development of new dynamic

practices. Ungunmerr commented on the interrelation between traditional and modern

elements in her art by stating in an interview: “I do traditional art with new materials, so it is

not the same as doing the art of the old men, so I am not interfering with their art styles. This

is an old and new fashion at the same time!” The painting of Dreamtime stories for sale

illustrates how visual reproduction practices are reorganised, while building on a conventional

distinction, as described above, between “outside” and “inside” knowledge (Morphy 1991).

Ngan’gi artists currently base their designs on less-secret subject-matter originating from the

Ngan’gi public or “outside” Dreamtime stories, their personal and non-secret Homeland

Dreamings, and former public ritual practises. They also make illustrations of their natural

environment and landscape, the bush tucker (foods) they collect in their daily activities guided

by known seasonal signs, and traditional methods of weaving, hunting and gathering. These

artists proudly portray their knowledge and Aboriginal identity. With this community

formerly serving as a Catholic mission, the artists also express their Catholic spirituality by

creating artistic interpretations of Biblical events using traditional stylistic elements, figures

and patterns, and local contextualisation, without referring directly to Ancestral Law. With the

agreement to avoid inside designs as their starting point, the women of Nauiyu began

26

developing a distinctive figurative painting style that includes personalized elements of

Ngan’gi symbols, founded on traditional durrmu. For instance, circles would be applied to

represent certain geographical cites or the heads of figures, with the meaning of each circle

being determined by the design story being illustrated. Thus, the men and women of Nauiyu

retained control of certain secret ceremonial designs, which are not reproduced in commercial

paintings, indicating that other forms of visual art design have existed and may continue to

exist in Nauiyu. This thesis will nevertheless maintain a focus on exploring the particular

commercial art products created by Ngan’gi artists, to be sold at an Aboriginal art market,

both within- and outside of Nauiyu.

From an historical perspective, the commoditising of Dreamtime designs into forms of visual,

saleable acrylic paintings is a relatively new practice. However, I will demonstrate how

Merrepen Arts sustains a specific art production that simultaneously embraces both past and

present artistic practices by separating the sacred and profane between public and non-public

arenas, so that both may coexist in a continuum of creativity. The Ngan’gi artists do

acknowledge certain constraints in their painting practices, manifested in a hierarchical

kinship-based order determining which designs stories one can paint and inherit. Furthermore,

their painting practices can be seen as “relational” because the artists build on networks of

social relations with other artists, those from whom they originally learned to paint using

observation; with whom they share and transmit stories of Ancestral origin; alternative visual

interpretations; and the exploration of new art-producing techniques. Taylor (2007) claims

that the tendency of Aboriginal artists to paint and learn in kinship-based groups and to

illustrate stories believed to have originated in the artists’ shared cosmology, has caused much

anthropologic art analysis to “overstress” the art’s conventional nature, in order to create a

critique and to contrast the individualistic ethics of modern Western art history (Biebuyck

1969; Forge 1973; Layton 1991; Coote et al. 2005). Nevertheless, this thesis will, in line with

other anthropological analyses of Aboriginal art, illustrate that although the artists’

appreciation of the design stories as “conventional” is based on shared knowledge, stories,

and visual traditions, this quality does not exclude the possibility for change and innovation in

technique and the possibility for artistic creativity (Kolig 1981; Connerton 1989; Morphy

1991; Myers 2002; Taylor 2007). Also, Dreamtime designs are integrally bound with social

relations, change, and place, and therefore Merlan (1998) suggests a postmodernist break with

the belief that Dreamtime mythologies are statically rooted in the past in a rigid traditional-

versus-modern dichotomy. Merlan (2000, 2001) claims moreover that even though Aboriginal

27

art embraces a complexity that goes beyond the creativity of one artist, the artistic creativity

of individual artists are important factors in a culturally-grounded art production. Ngan’gi art

is produced by social actors working with their past and present experiences, individual

artistic creativity and shared cultural convention of how to paint certain visual forms, and at

the same time continuously modifying these. Taylor (2007) insists that the analysis of

Aboriginal art needs to be located somewhere in-between the two positions defining artists as

individual social agents and acknowledging how the conditions of small community art

production are both enabling and constraining, I concur with this assessment.

Ngan’gi artists expressed to me how all of their art comes from, and is part of, the Dreaming

in a painted form. When painting personal Homeland Dreamings and shared Dreamtime

stories, the cosmological foundation and the spiritual characteristics of these designs are

explicit, as they are inherited and believed to in themselves reconstitute and manifest the

artists’ connection to Ancestors and the Dreaming. The act of painting seemingly profane

practices of hunting and gathering for various bush tucker is also believed to create a more

implicit, yet nevertheless real relationship to the Dreaming, because the world and all that is

in it is believed to be created by the Ancestors, who remain omnipresent in the world today.

Thus, Ngan’gi artists do take into account cultural conventions of kinship-dependent design

ownership. Nevertheless, shared Dreamings are considered “alive”, dynamic, and continually

modified. Ngan’gi artists also hold a certain stylistic agency when choosing how to paint their

inherited and public Dreamings, dependent on personal style and artistic creativity. The

analysis of Ngan’gi art presented in the following chapters will illustrate how Ngan’gi artists

creatively experiment with forms and colours, their openness to developing new styles, and

the existing individual variation in their art. My ethnographic material will illustrate that the

Ngan’gi artists share an openness to changing art painting practices; nevertheless, the cultural

values, meaning and knowledge on which the art is founded remain unchanged, and the art

holds a great significance to the artists and the community in general. Consequently, Ngan’gi

art production embraces a coexistence of change and continuity.

Ngan’gi artists now manage their own art centre, and they also occasionally exhibit and sell

their art in fine art galleries in Australian cities outside of Nauiyu. Art provides income, a

certain level of artistic recognition, and an arena in which they can present and sell their work

and share their culture with a wider art audience. Merrepen Arts act as a cross-cultural

meeting place, I argue, where the artists perform their stories, values, and sense of

28

“Aboriginality.” The communication of identity is not only achieved visually in art, but also

through a narrated story. The subject-matter of every artwork produced in Nauiyu illustrates a

particular design story, which is provided with each sold painting on a certificate of

authenticity. Thus, current art production is not only motivated by the original intent to

educate local children, but is also providing the opportunity to educate an outside audience.

Because of the performative aspect involved in the production and circulation of paintings,

Ngan’gi artists claim that they are “sharing their culture” through art, and aspire to achieve

recognition that this cultural sharing makes their art far “more than pretty pictures.”12

Ngan’gi art is gradually becoming recognisable in the art market as an example of art that is

typical for the Fitzmaurice region, known for a particular bright and strong colour palette and

a use of extensive decorative details in heavily stylised designs, where some stylistic features

are shared among the artists, while others are personal stylistic features invented by individual

artists. All works of art are integral in transformative processes of value production (Myers

2001; Morphy 2008). The judgment of value is closely related to practices of aesthetic

judgment of art in the art markets, which themselves are highly stratified from the low-end

souvenir shops to fine art galleries. The display in Merrepen Arts includes a broad range of

works and prices because they are consciously adapting to a stratified art market by sustaining

a variety of artworks appealing to the differentiated preferences of art centre visitors. Ngan’gi

artists proudly declare “we cater for everyone!” Acrylic paintings made by the established

artists are sold for as much as 6,000 AUD, while printed t-towels and t-shirts are available for

less than 20 AUD. Thus, Ngan’gi art represents works that can be judged as so-called “high”

or fine art and “low” art or souvenirs, whose value is continuously adjusted according to the

tastes and ideologies of larger economies (Graburn 1976; Appadurai 1986).

The gradual creation of Ngan’gi art into saleable paintings illustrates how art is a processual

product that is gradually developed with changes in society. Ngan’gi artists are members of a

local Aboriginal community and participants in an interconnected art market. They have

created, through local negotiations artistic forms that illustrate their particular place in the

world; these artworks balance revelation and secrecy of their Dreaming, to concurrently

satisfy the desires of both art producers and art consumers. A short concluding comment will

12

Myer’s (2002) describes this same notion among the Pintupi who also express that, for them, art possesses a

cultural value different than the value it is given in the art markets, because the subjectivity expressed in art is

grounded in and associated with country, law, and important Ancestral myths from the Dreaming.

29

briefly reframe the theoretical perspective of the anthropological art analysis of the

ethnographic case of Ngan’gi art that follows in this thesis.

Summary

An anthropological approach to art should, in my view, attempt to create wide and unbounded

definitions of what art is by avoiding univocal interpretations. Instead of applying one,

possibly limiting, and assumed universal definition of art, I want to consider how the various

properties of art are interrelated and mutually constituted. Art is always in a state of

“becoming,” emerging from the many creative discourses existing within the structures of art

word circulation (Myers 2002; Morphy 2008). I follow the perspectives of Morphy (2008)

and Svašek (2007) who focus on art as processual objects that are communicative or

representative and created through their participation in social contexts; thus, they are deeply

embedded in culture, history, politics, and economy. My ambition in this thesis is to develop

an analytical framework that builds on their notion of art as processual, which, I argue, is the

most rewarding method of capturing the “essence” of art. My contribution is to use this

perspective to bring into juxtaposition the cultural, practical, and contextual art making; the

dynamic and creative thinking, artistic communication and intention; and the art market

judgment, which together constitute the becoming of Ngan’gi art.

The women of Nauiyu initiated their art movement with a growing desire to use art as a

means to communicate the stories of their culture. Painting has also become important for

income, but it is still largely motivated by the sharing of Aboriginal stories to achieve

recognition of a culturally different identity these artists have by being an indigenous

minority. The creation of saleable art in Nauiyu resulted from extensive local design

negotiation and incorporates a revival of cultural and conventional painting practices and

visual forms through artistic creativity. Each Ngan’gi piece of art has a total “life cycle,” in

which I seek to capture every step of creation. Founded on Ngan’gi cosmological concepts of

the Dreaming, each design communicates a particular meaning through certain semantic

attributes and stylistic idiosyncrasies that are innovatively created by the Ngan’gi artists. Once

their art is exhibited and sold, it is subjected to aesthetic judgments made by a diversified

group of market participants. Their appreciation is furthermore founded on continually

changing criteria for art critique, influenced by trends in the market and by personal

preferences. As the artists are dependent on selling their work, such art market judgments

30

have become a major factor in influencing how Ngan’gi artists develop their art designs.

Furthermore, the locally-run art centre is dependent on governmental funding based on often

shifting policies concerning the support of local art production. For local employees, their

entanglement with both business laws and kinship obligations based on Aboriginal Law, has

proven challenging.

In anthropological research, it is necessary to analyse the relationship between all of these

codes of meaning and the cultural contexts of interrelated art production, circulation, and

representation. For the Ngan’gi, being an artist from an indigenous minority is a mixed

blessing. Throughout the thesis, I will be questioning how the institutional structures of art

world contexts and government policies supporting Aboriginal art production provide the

means for the artists of Nauiyu to realise their artistic vision, but simultaneously limit their

artistic freedom with certain demands and preferences.

The Chapters

This introductory chapter is followed by eight central chapters, before ending with a

concluding epilogue. This thesis narrates the single case of capturing the totality of the

becoming of Ngan’gi art though three main parts, each focused on answering one of my three

research objectives presented initially. Repeating them briefly, they concern an approach to

the field of investigation by describing the socio-historical context of Nauiyu and Ngan’gi art

production at Merrepen Arts. This is followed by an analysis of the developing Ngan’gi art

designs. Lastly, the circulation of Ngan’gi art in art world contexts is explored. Together these

three thesis sections provides each aspect that illuminate the becoming of Ngan’gi art; as the

art is constituted by interrelated artistic intention, particular artistic attributes, and art

circulation. To illustrate the diversity in Ngan’gi designs and art techniques, I will incorporate

suitable illustrations in the text through the thesis.

Writing about art is, I suggest, writing about society and social processes in general. Thus, the

first of the three main parts of this thesis describes the origin of Ngan’gi art, the particular

locality of the society and art centre it originates from, and the people who create the art; this

provides an analytical framework for the entire text.

31

This thesis starts by presenting the methodology of my ethnographic fieldwork of the Ngan’gi

art movement at my primary site of research, Nauiyu Nambiyu. Describing my methods

illustrates the particular methodological and ethical implications of conducting

anthropological research on art, while assuming the role of an “employee” at Merrepen Arts.

Chapter 2 sets the ethnographic and empirical scene by introducing the artists’ life-world and

home, Nauiyu Nambiyu. Introducing the people of Nauiyu, I illustrate how their lives, social

practices, and art production are founded on their Dreamtime cosmology, including

geographic origin, kinship system and language groups. The place Nauiyu is explored

historically as a gradual establishment from a Catholic Mission Station to a locally-managed

community structure. My historical contextualisation illustrates how interpretations of the past

can guide our understandings of the present. Thus, presenting the historical foundation of

Merrepen Arts, I visualise the artists’ intention of gradually transforming their kinship-owned

visual forms into sellable, commercial art. Furthermore, evident from my descriptions of the

social practices of everyday life in general is how Ngan’gi art is fundamentally connected to

its context of production.

Chapter 3 continues the contextualisation of art production by describing the non-artistic sides

of management of a local art centre business. Merrepen Arts is a meeting place where

continuing negotiations take place between the artists, employees, customers, and government

representatives. In the Merrepen Arts organisation official management is affected by deeply

entangled internal and external structures. Internal structures encompass practical, relational,

social, and kinship-based ways of being, while external structures include official governance

and employment structures, judicial and corporate laws, federal policies, and funding bodies.

These structures coexist within Merrepen Arts, and the artists have to balance them in their

daily employment, art production and circulation, management, and performance of

administrative authority. An exploration of management practices illustrates how these

structures are governed by different, and occasionally conflicting, forms of rationality and

practices that both enable and limit art production and artistic autonomy. Because I apply a

broad and processual definition of art, I argue that extensive accounts of these “non-artistic”

management sides of art production, as well as socio-historical and cosmological accounts of

contemporary community life, also contribute to the becoming of Ngan’gi art.

32

Chapter 4 introduces the second part of the thesis, beginning the analysis of Ngan’gi art by

describing all of the art media produced with various and material art production techniques at

Merrepen Arts. Using a performative perspective I define material culture as materialisations

to capture how the skill-based “doing” of art production is active, dynamic and relational.

Through situated learning, the Ngan’gi artists appropriate cultural conventions concerning

which kinship-owned designs they can paint and how, by imitating their elders. Ngan’gi

artists also receive a technical art education at Merrepen Arts. Initially I question how the

concern for authenticating traditionalism that Aboriginal art has been subjected to in the art

market, may have affected the development of Ngan’gi art production. A second challenge

surrounding the production and circulation of Aboriginal art was the issue of copyright, and I

explore how copyright laws had to be changed in recognition of particular Aboriginal art

production practices. I illustrate in Chapter 4 how an exploration of material art production

practices is, in actuality, an exploration of the sociality of Ngan’gi art.

Chapter 5 sets out to provide a detailed analysis of the continually transforming designs in

Ngan’gi acrylic paintings. I describe how Ngan’gi designs develop stylistically and are

depictions of stories communicating particular subject-matter. These subjects emanate from

the artists’ knowledge of cosmology, rituals, practices of hunting and gathering, notion of

season, as well as their Catholic religiosity. Ngan’gi art designs are defined as sustaining a

dynamic system of representation, as they encode multiple layers of meaning in a culturally-

specific use of visual styles and symbolic signs. My analysis of the symbolism used in

particular designs will explore the relationship between the painted form and the

communicated meaning, where one is a manifestation of the other. I further supersede former

anthropological art analysis of Aboriginal art by contributing with my perspective of how

Ngan’gi art is created in the cross-section between cultural painting conventions and

individual artistic creativity.

Chapter 6 continues my analysis of Ngan’gi paintings with a goal of illustrating how personal

artistic development is significant to the becoming of Ngan’gi art. Presenting short artist

biographies and several artworks produced over a long period by a group of prolific Merrepen

Arts artists, I reveal general similarities and individual variation in Ngan’gi art. Furthermore,

I illustrate how Ngan’gi artists have to balance out personal artistic creativity with learned

cultural painting conventions, as well as considering art market demands, and managing

events in their personal lives, when forging their own artistic paths.

33

Having mainly focused on Ngan’gi art in the first six chapters, part three of the thesis

broadens my perspective by describing how Aboriginal art in general, and Ngan’gi art

specifically, is influenced by their entanglement with the representative practices of many

stratified art world contexts. Chapter 7 explores particular exhibition practices, that of art

appreciation and art presentation, which I refer to as the “seeing” and “showing” of art that

contributes directly, I argue, towards making objects come into existence as art. I illustrate

how art circulation provides the opportunity for artistic recognition and cross-cultural

communication, while simultaneously limiting artistic autonomy and creative freedom. I

maintain a focus on how the Ngan’gi artists’ codes of interaction and motivation for painting

may be conflicting with that of the customer. Ngan’gi art is both included and excluded from

representation in certain art market contexts, and subjected to aesthetic judgment and art

categorisations, and I reveal how this may affect artistic status and art production.

Chapter 8 continues with an empirical focus on the showing of Aboriginal art by exploring in

detail the social practises involved in the presentation of art in four public art exhibiting

institutions. Commercial art galleries, a national art gallery, an art museum, and Merrepen

Arts are described and compared, to be able to identify the authority that art curators and art

showing institutions hold, when representing Aboriginal art from all over Australia.

The Epilogue concludes the thesis by briefly summarising the general argument of the

dissertation concerning how art is fundamentally a processual and social concept. The socio-

historical context of art production, the attributes of the art, the artists’ intention, and art

circulation incorporate processes that each in different, yet, significant ways contribute to the

development and various conceptualisations of Ngan’gi art.

34

PART I

35

1

METHODS IN ETHNOGRAPHIC FIELDWORK:

STEPS TO EMPIRICAL RESEARCH

The primary site for my ethnographic fieldwork of the Ngan’gi art movement was Nauiyu

Nambiyu. This is a small Aboriginal community located 220 kilometres south-west of

Darwin, in the Fitzmaurice region on the border of Arnhem Land, in the Northern Territory

(N. T.) of Australia. The empirical material of this thesis is based on two fieldwork trips: one

conducted for six months in 2003 for my master’s thesis, and the second a yearlong stay from

August 2007 until July 2008 for this thesis. The findings and analysis of this thesis build on

new information, as well as that of my master’s thesis written in 2005.13

The networks I

established with the Ngan’gi artists of Nauiyu in my first field work provided a useful

foundation, upon which I built and extended for my second fieldwork stay.

Aboriginal art is, as described in the Introduction, fundamentally connected to its context of

production. The intention of my research was therefore to focus on local art production as a

point of entry to understand the artists’ being in the world. Through an exploration of the

dynamic becoming of Ngan’gi art, I will capture the artists’ intentions for doing art, describe

the creative continuum between past and present painting practices, and uncover how this

cultural performance through art market entanglement reflects an Aboriginal identity. The

Ngan’gi art movement began in a small community, yet features quite a wide art distribution.

Moreover, at Merrepen Arts I was given the opportunity to observe art production and

participate in art centre management and art sales, and as such to follow the art as it moved

through every stage of circulation. This art movement accordingly provided a particularly

13

If this thesis is to be readable for those unfamiliar with my master’s thesis, “We paint The Story of our

Culture! A study of the Aboriginal Art Movement at Merrepen Art Centre, Daly River,” some repetitions are

unavoidable. Certain information concerning the kinship system, language, cosmology, historical and

geographical facts have to be presented again. Regardless, I apply a different framework for this thesis, with a

more elaborate contextual exploration of the field and a broader range of research themes.

36

useful resource for my theoretical ambition of exploring the becoming of Ngan’gi art, with a

focus on value creation, gradual emergence, and circulation.

This thesis is empirically based throughout on material such as selected field note sections

and interview statements, which will be presented using the “ethnographic present” form of

description. I am aware of the critique of the use of ethnographic presence. As noted by

MacClenny (1997), it can contribute to an interpretation of societies as isolated, timeless, and

homeostatic systems. Michaels has also criticised the “ethnographic present” for masking the

actual discourses taking place between a researcher and informants in a manner that renders

“the author disguised, and the subject objectified” (1994: 139), creating a failure to recognise

that ethnography is a reflexive and ongoing practice. Thus, I will be presenting my analysis of

my empirical material in the past tense, which represents my attempt to illustrate how my

research and informant interaction constitutes past moments in time, taking place in dynamic

discourse and within continuingly changing and developing societies.

I will present methodological concerns relevant to my thesis in four sections. Initially I give a

general time outline of the fieldwork by presenting where and when I conducted my research

for my PhD. Then, I present the fieldwork methods I employed when I was doing

ethnography in Nauiyu, while simultaneously pondering the particular ethical considerations

these methods imply. I describe and query my participant observations in everyday life, my

role as an “employee” at Merrepen Arts, and my gathering of interviews and narratives.

Finally, I discuss the methodological implications of performing research on visual art.

Outline of Fieldwork in Time and Space

When I arrived together with my husband in Darwin, N.T. on the 20th

of August 2007 Aaron

Kingangu McTaggart, who was my informant, and became my friend and “brother” in my last

fieldwork, picked us up and drove us the four hours into the Nauiyu. Although Nauiyu was

my main research site, I also made several short research excursions during my fieldwork in

2007-8, to Darwin, Canberra, Sydney, Melville Island, and Maningrida. These research trips,

which will be described below, were motivated mainly by my interest in familiarising myself

with the workings of the art worlds, by visiting various art exchanging contexts. I wanted to

explore how other local art centres, urban galleries, and museums in these areas circulate and

represent Aboriginal art. These trips also provided me with the opportunity to meet key

37

individuals experienced in anthropological art analysis and the Aboriginal art market, who

could advice my research on Ngan’gi art. Thirdly, I wanted to compare stylistic and medium

differences between Aboriginal arts produced in several regions. Therefore, after spending a

week in Nauiyu to catch up with previous friends and informants, I initiated my first research

trip to Maningrida, a community located on the coast of north central Arnhem Land.14

I was focusing on briefly exploring the art and forms of art centre management of the

Maningrida Art and Culture Centre, providing me with a comparative perspective to the art

and management at Merrepen Arts. During the two weeks I stayed in the community, I spent

most of my time at the local art centre. There, I informally interviewed the art coordinator; I

performed maintenance work with the art centre employees, met with a few of the artists

present, and spoke with customers who visited the art centre. I had the opportunity to visit the

local art museum “Djomi” (water creature) and two artists in their homes. I also made a trip

out to the bush with two employees assisting, them in gathering jungle vine for fibre products.

Maningrida Arts is a much larger art centre than Merrepen Arts, with over 350 active artists

from several language groups, the largest being Kunwinjku, Rembarrnga, Dangborn,

Gungurongi, and Djinang. Most of the artists produce their work in their homes, rather than at

the art centre, as they do in Nauiyu. Further, with few visitors to the community, they sold

most of their works through urban fine art galleries and on the internet. They had much

national and international recognition and participated in approximately 20 exhibitions

annually. The works they produced were mainly bark paintings, wooden carvings, and fibre

crafts. Despite my brief stay, I achieved a valuable peek into an art production and form of art

centre management quite different from that of Merrepen Arts.

14

Maningrida is located on Aboriginal land, owned and managed by local Traditional Owners. In Australian

Governmental history, the Aboriginal Land Rights Act was ratified in 1976, recognising the Aboriginal people’s

ownership rights to land based on traditional occupation. Aborigines could be granted ownership provided that

the claimants could prove their belonging to a local descent group defined as Traditional Owners of the area

(Duelke 2005). The judicial definition of a Traditional Owner: “in relation to land, means a local descent group

of Aboriginals who (a) have in common spiritual affiliations to a site on the land, being affiliations that place the

group under a primary spiritual responsibility for that site and for the land; and (b) are entitled by Aboriginal

tradition to forage as of right over that land” (Aboriginal Land Rights Act. 1976: § 3 [1]). A permit is required to

visit or conduct research in such areas. The Northern Land Council (NLC) consults Traditional Owners

represented by local councils when granting research permits. I applied to NLC for a research permit months

ahead of the fieldwork, by writing a report concerning my research proposals. My research permit was granted

and I collected it from the NLC office in Darwin upon my arrival in August 2007.

38

Returning to Nauiyu in September 2007, I was planning another short comparative research

trip to the Arnhem Land region while it was still accessible in the dry season. I managed,

through contacts at the NLC, to gain a research permit to do fieldwork at the Milingimbi Art

and Cultural Aboriginal Centre, on the coast of Central Arnhem Land. However, at this point

in time, the artists and employees at Merrepen Arts approached me, asking me not to leave.

We were in the middle of participating in a workshop called “Stepping Stones for Tourism,”

which revealed the Merrepen employees’ desire to arrange a fibre work tour. They requested

my assistance in developing this and other projects they had planned for at the art centre. I

therefore decided to cancel this trip and spend more of my research time in Nauiyu and at

Merrepen Arts. This would provide me with even more substantial descriptions of the art in

this community, where I had a formerly established a network of informants. Thus, I remained

in Nauiyu from August 2007 until January 2008, spending my days in the art centre and

community, described in more detail below.

In mid-January, I initiated my second research trip to Darwin, where I was asked to

participate in meetings concerning Merrepen Arts management. Together with the manager, I

participated in several meetings with some of the art centre’s funding bodies, Top End

Marketing, The National Australian Bank (NAB), and ENI Australia (an international

integrated energy company). Aboriginal art centres are often non-profit organisations

dependent on governmental funding. This funding will support management; however, for an

art centre to realise plans for festivals and exhibitions, they also depend on the continuing

efforts of the management to locate additional financial support. Participating in these

meetings I realised how demanding this search for funding is.

Our second obligation in Darwin was a three-day meeting with Angus Cameron, who was

appointed to act as a mentor for the Merrepen Arts manager by the Association of Northern

Kimberley and Arnhem Aboriginal Artists (ANKAAA). Cameron was to produce a Merrepen

Arts Business Plan 2008-2010 in cooperation with the Merrepen manager.15

My role was that

of an observer. However, I assisted the manager when interpreting the management

legislation that Cameron had encouraged Merrepen Arts management to follow. This gave me

15

The project was one of ANKAAA’s Business Development Projects funded by the Commonwealth

Government under the Indigenous Small Business Fund. This fund is administered by the Department of

Education, Employment, and Workplace Relations (DEEWR).

39

insight concerning how local art centre management is assisted by government projects, and

yet simultaneously how business legislation can be limiting and demanding in its execution.

The manager returned to Nauiyu, while I continued with my research trip from the 20th

of

January until the 10th

of February. This included visits to many Aboriginal art exchanging

institutions, and arranged meetings with key contacts in Darwin, Canberra, and Sydney.16

In

every context, I performed informal interviews with the persons I met. Their first-hand

knowledge of how Aboriginal art circulates in the art market has proven valuable to my

research. When talking to Aboriginal art curators, I made enquiries concerning how they

price, categorise, present, and interpret the art. This provided me with insight into how the

fine art market in these major cities represents Aboriginal art. I also explored possible art

market trends by questioning curators concerning customers’ reactions and preferences. The

anthropologists I met advised me on my perspective concerning anthropological research on

art, and on methodological concerns I had due to my close participation with Merrepen Arts

management. I met with a curator and an art historian who had knowledge of the earliest

Merrepen Arts exhibition in 1986. These contacts provided me with a historical perspective

on the beginning of the Ngan’gi art movement, their views on the developing Ngan’gi styles,

and an assessment of how Ngan’gi art is conceived in many art world contexts.

I returned to Nauiyu on the 11th

of February and continued my fieldwork there, participating

in everyday life, art sales, production, and various projects at Merrepen Arts. In mid-May, I

made a two-week-long research trip to Munupi Arts located at Pularumpi, Melville Island,

which is part of the Tiwi Islands. I offered to do voluntary work at Munupi Arts and assisted

the art coordinator with registration of artworks and sales in the gallery. In return, I was given

the opportunity to observe art production performed at the art centre, and to interact with and

interview local artists. The art medium, styles and cosmological base of the design stories

were quite different than those in Ngan’gi art. The artists were specialising in media such as

wood carvings, and had their own pottery style, selling ceramics painted with grinded ochre.

16

In Darwin I visited the Museum and Art Gallery of the Northern Territory (MAGNT), “Aboriginal Fine Arts

Gallery,” and “Framed. The Darwin Gallery,” “Raft,” “Nomad,” and “the Outstation.” In Canberra I visited

Canberra National Museum of Australia where I paid special attention to their exhibition “Papunya Paintings out

of the Desert.” I also visited the National Gallery of Australia (NGA) in Canberra to see their “Cultural

Warriors” exhibition. In Sydney I visited the Museum of Contemporary art, and the galleries “Utopia,”

“Agathon,” and “Aboriginal and Pacific Art.” I had also arranged meetings with social anthropologists, art

historians, Aboriginal art consultants, and art curators. These individuals are presented in the acknowledgements.

40

Thus, once again this research trip allowed me to observe another form of art centre

management and the production of a different regional variation of Aboriginal art.

After participating in the 21st Merrepen Arts Festival and the beginning of the dry season’s

“bush holidays,” I ended my fieldwork in Nauiyu in mid-June 2008. Departing the

community, I initiated my final research trip, motivated not only by my desire to observe

Aboriginal art exchanging contexts, but also to purchase Aboriginal art for the Museum of

Cultural History. I was given funding with the request of complementing the Museum’s

Australian collection with contemporary Aboriginal art.

Before leaving Darwin, I attended the TOGART Contemporary Art Award N.T. 2008, held at

the new Darwin Convention Centre. The types of media, designs, and styles they chose to

represent in this award exhibition reflected, in an interesting manner, current trends in the

Aboriginal art market. I travelled for two weeks from Darwin to Katherine and through

Australia’s red centre to Alice Springs, Adelaide, Canberra, and Sydney. I visited several

local and urban art galleries and museums on the way, where I observed and acquisitioned art,

with the intent to illustrate stylistic and regional diversity in my collection. We visited

Yuendumu’s art centre, Warlukurlangu Arts, located in the Central Desert 300 kilometres

north west of Alice Springs, where I met with the art curator and local artists. I visited Santa

Teresa outside Alice Springs. In the local art centre Keringke Arts, the artists showed me their

innovative production of painted ceramic mannequins and hands mounted on wooden blocks.

My observations made me aware of the increasingly competitive nature of the Aboriginal art

market, and the creativity with which the artists responded, in an effort to stand out. During

this trip I visited several Aboriginal art galleries and museum exhibitions.17

With the interest

of comparing art representation practices and regional styles, some of my observations from

these Aboriginal art exchanging contexts are given in Chapter 8.

17

In Alice Springs I visited “Irrkerlantye Arts,” Alice Springs Convention Centre, “Papunya Tula Artists,” “the

Aboriginal Desert Art Gallery,” “Gallery Gondwana,” and “Gallery Mbantua.” In Cooper Pedy I visited

“Underground Art.” In Adelaide I visited the South Australian Museum, in particular viewing their exhibition

“Kunmadj njalehnjaleken – Twined Together,” feathering fibre works from Kunwinjku women from

Gunbalanya, Oenpelli, and Injalak.

41

Research Methods and Ethical Considerations When Doing Ethnography

In between research trips I spent 10 months in Nauiyu in 2007-8 and 6 months in 2003. My

research objectives were answered through ethnographic research, in which the main method

for gathering empirical material during my ethnographic field research was long-term

participant observation, collection of in-depth interviews, and narratives. Thus, during this

period I was living in the community and taking an active part in everyday life by working at

Merrepen Arts and participating in various public events. A field situation such as this is

always unique and offers a multitude of ethical and practical considerations. My research was

guided by the Guidelines for Research Ethics in the Social Sciences, Law and Humanities

agreed upon by the NESH (den nasjonale forskningsetiske komité for samfunnsvitenskap og

humaniora) on the 15th

of February 1999 and revised in Spring 2005. Further, I also adhered

to the Guidelines for Ethical research in Indigenous Studies (GERIS) developed by AIATSIS,

to inform research among indigenous people in Australia.

One of the essential concerns in GERIS is the importance of all participants of research

understanding the aims and methods of the research. The anthropological discipline has

become increasingly sensitive of the authority and the positioned nature of the anthropologist

as both researcher and author. I perceived one of my most basic responsibilities as a

researcher in the field to properly communicate my research goals. The informants have a

right to know the goals of the research. Thus, I provided a written research proposal to the

Local Nauiyu Nambiyu Council and the Merrepen Arts employees and artists. This came in

addition to explaining orally and repeatedly throughout my fieldwork that my observations

and the interviews I performed would be used in a Ph.D. thesis. It was also important for me

not to violate the informant’s right to privacy and not to reveal in writing observations that

were not intended for the public eye. Therefore, when occasionally in conversation an

informant would say after revealing a secret, “do not put that in your book,” I always obliged.

I made no secret of my continuing taking of notes, and upon request I would share notes with

those interested in reading my descriptions of certain events, exhibitions, or public meetings. I

also made it clear that my research in the Nauiyu community and Merrepen Arts was founded

on their informed consent. I was there on their terms. Further, participation in my research,

particularly in interviews, was voluntary, and subjects could withdraw at all times.

42

Concerning anonymity, I asked my informants whether or not they wanted me to write about

them and their art with their full names. All of the Aboriginal artists I spoke with declined the

option of anonymity. They were proud of their art and saw my research as a way of sharing

their art and stories with people in other parts of the world. Also, they wanted their artworks

to be presented with the name of the artist; thus, anonymity for the artists is not attempted in

my research or in the thesis text. However, because I am discussing management issues that

could be considered of a sensitive nature, I have chosen to provide anonymity for the former

and present managers and art coordinators of Merrepen Arts.

Participant Observation in Nauiyu

I came to Nauiyu for the first time in August 2003 to perform fieldwork for my master’s

thesis, by gathering empirical material through long-term participant observation.18

For me

the most important part of this research method is my participation. To enable my goal of

capturing the becoming of Ngan’gi art I wanted to live in the community of the artists,

observe closely their art production, and participating in the daily running of the art centre

where their art was exhibited and sold. This was achieved, at the time of my first fieldwork,

by initially contacting Merrepen Arts through the Northern Land Council in Darwin and

providing the art centre and the Local Community Council with my research proposal. I was

invited and brought to the community by the current art coordinator. She claimed an interest

in my proposed research, but was also in need of a temporary worker to assist the artists in

management while she took a two-week leave. I rented a small room at a local Inn the

Leadership Centre. On my first day in Nauiyu the art coordinator introduced me to some of

the artists. A group of women was sitting around painting at the art centre and they all shyly

shook my hand while giving me their English names. I soon discovered, however, that among

each other they used Aboriginal names, only giving their English Catholic names when

introducing themselves to “white fellas” or a mityity (white European woman) such as myself.

I gave them a short presentation of my research proposal, and expressed my interest in

learning about their art. Marrfurra responded by saying they were happy that foreigners were

interested in learning about their art, culture, and way of life.

18

The method of participant observation, though it has been under some criticism in what has been named the

“writing culture critique” (cf Clifford et al. 1986; Marcus et al. 1986; Geertz 1989; Hastrup 1995), still holds a

defining position in social anthropology.

43

When the art coordinator took her two-week leave, I administrated the art sales, initially

establishing my role as a co-worker at Merrepen Arts. Within days, I witnessed how the

tourists who visited Nauiyu would stare for many minutes at the painting artists, photograph

them without asking for permission, and often leave without purchasing much more than a

postcard. This behaviour created much resentment among the artists. As a white foreign

woman I could easily be associated with the tourists. I therefore made a conscious decision to

avoid this association. I put away my camera, dressed similarly to the local women with long

skirts, t-shirt, my hair in a tight pony tail, and no makeup. My method from early on was to

work with the artists assisting art production preparations, maintenance, and general gallery

work. Gradually my interaction with the artists increased. I showed my interest in their art by

asking questions and giving compliments when it seemed appropriate. The women, especially

Patricia Marrfurra, Gracie Kumbi, Benigna Ngulfundi, and Molly Yawalminy, took me under

their wings. They introduced me to other areas in the community when I visited them at their

homes, walked with them to the store, the church, community meetings, and “out bush.”

I perceived personal involvement with informants as a necessity, and during this first

fieldwork I became adopted as a family member, which is a common practice among

Aborigines due to their kinship system being “classificatory” rather than “descriptive”

(Barnard 2002). According to the Ngan’gi, kin relations are dynamic and not simply given by

biological descent, but also worked out in social processes. Each individual can extend his or

her kinship relations through life, choosing to include people he or she interacts with, and

share experiences and life-world with, who were not from birth a part of the kinship system.

Ngan’gi kinship practice will be described in more detail in the following chapter. The

assistant manager at Merrepen Arts at the time of my first field work trip was the first to begin

referring to me as sister aba, after sharing much time with me on many bush trips and

working closely together at the art centre. Consequently, I was also adopted by his mothers

and grandmothers. Thus, in the community, several of the young men and women called me

aba, sister. Many of the well-established artists and middle-aged women became my mothers,

kala, and several of the older women became my grandmothers, makali.

On arriving for my second fieldwork in Nauiyu in 2007, I could build on this network of

friends, informants, and adopted kin I had established in 2003. Driving in to the community

with my “brother,” we received a warm welcome, visiting the houses of my informants. In my

first fieldwork my informants soon noticed that I missed my husband when I phoned him

44

every night. They said “you have to bring him with you the next time you come, so you can

stay longer.” Thus, they were pleased that I arrived for my second fieldwork together with

him. He was immediately incorporated into my network by being my husband. They took him

out bush several times the first week we spent in the community in July 2007, constitutive his

acceptance. During this second fieldwork I was given the Ngan’gi name Animba, meaning

yellow tree snake, after a shared snake experience in the gallery.19

This close connection to

my informants resulted in “thicker” ethnographic material and access to knowledge that may

otherwise have been restricted.

During my second fieldwork my husband and I were offered residence in an upstairs house

built for the former Merrepen Arts art coordinator. The house was currently empty because

the current local manager preferred to live in his own house. My husband and I accepted this

generous offer. During the fieldwork, I met with several people from different backgrounds

that were, in various ways, involved in Merrepen Arts management. This place gave us the

possibility of housing such visitors to Nauiyu. This provided me with the opportunity to have

informal conversations or interviews and to share their knowledge concerning the history of

Nauiyu and Merrepen Arts, their views on the artists and on art development.20

Going “Out Bush”

Participation in the Ngan’gi people’s everyday life meant going on regular hunting and

gathering trips out in the bush. I was invited along by the women shortly after my first arrival

in the community, which I was informed later, was a token of acceptance. My participation in

bush trips not only helped me to build rapport with my informants, but it also acquainted me

with the activities they depict in their bush tucker designs, which proved helpful for my art

analysis. Thus, on weekends and afternoons, I participated in the various seasonal activities of

hunting, fishing, gathering of vegetables and fruits, and food preparation out bush. Presented

from an excerpt of my field notes in October 2003 is one such bush trip:

19

A yellow tree snake came towards me as I was working in the gallery and caused great commotion and

excitement among the employees. Such shared experience is another rock in the foundation that builds a kinship

relation between myself and the locals of Nauiyu. 20

My house guests included the first manager at Merrepen Arts. She came to the community as an adult

educator and helped to facilitate the early move from education to art production. Sister Susan Daily, a silk

artist, stayed with us for a week while teaching a silk painting workshop. She knew the Ngan’gi artists well after

returning to the community over years to conduct silk painting workshops. Fiona Syvier was another visiting

artist who came regularly to the art centre, performing painting workshops with the local artists.

45

It is early Monday morning. Ten year old Kieren, a group of women, and I have all gone bush

again, this time to gather mimuy (long yam). We wander into the scorching hot bush towards a

steep hill. The air is vibrating from the heat; about plus 42 degrees centigrade. The cicadas are

singing loudly, green ants biting us on our legs as we walk. We climb the large hill looking for the

thin brown or grey veins amongst the rocks revealing where the yams are growing underground.

They are difficult to spot in the dense vegetation, but the women have a trained eye and see them

where I see absolutely nothing. Upon locating the veins we remove all the large rocks covering the

area, then check if the root is thin and just ending or thick enough to sustain a growing yam. Using

the crowbar and our hands we dig up the roots. Marrfurra advises us to “dig from the bottom”;

meaning that we follow the tuber down deeper and deeper into the ground until we reach the end,

then we carefully loosen it from the bottom up, not to break it. The work is quite exhausting.

Patricia spots a blue tongue lizard, in spite of its brown patterned and well camouflaged skin. They

immediately decide to kill it and bring it back to be eaten later in camp. Kieren knocks it on the

head with a stick until it is motionless. We keep on digging for hours and hours shovelling sand

with our hands. The women decide to split up and I follow Marrfurra. Walking with her she tells

me the names of the birds singing and suggests where to dig. The women are constantly calling out

to each other hollering over the hill when digging: “Em (is) that a big one bolla got’m (you have

found)?” “No, little on!” When the gathering is at an end we have in all six little tubers. They play

jokes on me when we meet up saying “You gone black now,” as I am completely covered in black

dirt from the digging. I feel that they appreciated my participation, digging in the dry ground all

day, in the heat. At this moment they jokingly gave me a new name that will stick, calling me

“bush Maria,” which renders me a growing feeling of belonging.

This bush trip is presented because it illustrates how my participation in bush activities

constituted the foundation of my gradual acceptance in the community.

“Employee” at Merrepen Arts

In the second fieldwork I continued my participant observation with much focus on the local

art centre, and my roles at Merrepen Arts proved intricate. In the field, there is the

methodological and ethical challenge of acquiring a new and different set of roles that

occasionally conflict and may influence many situations (Wadel 1991). At Merrepen Arts I

was a researcher observing and documenting events, but I was also given the opportunity to

act in a role resembling an unpaid employee allowed to participate in the administrative work.

According to an agreement I made with the current local manager, I could work at the art

46

centre without remuneration and in return be allowed to access their archives, observe art

production, and interact with customers and the artists.

As an art centre employee, I was given the opportunity to work with the artists and act on

their behalf, being expected to do so by both customers and other employees. My

“employment” at Merrepen Arts created a situation that was, for the most, part beneficial for

my research because I became “part of their team.” This provided me the opportunity to

assume an insider’s perspective on the art production, and it contributed to my acceptance and

close connection with the artists and Merrepen Arts employees. While, fruitful in terms of

access and participation, my “employment” at the art centre created roles that were not

entirely unproblematic, and I am aware of the methodological problems related to my roles. In

the moments of sharing in the field, I alternated between the role of participant and observer.

A theoretic perspective that depicts me as an “objective observer” or the “passive other” will

hence be discarded in favour of perceiving myself as an enquiring and participating subject.

To initially describe the benefits of my participation in Merrepen Arts management, I saw it

as my way of “giving back” to the community by offering my work free of charge. My first

major concern when performing research on art was to respect and uphold the copyright or

indigenous cultural property rights of the artists. Aboriginal copyright is concerned with

collective rights in sacred designs owned by family groups (McCulloch 1999), versus the

Western copyright, which is focused on individual and economic rights (Simons 2000). The

National Australian state law are in a state of adaptation and has developed a judicial

framework in attempting to cover both areas of interest in these conflicting concepts, which

will be described in Chapter 4. Therefore, although I am aware that my mere presence is a

form of intervention (Spradley et al. 1976), I attempted non-intervention when art production

was concerned. I limited the effect of the intervention of my presence and respect the art as

cultural property by avoiding a direct influence of their art by not ever making critiquing

comments on their work. Moreover, I did not produce paintings myself, which would be

breeching Aboriginal notions of copyright where many designs are owned by kinship groups.

I regarded it as important to also have authorisation from the design-owning families and the

individual artists before I reproduced or photographed any of the Ngan’gi artworks.

Nevertheless, I could assist art centre management and art production in many other ways.

My work at Merrepen Arts involved a wide range of activities including garden work,

maintenance, dealing with customers, conducting art sales, organising the gallery space,

47

hanging exhibitions, distributing art production equipment to local artists, assisting with the

art production of batik and screen printing, organising archive files, taking photographs,

registering, and making certificates for finished paintings, updating artist profiles, and general

administration and office work. Because the majority of the Merrepen Arts artists are female,

and because I as a woman gained easier access to the female sphere, this research will, with

few exceptions, be focused on the art production of women.

I became steadily more involved in Merrepen Arts as an organisation, and was invited to

participate in formal board meetings, and the meetings they had with government

representatives, funding bodies, and the local council to plan the Merrepen Arts Festival. In

close cooperation with the art centre employees I assisted them and the artists extensively

when planning and arranging an art exhibition in Darwin, a tourist fibre work tour, and the

Merrepen Arts Festival. I also assisted them in their negotiations in meetings with various

governmental representatives when planning governmental funding provided to the art centre.

I further assisted Marrfurra in making a kinship map covering five generations. Participating

in this manner, my research and assistance could directly benefit the local artists, by helping

them to achieve the governmental funding and art customer appreciation they are dependent

on. My participation also provided me with a useful point of entry to understand the workings

of Merrepen Arts, including the community and the knowledge of the possibilities and

restraints surrounding the management of a local Aboriginal art centre.

To describe some of the challenges with my form of participation, not only in the role as

author, but also as a white woman, my presence carried connotations beyond personal

encounters, as I could be seen as a representative of the white Australian majority. For years,

Merrepen Arts had an outsider art coordinator, meaning that the art centre employees were

accustomed to having white bosses. On some level this Merrepen Arts history complicated

my presence and position at the art centre, because some of the employees had a tendency to

place me in the role of a superior; asking me questions concerning decision-making, gallery

administration, and art production. Simultaneously, while becoming accustomed to, and

requesting, my assistance, they were also weary of external domination. This stemmed from

problems they had experienced with former art coordinators that they conceived as too

authoritative. I continually refused the role of boss, and I attempted to always work with the

artists under the authority of the artists and the Merrepen Arts employees. Thus, in my

attempt to carefully balance participation and distance, I offered my assistance in the artists’

48

work, while attempting to avoid the staff perceiving that my presence was too dominant. I

also stated continually that I was there to learn from them and that I ultimately did not make

any decisions concerning Merrepen Arts management or art production.

An accurate description of how fieldwork involves engagement between the anthropologist

and informant as we temporarily share experiences, time, and space, is provided by Marcus

and Fisher (1986) describing ethnography as an inter-subjective reality. I believe, as they do,

that only after recognising the unity created by such sharing one can begin describing cultural

differences. I further argue, in line with Moore (2005), that the anthropological method of

participant observation is always an intervention, and subject positions and identity are

created within anthropological encounters, not independent of them. I therefore attempted to

maintain an awareness of the possible asymmetrical nature of fieldwork relationships due to

my authority as a researcher. Further, the roles I assumed and was assigned were objects of

much contemplation, as I strived to find a balance between extensive involvement, closeness,

and participation, versus observation and attempted distance. My goal was to be self-

reflective throughout the fieldwork, questioning the method of participant observation by

reflecting on how my presence and roles at Merrepen Arts unavoidably affected the outcome

of many situations, my empirical material, and my research.

Community Life

Each weekday in the field began by either the manger or myself opening the gallery at nine

o’clock A.M. The first arrivals were always the older women who tended the garden every

morning by raking up the fallen leaves and sticks in front of the gallery. Then the artists and

other employees arrived, one by one. We would usually gather sitting on the ground, having a

chat about a variety of topics, from substantial to insignificant in the mornings, and

occasionally, after a while, we also shared breakfast. Then we undertook art-producing

activities, preparing for an exhibition, assisting any visiting customers that might show up by

providing sales assistance and information. I worked full-time in the gallery, my days ending

around five in the afternoon. Afternoons were spent visiting my informants at their homes or

going with them out to the bush. These informants consisted not only of artists or Merrepen

Arts employees, but also other community members. As they preferred it, we would sit

outside their houses on the ground, occasionally in front of an open fire, chatting and joking.

49

I spent much time at the house of Molly Yawalminy. She was occupied daily with producing

fibre works, and I assisted in stripping fibres from the palm leaves to the best of my ability.

Yawalminy shared many stories with me during the hours spent under the shade of a tree,

while she was laughing at my futile attempts at rolling the thread. Our social interaction gave

me much knowledge of her way of life and the Ngan’gi languages, and it sustained a close

connection between Molly, my makali grandmother and me.

Plate 1.1 Molly Yawalminy and Mercia Wawul teaching me the looping of a fibre dilly bag.

Following Moerman (1988), I believe it is important to recognise that ethnographic

knowledge is the product of dialogues and the emerging social interactions, such as this,

between researcher and informants. In the evenings, I would write my field notes at home.

Towards the end of my fieldwork, I often received visitors to my house in the afternoons and

evenings. Soon, they had discovered my love for baking and I discovered that many of my

informants had a sweet tooth, so I had even more visitors when I baked chocolate or lemon

cake. We shared many special moments eating cake and drinking tea, sitting on the porch

enjoying the coolness of the evening breeze. Storytelling marked such occasions; the women

would share memories of hunting and events from their past, either humorous or sad.

50

In addition to working at Merrepen Arts, I interacted with the locals in other public places in

the community. I purchased my groceries and electricity cards at the local shop. I visited the

local council House alone or with the manager to receive post, attended meetings, or acquired

“local news” from the council house employees. With an interest in comprehending the

Christian art designs that some Ngan’gi artists painted as an expression of their personal

spirituality, I also participated in various activities at the St. Frances Xavier Catholic Church.

I attended Sunday Mass with Gracie Kumbi and Benigna Ngulfundi. Occasionally, Patricia

Marrfurra and Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr would join to recite psalms they had translated to

Ngan’gi. I also participated in the occasional baptism, confirmation and one funeral. Going to

church gave me insight into how the locals participated in Christian ceremonies by combining

them with their own rituals for grieving and transitions.

I would further participate with the women from Merrepen Arts in all public meetings, often

arranged by various governmental representatives informing the community of changes

implemented by new national policies for community management. In these meetings, we

would sit on the ground listening to the visiting governmental representatives presenting their

information in a one-way manner. The local participants, better described as spectators, would

rarely present their questions or comments in public meetings. Occasionally, my informants

would whisper questions in my ear or request for me to ask questions on their behalf, because

according to Ngan’gi moral codes of proper social interaction and behaviour, public speaking

is regarded as a “shame job.” The term “shame job” is closely related to the kinship-based

importance of relatedness (Myers 1986). According to the Ngan’gi moral codes, the group is

held in consideration above the individual, and in public speaking, one person stands out

from, and as such undermines, the important kinship group. Also, women were expected not

to speak in public without the presence and permission of their male relatives, which will be

explored in more detail in Chapter 2. The government representatives, who spent little time in

the community and of which they often had little knowledge, would bring news of massive

changes. The locals listening had little actual power to intervene with the changes, and were

often left with no option but to oblige. Attending these meetings gave me insight into the

asymmetrical relationship between the local Aborigines and the governmental representatives.

Due to my extensive participation in many areas of community everyday life, including public

gatherings, Merrepen Arts, and out bush, I was able to grasp and research the wider social

context of art production. However, there were certain areas in Nauiyu that I consciously

51

avoided, specifically, the local pub and the drinking fields in the vicinity of Nauiyu. My

reason for evading alcohol was founded on my observation of the residents’ often problematic

relationship with drinking. McKnight (2002) describes massive social changes among the

Mornington Islanders over the last 30 years, and claims that alcohol is the most “devastating

challenge” currently facing these Islanders and Australian Aborigines, in general. In Nauiyu,

alcohol was introduced with early settlement, obtainable as early as in 1886 for Aborigines

who were in contact with the settlers. Langton (1993, 2006) argues that current alcohol abuse

among Aborigines is mainly the result of the manner in which alcohol was introduced in

colonial times. The first settlers, she claims, attracted Aboriginal people to the settlements

with the offer of free alcohol, and alcohol was also given as payment for Aboriginal labour. A

licensed beer club, later named the Daly River Roadside Inn, was built two miles outside of

the community near the Daly River police station in the early Catholic Mission days. One of

the women from the first Nauiyu generation told me: “When we lived out bush my husband

em’ bin (he was) ok, but em’ bin start (he started) drinking that grog and fighting after we

came to that plantation. He and his mates would go up to the pub and act silly.” Pye (1976)

claims the alcohol abuse accelerated after 1964 when the Aborigines were granted the right to

drink strong liquor, which he argues severely disrupted community life by creating a large

increase in injuries, murders, fatal accidents, and other self-destructive acts.

Alcohol abuse gradually became such a concern for locals that the Nauiyu Council who

manage the community, made the decision to make Nauiyu a “dry community.”21

Nauiyu and

its vicinities are currently regulated as dry. Here, “dry” refers to completely alcohol-free,

where the transportation, storage, and consumption of any type of alcohol are forbidden. The

alcohol restrictions are strictly upheld, but have resulted in a drinking field located directly

outside the community boundaries where people gather to drink legally, avoiding the

prescribed area. One can also drink at the pub; however, the pub is regulated by the Local

council, with a continually updated “banned list.” If anyone behaves in a disorderly manner or

creates conflicts, he or she can be banned for a few months, judged by the local council

according to the severity of their misdemeanour. However, there is no jurisdiction preventing

intoxicated people from bringing “the grog into the community in their stomachs” as they

walk from the pub or the drinking field, which often results in alcohol related conflicts.

21

Existing liquor restrictions were reworked in 1981 and involve restrictions that regulate individual liquor

licences, limit the hours alcohol can be traded, or forbid alcohol in certain areas. Many Aboriginal communities

in the Northern Territory apply such legislative methods to control supply to and consumption of alcohol to

minimise the harmful effects of alcohol abuse in residential areas (Brady 1990).

52

Nauiyu, though a “dry community,” is to some extent currently affected by drug and alcohol

abuse. Alcoholism leads to violence and premature deaths, but such abuse also has become

incorporated in traditional ways of sharing, founded on the kinship-based obligations of

looking after your kin (see McKnight 2002).

Due to these issues, alcohol consumption of any amount was stigmatised. According to my

informants, when I conversed with them concerning alcohol they described two options.

Either one is a drinker who regularly consume alcohol to an access at the pub or drinking

field. Or one is not a drinker, and will not consume alcohol on any occasion. There was no

option for controlled alcohol consumption located in-between these positions. I could observe

why a stigma was placed on the drinkers, as they often caused conflicts and they occasionally

broke the law when drinking in the community. Because of these issues I consciously decided

to avoid the pub and drinking field areas, supporting the position the majority of my

informants took against alcohol consumption. Further, I did not want to be associated with the

drinkers, as that could have diminished my status among the non-drinkers.

Language

Comprehending local languages is a challenge when performing participant observation.

Thus, deficient language skills might create an unwanted distance between informants and the

anthropologist. In present-day Nauiyu, there are in total, approximately seven language

groups. The MalakMalak are the Traditional Owners of Nauiyu. MalakMalak refers both to

the language group as well as the land on and around the community (Wightman et al. 2001).

However, the speakers of MalakMalak are currently a declining minority.22

The two main

languages spoken by the majority of Nauiyu inhabitants are Ngan’gi kurunggurr and

Ngen’giwumirri, or Ngan’gi. Each of these two language names describes the language, a

language speaker, or the geographical area of the Homeland for each language group. These

two languages have some differences, but are closely related, with approximately 90 % of

their words shared in common.23

Ngan’gi is spoken by approximately 150-200 people in the

Daly River region, most of them living in the communities of Nauiyu, Peppimenarti, and

22

The linguist Birk wrote that “the outlook of the language is bleak” (1974: 1). This gloomy premonition was

due to his observations of few speakers of MalakMalak and even fewer of those having the language as their

mother-tongue when he conducted his research in 1972. 23

Reid (2008) argues that although they could be described as two dialects of one language, he calls them two

languages as there are marked differences, and the speakers come from slightly different geographical areas.

53

Wudigapildhiyerr. Some live in smaller outstations located on their Homeland areas, such as

Nganambala and Merrepen (Reid et al. 2008). The Ngan’gi languages, spoken by the majority

in Nauiyu, are rich and complex. Patricia Marrfurra is a linguist and committed in her work to

document the vernacular languages of Nauiyu, to preserve the knowledge for future

generations. In her words, “that language is what makes you strong. Our language is the most

important part of tribal identity and culture.” Marrfurra explains how the combinations or

separation of syllables in Ngan’gi words orients the meaning of the word, and the initial

syllable often organises words into specific categories.24

Ngan’gi has a physical nature, as

many objects, activities, and nouns involve a wording that refers to the human body. The

word for eye damuy can also mean “seed,” and combined with the first syllable mi, it means a

variety of edible seeds with an eye-like shape; midamuy. The word for ear detyeri can also

mean idea, or thought, or a branch sticking out from a head like a lump.

A smaller number of people in Nauiyu belong to the language groups Delikan, Djingilu,

Kuningurr, Marringarr, Marrimananyti, Marrithyel, Matngala, Ngangigarri, and Waguman

(Reid et al. 2008).25

Most community members speak and understand two or three of these

vernacular languages, in addition to English. The majority of my informants were Ngan’gi

and they spoke the local “Kriol” or “Pidgin” among themselves, which is a blend of Ngan’gi

kurunggurr and Ngen’giwumirri words with broken English, characterised by a lack of many

of the English language redundancies (Ray 1988; Øien 2005). To ease my participation in

their everyday conversations, I made a serious effort to learn their Pidgin. I had many

entertaining language-learning sessions with Marrfurra, Yawalminy, and Kingangu, with

them laughing at, and encouraging, my attempts to correctly pronounce the words. They

expressed a positive appreciation for me being Norwegian, not Australian, and as such

perhaps less representative of white imperialism. They said “she has language,” as I spoke

English and another mother tongue as they also did, in contrast to most Australians who only

master English. Thus, the teaching of language became mutual, as they also displayed a great

interest in my native language. While teaching me Ngan’gi words, they would simultaneously

ask me to translate the same word to Norwegian, which they attempted to pronounce and

24

For instance, words with the first syllable being, “wurr” always refer to plants of a grass type; yerr means that

the plant is made of wood; mi means that the plant is edible (Wightman et al. 1995). 25

Prior to European contact, as many as 20 languages were spoken in the Daly River region. Patricia Marrfurra,

one of the Ngan'gi artists, a linguist and a key informant, documents in her work contemporary languages and

the languages that were used pre-European contact. These are the formerly-used languages; Maringal, Marridan,

Marringarringangigarri, Marrinunggu, Marrisyetin, Ngangiberinggini, Ngangigarnu, Ngangiragu,

Ngangityernirri, Tyarrirnuytyung, Wadaman, and Wasyigiri.

54

often remembered and joked about throughout our time together. With time, my gradually

growing comprehension and use of Pidgin in my interaction with them, went a long way in

bridging the gap between me as a white Norwegian woman and them as Aborigines.

Climate and Seasons

The rhythm of everyday life in Nauiyu was, to a large extent, dictated by ngunguwe season. A

methodological challenge was access to the Nauiyu community and the reduced activities at

Merrepen Arts caused by the wet season flooding. There are two main seasons in the Northern

region of Australia with quite diverse climatic conditions: the dry season lasts from about

April until October and is characterised by uniformly high temperatures and much solar

radiation. November until the end of December is described as the “build up” to the wet

season as humidity rises. The wet season, from January through March, is monsoonal and

characterised by thunderstorms and heavy rainfall, causing annual flooding of the Daly River

(Wightman et al. 2001). This flooding caused Pye (1976: 4) to describe the Daly River as

having “a split personality.” Flowing slowly by in the dry season, the docile river turns

dangerous in the wet season, breaking its banks, and rising up to 20 meters. Nauiyu becomes a

little island in an ocean of brownish flood water bordering the community. The locals monitor

the rising water in suspense. In 2008, the flood level was only meters away from necessitating

an evacuation. Several times during the community’s history, floods have resulted in much

material damage, devastation, and evacuations.26

During the wet season, the flooding river will rise above the main road, rendering the

community isolated for weeks. Throughout wet season flooding, the community is only

accessible by boat or plane; thus, supplies to local shops and visitors are delivered in these

ways. The flooding also directly affected my research, as Merrepen Arts did not receive any

customers during the time the community was inundated. Thus, art sales and my interaction

with customers were temporarily interrupted. The locals expressed strong melancholy due to

the cold and rainy weather, and many remained in their homes. The presence of Ngan’gi

artists, and thus, art production at Merrepen Arts, also diminished during the wet season.

When the water started retreating, the locals expressed great happiness and relief that the rain

had stopped, that the isolation created by the two-month-long flooding would be at an end,

and that bountiful fishing and hunting could recommence.

26

The largest floods were recorded in 1898, 1899, 1957, 1974, and in 1998 (Wightman et al. 2001).

55

Plate 1.2 The Green Daly River photographed by Maria Øien during the dry season.

Collecting Semi-Structured In-Depth Interviews and Life Histories

In addition to the method of participant observation, I conducted semi-structured in-depth

interviews with a group of selected artists who were also adhering to the GERIS guidelines

developed by AIATSIS. In-depth interviews can be defined as “repeated face-to-face

encounters between the researcher and informant directed towards understanding informants’

perspective of their lives, experiences, situations as expressed in their own words”

(Minichello et al. 1995: 93). Participation in an interview was voluntary and compensated

with a small fee.27

My approach was varied, according to the informant: Knowing most of

them from my previous fieldwork, I performed formal and recorded interviews only with

those who seemed to have been comfortable with this method the last time. The interviews

took the form of a friendly focused conversation, constructed around a loose interview guide

with open-ended questions, in unspecified order. Later, I performed a second round of

interviews with follow-up questions, constructed around the replies from the first interviews.

27

The informants and I saw these payments as a form of wages to compensate them for the time they spent on

interviews and to show my appreciation for their sharing of their knowledge and life experiences.

56

The locals of Nauiyu communicate with each other using a particular form of interaction in

kinship-based joking relations.28

Constant teasing cemented people’s kinship identity, created

communality among locals in contrast to outsiders, and was used to ease the communication

of sensitive and feared issues. As my role as an adopted kinship member became more

established, these joking relations also came to include me. When we were out in the bush,

they would often comment in a friendly, yet teasing, manner on my lack of skills in spotting

animals or always snagging the fish line at the bottom of the river. Gradually, I ventured into

this form of communication by “playing jokes” on my informants in return, often creating

much laughter. All my social interaction with the informants became characterised by

humour. Methodologically, for instance, I began every interview with jokes and laughter to

build rapport and make my informants more at ease with a context some of them perceived as

formal and perhaps intimidating. However, with the informants who expressed that they were

uncomfortable with a formal interview session, an interview would not be productive or

polite. Rather, I would ask questions of interest informally during conversations in everyday

settings. Both methods were rewarding, as the informal character of the latter format allowed

the Ngan’gi artists to express their thoughts concerning Ngan’gi art with their own words, yet

with a loose focus to steer the conversations towards areas of interest.

From a few selected key informants, I also gathered life histories, in informal settings, in

everyday life, such as when we were out in the bush hunting or during art production. The

Ngan’gi artists would often share their life stories unrequested, both knowing of my interest

and wanting to educate me in their ways. Especially when we were out in the bush, during our

activities of hunting and gathering, there were many moments of life story sharing. Possibly,

these activities triggered the informants’ memories of past experiences, or they wanted to

proudly share the bush knowledge that they had acquired through a long life of learning.

Furthermore, I believe that my eager participation in all of their bush activities may have

given them confidence in my genuine interest, which triggered the sharing of personal stories

with me. I learned much about their way of life and which aspects of living were important to

people during such conversations. Such social interaction and our developing relationships

were dynamic and mutual, as they would also ask me questions concerning my family

relations and my way of life in Norway. The purpose of analysing life stories is that they

28

Joking relations known in Ngan’gi as ngen’gi wilewile, is a bawdy style of language involving teasing that

draws attention to, or makes fun of the other’s appearance or sexual promiscuity, occurring between people of

particular kinship categories. This will be explored in more detail in chapter Two page 93.

57

enable reconstruction of past experiences with hindsight. The method of gathering life stories

informally is valuable because informants are given the freedom to talk in their own terms

about what they see as significant incidents in their lives. Through these stories I can identify,

with a personal point of view, the informant’s multiple identities, their representation of

themselves, and how these have developed within a complex life situation (Rosenthal 1993).

By analysing life stories, I could grasp the particularities of Nauiyu society from the point of

view of the individual artist, thus connecting the micro and macro levels of my research.

I have remained in contact with my informants after the fieldwork ended via telephone, e-

mail, and sms-texting. We touch base every now and then, sharing news and remembering

past shared events. To provide access to my research, I have occasionally mailed chapters to

my informants at Merrepen Arts as the writing process has proceeded. However, they are

unfamiliar with reading academic texts, and I have received little feedback from them on my

texts. I have found it more fruitful to inform them orally about what I am writing and ask

directly if they have any concerns about what I should and could include in my thesis.

Archive and Library Research

I also gathered information concerning the Nauiyu history and Merrepen Arts movement from

secondary sources, using archive and library research. In Canberra, I visited the archives of

the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island Studies (AIATSIS) and the Arts

School Library, Menzies, and Chiefly at the Australia National University (ANU). In Darwin

I, visited the Peter Spillet Library at the Museums and Art Galleries in Northern Territory

(MAGNT). In these studies, I located literature concerning the Aboriginal art movement in

general, the history of the Daly River region, photographs of early Ngan’gi designs, Ngan’gi

artist biographies, and descriptions of the participation of Ngan’gi artists in the former Telstra

Art Awards. Due to the destruction of the Merrepen Arts archives in a flood in 1997, such

information was not available to me in Nauiyu. Thus, assessing the early art movement

history and designs present in these archives proved important to my research, as I aim at

exploring stylistic development by comparing historical and contemporary Ngan’gi designs.

58

Methodological Implications of the Visual in Anthropological Research

Anthropological research strives to find a method that absorbs and describes reality as richly

as possible. Adding to this existing challenge, anthropological art research has to present a

textual analysis, representation, and translation of visual objects. Writing versus active,

sensorial perception is quite different. In experiencing and viewing art, the textures, shapes,

composition, and colours engage many of our senses. It is difficult to describe rich visual

experiences in two-dimensional text, as there are, for instance, inadequate words in the

English language to describe all of the shades of one colour possibly present and visually

detectable in a painting. Wittgenstein argued how one can never be certain that my “blue” is

the same as your “blue,” only persuading one another to share a consensual language whose

referents are sufficiently stable to function (Wittgenstein et al. 1977).29

Thus, there exists a methodological challenge to minimise the gap when translating between

textual, academic theoretical representations and the empirical, social actualities of art

production, and to avoid reducing the experience of the visual (Schneider et al. 2006).

However, a visually presented art object viewed without a text can, particularly in the case of

Aboriginal art images, also be considered limiting. An adherent design story explains

meanings and subject-matter of imagery that an uninformed aesthetic appreciation made in

contextual isolation would not provide. Therefore, I argue that the narrative information of a

text and visual appreciation of art imagery are mutually complementary when grasping the

complete subject-matter of an artwork. In this thesis, photographs of the analysed paintings

will be presented in the text or the Appendix so as not to neglect the visual side of the

anthropological art analysis.30

Presenting photographs of the paintings is, I argue, essential to

create a more rich sensorial experience by combining the reading of text with the viewing of a

visual image. My text is written in such a manner that it is preferable that the reader views the

photographs of the paintings while reading. An important part of my method consisted of

collecting photographic illustrations of Ngan’gi art. The photographic material presented in

the text and Appendix are photographs I took with the artists’ permission during my

fieldworks in Nauiyu in 2003 and 2007-8, and copies from Merrepen Arts archives courtesy

of the Merrepen Arts board.

29

However, it is worth mentioning that there exists a Pantone matching system denoting most shades commonly

used by designers and artists with a number to ensure a shared comprehension of the same “blue.” 30

I am aware that a photograph is also a form of representation influenced by the light, setting, and quality of the

photography, which is not the same as viewing material objects directly.

59

Summary

I claim that Ngan’gi art incorporates a particular cultural, socio-historical and religious

foundation because the Ngan’gi artists value their designs as manifestations of their sacred

Dreaming. Pursuing my goal of describing the total becoming of this specific art, it was

therefore a necessity to use fieldwork methods that allowed me active participation in Nauiyu

daily life and in the management of Merrepen Arts. Performing research through participant

observation and in-depth interviews while simultaneously “working” at Merrepen Arts and

going out bush, I had to continuously balance my proximity and distance from my fieldwork

subjects. Through every moment of social interaction and every lived event and experience of

life in the field, I gradually created relationships that varied in proximity and distance. I

attempted to make my positions in the field visible by questioning throughout the text how

my roles as an employee at Merrepen Arts and an adopted kinship member may have

influenced my research. Moreover, I hope to demonstrate in this thesis that my choice of

method provided me with rich and dense descriptions of the socio-historical base of local art

production as well as the art production in itself.

Through my participation in Nauiyu everyday life, hunting trips, centre management, and my

stumbling attempts of learning language and adapting to kinship-based ways of being, I

realised that these forms of sociality are the becoming of Ngan’gi art. In the following

chapter, I will illustrate explicitly how the cornerstones of Ngan’gi art are the people who

create it and the place from which the Ngan’gi art movement originated.

60

2

ART PORTRAYS LIFE: NAUIYU NAMBIYU –

THE PLACE AND ITS PEOPLE

The specific socio-historical context and scene of Ngan’gi art production is the community of

Nauiyu Nambiyu, also known as Daly River, in which the artists live their lives and engage in

their artistic endeavours. The intention of this chapter is to provide a broad introduction to this

region and its people, and by so doing answering the first thesis research objective by

presenting historical and social processes relevant to contemporary and local art production.

This provides a contextualisation necessary to grasp the being-in-the-world of the people of

Nauiyu as well as the becoming of Ngan’gi art, which will be analysed in subsequent

chapters. Artists produce art objects that begin their journey in a community and will be

ascribed a variety of transforming meanings, values, and statuses as they move across time

and space. Art is processual; it changes its value and meaning, and the contexts themselves

are also dynamic. Societies constantly change. Following Svašek (2007) and Moore (2005), I

argue that the framing of anthropological research involves an attempt to make sense of the

specifics concerning each locality, as well as holistic generalisations of how the communities

are entangled in complex local and non-local processes and historical developments. It is

therefore important to have extensive historical and social knowledge to understand how

wider societal, artistic and non-artistic processes contribute to constitutive Ngan’gi art.

Descriptions that I have read of Nauiyu in books, historical documents, tourist brochures, and

official community reports, focus on how idyllic it appears, often calling it “the land of

plenty,” or an “unspoiled place with much natural beauty.” Nauiyu is no doubt an attractive

place, if valued by its visual appearance: The straight main street is flanked by well-kept two-

storey houses, and large mango trees and tall palm trees. There are green, neatly-cropped

lawns in front of every house, and the streets are clean and well maintained. Nauiyu lies on

61

the green banks of the wide Daly River, calmly gliding by. The vegetation surrounding this

well-kept community is tropical, with abundant flora and fauna. Quite regularly, when visiting

tourists are welcomed into Merrepen Arts, they commented with surprise; “this place is so

clean, it does not look like a real Aboriginal community.” Continuing conversations revealed

how such statements were made with reference to the state of affairs in many rural Aboriginal

communities in the Arnhem Land and Central Desert region, which typically have a low

standard of housing and are often overflowing with garbage. The situation in Nauiyu is

particular to this locale, as this chapter aims to demonstrate. The green and always-tidy lawns

are the result of the unstoppable and punctilious gardening efforts of the elder women in the

community, continuous irrigation, and a well-functioning system of collecting the garbage by

the Community Development Employment Project. Maybe the grass of this community is of

such high quality because the priests of the former Catholic Mission, as I have been told,

actually planted the grass by hand, carefully inserting seed after seed into the ground. Further,

the old women’s habits of gardening also stem from the days of the Catholic Mission, when

gardening was a daily duty and a chore assigned as punishment to unruly dormitory-raised

children. To this day, rain or shine, the old women rake the grass early every morning.

The neat lawns provide a metaphor, I suggest, for how the community appears unified and

bureaucratically well-functioning on the surface, and in some ways it certainly is. However, a

look at Nauiyu’s recent history reveals a complex past with dramatic, considerable and rapid

changes caused by colonisation, assimilation policies, and separation. In Nauiyu, early

settlements followed the establishment of two missions and the coming together in one area of

Aborigines from several language-backgrounds and kinships. As will be demonstrated in this

chapter, this historical legacy has not left the local residents’ understandings of their culture,

identity and traditions unaffected. The missions were followed by a variety of governmental

policies; the introduction of welfare, healthcare, education, and new legal structures has all

exerted a major effect on Nauiyu’s inhabitants. The notions of what constitutes the Nauiyu

people’s traditions must be understood in the historical context of shifting social structures,

values, and the power that surrounds them (Merlan 1991; Duelke 2005). A key informant,

Patricia Marrfurra, describes her own situation, and that of fellow Aboriginal artists, by

saying “we are living in two worlds.” Her statement illustrates how she is experiencing the

coexistence of two culturally different ways of being. Yet, they are entangled, as both her life

and her art production can be seen to be embedded in the artists’ community Nauiyu, where

the social structures and values of local people and that of the larger Australian national state

62

coexist. To achieve a certain subjectification of the general state of historical circumstances,

life stories narrated by Patricia Marrfurra and Molly Yawalminy will be presented in the text,

together with documentation of historical community events.

The chapter begins by initially describing the people of Nauiyu, how their social space and

ways of being must be understood with reference to their cosmology, geographic origin, and

the significance of their kinship and language groups. Next, the specific socio-historical

context of the place Nauiyu is explored, presenting its history and the gradual evolution from

a Catholic Mission Station to a locally-managed community structure. Finally, the

contemporary Nauiyu community is shown, presenting how people act out their language- and

kinship group-based identity and personal religiosity in everyday life.

The People

In the following section, life stories will reveal not simply the changes, but also which aspects

remained essential to the way of life in Nauiyu. Describing Nauiyu history, cosmology, and

kinship-based social practices might reveal Ngan’gi self-perception. Furthermore, a thorough

analysis of the Dreaming concept provides a necessary foundation, I argue, for grasping the

statement made by many Ngan’gi artists: “Our art comes from our Dreaming.”

The Historical Origin of the People of Nauiyu: The Past Into the Present

The origin of the people of Nauiyu can be found in their Dreaming cosmology and their

Homelands. The Dreaming does not possess a unified significance; it is a multifaceted

concept, touching upon many dimensions of the life of Aboriginal people. It holds basic

principles for their social organisation by structuring time and space, relation to country, and

kin relations; as such, the Dreaming frames human action and social practice. Myers (1986)

describes how the Dreaming is an Aboriginal religious concept that interconnects four major

elements of the cosmos: the Ancestors, the land, the Law and man; each acquires its value in

relation to the others. As described in the Introduction the Dreaming embodies the Ancestral

creation of the world, languages, and the Law. This Law structures kinship-based ownership

of Homeland, proper behaviour, and networks of relations with multidimensional characters,

identifying community members’ rights and obligations to natural resources and knowledge.

63

I will begin with the unveiling of the Dreaming concept with a brief look at the origin of the

word itself, simply to avoid any erroneous connotations. The word Dreamtime originated in

the late 19th

century, with Spencer and Gillen introducing it in a report published in 1896, as

their attempt to translate religious terms used by the Arrernte; a language group of a Central

Desert people called Arunta (Spencer 1896).31

They used the word altyerrenge to describe

events involving Ancestors living in a mythic time. Splitting it up the word altyerra means

dream and enge means belonging to. To separate this directly-translated term “belonging to

dreams” from everyday dreams, and to signal that it was a term describing past events,

Spencer and Gillen suggested the word Dreamtime.32

However, the concept Dreamtime

should not be understood as a direct translation; in doing that, one would lose its level of

reality and uniqueness as a complex religious concept. Sutton (1988) and Morphy (1998) have

pointed out that Aboriginal people conceive the Dreamtime not as a dream nor as located in

the past; rather it is a present shared reality. I concur with this view. The Dreaming is

continually re-created and negotiated through performative story-telling and painting

practices, which simultaneously incorporate cultural conventions and individual creativity.

Dreamtime stories, including those illustrated by Ngan’gi artists in their paintings, are

creation stories: They refer to the epic deeds of supernatural Ancestors, who at the beginning

of the universe travelled through an unshaped world and created with their actions the natural

world with plants, animals, and humans, and the spiritual, moral, and religious order of the

cosmos. The locals of Nauiyu described to me how every living form, the land with its

landscapes, and all relations between people originate from the Dreamtime. Patricia

Marrfurra, an established artist and president of the Merrepen Arts council, described how the

Ancestors, in their creations, have the ability to “make something out of nothing.” A

collective word used in the Ngan’gi languages for these creative Ancestral beings is Gagu.33

31

Spencer was an anthropologist conducting the Horn Scientific Expedition to Central Australia when he met

Gillen, a professor in biology, in 1894. Spencer wrote a report describing his expedition findings, to which

Gillen contributed with his memoirs. In the forth volume of the report Gillen introduces his translation of the

Dream-times concept for the first time (Gillen 1896). However, when editing the report, Spencer, appropriated

the term using it un-introduced for the reader in the first section of the report (Wolfe 1991). 32

See Wolfe (1991) for a more extended discussion concerning the origin of the Dreamtime concept. Presented

briefly, Wolfe (1991) questions if it is problematic when “the colonised” appropriates the terms given to them by

the colonisers. Far from seeing it as a neutral concept, he argues that the origin of the Dreamtime concept had an

affinity to an ideological legacy that was fundamental to European colonial expansion. Wolfe links the use of the

term to evolutionistic theories rendering Aborigines unable to separate dreams from reality, and as such,

provided a legitimisation of the terra nullius doctrine, which is a Latin expression deriving from Roman law

meaning “land belonging to no one.” However, as argued in the Introduction, I opt for a use of the Dreaming

concept in this text in the manner in which it is used and interpreted by my Ngan’gi informants. 33

This word is also used for meat, in contrast to vegetable food, and as a collective term for various animals,

Ancestors, spirits and ghosts, traditional doctors, sorcerers, priests, and money (Reid et al. 2008).

64

Munn (1970), in her research on Warlpiri and Pitjantjatjara myth, describes the creative

actions of the Ancestors when they shaped the earth as transformations, and she has identified

three main types. The first is metamorphosis: an Ancestor’s body transforms into a material

object such as a mountain, rock or a hill. The second is imprinting: a tree would grow at the

site touched by an Ancestor’s walking stick; a billabong would form where they sat down;

their footprints became valleys. The third is externalisation: when an animal or land form is

created by an Ancestor taking something out of their bodies (Munn 1970: 142). My

ethnographic material presented in this thesis will document all of these forms of Ancestral

transformations through the presentation of several Ngan’gi art designs that illustrate

creational stories from their Dreaming.

Although these original creations occurred in the past, the Dreamtime is conceived by

Aborigines, including the people of Nauiyu, as existing independently of linear time

perception. Munn (1970) explains this notion by arguing that since the Ancestral

transformations were made in past time, but are visible and hold the essence of the Ancestors

in contemporary times, they condense two forms of temporality and free the land from

specific historical locations. Thus, Munn (1970) and Morphy (1998) argue that the Dreamtime

is perceived as a parallel dimension rather than a “past” time; it is present in the contemporary

world. The Aborigines’ belief in a continuing, underlying eternal reality, made Stanner name

it “everywhen” (1956: 52). Similarly, Elkin says that their time concept does not extend

“horizontally” backwards, but is an ever-present and vertical line, representing “the initiation

of life, it lies beneath the present, and it determines the future” (1969: 93).

The Law, also referred to as the Eternal Law, Deme in the Ngan’gi languages, is a sacred

Aboriginal concept also believed to have been laid down by Ancestors in the Dreamtime for

humans to follow and remember (Berndt et al. 1988; Williams 1988). In some Aboriginal

contexts and regions, the Aboriginal cosmology is known as the Ancestral Law, rather than

referring to the English phrase “the Dreaming.” Because the Ancestral Law holds a body of

judicial rules and moral evaluations describing custom and socially acceptable behaviour, it

also, as such constitutes life as a juxtaposed part of the Dreaming.34

Deme, the Ngan’gi word

for the Law, encompasses more than one meaning. Deme is also the word for hand; thus, to

34

Patricia Marrfurra described to me how the Ancestral Law holds knowledge of ceremonies for men and

women, how to gather and hunt for bush tucker in the correct way, how to prepare food and weapons, the rules

for whom you can and cannot marry, and a justification for killing people if they break the Law.

65

break the Law is literally translated as “breaking one’s hand.” Molly Yawalminy, my

informant and Ngan’gi grandmother makali, said to me about the Law: “Deme nayin nime

nyinnin” meaning “that is the way of the Law” or “we have got that Law!” This statement is

similar to Myers’ informants describing how the Law is not a product of human subjectivity

or individual will, but an order to which man is subordinated because it comes from their

Ancestors. “It is a big Law. We have to sit down alongside that Law like all the dead people

who went before us” (Myers 1986: 53).

When the land was created, the spirit of the Ancestor is believed to have remained within the

geographically specific area they created, making it sacred (Morphy 1991). These areas are

referred to as a Homeland or Home Country, Dede Putymemme in Ngan’gi. The Dreamings of

each Homeland describe the particular creation of this location. Ownership of Homelands and

their Dreamings are organised through the kinship system; parents pass them on to their

children (Myers 1986; Williams 1988; Morphy 1991). In Nauiyu, people inherit their

Homeland through patrilineal descent.35

According to Ancestral Law, Aborigines are

permitted to own, transmit, and reproduce visually only those designs and stories they are

entitled to, through their birthright to a Homeland and its Dreamings (McCulloch 1999).

Before the Ngan’gi settled in the Daly River region, they lived in temporary settlements in

and around the areas of their Homelands. Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr described to me in an

interview how the Homelands are creation places, or Dreaming Sites, which are places

brought into being by the Ancestors: “It is in these areas where things began, these places are

where things come from. These things have a story.” Ungunmerr stated:

We are Putymemme, born from the earth before time began. We are part of our land, the landforms,

the trees, the animals, and the language. Each family group has a special place and our Dreamings

are there. We may share our language with our neighbours and marry those from another Country,

but our Dreamings are always our own. They come to us through our fathers (Farrelly 2003: 5).

This creation story of how water came to the world is narrated by Mary Leahy PumPum:

A long, long time ago there was no water on earth. There was a huge ball in the sky. The old

Ancestors of the Ngen’giwumirri tribes had been talking about it for a long time and trying to break

35

People also have claims to their mother’s country nganingetyi, mother’s mother, and spouse, but to a lesser

extent (Reid et al. 2008). However, there is an exception for children whose father is white: They are given full

rights to the Homeland and its Dreamings from their mothers.

66

the ball open with spears. At last, an old man from the Malfiyin tribe burst the water cloud with his

spear. Water poured all over the world. In came the sea and creeks and rivers and billabongs and

lakes. Then the spear-thrower who had burst the water ball turned into the little grey frog that

always calls out to tell our people when rain is coming.

The story describes a form of imprinting as Ancestors of the Ngen’giwumirri language group

from Malfiyin Homeland created rivers and billabongs with their actions. Further the story

holds a transformation from man to a frog. The story is also related to the contemporary world

by referring to how frogs signal rain with their call to this day. In every act of creation, the

spiritual, life-giving, and creative powers of the Ancestors become permanently incorporated

into the land; these powers are omnipresent and constant.

The two main language groups in Nauiyu, Ngen’giwumirri and Ngan’gi kurunggurr, hold

several geographical Homelands owned by various kinship groups. Those belonging to the

Ngen’giwumirri language group are Rak-Lafuganying, Rak-Merren, Rak-Nudik, Rak-

Tyin’girim, Rak-Nganambala, Rak-Malfiyin, and Rak-Papangala. The Homelands belonging

to the Ngan’gi kurunggurr language group are Rak-Fepiminati, Rak-NgambuNgambu, Rak-

Nerintyi, Rak-Merrepen, Rak-Ngulfe, and Rak-Ninyjininyji (Reid et al. 2008). The

complexity of the Ngan’gi language structure illustrates the importance of kinship in the word

Rak; explained to me by Marrfurra: “Rak means a circle that cannot be broken, that has no

lines going from it, no holes or gaps. It holds only the people from that land and language

group. It holds my father, sisters, brother, and all our kin, and you cannot open it for other

people.” Ngan’gi languages also directly incorporate residents’ connection to the land,

because the language name itself holds a word for word description of the topographical

characteristics of this particular land. Marrfurra explains:

Now in Ngen’giwumirri, Ngen’gi can mean a person from that language group, but it can also mean

language, word or story. Wu means cloud, and Mirri sun. This is because people from this language

group belonged to the high hill country. Malfiyin for instance lies high up in hill country. The

people from this area are called “the people of the sun and clouds.” Then Ngan’gi kurunggurr: In

the same way Ngan’gi can be a person from this language group, but it can also mean a word or

sound. Kurri means water, and Gurr means deep. When translating that language name it means

“the language of deep water sounds.” These Homelands such as Fepiminati and NgambuNgambu

are full of billabongs and wet plains, known for having masses of water. The people from there are

called “the people from the swamp land,” or “the land with lots of billabongs.”

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A majority of Ngan’gi artists belong to the Homeland Malfiyin located in the high sandstone

escarpments towards the Fitzmaurice River (Reid et al. 2008). There are many Dreamings

inside the Malfiyin country – Pelican Burra, Chicken Hawk Angan’pipi, King Brown

Anganisyi, Water Kuri, Bittern Agiminy, Sand Frog Aniyen, Yellow Snake Animba and the

Stars Nganime Dreamings. The Ancestral creation of all of these Dreamings on this particular

land is narrated in shared Dreamtime stories often illustrated by Ngan’gi artists; these include

designs that will be analysed in the following chapters. Moreover, names of areas in these

Homelands have been adopted by Marrfurra’s family and given to two of her sisters.

Yambeing, a location name from Malfiyin, was given to Christine Yambeing. Ngulfundi, the

name of a sandy creek, was given to Benigna Ngulfundi. Such naming practices tie children

closely to their Homelands. Duelke (2005) describes how this naming practice serves as an

aid to remembering the events, and as a way of establishing identity by combining notions of

the body with locations. A second Ngan’gi name-giving practice, described to me by

Marrfurra, is the naming of children with Aboriginal family names. Naming is believed to

connect people to their family and Ancestors, binding them together as one with shared

names, substance, kinship identity, and historical origin.36

This belief in shared origin and substance in the universe (Morphy 1998) is an important

aspect in structuring the lives of the people of Nauiyu. When the Ancestors’ creative powers

facilitated the origin of all things, their presence remained in the land; thus, manifesting a

timeless notion of shared substance across the universe. Broun (1995) noted how the

Ancestral spiritual essence is attainable for Aborigines residing in the land. Marrfurra

describes the connection and sharing of space with their Ancestors:

You sebbe (know) that Angan’pipi (Chicken Hawk), Aniyen (Sand Frog), Anganisyi (King Brown),

Animba (Yellow Tree Snake), Awoin (Black Brim), and that Burra (Pelican). The old people agree

that all these Dreamings that we have, when we die we go back to be that Dreaming. Chicken hawk

represent my father and his father going into that line, and when my brother dies he will go into

that same line, like, going back into that Angan’pipi (Chicken Hawk). The Pelican represent us

mob, me, Kumbi, Yambeing and Benigna. We can’t kill them birds they are sacred to us. When we

die we’ll go back into that form of that Pelican. When we go fishing and hunting, and we caught

nothing, my dad used to sing out really loud and talk to them spirits. If we heard them Owollulu

36

Marrfurra practiced this when naming all of her children. Her first son, Aaron Kingangu, was named after his

mother’s father, his grandfather. Her second son, Nathan Kulmunggu, was named after his mother’s father’s

brother. Her third son, Kieren Karritypul, was named after his grandfather’s father. Shaana, Marrfurra’s first

granddaughter, got her Aboriginal name Kaliyarra after Marrfurra’s father’s sister.

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(pigeon) call back a little while later my dad used to tell us; “there now, they are singing out, sit

down and keep on fishing.” (Øien 2005).

The Ancestors are omnipresent and can be contacted to assist people who are on the land in

practical matters such as fishing, answering in the voice of a pigeon. When people pass away,

they are believed to unite with the Ancestor who created their Country, thus continuing a line

of forefathers started at the moment of creation. Stanner (1963) points out that part of the

conceived power of Ancestral beings lies precisely in their ability to cross the boundary

between animal and human worlds, which is otherwise unbridgeable. These Dreaming stories

describe how something was created out of nothing. They sustain knowledge of the

unbreakable connection between man, animal, land, and the Ancestors (Munn 1973).

The beginning of the Daly River story starts in what the Nauiyu locals always describe as “the

olden days” when people in the region had a nomadic lifestyle. They took shelter in caves or

erected temporary paper bark humpies, and gained a living from what they could hunt and

gather in the bush. Molly Yawalminy often told stories of bush life, presented here partly

translated and from many conversations:

In the olden days before them white fella came we got (had) no motorcar, we bin (would) walk

from place to place. Me malla (we) would walk a whole day to get to a hunting ground and make

camp there for the night. We bin (would) walk long way to do’em ceremony too. When we had to

cross the river we got’em (had) no boat, so we had to swim or make that kalfanggarr (a paper bark

raft with a frame of bamboo). Em really hard making that boat with no proper axe.37

The men

would sometimes sit in front on them rafts when we bin (were) crossing the river, and hunt with a

spear to catch barramundis, or they would jump in the water to catch turtles with their hands … No

knife or razor blade. We used sharp rocks to cut out them spears from trees. The men would rub

them with kugarri (red ochre). Women would make string dilly bags and fish net from that

merrepen... In them olden days we got no sugar and no flour. We had to hunt our food and sleep

anywhere, me malla bin (we were) really strong people. I am not afraid of hunting and not afraid of

killing goannas or snakes with my hands. Me good hunter! … We bin (would) making fire with a

stick. No matches! We bin use dried wamangal nekin (wallaby droppings) to light that fire. One

short and hard stick on the ground and one long stick that we bin rolling making that fire … We

had them wusye (hair belt), and we put ‘em around the waist with leaves in front. But in the bush

37

They had small stone axes to cut off the bark that were not as efficient, according to Yawalminy, as the large

steel axes later exchanged for them while working for the “white fellas.”

69

nothing! Naked balla (fella) then! This one nurse, Monica, she givet (gave) me one dress. She

got’em (had them) in a big box when she came to our camp. We got’em clothes, knifes and spoons.

Yawalminy spent her early childhood in the bush and got her first dress when, she, as a young

girl, came to Daly River and began working at the peanut farms. When Aboriginal people

arrived at the mission station, they were given a random Christian name, a practice that reveals

how little regard the priests had for these people’s former cultural identity and practices.

Yawalminy received the name Molly.

Many Nauiyu community members told me how they chose to leave their former nomadic life,

living around and in their Homeland areas, to settle in the Daly River region, when the

Catholic Mission was established at Daly River. However, they also expressed in conversation

that, for them, the land and its people are inseparable; therefore, their Homeland areas remain

of great importance to them. Joint ownership of land and Dreamings are still transmitted

between generations and manifests a shared identity and strong social bonds between families

who own the same Homeland. They talk about these areas while expressing how much they

miss them, tell and re-tell the Homeland Dreamtimes stories, and commonly paint their non-

secret Dreamings in Homeland designs. The Homeland is also visited regularly to perform a

Water Welcome to Country Ceremony introducing young children, according to the Law,

when they are brought to their Homeland for the first time. Water is blown from the mouth of

an elder on the children’s head and belly button. “In Aboriginal tradition the head is the centre

of knowledge and understanding, while the navel is the centre of love and growth, the source

of life” (Ungunmerr-Bauman 2000: 68). The water runs off their bodies into the ground with

their presence, so the Ancestors residing in the land will know them. Marrfurra recalls how her

father performed the Welcoming Ceremony:

We speak to the Ancestors that live in this country. My father would tell them we have visitors or

strange people in this place. When he took me and my three sisters to that country, he called out

really loud talking to the Ancestors “hey I been bringing my kids here” and then he would call us

out by name … This place is very sacred to us, especially two places. There is an underground

water fall there and two large rocks at a large hill where all the Dream-sites are. One time a Chef

from overseas came to this place, and he had been up there and sat up a tent for cooking. Then one

of the men in the family had come up there and em (he) was really angry, and tore it all down

because it was on sacred ground. But there is an even more sacred place higher up, a cave that not

even I can visit, where bones and skulls of my Ancestors are buried.

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People recognise the creative power of Ancestors as being protective and threatening; thus,

the Homeland can be a place of danger (Morphy 1991). Some areas are so potent that not

even the Traditional Owners can walk there without fearing for their own safety; one such

area being the cave mentioned by Marrfurra. The Chef, in disrespect, committed a breach of

the Law when camping on this land without permission from the Traditional Owners. The

Traditional Owner was well within his rights to be enraged, as it is part of his duty to protect

his Homeland from intrusions. For the people of Nauiyu, it is of great importance, as they

express it, “keep the Dreaming strong.” Their knowledge of the Dreamtime is passed on from

generation to generation through storytelling. Currently, painting also plays a vital role in

maintaining shared Dreamtime stories in designs, teaching both the children of Nauiyu and

outside customers of Aboriginal culture. The elders of Nauiyu say with great pride: “We have

that Law!” The rules of the Law are expressed directly through their stories, songs, art

designs, and daily social interaction; they structure peoples’ kinship-based relationships.

Kinship: Models for Ways of Being in Nauiyu Social Space

The analysis of kinship is a broad field, which I do not endeavour to cover in great detail in

this text. Rather, I chose to describe only the kinship-based practices that have a direct

influence on Ngan’gi art production and the management of Merrepen Arts. The people of

Nauiyu consider their kinship systems to be laid down by the Ancestors in the Law. Kinship

is of great importance to all Aboriginal communities and critical to investigate in order to

understand Aboriginal social life. Myers claims that “traditional Pintupi society has neither

centralization nor formal political structure” (1986: 103). However, cooperation and order are

dependent on kinship-based ties of relatedness and the shared responsibility of “looking after”

your relatives (Myers 1986), in a similar manner, I believe, to formal political institutions.

“The Aboriginal social world is one where social engagement with kin commands the highest

priority, and dense, encompassing forms of sociality shape and determine not only an

individual’s everyday reality, but also the whole community’s style of life” (Cowlishaw 2004:

14). The kinship system stabilises the entire world for the Nauiyu people, binding nearly

every community member together in a multitude of dynamic and social kin-based

relationships (Duelke 2005; Reid et al. 2008). Kinship-based aspects of the Law, structure

many principles of social organisation in the life of the people of Nauiyu, even encompassing

painting and the distribution of art sale profits. How the particular nature of their kinship

system affects social interaction and organisation will be described in general terms. The

71

analysis Myers (1986) gives of the particular social order among the Pintupi, from a Western

Desert community, resonates with my observations of the kinship systems in Nauiyu. What

governs social practices, interaction, and activities are three inter-related patterns directly

connected to kinship and gender roles, each having their own internal properties made

meaningful in relation to each other (Myers 1986). I describe them following Myers (1986)

and my observations of Nauiyu social life.

The first pattern involves a constant emphasis on “relatedness.” The kinship systems in

Nauiyu are the basis for social organisation and, thus, create particular social relations

between people, marking and controlling the allocation of rights and duties among those

sharing kinship. In notions of relatedness, your obligation for sharing is the most significant

expectation linked with kinship, binding people in enduring relationships of balanced

exchange.38

I define sharing, in line with Myers (1986), as the reciprocal giving and receiving

between kin according to rules of equivalence of one’s material possessions, such as food,

money and game. This also includes the non-material sharing of kinship-based identity,

acknowledging the importance of providing care for one’s relations. Due to the importance of

relatedness, throughout life one has to always extend one’s ties outwards in a sympathetic

manner, and be receptive to accepting or negotiating the claims of others (Myers 1986).

However, the demand for sharing based on patterns for relatedness, is to some extent, limited

by the second pattern, a reluctance to accept constraints on one’s autonomy. The importance

of kinship-based and collective relations, does not exclude the importance of an individual’s

autonomy.39

Each kinship relation starts with the individual or Ego, through life extending his

or her kinship relations, created not just by biological descent, but also according to the

people he or she interacts with. Relatedness between people is established when they share

space, activities, and exchange relations over time. Kinship relations can become closer or

more absent according to how active the exchange and sharing is between people. Thus, the

kinship system is dynamic, as Ego can extend one’s family, and by choice include people who

were not from birth a part of the kinship system. Consequently, descent in such societies is

38

Tyerr birr diwem is the Ngan’gi term for sharing food between relatives (Reid et al. 2008). 39

The idea of the autonomous individual is present in social practices and interaction in Aboriginal communities.

However, this concept is slightly different from the strongly individualistic Western definition in which, contrary

to Aboriginal practices, the individual is valued above the collective group.

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“classificatory” rather than “descriptive.”40

Rather, the people of Nauiyu apply terminology

that does not make a biological distinction between kin from a genealogical point of view, but

rather lineal and collateral relatives are grouped under common terms (Barnard 2002). In

Aboriginal society, kinship relations are of a particularly dynamic nature. My focus when

describing classificatory kinship is on how individuals, through life, sustain and create kinship

relations through their actions, and how kinship relations are important in social situations to

achieve certain ends. Regardless of the importance of providing for your relatives by

committing to the demanded obligations, such actions should not be conducted at the cost of

an individual’s autonomy. Members of the same kinship group have to respect each person’s

individual autonomy so that exchange relations are balanced out by both the obligations to

give or share and the right to receive nurturance and support. Then again, they can also

exclude or choose to limit their interaction and exchange with certain relations.

The third pattern is that of “looking after” one’s kinship relations, and is based on notions of

respect and nurturance. This pattern supersedes the initial patterns of relatedness and

individual autonomy as the most important pattern, as it concerns looking after one’s

relatives, and one’s sacred inheritance in the form of land, knowledge and designs. Kinship

structures include rules of inheritance, which are of particular interest in art production, as one

can only paint the Dreamings that one inherits. Barnard (2002) argues that a significant effect

of forming specific descent groups is precisely to establish a mechanism for the transmission

of property from one generation to the next. The people of Nauiyu inherit, as mentioned, their

Homeland, Dreamings, and language group from their fathers. However, not just the right to

ownership is transferred. Further, one is also obliged to “look after,” keep and protect the

place and the knowledge about them, as has been passed on from the Ancestral spirits who

created the Law and these sacred Dream-sites for one’s forefathers. This entails ensuring that

no one acts disrespectfully in this area; one is obliged to introduce one’s children to the

Homeland by performing the Welcome to Country Ceremony. Ultimately, one must transfer

the knowledge of these places gradually to his or her descendants.

40

For instance, after living and working with the informants for a few months, I became, as mentioned, initiated

as kinship member and was given a position in the kinship system with brothers, a mother, and grandmother who

I could refer to using the appropriate kinship terminology. Although this inclusion increased the feeling of unity

between us, I was not obliged to share in kinship rights and obligations at the same level of the Ngan’gi people

who were part of the kinship system from birth, nor was I granted rights in Dreamings and Homeland.

73

These three social patterns exist simultaneously in all kinship relationships, which are based

on wide-ranging ties creating shared identity and structuring social interaction and practices.

They can serve as a starting point to understand the totality of kinship in Nauiyu. Kinship

structures organised life when the Ngan’gi led a nomadic existence. However, they have

remained important and have continued to structure inheritance, social practices and

interaction in contemporary Nauiyu, which incorporates several kinship groups. How the

Ngan’gi incorporate kinship-founded practices into their everyday lives, art production, and

art centre management will be explored in more detail below and in the following chapter.

However, I find it necessary to first describe the gradual evolution of the location Nauiyu.

The Place

Contemporary Nauiyu is a result of a complex history combining early 20th

century European

and Chinese settlement with the congregation of Aboriginal people from several distinct

language groups. Thomas (1999) describes Australia as a settler country where large numbers

of Europeans have displaced, and outnumbered, but never entirely eclipsed, native peoples.

From early farming and mining ventures, the settlement was gradually incorporated into a

Catholic mission station, introducing new forms of social organisation. In the 1970s, there

was a gradual move towards local management. However, the goal of self-government by the

community was, and still is, heavily controlled by government policies. Merlan (1998) studied

the production of place among the Aboriginal people in and around Katherine in N. T. She

claims similarly, in her intercultural ethnography, that regional settler development and the

nation-state’s policies towards Aborigines have strongly affected Aboriginal spatial

organisation over time. I support her insistence that it is therefore a political implication of

anthropology to adopt a concern for this particular Aboriginal reality.

As suggested by Beckett (1988), this complex past is important to explore, because the past of

everywhere is linked with the present, in dynamic and coexisting processes of progress and

continuity. The recent past, I argue, frames individuals’ contemporary lives and living

memories in many ways. Originally, the early meetings and various forms of exchanges

between the settlers and the people of the region may have had a long-term effect on the

relationships between the “whites” and the “blacks.” Furthermore, the people’s identity in

Nauiyu is founded on life experiences from their Homelands and settling on a Catholic

mission station. This, in particular, has affected contemporary art production because the

74

Ngan’gi artists paint kinship-owned designs as well as Christian design, expressing an identity

as both Aborigines and Roman Catholic Christians. The Nauiyu history reveals dramatic

changes and much external dominance in terms of how the community was managed and

organised. Such dominance from the outside goes a long way in explaining why the Ngan’gi

artists hold such a strong desire to manage their own art centre. The people of Nauiyu

negotiate their identity and create their own notions of the past in the entanglement of

contemporary social life, people’s subjective interpretation of specific historical events, and

historical accounts that are offered to them. I suggest that exploring processes of historical

interpretations, with a focus on the experience of the Nauiyu people, will reveal how certain

past events have affected Ngan’gi lives, as well as transforming their present sense of identity.

Early Settlement History in Daly River: White Fella Goods and Government

Nauiyu is located south of Darwin, on the banks of the Daly River in the Fitzmaurice region.

Contact with Europeans began in the early 1880s, initiated by pioneering, which was soon

followed by more permanent residents in the early 20th

century (Stanley 1985). In 1865, a

government representative named Colonel, came to the region from South Australia to

conduct a survey of the Western coast, naming the large river Daly in honour of the Governor

of South Australia, Sir Dominic Daly (Farrelly 2003). In 1881, the first sugar plantation was

established in Wollianna, and the Daly River cattle station was established in 1882 (Pye

1976). The Daly River settlement grew around established cattle stations, plantations, and

mining sites, creating an intermingling between farmers and miners, Euro-Australians and

Chinese. Their presence attracted members of all of the surrounding tribes residing both

locally and at a distance from the Daly River, who were eager to obtain “white fella” material

goods such as steel tools, cotton fabric, sugar, flour, tobacco, and alcohol. However, the

people of Nauiyu never lost touch with their Homelands, remaining their custodians.

The language group for the Traditional Owners of the geographical area where the community

is located, as presented in Chapter 1, is the MalakMalak. The MalakMalak were forced to

accept that their land became community land subjected to colonisations and two established

missions, and also the target for other Aboriginal groups migrating in to settle. Consequently,

there are now many language and kinship groups residing in the community (Stanner 1933a,

1933b; Stanley 1985). Informants from the first generation of Aboriginal settlers told me how

the community land in the pre-settlement past was “passing through country” for the Ngan’gi

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people when they were nomadic, and the MalakMalak were considered enemies. Duelke

(2005) has commented on how this past had caused disputes in the early days of settlement,

which have remained in people’s memories. Regardless of such initial conflicts, the settlers

and migrants stayed and made their homes in this area. The people of Nauiyu say “today we

cannot talk of that,” referring to the old enmity between the language groups, as they are now

living together and sharing one community structure in cooperation. Currently, the

MalakMalak are outnumbered by members of other language groups in the community. The

Ngan’gi now represent the two largest language groups in Nauiyu, yet the status of the

MalakMalak as Traditional Owners of the community land is still respected.

However, tension and conflicts were not limited to the relationships between Aboriginal

language groups. Briefly presented is one historic event, remembered as the copper mine

murders, which has created a longstanding negative effect on the relationships between the

“whites” and the “blacks” in the Daly River region. In 1883, shortly after mining for copper

began in Daly River, four of the European workers were attacked and killed by Aborigines

(Lindsay 2001). The motivation behind the attack is now believed to be that the miners were

working on land considered sacred to the Aborigines, who acted to protect it. However, at the

time the murders were seen as a result of Aboriginal “savagery.” Alfred Searcy, a sub-

collector of customs in Darwin, stated that “The Daly River is dangerous because of the

Aborigines’ brute desire to kill and destroy … I am of the opinion that you should never trust

a black fellow … the victims were really good men, who had always treated the niggers with

the utmost kindness and consideration” (Stanley 1985: 5). In line with the prevalent racist

mentality of the time as expressed in this statement, a series of punitive expeditions were sent

out to track down the attackers, thought to be members of the Woolwonga tribe.

In September 188,4 150 Aborigines were shot and murdered at Black Fella Creek half way

between Daly River and the Stuart Highway (Berndt 1952; Pye 1976). In addition to the

revenge massacre, the parties also travelled and killed an undocumented number of

Aborigines.41

In Adelaide, a board of inquiry was appointed to investigate the massacre, but

the board exonerated all participants in the massacre. These murders had a devastating effect,

as they resulted in the entire Daly River Aboriginal population being blamed and given a

reputation as “fierce.” According to Stanner (1933a, 1933b) Daly River was densely

41

The official Protector of Aborigines, Dr. R. J. Morice, commented that “The general belief in the territory is

that they simply shot down every native they saw, women and children included” (Memory poster at BFC).

76

populated prior to contact, but many killings occurred as a consequence of the Cooper mine

murders, which almost halved the pre-contact population towards the end of 1880s (Gleeson

et al. 1985). Mining ended in 1909 because of depletion of resources (Pye 1976). However,

this dark part of history has never been forgotten by the people of Nauiyu, who remember the

massacre with sadness.

Settling in Daly River: From Hunters to Farm Hands

The Aborigines settling in Daly River were increasingly recruited to work on farms, cattle

stations, plantations, and later, the missions. Such “employment” of Aborigines began in

1904, and continued throughout the 1930s, and payments were given in food rations: white

bread, tea, sugar, and rice were provided as three meals a day, in addition to tobacco rations,

and an end-of-season gift of clothing or trade goods (Gleeson et al. 1985). These rations

would be supplemented by the bush food shared by relatives who hunted, rather than doing

farm work. McKnight describes this era as having a mission, a government, a pastoral, and a

hunting and gathering economy; “all intermeshed” (2002: 55). Peanuts and tobacco, as well as

other crops, were grown on several commercial farms near the Daly River, owned by people

of European and Chinese descent (Wightman et al. 2001). When Molly Yawalminy was a

young girl, she worked at many of these different plantations: “I bin (was) growing and

picking water melon, bananas, sugar cane, tomatoes, potatoes, onions, cabbage, cashew and

peanuts, and tobacco.” Gleeson (1985) argues that although the white settlers seemingly held

most of the economic power, the relationship between employers and employees was that of

mutual dependency. The authority of the white settlers was limited by impoverishment,

market isolation, and dependency on government funding. Thus, to maintain their farming

ventures, they were dependent on the workforce of local Aboriginal “jackaroos.”

One farm located directly outside of Nauiyu is named after the settler Bob Judge. The people

currently living in Nauiyu hold many memories of the time they worked on Bob Judge

plantation. Benigna Ngulfundi shares memories of her former life there, when we were

visiting the area to gather cashew nut fruits of the trees planted in those days:

This is one of the places where my mother Molly worked as a young woman. I was raised on Bob

Judge land, my family and I lived there in sheds near the water front. Bob Judge owned the area

and had three native women that took care of him. They had peanut trees and tobacco plants, and

these cashew trees you see here, they were planted in the thirties. (She pauses and points to some

77

old gravestones). I still remember the names of the people who died here. It is sad to remember all

the old ladies who are gone now. Bob Judge was a good man. He took good care of his employees.

Then we left and moved to the pub area. All the trees still stand here...

Most farming ventures in Daly River were failures and ended due to poor soil; also, the

climate rendered the land uncultivable because of intermittent drought followed by flooding.

The geographical isolation created yet another challenge; the Daly River farmers found that

being so far away from the marketplace posed a definite barrier to further agricultural

development (Gleeson et al. 1985). This period of farm employment represented

unprecedented social change for the people of Nauiyu. The MalakMalak initially experienced

what they may have seen as an unwelcomed encroachment on their territory. They and the

many Aborigines moving from their Homelands experienced novel sights and new tastes as

they worked for material goods, but were also afflicted with strange diseases. In many ways,

contact with foreigners represented disruption off their previous lives. However, through their

adaption, the Aborigines combined the old with the new as their hunting and gathering

practices, their ceremonies, kinship systems, the Law, and languages were maintained to

maintain on some continuity with their past lives. Biddy Lindsay, a prominent MalakMalak

Traditional Owner, expressed with these words how her closeness to country remains in spite

of these external organisational changes: “It (the land) is white fella land on the surface, but

deep down it is black fella land!”

The Jesuit and Catholic Mission Stations; New Organisation of Space and Life

There have been two missions in Nauiyu. The first was a Jesuit mission located at Uniya in

Daly River in 1886.42

The second was a Catholic mission established in 1955. These missions

not only introduced Christian religion, but they also represented a major change in the way

society was organised. The nature of Aboriginal theology, and how to teach Aborigines

Christianity, were topics much debated among missionaries and priests. The debate stood

between the priests who attempted to transform the Gospel to make it fit Aboriginal beliefs

and culture, against those who wanted to preach the Gospel unchanged, thus, demanding a

total religious conversion and abandonment of Aboriginal culture and traditions. The Jesuit

teleology reveals how the Jesuits saw Aborigines as savages in need of guidance and

civilisation. Therefore, development was a prerequisite for achieving their primary goal of

42

In 1881, a Jesuit Father, Duncan McNabb, appealed to Rome’s Pope Leo XIII, requesting permission to

establish a mission for the natives surrounding the Port Darwin area. The assignment was given to the present

General of the Roman Society of Jesus, Father McKillop (Flynn 1957).

78

Christianising them (Pye 1976). The Catholic Mission followed the theology that “what is bad

is to be gradually eliminated and what is good is to be encouraged” (Stanley 1985: 20).

Consequently, some traditional practices such as painting and dancing were encouraged,

while practices such as polygyny, arranged marriages, and ritual punishment were strongly

discouraged, as they were seen to be in conflict with Christian values (Morphy 1998). Both of

these theologies displayed much disrespect for Aboriginal culture and values by demanding

the end to traditional practices vital to Aboriginal society, which resembles a form of “cultural

genocide.” “The Aborigines paid a great price coming under the control of the missionaries

and the Department of Native Affairs. The price they paid was destruction of much of their

culture” (McKnight 2002: 49).

The Jesuits concentrated their initial efforts on persuading the natives to give up their

nomadic life to become settled, before they could begin Christianising them. Both missions

provided medical aid and rudimentary education. However, while these were considered to be

“welfare projects” the effect was to impose radical changes in the lives of the local people.

Missions similar to the Jesuit establishment and following the Catholic mission in Daly River

were built all over the Northern Territory. Aborigines were gathered in missions and reserved

to be Christianised, “civilised,” and kept isolated from the white population. These actions

were justified by the 1897 Act, which made Aborigines wards of the state. The original intent

of this 1897 Act was to control the supply of opium to Aborigines; however, it allowed civil

servants, police, and missionaries to control and organise the life of Aborigines, claiming that

it was for their protection. McKnight argues that rather than reducing the sale of opium, this

law, which was strengthened with several new amendments up until 1971, rather, in its effect

allowed for an extraordinary outside control of Aborigines, restricting the freedom in their

lives from “the womb to the tomb” (2002: 24).43

However, in my view, a belief that control

was absolute and one-sided is deceiving: The people of Nauiyu were not passive. They

emphasised in conversation with me how they adapted gradually to the many changes and

how they also made contributions to the gradual development of the community.

43

This type of mission policy was also found in other missions: At Ernabella in the Central Desert, the policy

was to facilitate “low intervention to avoid coercive cultural changes and to facilitate the “inevitable” process of

assimilation in a pace acceptable to the Aborigines. The priests were convinced that the Aborigines would give

up their traditional beliefs willingly when the Christian message “reached their hearts”” (Eickelkamp 2001).

However, Hosseini describes a less tolerant Central Desert Mission; “both the sermons of the missionaries and

the Arrernte evangelists publicly ridiculed the community’s traditional beliefs and demanded that the community

choose between either Christ or tjuringa”(2002: 68). In spite of this, he argues that “the most respected converts

were individuals who had been initiated in the old traditions but had consciously sought to preserve their old

social organization and retain their native heritage alongside their newly adopted Christian beliefs” (2002: 69).

79

The Jesuits abandoned their post in Daly River in 1899, claiming that their failure was due to

the nomadic natives’ lack in interest in convention, poor soil resulting in failing crops,

poverty, sickness, and heavy mortality among the natives living on the Mission (Pye 1976;

Gleeson et al. 1985). However, the Jesuits’ limited understanding and regard for the

Aboriginal culture may have been why they ultimately failed. The last native who had

personal experience with the Jesuits died in 1953 (Flynn 1957). Flynn (1957) claims that

when he met this old man, he could still recite the Hail Mary and Our Father prayer on his

Rosary beads, and count in English and French, as he had been taught by Father Mackillop.

Now little remains from the Jesuit Mission, except the memory and a deteriorating brick wall

foundation at Uniya.

The settlement grew as the number of locals working for goods in the plantations and farms at

Daly River increased. Patricia Marrfurra explained to me how, in 1952, they were concerned

with the lack of educational facilities for the growing number of children living in the Daly

River community. Four locals, Joe and Bill Parry, Harry Wilson, and John Chapman,

approached Bishop O’Loughlin requesting that a school be established. With government

funds, an Aboriginal Apostolate mission was established in Daly River with priests of “The

Missionaries of the Sacred Heart” (MSH) order (Stanley 1985). 44

Bishop O’Loughlin created

a block of Freehold land by purchasing Mr. Goodman’s peanut farm and other local farms

(Derrington 2000). Father Leary came to Daly River in 1955, organising the community under

his superintendence for over 30 years. In January 1956, the first two Sisters arrived to manage

the local school (Pye 1976). These nuns were from the MSH’s Sister Congregation called

“The Daughters of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart” (OLSH) (Hearn 2003). They began, with

the help of the locals, to build a school, a clinic, a church, a convent, accommodation, work

sheds, and an air strip.

One of the claimed goals in Mission administration was to establish communities that were

substantially self-sufficient in terms of food, clothes, and building construction, believed to be

achievable through local employment (Stanley 1985). Marrfurra recollects such employment:

(18.09.07.) After we left the farms at Bob Judge the old women started working at the Mission.

Mercia and a woman named Linda would bake fresh bread every day. Molly and Kitty worked in

44

The Missionaries of the Sacred Heart it is a Catholic Order founded in France in 1874 by Father Jules

Chevalier. The motto is “May the Sacred Heart of Jesus be everywhere loved.”

80

the convent raking the lawn and dusting and cleaning the buildings. Mary and Marble was

gardeners. Topsy made large cups of Billy Tea on a big fire to the men, all the workers.

In addition to “employment,” the mission introduced ideas of a European Christian

organisation of space and social activities that entailed many changes. All of the local children

were enrolled in dormitories at the boarding school and given a rudimentary European-style

education. Many of my informants have described to me how they valued the sense of order

this highly-structured spatial organisation created, describing the mission time as “the good

old days when things were organized properly.” Marrfurra explains:

(January 2008) We used to have a community clock that they would ring loudly marking the time

to go to work, have morning tea, lunch, and end of work. Also the old priests would walk around in

the community with large hand held bells gathering people for Midnight mass and such. It was

good time back then, we all went for Mass. We would be all day in school from nine to three

learning history, about Captain Cook, who invented the telephone, maths, reading, and geography.

But my favourite subject was always art. The nuns taught us to paint landscapes that we would take

home or decorate the classroom with.

Apparently, life in the Mission was highly regulated and not optional. Painting and drawing

were part of the schooling, introducing the Nauiyu people to new art media. They were taught

to paint Western-style landscapes, much different than the art styles developed later by the

Ngan’gi artists. The people of Nauiyu told me that living in the mission dormitories was not

something they were forced to do. They were taken there by their parents who thought it safer

than their former residences, which were little tin sheds by the riverside. However, should

they have refused, it is not likely that the living arrangements at Catholic boarding schools

were a matter of choice. Most informants describe the missionaries with respect, saying they

were strict, but fair. Conversely, not everyone shared an appreciation for the strict mission

discipline, as evident in a local school teacher’s version of dormitory life:

My childhood at Daly River was strict and I was treated really badly because I was brought up with

the nuns in the dormitory as a child. In those days we weren’t allowed to speak in language or

Kriol. If we did, then we had to be punished for not speaking English. It was really hard life,

spending most of the times in the dormitory. I wasn’t allowed to go home for the weekends with my

parents. They had to have permission from the nuns before they could take their children. That was

the Law of the old days … the nuns had the power over me … It was really difficult for me. I felt

really uncomfortable because I had been taken away from my family. The nuns were big bosses …

my parents could not tell the nuns off … my lifetime was really hard (Nurra 1990: 18).

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This history illustrates that for Nurra, the experience of separation from her parents and

institutionalisation in dormitories with strangers was difficult. Sister Susan Daily is a Catholic

nun who has been working in Nauiyu periodically for years, giving the artists silk painting

classes. She shared her view of the Mission history in an interview: “There was more

structure and proper teaching when the nuns were school teachers. But the discipline was too

much! There would have been uproar against it sooner or later if it had continued. Some of

the Aboriginal people became nuns, but they were treated really badly by the other nuns, more

like servants than equals.” Apparently, the missionaries followed a purported ideology of

treating Aborigines as equals; however, as stated by Daily, this was not always adhered to in

practice. In many respects, the missionaries, police, and government officials had much power

over the Aborigines; structuring their lives with little freedom of choice for the locals.

The Establishment of a Community Association

From 1951, Australia followed a state policy of cultural assimilation, motivated by the

assumption that Aborigines could be absorbed into the white population and live like other

Australian citizens (Maddison 2009). To achieve this, the state interfered directly with the

general transmission of Aboriginal traditions by removing children from their families to be

raised in “white” environments (Povinelli 2002). During the early 1970s, there was a gradual

change in policies motivated by a growing concern to recognise Aborigines’ status as First

Nation people. Thus, in 1972, the Australian Commonwealth replaced their former,

controlling policies of assimilation with self-determination (Maddison 2009). It was a historic

moment in 1975 when the then Prime Minister Gough Whitlam, gave Vincent Lingiari an

actual and symbolic hand of soil in Daguragu Cwattie Creek N.T., saying; “these lands belong

to the Gurindji people and I put into your hand this piece of the earth itself as a sign that we

restore them to you and your children forever.” This period was, in many ways, “a new era.”

Similarly, the subsequent Aboriginal Land Right Act of 1976 produced a change in the

organisation of many community missions. Actual changes that did increase Aboriginal self-

determination concerning the management of communities in parts of Australia, included the

gradual withdrawal of missions and the emergence of Aboriginal-controlled organisations

(Maddison 2009). The lease of the land was transferred from the missions around the

Northern Territory (Povinelli 2002) to many newly-formed local councils (Stanley 1985). But,

as pointed out by Maddison (2009), the intention for self-determination seemed more

rhetorical than real, and many of the policies did not directly improve Aboriginal autonomy.

82

Similar changes in community administration occurred as early as 1970, when the Daly River

Community Development Association was formed, with the assistance of the Northern

Territory self-government project. This initiated the development of a community structure

similar in form to that of the present day (Wightman et al. 2001). The mission name Daly

River was replaced by the name Nauiyu Nambiyu; employing MalakMalak words chosen to

honour the role of the MalakMalak as Traditional Owners of the community land. It can be

translated as: “One place, one people,” “meeting point,” or “coming together in one place.”

The name was intended to illustrate that the community holds several language groups that,

through shared residence and recent history, have come together and attempt to live as “one

people.” An Aboriginal Council of residents, the Nauiyu council, was also formed, taking

over responsibility for hygiene, garbage, and sanitation. However, the lease on Nauiyu land

was kept by the Catholic mission.45

By 1975, as many as 52 people were working for the

mission; a majority of them were locals. In contrast to the policies of self-determination, there

was, at the time, an increasing number of non-Aborigines employed in the mission. Officially,

such exclusion of Aborigines from employment was due to financial arrangements in the

mission becoming more complex and demanding more education (Stanley 1985). However,

this may have been a justification for the missionaries to remain in control of local

management, in spite of new national legislation attempting to limit their authority.

The local Aboriginal men still working as stock men in the cattle trade were underpaid or only

paid in goods, in spite of the advanced skills they had acquired. Thus, in the late 1960s and

early 1970s, Aboriginal wage rates were increased in the Northern Territory, to reach parity

with European wage rates. With the purpose of increasing Aboriginal income, this legislation

unfortunately may have had, according to Stanley (1985), a negative long-term effect on local

production and employment in Aboriginal communities. Mainly because food and clothes

formerly produced in the communities became cheaper if flown in from the towns, they

rendered local production redundant (Stanley 1985). Furthermore, when equal pay was

demanded, Aborigines could not be exploited as cheap labour, and instead of increasing their

wages, many employers stopped hiring them, causing local Aborigines to become

unemployed (Stanley 1985). Consequently, many Aborigines became incorporated into

governmental Australian social welfare systems.

45

Stanley (1985) claims that Nauiyu Council developed more slowly than other Aboriginal councils and had less

power due to the fact that the Catholic Church remained in ownership of the community land even after

concluding the Mission administration.

83

The Australian government aimed at achieving recognition of individual and equal rights for

Aborigines, while simultaneously being aware of the unique cultural differences and

attempting to respect indigenous group rights in their policies; this was labelled by Maddison

(2009) as a “duality of political aspirations.” Thus, the government schemes gradually

changed in a manner that allowed for a combination of employment with the payment of

benefits. In 1977 the government introduced Community Development Employment Projects

(CDEP), which allowed communities to receive federal governmental grants “in lieu of

unemployment benefits to employ people on development projects” (Stanley 1985: 25). The

ideology behind such a funding project was that people are to “work for their dole money,”

and it “converted the individual right to unemployment payments to a group right of

indigenous self-management and part-time employment” (Maddison 2009: 87).46

The CDEP

aimed at providing work for Aboriginal people in remote areas where few jobs are available

and education levels are low. Many Nauiyu inhabitants, and all of the employees at Merrepen

Arts, are currently employed through CDEP, as mentioned in the thesis Introduction.

In 1978, The Northern Territory (Self Government) Act established the Northern Territory as

a self-governing unity. One by one, the locally governing community councils were officially

recognised. Nauiyu operated as a Catholic mission until the 25th

of May, 1988. Subsequently,

the community was incorporated under the Local Government Act, which established the

Nauiyu Nambiyu Community Government Council (NNC). When the Catholic Mission was

established in 1954, the Catholic Diocese of Darwin (CDD) obtained an extended lease (99

years) over the community land. This arrangement of Catholic land lease remained until the

19th

of May, 1995, when the Nauiyu Nambiyu Land Trust (NNLT) was founded, with the

prospect of eventually taking over the lease for the community land. The Catholic church of

the Diocese of Darwin Property Trust created a Deed of Trust agreeing to a 12-year lease of

the land to be held originally by 28 persons from Nauiyu, identified by the church as Trustees.

These Trustees are acting representatives for the language groups living in the Nauiyu, called

Beneficiaries. In spite of consisting of only a small number of people, the current few

MalakMalak elders in the community hold important positions on the NNLT, due to their

recognised role as the Traditional Owners. When the mission left community administration

to the local council, it was discussed whether the Catholic Church should also grant the land

to the community people. But, apparently there existed a concern that the entire community

46

Unemployment benefits was known as “sit down money,” but when the Federal government introduced

CDEP, obliging people to work for their dole it became known as “stand up money” (McKnight 2002).

84

could then become a part of the MalakMalak land claim, the first of which was lodged in

1981. However, a land claim can only be lodged over unalienated Crown land. Thus, by the

church retaining land ownership the NNLT could sub-lease and administrate the land in their

place, while keeping the land outside of future MalakMalak land claims. The Nauiyu Land

Trust sub-leased Nauiyu land to the Nauiyu Council to ease its administration (Rhee 2008).

The reminiscence of this complex and contested community history is still influential to the

contemporary lives of the people of Nauiyu in multifaceted ways. Massive changes occurred

within a short amount of time, resulting in the last four generations living through quite

different circumstances. The first generation of Nauiyu inhabitants began their life in the bush

as hunters and gatherers before settling in Daly River and initiating full-time work on the

plantations. The second generation was raised in the local boarding school. In contrast the

third and now fourth generation, many are living with unemployment due to the lack of jobs

in the community. Such a range of different life experiences creates what McKnight (2002)

calls a “contemporary generational gap,” when describing the history of the Aboriginal

community at Mornington Island. He claims that the generational gap is almost unbridgeable

for people living together in one contemporary community with such diverging pasts and life

experiences. Such a generational gap can possibly shed light on the current employment

situation in Merrepen Arts, which will be explored further in the following chapter.

Regardless of the differentiation in life experiences, there are also, I claim, shared strings of

meaning. The old and young people of Nauiyu share the settlement history through

storytelling; they all share recent history, and have joined efforts to adapt to the changes

introduced in contemporary life. Although the first generation of Ngan’gi people left their

traditional Homelands, the importance of upholding the “proper black way” has remained

(Duelke 2005). This entails the aspirations of the Nauiyu people of continuing to respect

Ancestral Law and live their traditions, by persistently reinventing and performing

cosmological and kinship-based social practices, thus, creating a sense of continuity and

stability in the midst of much change.

Living in Nauiyu

In Nauiyu, the current population, including seven language groups, averages at

approximately 450 inhabitants. The community is managed by a local council, Nauiyu Inc.

85

and the NNLC, which maintains a well-functioning CDEP system employing the majority of

the adult population. The people send their children to the local crèche and St. Frances Xavier

primary school. The community have a health clinic with regularly visiting doctors. Also

present are a post office and a local shop selling most necessities. The pub at the Daly River

Roadside offers rooms and caravans for rent, and a venue for social activities located directly

outside of the community, next to the police station. I explore in the following section how

the people of Nauiyu, maintain in everyday life and social practices, certain values expressed

in their cosmology: the Dreaming, the Ancestral Law, and their kinship system.

Living Kinship: The Family in Nauiyu

The structure of kinship, as briefly mentioned above, originated in the Ancestral Law and

binds each person into an extended family; it organises the relationships between people,

providing them with their name, language group, and ownership to land (Morphy 1991;

Duelke 2005). I insist on exploring some of the kinship-based practices in Nauiyu to shed

some light on how these practices influence and structure daily life and social interaction, and

more importantly, how they also affect Ngan’gi art production. The rights to illustrate certain

art designs are limited by Ancestral precedence, as they are owned by entrusted kinship

groups. To appreciate this particular form of artistic painting practice, an analysis of kinship is

essential. Furthermore, the most important guiding principle in kinship practices of the people

of Nauiyu is to “look after” one’s relatives. The roles each person has are therefore closely

entangled with relatedness; the obligations to share with relatives are balanced by the right to

receive (Myers 1986). I claim that this duty to share resources between relatives tends to

follow people to their positions on local boards or in official employment, on which it has a

direct influence. According to my ethnographic material this has major implications, not only

for management in various community organisations, but on the running of Merrepen Arts;

this will be discussed in more detail in the following chapter. Below, I will introduce how the

family is defined in Nauiyu according to local Laws of kinship and the kinship-based

practices of avoidance and joking relations.

Living with a classificatory kinship creates an extended family in which kin terms are used to

express close relations with ones relatives. Subsequently, if interpreted according to a

descriptive biologically-based kinship system, “distant” relatives are defined as “primary”

relatives. A social consequence of having an extended family is that it creates a greater

86

number of people that are close relatives, whom one is obliged to look after and who will look

after you in return. Kin terminology in Nauiyu is formed around the principle of grouping an

entire set of people under one single kinship term. For instance, Ego’s mother and mother’s

sisters are grouped under the same kinship term Kala (mother). Thus, each individual has

several classificatory mothers. Further, the children of all ones mothers are referred to and

considered as Ego’s siblings. Though the grouping principle classifies several people with the

same kinship term, this does not imply that all of these persons hold a similar relationship to

Ego. Closeness or distance in these relations varies according to whom one spends time with.

Most people live with their biological mother. However, children can be raised by any one of

their mothers, thus developing a stronger bond with whomever one resides with. As a socio-

cultural system variations and modifications exist, and kin relations are dynamically initiated

or terminated through social interaction. The responsibility of “looking after” a person and

“growing them up” does not solely rest on the biological parents; it is a shared responsibility

between sisters. Each person feels responsible for every child of their extended families,

caring for their wellbeing as part of kinship-based notions of relatedness (Myers 1986). Those

defined as mothers will always share their food and money with all of their children, their

own as well as their sisters’ offspring, whenever they visit.

According to the local kinship system, each kinship term is also extended horizontally. All of

the full-blood brothers and sisters of one’s grandmother is considered one’s grandparents.

Further relatives would extend vertically to the generations below; if one’s grandfather and

another person’s grandfather were brothers, these grandchildren would also be considered

siblings. If the following grandchild generation of siblings were female, then they will share

the mother role for each others’ children. The terminology is also descriptive in that it

describes how primary terms are combined when defining more distant kin. For instance the

terms kawu (mother’s mother) versus afutyu (father’s mother) and angga (father’s father)

versus tyabuty (mother’s father), differentiate between maternal and paternal grandparents.

The kinship terminology of the Nauiyu people is further based on a four-generation cycle,

meaning that the terminology for two generations above Ego, and two generations below Ego,

are the same (Reid et al. 2008). They describe their generational cycle by saying that “a

change takes place when you reach the fourth generation, then the kinship terms are used over

again.” Such a form of reorganisation of kinship terms binds relatives more closely together.

Presented is an example showing how the kinship terms for people in one Ngan’gi kinship

87

group change at the moment the fourth generation is born:47

Mercia Wawul is the eldest living

woman of a family group now stretching over five generations. Presented is a section of her

kinship line followed vertically. One of Mercia’s daughters is Molly Yawalminy. Molly’s

daughters Patricia Marrfurra, Benigna Ngulfundi, Christine Yambeing, and Gracie Kumbi, are

Mercia’s granddaughters. Bakhita, one of Yambeing’s daughters, is Mercia’s great-

granddaughter. Bakhita recently gave birth to Angela. Angela is the youngest member of the

family and a representative of the fifth generation; she is Mercia’s great-great-granddaughter.

However, according to Ngan’gi terminology, she is classified as Mercia’s sister aba. The

change occurs in the fourth generation when Bakhita, who is Mercia’s great-granddaughter, is

re-classified according to Ngan’gi terminology as Mercia’s mother kalla. Consequently,

Molly and her sisters, who are Angela’s grandmothers, will refer to the baby Angela as

“mother” because the change in terminology extends vertically up the generations. When

Angela is classified as Mercia’s sister, aba, she also becomes their mother, because of the

group classification of aunts as mothers.

On the male side, the change occurs slightly differently. The sons of Patricia and Benigna,

part of the fourth generation, are considered to be the fathers ngatya of Mercia, and they refer

to her as daughter wuriki. Then when Nathan, one of Marrfurra’s sons, fathers Shaana,

Mercia’s great-great-granddaughter, she is classified as Mercia’s cousin pugali. When the

fourth-generation child is born, the kinship terms are reorganised, re-classifying distant

relatives as primary relations.

When kinship terms are reorganised, this also changes the nature of the kinship relationships

between people, and accordingly, it changes how one addresses people and one’s rights and

duties towards them. As such, kinship has a great significance in shaping people’s lives and

their daily social interactions with others. Ego is bound in exchange relations with both

consanguine and affinale relation. However, the strongest obligations are towards collateral

relations, such as siblings and cousins. Operating with such an extended family renders Ego

bound in exchange relations with a substantial number of people. Miriam Rose Ungunmerr

describes the practice of sharing in a book on Aboriginal pedagogy:

47

Two kinship diagrams are provided in the Appendix on pages 408-09, presenting the first-names and kin terms

of each person, to visualise this generational change. I refer to this kinship group as Ngan’gi, because although

Mercia Wawul is Marrengarr, her husband Almarok was Ngan’gi, and therefore so are all of their descendants.

88

Our social organisation and ties were, and still are, so strong. They underpin our daily lives. Our

extended family was the human side of our world. It gave us support. We developed as a people by

interacting with our family. Sharing was an integral part of our living environment. Sharing also

took place at a deeper level than the food and the material products of our skills. Sharing was so

strong on a spiritual level … we shared the language of silence … we shared the grief at the death

of a member of the clan (Ungunmerr-Bauman 2000).

Kinship members in Nauiyu share material goods such as money, food, tobacco, game, and

their houses with relatives, in compliance with notions of sharing, relatedness, and the

importance of looking after kin. Non-material care is also part of sharing represented by

providing favours and nurturance to kin. Repeated exchange constitutes enduring relations

between the participants of mutual identity and responsibility. The right to receive is stronger

for the young, while obligations to share increase with age. Another side of sharing is the

acknowledgement of a shared responsibility of raising children. The people of Nauiyu say that

“it takes many people to grow up children.” Thus, the children of extended families would

move from household to household residing and spending time with their different mothers.

Presented is an example of the obligation to share material resources:

(04.11.07). Sunday afternoon Walf, Merrdi, and Karritypul pick me up in the art centre car to go to

the bush to collect mimeli black plum and misyawuni bush potato. We drive to the pub shop first

and people immediately flock around the car asking for silver (money). The ones standing further

away shout from afar “any silver?” When the boys in the car replied “we got nothing” one woman

shouts back angrily; “don’t you lie to me, I am family, you gotta (have to) give me some now.”

Merrdi then gives a young girl some money before we drive off. They tell me the pub area is best

to avoid at certain times of the day. The drunks will hang around there waiting for relatives to come

by helping them with money so they can go to the pub and drink.

Living in an Aboriginal community, kin provides a safety net for their relatives. While

Ungunmerr’s description of sharing, presented above, is focused on the positive sides of

sharing, this event nevertheless illustrates, that the claims for sharing can be quite demanding

and create considerable pressure. My informants are artists with a steady income from their

art sales and Merrepen Arts employment through CDEP. In contrast the drinkers in the pub

area often receive smaller benefits; thus, exchanges could become unbalanced and create ill

feelings. As suggested here, relatives who often find themselves on the giving end of an

exchange, attempt to prevent conflict by avoiding areas where they are likely to meet

89

demanding relatives. Thus, individuals apparently do have agency to resist the full extent of

their obligation to share, by using such avoidance tactics.

Avoidance, Marriage, and Joking Relations

How people in Nauiyu are related determines to a large extent, the forms of behaviour and

verbal interaction permitted between them. Avoidance and joking relations are analysed to

capture concretely how kinship influences the manner in which people interact. According to

the Nauiyu kinship system, there are rules for strict avoidance between certain relations. In

the relation between a man and his mother-in-law, and between adult brothers and sisters, the

appropriate behaviour is to avoid face-to-face interaction (Reid et al. 2008). Avoidance

relations involve the notion that sexuality is linked with “embarrassment” or “shame.” Sexual

intimacy is considered a private matter, and the embarrassment experienced if private

sexuality were to be seen or spoken of in public is much feared and would bring “shame.” In

general, sexuality is regarded as possessing the power to create disorder in the social order if

present in public. Thus, kinship-based on the Eternal Law provides an incest taboo by

describing whom community members can marry and talk to. Marriage, in itself, is a

mechanism to maintain social order and avoid chaos by controlling the threatening power of

sexuality. Therefore, as also described by Myers (1986) as relevant to Pintupi kinship, the

social relations that are characterises by “shame,” are governed with avoidance relationships

to avoid embarrassment and to maintain the social order.

In everyday life, I often observed how behaviour was modified to fit the avoidance kinship

practice. The second type of avoidance relation, between adult siblings of the opposite sex, is

strictly upheld. Male and female siblings would avoid meeting each other in close proximity;

for instance, if a woman is walking and sees one of her brothers walking towards her she

would divert her course and choose another path. If communication between them is required,

the sentences would be delivered to “no-one in particular,” without eye contact. Physical

contact is avoided, if for instance, adult siblings of the opposite sex are travelling in the same

car, they would take great care while seating people, to prevent a sister and a brother from

sitting next to each other. I would often be placed between people to obtain the proper seating

arrangement in the back of a car. There is further a strict rule of siblings that the opposite sex

are not permitted to pronounce each other’s name. While working on their kinship diagram or

asking questions, I often experienced informants saying “I can’t say his name, his is my

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brother.” This predicament would be solved by telling a child nearby to give me the name, or,

having no other option they would spell the name letter by letter. Ego would have a large set

of people referred to as siblings. For instance, Ego’s mother’s and grandmothers’

classificatory brothers will be grouped as Ego’s brothers, as well. However, for these more

distant relatives, the avoidance relation is weaker, and one can call them brothers and speak

their names without breaching the proper code of conduct. However, all avoidance behaviour

applies to a community member’s full blood brothers. As one of my female research subjects

explained, “I cannot call my brother by his name because the relation is too close.”

Further, there exists a “hierarchy” based on the responsibility of older men to transmit ritual

knowledge to the younger generations. As part of their kinship obligation of “looking after”

the following generations, their responsibility to share and maintain knowledge also provides

them with a status above that of women. As the knowledge is shared elder siblings will

gradually come to hold a higher status than younger siblings, and males, a higher status than

females. As a direct consequence, I observed how a woman participating in a public meeting

could not speak until her brother was present and had permitted her to make a statement. Not

obliging to this rule would bring shame on the brother and undermine his authority.

Upholding avoidance is not an easy task.48

For instance, it worried Marrfurra that the police

did not always take such kinship-based practice into consideration. When a group of police

recruits visit the community every year as part of a cultural exchange program, Marrfurra was

eager to share knowledge of avoidance:

It is very important that the police recruits understand this so that they do not place sister and

brother together in the police car when they arrest them. That is very wrong and it makes them feel

ashamed, and I know it has happened. So I need to teach them that when a person say “this em (is)

my brother, we cannot sit together!” They have to listen and do the right thing, as that is our

culture; we have to follow that Law.

Enforcing these avoidance relations remains of great importance to the informants with whom

I spoke.

48

See the Appendix, on pages 409-10, to read about an event that illustrates how the rank between brother and

sister is acted out at a public meeting, and how avoidance relations complicated public voting.

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Because the definition of family is extended, a large number of people are defined as siblings.

Consequently, the number of people that are in the proper relationship to be allowed to marry

or form partnerships with a particular individual is quite limited. In the past there was a

practice for arranged marriages, called ngaga in Ngan’gi, and I have chosen to present an

abstract painting titled “Traditional Marriage Ngaga,” painted by Christine Yambeing in

October 2004 as her intpretation and visual illustration of the former custom of ngaga.

Plate 2.1 “Traditional Marriage Ngaga” painted by Christine Yambeing in 2004.

Yambeing narrates in her own design story how her painting was inspired by her mother’s tale

of her “Traditional Marriage Ngaga:”

My mum told me a story about how she was promised to my dad. It was a traditional marriage,

ngaga. My dad had a wife already but he was promised to my mum also. She was so young and

beautiful but was very frightened that she could be hurt and didn’t want to stay with dad. My

grandparents promised mum to this old man. It started during the day when dad walked towards

both of the families. Dad got hold of mum’s two arms and dragged her to his camp site. Dad’s first

wife was really jealous towards mum and she said I am going away because you have got another

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wife. She was finished being his wife then. Dad stayed with mum and she had children with him

and they were very happy. Mum and Dad used to go hunting together and walked to places. Today

mum always remembers those old days with dad and tells us those stories.

In Yambeing’s painting, the two large, blue, centred circles are direct manifestations of the

two camps. The five small circles around the top camp of Molly’s family represent the persons

partaking in the event: Yawalminy, her parents, Kingangu, and his first wife. From the top

circle to the lower, there is a yellow, winding line, which represents the footsteps from Roger

as he walks up to the first camp, and is returning to his own camp with Yawalminy. Yellow

lines radiate out from the two camps, manifesting the drama and importance of a life-changing

ritual. All of the many small yellow circles surrounding the camps represent the community

members who observe and consent to the ritual acted out, as a community member gives a

daughter to a mature man, ensuring that he will protect and provide for her. This was also a

“right skin” arrangement, making it legal according to kinship-based Law, creating bonds of

reciprocity and allegiance between Roger and his in-law family. Molly Yawalminy often

talked to me about her ngaga when she became a second wife to an older man named Roger

Kingangu. In conversations, I asked her if there were any rituals marking her marriage. She

answered, “Nothing, no ceremony” and then illustrated the event by taking me by the wrists

and pulling, adding that, regardless of how much she cried, she was taken from her parents to

be raised in her husband’s camp.49

The act of her future husband physically moving her from

her parents’ camp to his own was the ritual in itself; through this gesture, she became his wife.

This ritual was described by D. Mackillop (1892):

A man may not marry a blood-relation, however remote the kinship may be, but marriage within

the tribe is permitted and common. Very often, however, the woman is of another tribe. Marriage

by capture was certainly at one time the rule. Even now the phrase to steal a lubra is the only

equivalent known to me for the phrase to marry. In their gesture language, to clasp the left wrist

with the right hand expresses the same idea. It is in fact ducere uxorem (Latin “to take a wife”), but

it means more than to lead the bride home; it is to lead her off captive (Mackillop 1892: 254).

Molly was born on the 1st of July, 1944, and she was about 12 years of age when her ngaga

took place in approximately 1956, over 60 years after Mackillop described this ducere

uxorem. Arranged marriage was practiced until the 1980s, but has not been common in recent

49

In spite of Yawalminy’s initial protests and the first wife’s jealousy, Yawalminy told me that she was happy

with Kingangu. He was strict but worked hard to provide for her and their five children.

93

years as the Catholic mission in Nauiyu has encouraged locals to marry through the church.

However, the Christian wedding ritual has not been embraced by the majority of the Nauiyu

population. Most young couples currently live together unwed, in unofficial alliances labelled

in oral speech as “being married kangaroo style.”

Though respecting kinship rules remains of relevance to most Nauiyu inhabitants, wasyi,

“wrong side marriage,” has occurred occasionally among the younger generations. Wasyi

refers to couples living together and being sexually involved with partners who are classified

as relations, which is frowned upon and causes much anger from the elders, as well as,

occasional fighting between family members. Therefore, people say that when you partake in

a “wrong marriage,” you not only breach Laws of proper conduct, but you are also “robbing

another man’s potential wife” (Myers 1986). Young people distance themselves from tradition

by marrying anyone they choose, regardless of the traditional rules governing relationships, a

behaviour described by McKnight (2002) as “going the Whiteman’s way.” Michaels (1994)

claimed that “a wrong marriage resonates through many communities, and too many wrong

marriages could exhaust the system’s capacity for homeostasis. In the past, “wrong marriages”

might flee to the distant bush, or be killed; today they move to the city” (1994: 107). If the

solution is eloping the couple leaves the support of their kin. Though rare, such couples

occasionally lived together in Nauiyu in spite of local condemnation.

Joking relations, referred to in Ngan’gi as ngen’gi wilewile, is a second form of kinship-based

relation that structures behaviour in Nauiyu. It is a bawdy style of language involving teasing

that draws attention to, or makes fun of, people’s appearance or sexual promiscuity, occurring

between people of particular kinship categories. I observed ngen’gi wilewile behaviour on a

daily basis, as enjoyable and humorous comments passed between meeting relatives:

(10.11.07.) We drive together to the pub shop where we encounter “Diva.” She is playing “rude”

jokes on “Dylan” teasing him calling him a long and thin one, and suggesting that many girls in the

community wants to “role” (have sex) with him. Dylan laughs at her comments and calls her waga

(urine) smell, and joke that her pants are too tight. Driving back we talk about these “joking

relations” that are governed by certain rules. Dylan explains: “You can joke with your cousins,

great grandmother, uncle, and aunties. Not with your mother, siblings, or grandmother.”

In everyday interaction certain kin would tease each other relentlessly. As described, one is

allowed to tease distant or affinal relatives, such as between Ego and his eke, referring to both

94

father-in-law or mother’s brother (uncle), and yipe, referring to mother’s cousin (aunt), and

malwak sister-in-law (Reid et al. 2008). Joking with primary relatives would be shameful and

inappropriate; one is obliged to treat them respectfully. A probable reason for why affinal

relatives or those second to one’s primary relatives are open to such joking, may be because

they are, in matters of sexuality, “safer” relations, not bound by shame and incest taboos, to

which, primary relations are bound.

Regardless of some of the younger generations moving away from certain kinship-based

practices, the elders of the Nauiyu maintain the importance of kinship and say to me “we got

language and we got that Dreaming, and we are trying to keep the culture strong!”

Ancestral Connections Acted Out: Child Spirits

The people of Nauiyu, with the exception of the MalakMalak, left their Homelands when

settling on community land, while maintaining the relations with this land and their

Ancestors, as described above. Duelke (2005) has commented that when life is lived in

Nauiyu, the community land gradually becomes part of residents’ personal identities and life

histories, with an importance similar to the land of their Homelands. This transformation

occurs as an increasing number of local sites are given new value when they become the

conception, birth, or death sites of relatives. In particular, I observed how the notion of

conception creates strong, personal, and tangible connections between the people of Nauiyu

and the land. In addition to peoples’ patrilineally-inherited Dreamings located in their

Homelands, each person holds a close relation to one specific Child Spirit, also referred to as

a Conception Spirit, which is believed to have initiated their own creation. In the Ngan’gi

languages, the child giving spirit is referred to as Emembirr. According to the Dreaming,

sexual intercourse is not sufficient to create a human; intervention by the spirits is also

necessary. The shared belief is that the land, as mentioned, is incorporated with great mythical

significance, creative potency, or spiritual essence, placed there during the process of

Ancestral land creation (Munn 1970; Morphy 1998; Myers 2002). When a woman is out in

the bush, often during her active participation in hunting and gathering, the residing Ancestral

spiritual power can enter her and impregnate her. The Ancestor Child Spirit can act through

the land, elements, or through an animal, and where the conception takes place this is the area,

to which the unborn child will be connected. When this occurs, it is momentarily followed by

some unexpected or out-of-the-ordinary event. For instance, one might achieve an

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extraordinarily large catch when out fishing, encounter an animal that is acting out of

character, or notice a sudden change in the weather.

The time and place of conception and the conception spirit are identified retrospectively by a

form of “spiritual diagnosis” (Morphy 1998: 77). As soon as the woman knows she is

pregnant, the elders in her family will sit down and determine, through conversation, the event

that caused conception. The unexpected event acts like a “premonition,” giving a sign of the

spirit impregnation. As I have described in my master’s thesis (Øien 2005), the spirit will

mark the body of the new-born with a birthmark, scratch, or bump, which is searched for

when the child is born, verifying the type of spirit and the conception event (Morphy 1998).

The child, in a manner of speaking, becomes an incarnation of the Ancestor who created the

geographical location, and left his spiritual power source behind (Myers 2002). Though

conceived by spirits, people have originated from a particular land, meaning that they become

interconnected to, and literally share the essence with, the particular area. This creates a

“consubstantiality” that is the basis legitimising their ownership to a sacred site (Munn 1970;

Morphy 1998; Myers 2002).

Most Ngan’gi people with whom I spoke had a Child Spirit story told to them by their

parents. For them, there was a clear link and notion of ownership to the particular animal or

element that created their conception, but less of an association with the particular place:50

“Eva:” Yea, I have a kangaroo. I was told that this thing come out of nowhere, unexpectedly. And a

lot of these things about conception Dreamings it is to do with things that happen unexpectedly ...

Just out of the blue this thing (kangaroo) hopped out and they chased it around for a while, whacked

it on the head. To make sure it was dead they hit it again. And on the left hand side of my head I’ve

got like a wound mark. My head is a bit dented on the side. Then when I ask why, they say “oh you

were that kangaroo.” Then soon they knew then that mum was expecting me. And straight away

they said “well that was her now, that roo.” But they had a good feed of that kangaroo anyway!

In this Child Spirit narration, the spirit of an Ancestor is located in an animal. “Spirit

conception creates an initial link with the Ancestral world” (Morphy 1998: 79). This link is

constantly re-enacted when people talk about their Child Spirit, following the custom of not

50

See the Appendix page 410 to read additional Child Spirit stories. My informants would share their Child Spirit

stories openly, occasionally showing me their birthmarks to witness the occasion. However, their Child Spirits

are so private, that regardless of the ease with which most people speak about them, they do not want them

written down together with their name. Therefore, these Child Spirit stories are presented with fictive names.

96

eating or hunting their Child Spirit animal, visiting the site of conception, or painting their

Child Spirit; this was normal practice for Ngan’gi artists. In contemporary community life,

there are several practices that grew out of a complicated past, constantly re-establishing

peoples’ identity by combining events and their bodies with time and space. The people of

Nauiyu speak their language and follow the kinship Laws. Further, their connections to their

Ancestors are acted out when they “live their traditions” by hunting and gathering on the land

according to shared bush knowledge, and perform the Welcome to Country ceremonies for

children on their Homeland.

Summary

Nauiyu is the main site of Ngan’gi art production. This chapter has illustrated in detail the

complex socio-historical context of the place Nauiyu, as well as revealing facets of

contemporary life and cosmological and kinship-based social practices of the people of

Nauiyu. It is my argument that this ethnographic information provides the necessary framing

and contextualisation of the following analysis of Ngan’gi art. My interpretation of past and

present Nauiyu life will guide the reader’s understanding of every aspect of the becoming of

Ngan’gi art. The history of Nauiyu, created by the coming together of settlers, missionaries,

and Aborigines from several language groups, illustrates plainly the mixed heritage that

grounds Ngan’gi artists’ identities and life experiences, which are expressed through art. I

follow Abiodun (1994) who argues that Aboriginal artists are grappling with transformations

in their own societies, as they re-create themselves and find their own personal artistic

expressions in paintings. Nauiyu is a place that constantly evolves and where change and

continuity coexist in a fluid state; that is created through the interplay between culturally-

founded ways of being, colonial and present encounters with Australian state structures and

policies, and now the Ngan’gi artists’ more recent involvement with art world circulation.

Yet, certain social practices remain, and when the people of Nauiyu speak their native

languages, follow the Laws of kinship, and paint their Dreamings they “live their traditions,”

and as such, re-connect with their Ancestors. Therefore, this chapter provides a necessary

foundation, I argue, for grasping the statement made by many Ngan’gi artists: “Our art comes

from our Dreaming.”

In the following chapter, I explore how challenges to the local management of Merrepen Arts

result from the entanglement of the official governance with kinship-based social practices.

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3

MERREPEN ARTS:

A LOCALLY-MANAGED ABORIGINAL ART

ORGANISATION

“The art centre has opened a little door for us here, you know, that‘s how I see things. We can

do paintings and sell paintings, and they go out there! Before the community used to be closed,

but getting that art centre going has opened things up” (Patricia Marrfurra, interview 2003).

This chapter takes another step in contextualising the Ngan’gi art of Nauiyu by focusing on

Merrepen Arts, a locally owned and managed business organisation. By applying a processual

and dynamic definition of art throughout this thesis, I argue that descriptive accounts of the

“non-artistic” management side of art production contribute to illustrating the becoming of

Ngan’gi art. Merrepen Arts is an Aboriginal art organisation, which holds a small corner in

the national and international art world market. The art centre provides a meeting place, or in

the words of Marrfurra above, “a doorway,” between the artists, employees, art customers,

and government representatives. The artists and employees of Merrepen Arts are engaged in a

continuing negotiation and dialogue between Aboriginal and Australian life-worlds.

Aboriginal art has provided an arena in-which representatives of the Aboriginal minority can

assert and express their cultural identity. Thus, anthropological research on Aboriginal art

must, I maintain, also include an exploration of how art and art production mediates

Aboriginal artistic intention and political action. As described, the group of women who

initiated the Nauiyu art movement, had, from the beginning, a strong desire to remain in

control of managing their art centre by claiming ownership both of the organisation, as well

as, their kinship-owned designs. The Aboriginal Councils and Association Act (1976) enabled

them to receive funding from the Commonwealth of Australia to realise these artistic visions.

However, once art production is incorporated in a federally-funded organisation, certain

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demands are made. Merrepen Arts employees are dependent on funding and non-Aboriginal

structures of government, which could render autonomy in management problematic, as also

pointed out by Altman (1990, 2007) and Maddison (2009). Furthermore, as seen in Chapter 2,

all people of Nauiyu are incorporated into a broadly extended kinship system. As mentioned

previously, I follow Myers’ (1986) descriptions of how notions of “relatedness” founded on

kinship-based practices binds community members in enduring relationships of exchange of

material possessions with their kin. These relationships determine verbal interaction and

structures social practices and activities to a large extent. Consequently, Ngan’gi artists have

to cope with the external structures of the dominant society, the Australian nation state, as

well as the internal structures present in their Aboriginal community.

What I describe in this chapter as external structures are present in Merrepen Arts

management in the form of official governance and employment structures, judicial and

corporate laws, federal policies, funding bodies, together with commercial and financial

demands of the art market. I also describe a parallel set of internal structures that are

practical, relational, social, and often based on kinship. I strongly maintain that a perceived

separation between these structures is misconstrued, as they are deeply entangled in a

dialectic relationship. What is important is how these co-existing structures sustain two “ways

of being” governed by different, and occasionally conflicting, forms of rationality, values,

points of entry and practices. Yet, within Merrepen Arts management, the artists and

employees are continuously re-interpreting, negotiating and re-contextualising the internal

structures, manifesting culturally-founded practices, when they are entangled with external

juridically-founded practices. Cowlishaw (1999, 2004) has studied the complex field of race

relations in Australia, with a focus on the Aboriginal struggle for self-determination. She

claims that “many people (Aborigines) have to straddle the racial divide and live with divided

loyalties” (Cowlishaw 1993: 186). In Merrepen Arts management, I, too, observed how the

artists and employees were attempting to balance and reconcile notions of relatedness and

autonomy, and a shared notion that the manager is obliged “to look after” the employees, with

the demands of organisational legislation. However, I follow Cowlishaw (1986, 2004) in

arguing that the Ngan’gi’s insistence on making kinship-based ways of life relevant also to

the management of a federally-funded organisation, should not be understood as them

clinging to past traditions. Rather, it represents a form of continuity and recreation of new

social organisational structures. It is precisely in these situations of divergence and

entanglement that Aboriginal culture is being both maintained and extended.

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It is analytically rewarding to describe art centre management practices, governance and

employment structures, and the effects of federal funding politics on a micro level, because

this analysis reveals the inner and outer social dynamics and relational structures that exist in

the intersection of art production and circulation. This also reinforces my claim that the

becoming of Ngan’gi art creates a form of art production practice that is profoundly

intercultural. These management practices can also provide significant insight, I argue, into

what motivates and governs the decisions made by Ngan’gi artists and employees, and what

importance the art centre holds to them. Furthermore, I claim that exploring art centre

management will illustrate, in line with the main goal of this thesis, how governmental

funding and legislation simultaneously enable and limit local art production.

This chapter will focus, in three main parts on illustrating how local management is affected

by the internal (local) and external (national) structures, which are deeply entangled in the

Merrepen Arts organisation. Firstly, the governance structures in Merrepen Arts management

are presented as composed of a board, and former, and present managers. This includes a

discussion of the particular role of a local manger, with focus on how kinship-based

obligations of sharing and concepts of authority affect management. Secondly, Merrepen Arts

is explored as a governmental employment project, being one of the few organisations in

which the people of Nauiyu can engage in income generating activities. Thirdly, I explore

how employment practices are affected by changing governmental policies and kinship-based

allegiances. Due to the complex situation of Merrepen Arts, I have chosen to present the

employees, former and local managers anonymously in this text.

The Governance of Merrepen Arts

When a group of Nauiyu women desired a place of their own for social gatherings, adult

education, storytelling, and art production, they relied on governmental funding to fulfil these

visions. Participating in the management of an Aboriginal organisation, the Merrepen Arts

employees and managers, the Ngan’gi artists, and the local artists of other language groups

become negotiators in the dynamic processes that involve federal politics and legislative

bodies. Simultaneously, these people are also interconnected with kinship-based local cultural

concerns, both discussed in the following section.

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Merrepen Arts – An Aboriginal Organisation

Named the Magellan Woman Centre in 1986, it was not until March 1993 that this

organisation became Merrepen Arts and was officially registered as an Aboriginal

Corporation in the Northern Territory, under the Aboriginal Councils and Association Act

(1976) of the Commonwealth of Australia. Merrepen Arts has, from the beginning, been a

non-profit organisation, funded through the Commonwealth Government.51

A Board of

Directors was established, composed of five locally-based members elected at an Annual

General Meeting of Members, to govern Merrepen Arts together with a manager. The official

positions were a Chairperson, a Secretary, a Treasurer, a Public Officer, and an ordinary

member. The official role of the board of directors is to set the strategic direction of the

organisation and apply the rules of the corporation. However, in their meetings the members

of the community elected to these board positions were mainly concerned with managing art

production. Their objectives were that the art centre was to be a place for maintaining,

reproducing, and circulating their kinship-owned designs. Further, Merrepen Arts should

provide the artists of Nauiyu with the equipment they needed for their art production. Lastly,

they had a vision to train locals to create sustainable jobs in Nauiyu. These goals were

expressed in their Mission Statement formulated when the art centre became a Corporation:

“Merrepen Arts is a place for Aboriginal cultural activity, arts business and learning for

members and is managed and owned by Indigenous people of Nauiyu community.”

In the first years, the art centre facilities were limited to the one Magellan single-storey

building. In 1998, Nauiyu was severely affected by a devastating flood, which was

experienced throughout the Katherine and Daly River regions. The Daly River flooded the

community, forcing the residents to evacuate to Bachelor College for three months. The art

centre was also inundated, destroying all of the artworks, material stocks, equipment, and

records stored in the Magellan building. As rebuilding of the art centre began, the manager

and the board applied for funding to erect a two-storey building, preventing future floods from

having such devastating consequences for their art collections. Their application resulted in

the opening, in the year 2000, of a building named Endirrlup52

sited next to the Magellan

building. Endirrlup houses the art gallery, where the art is exhibited and sold to visitors,

storage and packing room, the office, and Merrepen Art’s own collection of art objects, which

51

The art centre was at the time of writing funded by the Commonwealth Department of Environment, Water,

Heritage and the Arts (DEWHA) and by The National Arts and Craft Industry Support Program (NACIS). 52

Endirrlup is a MalakMalak word meaning meeting place chosen to honour the MalakMalak being Traditional

Owners of Nauiyu, and to illustrate how this place brings local artists and outside customers together.

101

have been repatriated to the community. Currently, Merrepen Arts is also composed of three

ground-level buildings providing visual arts studios and workshop areas that facilitate frame

making, canvas stretching, screen printing, painting, and glass production, in addition to a

meeting room, storage rooms, and kitchen facilities. Merrepen Arts currently has a

membership of 44 artists from Nauiyu and the surrounding regions.

The Official Role of Former and Present Managers at Merrepen Arts

From its establishment in 1986 until 2005, Merrepen Arts was managed by several external

managers or art coordinators. They acted as art advisers as well as having responsibility for

management and practical administration. They made their decisions in compliance with, and

under the authority of, the Board of Directors:

The role of Art Centre Manager is demanding and wide-ranging. Responsibilities include

management of employees and artists, financial management, marketing and promotion, sales and

exhibitions, attending meetings, government liaison, sponsorships, correspondence, advocacy,

stock control and planning (Cameron 2008: 21).

I follow Myers (2002) and Ericson (1988) in describing art coordinators as “mediators,”

having the demanding role of brokering between the expectations of the local artists and the

demands of the government and the art market.

The former art coordinators at Merrepen Arts have been such mediators by assisting the artists

in developing their art production, through the introduction of new art media and techniques,

and the promotion and exhibition of their art in various art world contexts. Thus, each art

coordinator has influenced the organisation and development of the art with their various

approaches, experiences, and preferences. Generally speaking there have been three different

types of managers at Merrepen Arts. The first manager began her work in the role of an adult

educator and initially spent most of her time schooling the women. Then she secured, upon

the women’s request, the necessary equipment to begin painting and screen printing. The

former adult educator stated in an interview how she was primarily focused on involving the

artists in both art production and management. She saw herself as being there to facilitate

their visions, and had two local women working together with her in the office, performing

book keeping duties. Perhaps because of her intention to include the artists in management

she remains on good terms with the artists.

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Adult education was followed by a rapid expansion of art production, and the Magellan

woman centre gradually became a community-run art organisation. Consequently, the role

developed for the adult educator evolved to that of an art coordinator (West et al. 2007),

introducing the second type of manager. An art coordinator came to the community from the

outside, to provide art production advice and to assist art centre management in compliance

with the board. Due to the founding women’s lack of economic and administrative

experience, they were, both initially and throughout parts of the history of Merrepen Arts,

dependent on a “white boss.” I encountered an attitude held by many art world participants,

such as art curators and the government representatives I spoke to, that a local manager is an

insider who may be so enmeshed in the social kinship-based structures of the community as to

render “neutral” and independent local management difficult. There seemed also to be a

shared notion that a lack of training and kin pressure rendered a local manager open to

nepotism, and thus, economic mismanagement. Consequently, the outside managers retained

their positions of authority for almost 20 years at Merrepen Arts. There has been as many as 7

art coordinators employed at Merrepen Arts, for shorter or longer periods of time, some of

them more successful in their cooperation with the artists than others. The 1998 flood

destroyed early Merrepen Arts archives, leaving no official records of them, nevertheless, the

presence of the former art coordinators remains in the memories of the first Ngan’gi artists.

My description of the former art coordinators is based on my observations and on statements

made by Ngan’gi artists, current and former Merrepen Arts employees and managers.

In the community, there existed many stories about the former art coordinators concerning

how well people liked them (or not), how they behaved in everyday life and interacted with

the artists and people of the community, how they managed the art centre, and what they

taught the artists. What struck me were the many “rumours,” with often derogatory personal

characterisations of art coordinators who had apparently been involved in occasional conflicts

with the artists. They were often judged as too bossy, as not knowing anything about art, thus

not providing valuable art production advice, and at the same time not managing finances

well. Furthermore, their morality and demeanour were often criticised based on how they

dressed and comported themselves. It seems that management strategies of former art

coordinators had often led to the artists’ alienation from management, as described in my

master’s thesis (Øien 2005). I argue that such friction is a consequence of the entanglement of

contradicting perspectives on art centre management and what motivates art production.

Illustrating the contradicting perspectives, I provided an example of curator-artists interaction,

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which I observed during my fieldwork in 2003 when Merrepen Arts was managed by an art

coordinator. This coordinator told me in an interview that she was motivated by profit when

advising the artists. At an etching workshop, I observed her saying to one of the artists:

“That’s shit! The work won’t come out, the design is not strong. It is not enough for me to sell

it and make business, there is nothing in it. That’s about twenty dollars wasted” (Øien 2005:

17). The art coordinator had a perspective on art production with a focus on the business side.

She was accordingly evaluating the aesthetic quality of their designs consisted with what

would be saleable, based on her experience as an art dealer. The Ngan’gi artists have a

personal relationship to their art. From their perspective, art production is a means for sharing

significant and kinship-owned designs with customers. They strongly resisted influence or

judgment on their artistic choices of any kind. Their designs should, in their view, be

interpreted as valuable regardless of aesthetic judgments based on market preferences. From a

wider National Australian perspective, in former anthropological research have described how

other Aboriginal artists also experienced similar contradictions (Michaels 1994; Myers 2002;

Taylor 2007, 2008).

My informants also told me how they, at times, experienced being left out by former art

coordinators, particularly in management decision-making. I suggest that the lack of

ownership and control of art production and management, combined with unwanted advice

from their art coordinators on their art production, made in accord with art marked standards,

may be the reasons for the many volatile conflicts with art coordinators in the past. The

Ngan’gi artist told me that the dominant manner of previous art coordinators caused the artists

to perceive that the business was not theirs, which was in stark contrast to their vision when

initiating the woman centre as having “a place of their own.” They had so many negative

experiences with former art coordinators that they eventually gave up on finding one that

would assist them and allow them equal participation in art centre governance. Therefore, in

2005, the present art coordinator was asked to terminate her employment.

At this time, many of the members on the board of directors were part of the group of women

who had initiated the art movement in Nauiyu. Working at Merrepen Arts for years, and

acquiring considerable knowledge concerning management, art production in various media,

and art markets circulation, these employees and the board were confident that they possessed

the experience needed to continue managing their art centre unassisted. Hence, a local

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manager was elected, initiating the third type of management in which their goal was to

achieve local sovereignty over Merrepen Arts management and art production.

The former assistant manager appeared to be the best choice.53

However, he was of a young

age and told me in an interview that he initially experienced a feeling of being overwhelmed

by the role: “I was thrown in on the deep end when “Sally” left. Then “Kimberly” came and

she was a loony bin, and after that I was all on my own. And everyone expected me to do this,

asking me all kinds of questions of things I did not know. I had to start from scratch learning

everything.” The current local art manager lacked the official training for the manager

position. However, he expressed on several occasions his intention to take classes in business

and management, which he began in 2009 and completed in 2010. Wright comments on this

concern, in her analysis of Aboriginal arts and crafts centres: “executives are very much still

learning the role of employer, and most would benefit from training in the more formal

aspects of their role” (1999: 289). In contrast to the earlier art coordinators who came from

the outside, the local manager is positioned with one foot in the corporate organisational

structure and the other in the local kinship-based structures existing in Nauiyu, as he is related

to many of the artists, employees, and board members. In the following section this

entanglement of internal and external structures is explored by describing the particular

practices of local art centre management and the authority of a local manager.

Aboriginal Leaders: Ngan’gi Notions of Authority

Informants often describe their situation in an Aboriginal community as living between “two

worlds,” where contradictory values between internal and external structures create

considerable complications. Myers (2002) also describes Aboriginal art centres as meeting

places incorporating “two worlds” connected through art circulation and the negotiations of

art coordinators.54

I would like to point out that what informants experience as “two worlds”

are not “separate worlds,” as such, but rather two structurally, practically, and culturally

divergent forms of rationality and conceptualisations, that co-exist, and are interconnected. As

an organisation dependent on governmental funding, Merrepen Arts is accountable to the

standards of the Australian society represented by the Aboriginal Councils and Association

53

“The role of Art Centre Manager has been problematic at Merrepen Arts in recent years. The Centre operated

without a Manager in 2005/06, due to difficulties recruiting a suitable person to the position. During that time the

Art Centre was run by a local Indigenous Assistant Manager X, who has taken responsibility for day-to-day

management as part of the CDEP program” (Cameron 2008: 14). 54

Myers (2002) is describing the role of the art coordinators by focusing on their mediatory role. For further

reading see his chapter “Burned Out, Outback: Art Advisers Working between Two Worlds”(2002: 147-183).

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Act (1976). Accountability is demanded from Merrepen Arts management concerning

documentation of their handling of funds, as well as their being obligated to have the

knowledge necessary to comprehend bureaucratic language and follow organisational

procedures, represented by the entire body of restraining corporate laws, and state and federal

politics. However, a local manager has a different starting point from that of an outside art

coordinator, also facing a set of factors governed by different social constructs, including

local Aboriginal demands of accountability.

As already mentioned, I follow Myers (1986) in locating three inter-related social patterns,

which to a large extent determine verbal interaction, and which structure social practices and

activities. Repeating them briefly the first describes the notions of “relatedness” founded on

how the kinship system binds community members in enduring relationships of exchange of

material possessions with their kin. The duty of sharing is one of the most pronounced

kinship-based obligations marking nearly every form of social action in Aboriginal

communities. However, the obligation is, to some extent, limited by the second pattern of

reluctance to accept constraints on one’s autonomy, because one also has the right to receive

and be treated with respect. Thus, social relations are constituted in the tension between

individualism and collectivism (Maddison 2009).The third pattern, that of “looking after”

one’s kin, is transcendental as the most important social pattern of behaviour. These social

patterns co-exist in all kinship relations and in all social interactions in Nauiyu, and therefore,

are also present at Merrepen Arts. Aboriginal cultural concerns with sharing are consequently

an important part of the local conceptualization of leadership and authority. I hold that, in

contrast to having an outside manager, for a local manager, a local conceptualisation of

leadership becomes more relevant in Merrepen Arts management.

Locating Ngan’gi concepts of authority demands a historical reference. In “pre-contact” life

Aboriginal society did not have a separate governmental structure; rather, life was seen as a

continuation of a preordained cosmic order: the Dreamtime. However, a hierarchy existed in

the form of male elders who held important knowledge, which they as a group have the

responsibility to hand down to the following generations. Myers (1986) describes in his study

of the Pintupi how the most prominent quality of the hierarchal leadership of male elders is

not domination, but rather the importance of “looking after” subordinates, and contributing to

their social development by sharing their relatedness, kin identity, and knowledge with them.

“Explicit connections link the general notion of a “boss” with kinship relations … A person

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becomes a “boss” only insofar as he or she acts like a “boss” by “looking after” individuals”

(Myers 1986: 223). Myers (1986) described how in every relationship the notion of

relatedness and importance of looking after one’s kin is balanced with the equally important

notion of respecting individual autonomy. Therefore, when taking responsibility as a leader,

one cannot assert oneself too much, at the expense of the kinship group or the autonomy of

individuals, as this could cause resentment. “One should assert one’s autonomy only in ways

that do not threaten the equality and autonomy of others” (Myers 1986: 246). The kinship

group’s claims for relatedness may therefore, in some ways, discourage the initiative for

individual assertion and strong authority among local leaders, which would be seen as

shameful. It is my argument that these understandings of authority and kinship-based

relatedness have remained an inescapable component of contemporary life in Nauiyu, and are

also extended into the management of various local organisations, including Merrepen Arts.

Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr comments in an interview how her role as headmaster of the Nauiyu

St. Frances Xavier primary school is complicated by local concepts of authority.

No, it is really hard and you gotta walk in two worlds a lot of the time ... You are related to seventy

percent of the people here and that’s really hard. Family thing!! ... Since you are here there are the

demands that are put on your from the outside and it is the demands and expectations that are put

on you from your families. So you gotta be able to judge and weigh up what is the best thing and

make sure it is not going to hurt anybody, the government and your people, and that is difficult!

Ungunmerr actively straddles the “two worlds” present in Aboriginal communities and in a

similar manner to the Merrepen Arts manager, is obliged to juggle often contradictory

conceptualisations. Kinship is omnipresent in the community and its institutions, and

Ungunmerr is a headmaster and a kinship member, which complicates her job. She is

expected to look after the children she is related to, and be a non-dominant leader so as not to

threaten the autonomy of other community members, while simultaneously considering

external federal and judicial structures.

I seek to demonstrate how Merrepen Arts management was affected by local concepts of

authority, which complicated the manager’s expression of authority, as well as the employees’

possibilities for critiquing the manager, pricing practices, and the handling of funding. A local

manager was obliged, according to traditional concepts of authority, to avoid being too

dominant, because domination in any form would threaten the autonomy of the individual

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being managed. Consequently, I observed how the manager found it difficult to give the

employees direct work instructions and orders to perform certain chores, ask for help in the

daily management, and reprimand his employees for not showing up to work. From the

employees’ perspective they told me that they disliked dominance from external managers in

terms of them influencing their art production based on designs they own. In contrast, when

dealing with a local manager, the employees expressed a dislike for dominance from him

because he is a relative and should look after his employees without critiquing them or being

authoritative; he was expected to respect the autonomy of his kin. An authoritative local boss

could create a humiliating and unbalanced power relation between people whose relationships

should be governed by social relatedness and mutual exchanges. This side of the leadership

role demanded behaviour that could be interpreted in vernacular terms as him attempting to be

dominating in his relationships, as such disregarding the kinship-based practice of respecting

the autonomy and egalitarianism of the individual and of those with aged-based seniority.

McKnight (2002) describes the same tendency at Mornington Island, where locals who were

appointed as leaders found it difficult to organise the workers: “they are very reluctant to

criticize their workers because this could involve ... ill feelings of people to whom they are

related” (2002: 181). To avoid becoming too dominant, the local manager did not demand

strong work efforts from his employees, in contrast to the former managers, who often had. In

accordance with traditional concepts of authority, the boss should look after his employees,

providing work, guidance, and material goods in the form of money and equipment.

Therefore, the local manager claimed in conversation with me that providing the employees

with material benefits would achieve staff commitment. Further, he always formulated his

work requests in a humorous rather than authoritarian manner of speech when addressing

employees that were also his kin. The employees, in return, would often joke back or not react

immediately to the manager’s friendly requests, rather stating “we will work when we are

ready to.” In my opinion, such humorous types of social interaction are structured by Ngan’gi

wile wile or joking relationships. By disguising requests with humour, the local manager is

acting in accordance with kinship-based forms of proper social interaction in public, in a

manner that will not undermine the authority of any individual.

Another case in point is that, for local managers age became a relevant concern. Dr. Sylvia

Klienert, a post-doctoral fellow at the Centre for Cross-Cultural Research at the National

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Australian University in Canberra, commented in an interview about how age affects

governance in Aboriginal communities structured around kinship:

I know of places where the indigenous elders of the community are crucial in the art centre and

community councils, ensuring that decisions are actually made from the bottom up; an indigenous

controlled unit. The problems they have at Merrepen Arts may actually be because of the lack of

strong elders in the community and because the local manager is very young. If there was a group

of elders working at the art centre to support him that might make a difference.

Klienert describes communities in which the hierarchy of elders has been taken into account

when local councils are formed. In traditional Aboriginal culture, political authority is granted

to senior men or women who gain autonomy by following their obligation of looking after the

land they own, and maintain and sharing their knowledge with subsequent generations

(Maddison 2009). Following the seniority tradition, it is an absolute advantage, when

assuming a role of leadership, to be older than one’s subordinates; this provides natural

authority according to the concepts of the traditional hierarchy of elders. The manager of

Merrepen Arts, however, does not yet have an elder’s authority, due to his age. Therefore, he

had limited authority over the employees who were older than him, and, as such, above him in

the hierarchical kinship system.

Seen from another point of view, the employees who are younger than the manager, or

women often classified as his sister or mothers, also have limited authority over the manager.

I observed how employees who were closely related to the manager, never complained to or

critiqued the manager in public, even when they occasionally disagreed with his decisions.

One employed member of Merrepen Arts expressed to me that he feared that if criticism were

uttered, it would only lead to open conflict between them: “It is like he is my older cousin

brother and he is above me in a way ... If I try and say something he might think I am trying to

bring him down. He might think I am trying to “rubbish him”.” The kinship structure is

hierarchical and includes practices of avoidance, as described in the previous chapter. Thus,

younger men and women cannot publicly speak up against male and older relatives in a

critical manner. Doing so could be interpreted as threatening the manager’s autonomy, or

devaluating his status both as a manager and an older relative.

At Merrepen Arts, the daily administrative task of pricing artworks also became more

complicated due to the manager’s kinship-based relationship to many of the artists. Pricing of

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artworks has always been a management task laden with conflict. When an art coordinator is

setting a price on an artwork he or she is negotiating between the desires of the artists and the

presumed aggregated demand of the art market. Most commonly, the Aboriginal artists and

the art market representatives follow different standards when judging the value of art. The art

market follows specific standards when judging the financial and aesthetic value of an art

piece and the status of the artist. According to segregation mechanisms that operate in fine art

contexts, a “true artist” is one who has achieved approval based on artistic merits (Becker

1982). “The establishment of a reputation is necessary if an artist is to obtain success in the art

world” (Ericson 1988: 5). Plattner (1998) has described how curators, therefore, set prices on

artworks based on many complex factors that together constitute the “aesthetic status” of an

artist. Aesthetic status includes aesthetic judgment of the artist’s style, the quality of their art,

the type of medium they use, and the size of their works. Other factors are how many years of

experience the artists have, how many exhibitions have they participated in, and what prices

their previous artworks may have been commanded. Certainly, the status of the gallery where

the artist has been exhibited, and how much the gallery advertises for the artist, also play a

role. Finally, when an established artist passes away, the value of their work may also rise, in

comparison with contemporary artists who are still producing. A former art coordinator at

Merrepen Arts described her price negotiation with the artists in an interview in 2003:

Some of the more established artists can price their own works for sale. But most artists have no

idea! They all know they would like to have lots of money, and a big price put on their painting.

But the quality of the work, as I say to them, dictates the value of the painting. In a very crude way

I say, well if you give me shit painting you get shit money.

After some argument, the former art coordinators would price the work according to aesthetic

its quality and what, according to her perception, the art market could sustain, which the

artists, though sometimes perhaps a bit insulted, usually accepted.

In contrast to these standards for judgment, the Ngan’gi artists value their art according to its

culturally-specific content. As commented by Coleman and Keller (2006), if being an artist

means having kinship-based rights to paint certain art designs, then everyone in an Aboriginal

community has the status as an “artist.” This should, according to them, be valued by giving

their art a high price. Ngan’gi artists say: “We are good artists and we share culture in our art,

why can’t we sell our paintings for a high price?” The manner in which market segregation

dictates the price of art based on an artist’s “aesthetic status,” qualifying it for certain fine art

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categories, differs from the artists’ valuation of their art’s capacity when it comes to sharing

important culture with the “outside world.” The local manager expressed to me that he found

pricing extremely difficult. This is probably, I believe, because this pricing involved not only

judging the quality of the art and art market demands, like the former art coordinators had

done, but also judging art that he knows has a sacred value to the artists. Also, he is obliged to

evaluate kinship members as good or bad artists, when pricing their works as cheap or costly.

When I arrived at Merrepen Arts to conduct my fieldwork in 2007, I noticed a marked price

increase on all of the paintings. Upon the artists’ requests, the local manager had gradually

increased the prices on the works of all Ngan’gi artists, including the relatively un-established

artists. Additionally, a large number of paintings were stored in the back un-priced.55

Discussing the “overprized” paintings with the manager, he said that according to his

judgment, these prices reflected what each artist in question deserved, founded on his

appreciation of the cultural value and sacred subject-matter of the art designs. The manager

stated that he knew that some of the paintings were overpriced according to market value and

the aggregated art market demand. Nevertheless, he was hesitant to reduce the price again,

saying that would “rubbish the artists.” For the local manager, the act of reducing a formerly

high price would indicate, in a disrespectful way, that the artist was not deserving of this high

price, after all. A manager should be impartial and calculating when setting a price by judging

an artist’s aesthetic status, a work’s quality, and art market demands, so that the art remains

saleable. In contrast, the local manager focused in pricing on how the art expresses

collectively owned and valued designs and how much the artists – who are often his relatives

or close friends – are worth. Such judgment resulted in overpriced paintings left hanging

unsold in the gallery for long periods of time.56

In an interview, the manager said:

(2008). How do you price your work? It is good to get a second opinion from another person. It

depends on who is in the room? Especially some white lady named Maria (laughing) ... Yea,

pricing is very hard! What do you say to them to make them understand that they can’t get a

thousand dollars? Nothing! Why? I don’t know. It’s easier when I get advice from someone else.

55

One large paintings was priced at 12 000 AUD (60 000 NOK), which is a considerable price even for

internationally renowned and well-established artists. 56

A visiting artist who arranged a painting workshop for the Merrepen artists in 2007 wanted to buy a painting

just finished by the manager’s classificatory mother. She asked the manager directly for a price on the painting;

however, she gave up after several attempts. Instead, she had to ask the bookkeeper for a price, stating to me

later that “getting the manager to give me a price for the painting was like pulling teeth.”

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The manager describes how outsiders may represent a party less restricted by social

obligations. If the bookkeeper or I are present with the manager when he prices, he is

immediately more at ease with setting realistic prices, as the responsibility of judging the

work’s artistic quality is no longer his alone. In early October 2007, the manager and I re-

priced almost every piece in the gallery based on size, quality, and the artists’ level of

experience and recognition, evening out the arbitrary and varying prices. As these events

illustrates kinship-based concepts of authority in terms of the boss’ responsibility to look after

his kin and express relatedness, this obliges the local manager to follow a leadership style that

is not dominant and avoids any critique of the employees and artists, which complicates

management, unrestricted employee-manager communication, and art pricing.

Another consequence that I observed of having a local manager at Merrepen Arts, was that

the kinship-based concept of relatedness, often expressed through kin’s obligation for sharing,

extended into the Merrepen Arts organisation. The expectations from the managers family and

relatives for a sharing of Merrepen Arts resources were pronounced, and in accordance with

the boss’ kinship-based obligation of “looking after” his kin. A denial of sharing would be

seen as a rejection of relatedness, because sharing itself is seen as constitutive kinship

relations. According to the traditional notions of authority, the local manager avoided critique

and domination of his employees, arguing, as mentioned, that he found this management style

to be a more effective way to encourage staff commitment. One example of such a reward is

how the manager invited several older and related artists to follow the employees to Darwin

when arranging an art exhibition, booking them into hotel rooms. He explained it as “give

them a treat, in return for the art and dilly bags they make for us.”

It appeared to be difficult for the manager to deny a relative’s request for food and gas

purchased at the local shop with Merrepen Arts funding. Further, being one of the few locals

owning a car and administrating the art centre vehicle, the manager would receive constant

requests to drive relatives, particularly on special occasions, such as when the death of a

kinship member occurred in a neighbouring community. The manager would also often have

the role of babysitter, regardless of work commitments, especially to his brother’s child, to

whom he is considered the classificatory father. The art centre provides biscuits and tea with

milk and sugar available for the art centre employees. However, provided as a final example

of sharing, these resources would often be consumed by people who were not employees, but

kinship members, which was commented upon by two employees in a conversation:

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(11.06.08). Children have again been drinking the milk packets provided for the tea for the

employees leaving a little trail of empty cartons on the lawn. C says laughing “they are stealing the

milk!” to which K replies “no, them kids are allowed to take the milk because they are the cousin

brothers of the manager here!”

The statement refers to the shared vernacular understanding that the manager is obliged to

provide for his relatives. Myers describes the same tendencies in the Pintupi community:

Faced with the threat of violence, it is not surprising that Pintupi find it difficult to be “hard” in

upholding their decisions. Nor is it easy to resist the claims on their sympathy by relatives who are

asking for “one more chance.” When it is necessary to avoid the claims for sympathy and

compassion, they characteristically prefer to shift the responsibility by delegating such jobs to an

outsider (1986: 264).

Myers (1986) suggests that if sharing is denied, there is a possibility that rejected kin may

react with violence. These concerns could be limited, Myers (1986) suggests, by having an

outside manager. However, at Merrepen Arts they found the art coordinators to be too

dominant because they interfered with art production. The current manager was aware of the

strict claims of accountability in terms of how the art centre applied their funding. He

therefore attempted to protect art centre resources from the full extent of sharing obligations,

but simultaneously, in various ways took these kinship-based demands for sharing into

account in his management actions.

For instance, when relatives asked to be driven or borrow a car to attend a funeral, to avoid a

complicated and unpopular refusal, the manager would send his car to the repair garage on

that day, providing a valid excuse to his relatives. Another example is how the local manager

developed a new practice for art sale payment: When artists made a big sale and received a

large amount of money, with money in their pockets, one or several of their kinship members

would immediately claim their share of the full sale amount. The manager, board, and artists

agreed to a management practice that would modify the full extent of the obligations to share

with kin. The art centre would temporarily retain a portion of the art sale money, which was

then given to the artist in smaller portions over time. Often, the artists would have more

income from their sold paintings than those who did not paint, resulting in the artists often

stating that they were giving more than they received. “A cultural economy of ownership,

artistic identity and property collided with a cultural economy of common goods” (Willis et

al. 1988/89: 15). Even though kinship-based exchanges are not accurately measured in value,

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my informants often described to me the importance of keeping them fairly balanced. By

distributing art sales money in smaller portions, the Merrepen Arts management assisted in

balancing out exchanges that could otherwise have become unbalanced.

The Merrepen Arts manager is demanded in his official role to place the responsibility for the

art centre management ahead of his loyalty to kin, community and country (Cowlishaw 1999).

However, as the events presented illustrate, he has been bound to take vernacular

conceptualisations of leadership into account in his management. The manager’s refusal of

requests for sharing art centre resources with kin could be resented by his family.

Subsequently, obliging to these demands for sharing endangered the art centres accountability

in relation to the larger organisational constituency and eventually caused financial losses that

depleted art centre recourses. There are two main reasons, I believe, for the recent financial

difficulties of Merrepen Arts, over-expenditure and insufficient bookkeeping. When the last

art coordinator departed from the art centre, the employees required assistance with formal

bookkeeping. The art centre board advertised the bookkeeper position, but was not able to

identify a local candidate during the initial years of local management. Consequently, there

was an omission when it came to submitting the financial reports necessary for the art centre

to receive government funding. The lack of financial documentation, reduced income, and the

failure to hold an annual general meeting (AGM) with all Merrepen Arts members in 2007

placed Merrepen Arts in breach of Commonwealth law, which resulted in the government

temporarily withholding funding.57

Due to the part-time employment of a local bookkeeper the situation improved and the

funding was released after a few months delay, though she terminated her position after one

year due to a conflict with the manager concerning the use of funds. The same concern for

accountability resurfaced, resulting in the funding being withheld again, leaving the art centre

insolvent towards the end of 2008. Merrepen Arts remained closed for over a year, and only

opened temporarily to arrange the Merrepen Arts Festival with outside assistance. Merrepen

Arts was reopened in 2010, assisted by former employees and the former local manager. They

also employed a new manager who was a Nauiyu resident, but non-Aboriginal.

57

“The Art Centre was at the time of writing in breach of the rules of the Association and the requirements of the

Aboriginal Councils and Associations Act 1976 (ACA). Annual reporting for 2006–07 was due on the 31st

December 2007. The Corporation was required to report to the Office of the Registrar of Aboriginal and Torres

Strait Islander Corporations (ORATSIC) about the finances, membership and how well the requirements of the

ACA and their own constitution have been met” (Cameron 2008: 24).

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The persistence of kinship ties in Aboriginal communities can make governance in local

management more complicated. Maddison (2009) describes her own observations of how

Aboriginal leaders struggle, having to balance between family obligations and their duties as

organisation leaders. I argue that the vernacular justification for sharing of material resources

is to be found not only in their concepts of kinship-based relatedness and traditional notions of

authority, but also in their concepts of art. For the Ngan’gi artists, art production is a family

matter. They paint collectively shared and kinship-owned designs. Each artist learns to paint

as an apprentice to his or her elder kin, and they share cultural conventions concerning how to

paint certain subject-matter (Morphy 1991; Taylor 2007). Consequently, Merrepen Arts is not

an organisation in which internal affairs and management are only concerned with the

individual artists and employees. Art is a shared family matter, and therefore, the family

should share the material goods of the art centre. When Ngan’gi artists are producing art

together, making management decisions together, employing family, and sharing resources

regardless of people being kin or employees, these practices illustrate their active attempts to

continue to maintain certain internal structures of relatedness and tradition that are of

importance to them. The local employees are aware of the demands in contemporary

corporate organisations and all of the changes transpiring in community life, often initiated

from the outside; they accordingly attempt to balance the two. They are responding to these

changes by organising their business in a manner that makes sense according to their life-

world, regardless of whether this means perhaps falling short in some areas of both domains.

Change and continuity coexist in their everyday life, where some of the social practices of the

past are retained as meaningful parts of the present sustained into the future.

The events that occurred at Merrepen Arts illustrate the government’s authority to close a

funded art centre organisation if the demands for accountability according to external judicial

laws are not met. Until local management obliged by avoiding kinship-based obligations for

sharing in their management, the artists and employees of Merrepen Arts were refused their

wish for complete control of art production and management. The irony was that the artists,

manager and employees of the art centre were acting according to what constitutes normality

in their life-world. Further, the Australian government wants to encourage art production, yet

structure their support on their own terms, which increases external dominance and welfare

dependency. Maddison (2009) argues that there is, in Australian society, a significant barrier

and lack of understanding of Aboriginal culture and diversity, and an ignorance of Aboriginal

aspirations and demands. The government makes minimal attempts to take into account the

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complex internal Aboriginal cultural structures in a manner that makes kinship-based

concepts of art production, relatedness and collective ownership relevant to local

organisational management. The ignorance and reluctance to create policies in negotiation

with Aboriginal people and their culture is the reason behind the failure of many federal

policies, contributing instead to Aborigines being disadvantaged and marginalised in local

management. In the following, I explore how Merrepen Arts employment also embodies the

clash of internal and external conceptualisations.

Developing Employment Structures in Merrepen Arts Management

Nauiyu provides, like many remote and rural Aboriginal communities in north Australia,

limited opportunities for employment and career development. Cameron states in his

Merrepen Arts Business Plan 2008-2010 that Merrepen Arts has become a cornerstone

business in Nauiyu: “Merrepen Arts is an important institution with a 20-year operating

history and supports four generations of artists. Local artists and their families benefit from

the Corporation through the social, economic, and cultural opportunities it creates” (2008: 3).

Wright (1999) has also commented on how art centres are often one of the few income-

generating enterprises in Aboriginal communities, being a focal point for the local artists and

their families. Merrepen Arts employees are working simultaneously in official organisational

positions founded and structured by federal policies, as well as being artists, and bound in

kinship relations to each other. I will describe how the employees are obliged to grapple with

these contradictory and, at times, incompatible positions in the management of Merrepen

Arts, as a result of interconnected internal and external structures.

Merrepen Arts – A Governmental Employment Project

All of the Merrepen Arts employees originate from Nauiyu. A minority are men, while a

majority of the employees are women, despite the art centre renouncing its former status as a

women’s centre many years ago. The ages of the employees vary greatly, from young women

in their teens or early 20s, women in their 50s and 60s who initiated the art centre 20 years

ago, and their mothers and grandmothers who were the first settlers in Nauiyu. What unifies

them is that they are official employees of an art organisation, as well as, being artists. The

younger employees and every newcomer to the art centre are recruited due to their interest in

art, which was usually acquired by watching their mothers paint.

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In mid-2007 Merrepen Arts had 23 employees. As Merrepen Arts has 44 members, not

everyone producing art for the centre is employed there. Many work elsewhere or are

unemployed, but paint as a spare-time activity using art centre equipment. All of the 23

employees were formerly employed through CDEP. As described in Chapter 2 the

Community Development Employment Project was introduced by the government in 1977, as

a flexible system through which locals are given positions funded by the Federal Department

of Employment and Workplace Relations (DEWR), to perform various administrative and

practical jobs in their community. CDEP has been of vital importance to the Aboriginal art

movement, both generally in Aboriginal communities, and specifically in Nauiyu. Within

CDEP, locals are employed to participate in practical and administrative work at the art

centres, providing necessary income, as the money from art sales is not sufficient to support

most artists. The government has been funding local art production for 20-30 years, not as

businesses creating profit, but as federally funded organisations that ensured local

employment and work training. The ideological justification for such funding was that art

production and employment is believed to contribute to social cohesion and culturally-based

material production generating income, creating social wellbeing and a growing self-esteem

for local artists, which could hopefully better the life expectations in Aboriginal communities.

On a daily basis, the manager records on CDEP sheets the present employees indicating

whether or not they worked the required four hours. These sheets are sent to the centre link

office, which pays the employees every second week according to their work efforts. For the

Ngan’gi artists, funding is one of the factors that stimulate their desire to produce art. I will

discuss in more detail below how such policies and the employment structures they

necessitate can limit Ngan’gi art production.

Everyday art centre activities are frequently governed by the events of the day. Each morning

the garden area was raked, usually by the older employees. The manager opened the gallery

for visitors, turning on the fans and air conditioning. Visiting customers would often ask for

stories as they walked around the gallery. While such interactions were avoided by the older

employees, the manager and the young women often had such interactions with customers,

which they jokingly referred to as, “guest begging.” The manager, assistant manager, and

younger employees performed most of the administrational office work, and practical art and

sale preparations, such as bookkeeping, hanging the gallery exhibition; labelling,

photographing, and making certificates for new artworks; stretching frames; and ensuring that

art production equipment is available. The artists not employed at Merrepen Arts would come

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to collect paint, brushes, and numbered frames to paint in their homes. The employees would

produce paintings and a variety of other types of art at the centre, which will be described

with technical details, in the following chapter. Painting is engaged in throughout the year,

while the production of screen printed fabric and batik increases before major events, such as

exhibitions or the annual Merrepen Arts Festival, to build up stock. Each art producing

activity is always performed by a group of employees working together. I could observe as a

reoccurring tendency in the local Merrepen Arts management that various art production

activities, particularly painting, were the preferred and valued form of activity, often taking

priority over office and gallery work, or the strategic development of more “invisible”

management structures.

The Social and Practical Implications of Employment and Kinship

I aim to question in the following, how vernacular conceptualisation of kinship-based

relatedness and traditional notions of authority influence the employment practices and

particular social relationships existing between the artists in the management of Merrepen

Arts. Nauiyu was, as described in Chapter 2, established as a Catholic mission including a

variety of kinship and language groups. Thus, an idealised notion of Nauiyu community as

internally homogenous is a miscomprehension. Rather, the combination of families and

language groups results in a superficially constructed unity with existing underlying

boundaries. The art movement was founded by a group of women, all from the Ngan’gi

language groups, but from different kinship groups.58

The art production of the Nauiyu artists

represents every language group and kinship group in the community. However, a few kinship

groups, all of whom are Ngan’gi speakers, hold the majority of the employment and Board of

Direction positions in Merrepen Arts management. 59

A large number of the most prolific and

well-established artists are from these families, which might, in addition to these families

having initiated the art movement in Nauiyu, explain why they also take a greater interest in

the art centre management. The four most renowned artists are full sisters, and their mother,

58

Among the Merrepen artists a majority are Ngen’giwumirri with many from the kinship group Rak-Malfiyin,

and a few from Rak-Lafuganying. The Ngan’gikurunggurr is the second largest, mostly from the Rak-

NgambuNgambu kinship group. However, also represented are artists from the language groups Delikan,

Djingilu, Kuningurr, Marrengarr, Marrimananyti, Marrithyel, Matngala, Ngangigarri, and Waguman. 59

The chairperson of Merrepen Arts is the mother of the manager. The secretary is the chairperson’s full sister.

The treasurer is either their classificatory son, or nephew. The public officer is the classificatory mother of the

chair person and the secretary, and grandmother of the treasurer. Only the last board member, an ordinary

member on the board, is from another kinship and language group. However, she is of poor health and did not

always participate in the meetings. The tendency for kinship-based grouping has occurred in other areas of

Nauiyu, such as at the local school and health clinic, which are dominated by other kinship groups.

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grandmother and children are also artists employed at the art centre. The Merrepen Arts

employees advertise this proudly, by occasionally informing customers about how the art

centre currently facilitates four generations of artists from the same family.

There seems to be a tendency, when Aboriginal people have a choice concerning where to

work, of selecting an organisation in which kin are present among the employees and in the

governance structures. Some of the younger employees openly express their preference for

employment in an organisation in which they have family alliances: “I just want to work here

so I can be with my family and do painting.” This tendency is not merely due to the wish of

spending their days with kin and fostering kinship relationships on a daily basis: Art

production is economically motivated; yet, their desire to produce art with family is, as I

understand it, related to the Ngan’gi concept of art and art production. Aboriginal artists often

paint in styles similar to the ones they have been taught by the elders of their immediate

kinship group, with the young learning to paint by observing their family elders. In addition to

sharing “schools” of styles, the artists paint sacred kinship-owned Dreamtime designs, based

on stories they have been taught by the elders in their family, similarly to other Aboriginal

artists (Myers 1986; Morphy 1991, 1998; Taylor 2007). Taylor (2007) defines this form of

family-based art training as an “apprenticeship network,” which will be explored in more

detail in the following chapter. However, I claim that this art practice is an important factor in

explaining the tendency of art centre employment to create kinship group alliances.

Despite one family group being “overrepresented” in Merrepen Arts management, the board

members and the local management placed a strong emphasis on the art centre being a place

for every person interested in art production in the community, independent of kinship. Thus,

every person could and did paint for the art centre, regardless of language and kin alliances.

However, according to external judicial structures of the larger organisational constituency,

the presence of family relations in an official board created grounds for accusations of

nepotism. I follow McKnight (2002) when stating that what Western culture would define as

“nepotism” is, for the Aborigines, an expected obligation of taking care of their kinsmen.

However, Cunneen and Libesman (1996) conducted research on Aboriginal organisations,

and they suggested that the internal diversity of kinship groups present in a community could

inhibit impartial commitment to every person in the community as a whole, if management is

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local and thus belonging to one group.60

When Merrepen Arts was in danger of losing their

funding, the governmental funding bodies were among other concerns, demanding a change

to the board members, so that nepotism could be avoided and all kin and language groups in

the community are represented in management, in addition to art production. Once again, this

illustrates how the government remains ignorant of Aboriginal practices.

Another concern of local Merrepen Arts management is how events in Nauiyu had a

pronounced influence. One practical example is that when the community is in mourning after

a death, the direct consequence is that all work will cease, a practice referred to by the

Ngan’gi as “sorry business.” When organisational leadership is local, the art centre will be

closed for a longer period than it would have been with an outside manager not bound by such

kinship obligations.61

The manager describes in an interview how kinship conflicts in the

community are also brought to the art centre when kin work together:

If there is a conflict the staffs bring the problem from the outside to the inside. If a certain family

member at the art centre is fighting with someone from the outside from another family group, then

people from that family group will not bring art in! Instead of trying to be professional and bypass

that person, and go directly to me ... they use that person as an excuse to say no to painting!

Another Merrepen Arts employee makes a similar comment in an interview: “Yes it affects us

(the art centre) because most of us are all related and whatever happens out there, is supposed

to stay out there, but it doesn’t. It’s very hard ...” During my fieldwork, I observed certain

employees occasionally refraining from work at the art centre for weeks following a conflict

with other employees, who were also their kin. As mentioned above by the manager, some

would also distance themselves from the art centre by selling their art at other venues in the

community. This practise could be labelled “carpet begging;” meaning that they would sell

their work on their own at the local school or clinic, or directly to visitors to the community,

without the certificates of authenticity provided by the art centre. This was frowned upon by

Merrepen Arts management because it undermined the art centre as the main local art dealer.

Paintings sold in this unauthorised manner were occasionally painted on canvas and with

60

“Representative democracy has not been a part of traditional or in most instances contemporary Aboriginal

culture. Aboriginal culture is characterized by close kinship and family ties. These result in commitments which

do not necessarily accord with responsibility to the community as a whole” (Cunneen et al. 1996: 32). 61

Wright (1999) comments on how many local, community-specific issues such as sorry business and funerals,

domestic violence, substance abuse, poor health, religious activities, family and community politics, card playing

and other forms of gambling, together with vandalism, are affecting aboriginal art centres generally.

120

paint provided by Merrepen Arts, which also contributed to the financial loss of the art

centre’s 30 percent share of the profit.

As illustrated by these examples, there is a perforated border between events and social

practices in this Aboriginal community, and the roles of the artists and the official

management of Merrepen Arts. Perhaps the internal and external structures of the art centre

become even more interconnected when management is local. However, art centre

management is never, in any form, ideally neutral, nor conducted in isolation from its

surroundings. Further, I believe that there are positive effects resulting from kin cooperating

in art production and art centre management. This is particularly valuable for the development

of art styles and subject-matter, as family members share the stories and knowledge of

kinship-owned designs and learn how to paint them and master various art media by

observing each other. When family alliances are extended to formal organisations, the artists

are re-constitutive internal structures that are of importance to them. They build strong

relations by sharing material and non-material resources, creating a working environment they

are comfortable in, and cooperating well with a shared focus of improving their art.

Changes in Federal Policies and the Employment Structures of Merrepen Arts

The management of Merrepen Arts is dependent on federal funding, which entangles the

organisation with continually changing federal politics. Described in the following is how

Merrepen Arts employees, who are also Nauiyu inhabitants, directly experience the changes

caused by a single government’s policy in their everyday work situation. In June 2007, major

social and political changes were introduced in the Aboriginal communities in the Northern

Territory based on a governmental policy called the Northern Territory Emergency Response,

also referred to by the abbreviation, “the Intervention.” Due to deteriorating conditions in

many Aboriginal communities, governmental ideologies of federal politics were dramatically

reoriented from a focus on Aboriginal self-determination and reconciliation to dramatic

mainstream interventions. The Intervention was said to be founded on a report, “Little

Children are Sacred,” made as an independent enquiry in April 2007, by Pat Anderson and

Rex Wild, concerning sexual abuse of Aboriginal children in the Northern Territory. The

report indicated that there was a state of crisis in many Aboriginal communities, motivating

the Federal Australian government to take drastic and prompt action in order to better the

situation.

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One of the amendments of the Intervention concerned dissolving the local councils in the

Aboriginal communities of the Northern Territory, supposedly to reduce corruption. New and

larger Shires with a few representatives from each community would replace of the former

Councils, to manage the communities more from the outside. A direct consequence would be

that local inhabitants could have reduced influence on community management. In Nauiyu,

the local council was dissolved in April 2007. However, as described in Chapter 2, Nauiyu

has a complicated past in terms of land ownership and community management, which had a

direct influence on the contemporary implementation of this government policy. Nauiyu land

is only governed by The Nauiyu Nambiyu Community Government Council and leased by the

Nauiyu Nambiyu Land Trust for the Catholic Church of the Diocese of Darwin, which still

owns the land. The Catholic Church gave the Deed of Trust with a 10-year lease of the land to

the local corporation Nauiyu Inc. when the local council was dissolved. Thus, the

arrangements of the past enable Nauiyu Inc. to remain in charge of managing housing, parks

and gardens, and CDEP in Nauiyu. This arrangement leaves the new Shire with less authority

in Nauiyu, compared with other Aboriginal communities in the Northern Territory.

Describing all of the social changes caused by the 11 broad measures announced as the

Intervention on the 21st of June is beyond the scope of this section.

62 However, a 12

th

amendment, the abolition of the CDEP scheme, was added a month later on the 23rd

of July

(Altman 2007). Although CDEP had already been gradually removed or revised in other

Aboriginal communities in Australia, it was still in place and well-functioning in Nauiyu. The

CDEP was to be phased out by 30 June 2008 and replaced with “real jobs,” or participants

would be shifted to mainstream Work for the Dole arrangements. The abolition of CDEP was

alleged to be necessary in order to create a single welfare system that would “streamline” the

quarantining of welfare payments (Maddison 2009). However, this amendment had

particularly grave consequences for employment in Nauiyu and at Merrepen Arts. My

particular focus in the following is to describe the direct consequences this Intervention

governmental policy had for art centre management by changing Merrepen Arts’ official

structure, which eventually, I argue, impaired local Ngan’gi art production.

The ideological motivations and “good intentions” that justified the invasive Intervention

policies, was a belief that the changes would eventually provide Aborigines with the

62

See the Appendix, pages 411-12 for brief descriptions of Intervention-led changes occurring in Nauiyu.

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opportunities to share Australia’s wealth. The goal was to “close the gap” in welfare and

social standing between the white and the black Australian population by “mainstreaming”

and stabilising these challenged communities. Altman (2007) describes the Intervention

mantra as: “stabilise, normalise, and exit.” The main problem with the Intervention is the

tendency to treat all Aboriginal communities as unified and all Aborigines as likeminded,

when in reality, they are diverse, with regional languages, clans, and kinship groups.

However, this diversity is ignored, as many Aboriginal policies rest on the federal belief of

the existence of a pan-Aboriginal identity (Maddison 2009). Brown and Brown argue that due

to this tendency by federal policies to apply a “one size fits all” approach “all Aboriginal

communities are framed as dysfunctional, all Aboriginal people as abusers, and all Aboriginal

children as abused” (2007: 625), which is an unfair and false generalisation.

At the first public Intervention meeting, on the 21st of August 2007, we were informed by a

workplace relations officer that the CDEP would be abolished in the near future; it was to be

replaced by so-called “real jobs,” job training, or mainstreamed as a “Work for the Dole”

arrangement. Disregarding the complex differences between Aboriginal communities in the

north, the same policies were enforced in all communities, regardless of the fact that CDEP

had been functioning well in Nauiyu. Cameron argues that CDEP positions had been

“important in the operational effectiveness of the Art Centre over the duration of its

existence” (2008: 13). The change was justified by the claim that CDEP kept the Aborigines

in “second class” jobs and that this initiative would offer residents training and

apprenticeships so they could perform all of the jobs in the community, formerly performed

by outside hired assistance. The government further defined CDEP as welfare, and claimed

that providing people with “real jobs” with a steadier income, would indirectly contribute to

making the whole of the community safer. To encourage the locals’ commitment to obtaining

“real jobs,” these positions offered certain benefits such as payment “in the hand” every 14th

day, without having to fill in the former CDEP forms, and employees were to be granted

vacations.63

A main problem with this vision of “real jobs” is that there are not a sufficient

number of such jobs in these communities, at present. The government made assurances that

they would fund and gradually “create” real jobs, but the transition was initiated before a

63

For those not given a “real job,” a stricter policy would oblige: Locals were expected to take any training or

work for the dole project job offered to them. Their benefits, collected at the Centrelink office, would be

submitted to the Income Management department, reserving half of their benefits for essential expenses, such as

food and rent. Vacations for bush holidays, ceremonies, or sorry business are not granted. Missing work on more

than three occasions leaves people without their benefits for eight weeks (see the Appendix, pages 411-12 for

more detailed descriptions).

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sufficient level of employment was available. The present CEO of Nauiyu stated: “Yes, they

(the government) had this idea of getting rid of CDEP, but the problem is that there has been a

vacuum in place of it; there was nothing there to replace it. The big problem that people from

the outside don’t understand is that these places don’t have an economic base, basically.”64

Intervention changes were facilitated through many public meetings, during which

government representatives explained the new policies that would be enforced during the

Intervention. The government saw the new policies as critical to improving the state of affairs

in the communities. In a six month period, the Merrepen Arts employees participated in six

public meetings, two council house meetings, and eight meetings, where I was allowed to

attend, at the art centre. In these meetings various suited government representatives who had

been granted unprecedented authority, stood in front of the locals, who sat on the ground or in

provided chairs all huddled together, listening. The officials talked for hours, describing all of

the changes that would happen, regardless of whether or not the locals approved. With grand

gestures, the government representatives said, “We want to hear local opinion on what needs

to be improved in your community.” However, they appeared to be what Bauman (2007)

describes as “talking heads,” finishing their speeches with “everyone agree,” concluded,

rather than questioned, and a two-way dialogue rarely occurred.

I observed how the locals seldom articulated their concerns and questions. Not only was the

information overwhelming and poorly explained, but for Aborigines, public speaking is

governed by kinship-based rules in which male elders take precedence over younger men and

women. Permission to speak is also dependent on which kinship groups are present at the

meeting (Maddison 2009). These kinship-based practices for speaking were not taken into

consideration in the conduction of these public meetings. When the male elders present asked

an occasional question, they seldom received clear answers. Rather, evasive responses were

often provided, such as, “another representative specializes in this area and can come to

answer this later” ... “we have made some mistakes and they are fixing it up as they go along,

but you will be educated and there will be signs telling you what to do in time.” Such answers

indicate what Altman labels “frenetic bursts of policy-making on the run” (2007: 2). This

lack of consistency in the provision of information caused much confusion and anger among

64

Morris argues that Aborigines are “chronically unemployed people” creating a state of dependency caused,

not only by imposed political and legalistic control, but also due to the “economic coercion of a declining rural

economy” (1990: 65).

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the locals, who had to wait uncertainly for days and weeks, not knowing how their income

and jobs would be structured.

The direct consequences of the Intervention for Merrepen Arts were that, after the

cancellation of CDEP, a new position structure was implemented, causing unemployment for

a large number of former employees and ultimately lowering art production. The changes

began in mid-September, initially leaving the art centre without any workers for a few weeks

long transition period. After several Intervention meetings and much uncertainty, the

management were informed that Merrepen Arts would, in addition to one manager, receive 6

part-time “real job” positions funded by the Department of Communication, Information,

Technology, and Arts (DCITA), such that each employee would work 20 hours a week.65

Thus, 6 “real job” positions replaced the former 23 employees supported by CDEP, rendering

14 former Merrepen Art employees unemployed.

The manager who was young and new to the position, was the authority figure faced with

implementing these new legislations on the ground, which he strongly resisted. “His tenure as

Manager comes at a time of significant change and upheaval at the Art Centre which has

created new challenges for Art Centre Management” (Cameron 2008: 14). The manager

became the one who had to select six employees for these “real job” positions, while

simultaneously excluding 14 of the former employees. Those left unemployed were told that

they would be gradually moved into training, other real job positions, or Work for the Dole

projects. However, many remained inactive during a demoralising period of waiting for such

programs and jobs to be established. In particular, the former assistant manager who lost his

position was very depressed by this change, as he cherished his art and his job and now felt

that he had been robbed of both. The governmental representatives advised the manager to

formally interview the six employees he had to select for these positions, to inform them of

their new responsibilities. The manager refused to perform such interviews, stating that he

knew his employees and their abilities well and did not need to interview them. With the

structures not in place completely, confusion about the status and responsibilities of each

employee created many management conflicts. Further, it used to be the job of Centrelink

staff to withhold payment from those who did not work the expected four hours a day on

65

See the Appendix page 413 for an illustration of the new organisational structure. Two would be Workshop

Technicians working in the shed to prepare screen printing and batik production, make frames and canvases.

Two would be Cleaners performing cleaning, maintenance of the buildings, and garden work. Two would be

Gallery assistants performing office work, hang exhibitions and assisting customers (Cameron 2008: 22).

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CDEP payments. Now, it was the manager who had to threaten to withhold the payment from

employees if they did not show up for work. He expressed to me how he feared angry

retaliations and could see how conflicts were increasing in the community, threatening to

break families apart.

The manager and the board also resisted placing employees in such rigid positions, narrowly

defining the employees as gallery workers, printers or cleaners. The new employment

structure was at odds with their concepts of art production, in which all activities such as

gardening, cleaning, screen printing or painting were group activities performed collectively

and governed in a flexible manner by demand and events. When the employees and artists

could no longer produce art as a group, this immediately resulted in reduced art production.

Plate 3.1 Kenneth and Elaine painting together at Merrepen Arts in 2008.

Plate 3.2 Kenneth, Karen, Bianca, and Yambeing painting together at Merrepen Arts in 2003.

Two additional factors in the Intervention policies contributed to reduced art production. The

Merrepen Arts management was informed that the six positions could not involve painting,

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only “art preparation work,” such as providing canvases. However, the activity of painting

was to be performed by all artists in their own spare time and in their homes. This practice

was in stark contrast to the art centre’s former function as a place where artists could

congregate and paint in groups, while sharing stories and learning from each other.

A second change was that everyone in the community who was unemployed or on Work for

the Dole benefits was obliged by the Intervention policy to notify Centrelink when they sold

one of their artworks, and the amount they earned would be subtracted from their benefit.

When receiving this information the manager immediately stated that this policy could

contribute to lowering the artists’ motivation for painting. In particular, for those who painted

occasionally, their art production being too sporadic to sustain a living, they were more likely

to choose the steady benefit income. Only prolific and established artists could realistically

have the future goal off living of their art and earning greater amounts of money from

painting than their governmental benefits provided. The CDEP had been beneficial to local art

centres precisely because it was an employment program that provided income for the many

artists not producing enough art to sustain a living, but nevertheless finding pride and

meaning in producing art. Upon expressing these reservations, the manager received blank

stares or complete dismissal, based on classic illusions from the government representatives:

Well now they will instead be part of a real economy. They will have to choose to work or produce

art for income. If they take that negative attitude then that is just sad and there is nothing we can do

about that…. They should rather think more in terms of business and trying to make this into a

more money earning business. This is the same for artists all over Australia, very few artists, less

than one percent can actually live off their art. They are teaching or stacking shelves at Woolworth.

So now it will be that same for the artists here!

Such statements indicate a complete denial of the existence of cultural differences between

Aboriginal artists and white Australian artists. Altman (1989, 1990, 2007) has extensively

explored the importance that Aboriginal art has for the Aborigines, as a means for gaining

access to cash income. I follow Altman (2007) when stating that equality in socio-economic

status cannot occur when Aborigines choose and want to live on the land in remote Australia,

retaining their distinct cultural practices. The government’s argument is based on the faulty

belief that these artists have the same job opportunities as other artists in Australia. However,

there are not many “real job” options available in these Aboriginal communities; one cannot

work at Woolworths, as suggested above, when there are no Woolworth stores in the

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community. Unfortunately, the manager’s concern proved valid, and as a direct consequence

of the new Intervention legislation, art production began declining dramatically; this was

especially true for the artists who were employed in “Work for the Dole” positions. When

asking one of the artists why she had stopped painting, she replied: “The CDEP job that I had

cleaning was not turned into a “real job.” So now if I sell a painting they will take it out of my

dole. If I sell more than one painting I will lose my pay altogether, so nothing, I don’t paint no

more. If they bring that CDEP back I’m gonna start painting again.”

Thus, the direct consequences of the changes in the Merrepen Arts structure included lowered

art production, much confusion experienced by the management, and increased local

unemployment. I follow Maddison (2009), who argues that the government’s Intervention,

though involving a substantial investment of resources into the communities, were once again

based on a policy that was completely at odds with Aboriginal aspirations. Further, it seemed

to be yet another attempt for a quick-fix solution that did not take into account the complexity

of Aboriginal cultures and diverse community practices, nor did it support Aboriginal

leadership or opinions. Maddison (2009) claims that prior to the election, the most widely

criticised aspects of the intervention were the abolition of CDEP, the abolition of the

Aboriginal land permit system, and compulsory sequestering of half of all welfare payments

in 73 communities. Ironically, Merrepen Arts management was eventually informed on the 1st

of July, 2008, that the CDEP would be reinstated, and only slightly changed in some regions,

due to all the problems with the new structures. However, this second transition period was

also marked by periods of confusion and uncertainty.66

Summary

An important part of the becoming of Ngan’gi art is the intercultural circulation of the art and

artists, which is initiated in Merrepen Arts, the site of production and distribution.

The Ngan’gi, like most artists, depend on some form of institutional mediation, and the art

centre assists their artistic production, create artwork displays, distributes their works for sale,

provides income, and for some, also provides employment. Consequently, the lives and works

of the Ngan’gi artists become inextricably embedded in particular forms of perception,

politics, economy, and social and cultural realities (Marcus et al. 1995). An Aboriginal art

66

The problematic outcome of the Intervention also partly contributed to Australians voting for a change in

government. In November 2007 the federal elections for parliament replaced the liberal/national coalition of J.

Howard with K. Rudd’s Labour party government, which modified many of the rigid Intervention policies.

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organisation facilitates an intersection of tradition, Aboriginal cultural life, the legacy of

colonialism, and current federal polices, and this chapter has attempted to illustrate how this

creates an extraordinarily complex political culture, which Maddison (2009) claims is poorly

understood by non-Aboriginal people. When Ngan’gi artists paint, this is a form of art

production in which a culturally-based identity is an important and necessary recourse.

Therefore, I found that the local employees insisted on producing art and managing Merrepen

Arts in a manner that emphasises their language, culture, and traditional way of being.

However, in art centre management culturally-based concepts of sharing, relatedness, and

collective rights to designs seem to challenge official roles and accountability as employees

and manager. The Ngan’gi artists’ insistence in making culture “relevant” to art centre

management, represents what Cowlishaw (1993; 1999) labels as an “oppositional culture.” In

their negotiations with business legislation and governmental funding policies, the Ngan’gi

are attempting to challenge and subvert the dominant systems of meaning.

This chapter’s analysis of the implementation in Nauiyu of the governmental policy referred

to as the Intervention, revealed severe consequences. Due to rapid and enforced changes in

the Merrepen Arts employment structure, art production was significantly reduced and local

unemployment was increased. Apparently, the words of Sutton ring true when stating that

“limits to the powers of policies should not be underestimated, and the historical burden of

policy in creating misery should not be exaggerated” (2001: 126). Furthermore, I follow

Maddison (2009) when arguing that the main reason for such repeated clashing of world

views is that the Australian government has not attempted to engage with Aboriginal people,

to work with them in meaningful partnerships when developing policies that have such grave

effects on their communities. In contrast with such ideal engagement with local artists, my

descriptions of the official roles of past managers revealed a strong focus on profit, rather than

interacting with the artists on their terms. In comparison the local manager appeared to

perform leadership in accordance with kinship-based forms of proper social interaction in

public and in accordance with the boss’ kinship-based obligation of “looking after” his kin.

Consequently, using a less authoritarian manner of leadership the local manager avoided

critique and domination of his employees, and provided material rewards to encourage staff

commitment. As described, this local form of management at Merrepen Arts did result in

some financial difficulties. However, more importantly, I also found that a strong sense of

community developed in Merrepen Arts because some of the employees were family

members. They developed strong networks that created fruitful cooperation in relation to art

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production and a strong sense of solidarity among the employees. I also observed how

Merrepen Arts accommodates artists from every kin and language group in Nauiyu, rather

than suffering from clan domination and exclusion. Thus, I claim that it is important for the

future stability and the successful development of Aboriginal organisations, such as Merrepen

Arts, that local leaders are supported and that cooperation with community members is

attempted.

The employees of Merrepen Arts recognise both the official laws of governance and the

Ancestral Law of kinship in their local art centre management. Similarly, Ngan’gi artists

combine external art production techniques with internal conventional painting practices

when they create their art. In the following chapter, I will explore in more detail how the

materiality of technical art production sustains socially situated learning and innovative

artistic skills.

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PART II

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4

NGAN’GI ART PRODUCTION PRACTICES AND MEDIA:

EXTERNAL TECHNIQUES AND INTERNAL CONTENT

This chapter describes all of the artistic and skill-based practices performed at Merrepen Arts.

Ngan’gi artists apply media such as paint, fibre, paper, and fabrics to create artworks for sale,

with production techniques such as etching, serigraphy, painting on canvas, and batik. By

providing rich descriptions of the practical and empirical reality of art production, I seek an

insight into the materiality of Ngan’gi art. It is important to understand, as suggested by

Bouquet (2012), how the material is embedded in the social world. I aim to explore the

explicit links made between the visual and the material in social systems (Banks et al. 1997)

to illustrate how materiality is a significant part of the becoming of Ngan’gi art.

When the first Aboriginal artists of Papunya Tula transferred traditional designs, formerly

painted on bodies, wooden objects, stone walls and sand, to canvas and paper, this entailed a

dramatic transformation in the use of medium, context, and form (Myers 2005, 2006b).

Similarly, Ngan’gi artworks manifest a continuation of narratives from a shared Dreaming,

and everyday and ceremonial practices. Ngan’gi designs are founded on a traditional use of

visual styles and forms, previously used in ceremonies, called durrmu in Ngan’gi. Therefore,

it was a substantial change for the people of Nauiyu when they began re-creating, re-inventing

and combining their internal conventional painting practices and traditional design subject-

matter, with new art media and production techniques appropriated from the external of the

community. Regardless, I hold that something from the past remains in contemporary

Aboriginal art production, such as the sharing and transmission of kinship-owned Dreamtime

designs, and the social practice of learning how to paint from family members.

To frame my approach to materiality theoretically, I will return briefly to the historical

definition of art. As mentioned, the word art originated with a definition that focused on

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craftsmanship, including the practical knowledge and physical skills an artist possesses, and

the technology he or she applies. Throughout art history, beginning in the late 18th

century,

the status and meaning of fine art became gradually elevated and understood as separate from

the practical side of art production. Ingold (2000) describes how this definition of art was in

line with a general tendency at the time of emphasising contrasts between the intellect and

manual labour, mind and body, creativity and repetition. Artists were seen as free, creative,

and spontaneous, with talents not determined by habitual, bodily skill or technology. This

modern conception of the human subject separating the mental from the material became

reflected in the definition of art, which was also viewed as separate from technology.

Moreover, this notion was reflected in the anthropological research of art. Technology was

researched with a focus on ecological adaption and material relations between humans and

nature, while art was researched with a focus on myths, rituals, and the communication of

specific cultural imagination. With this chapter’s focus on art media and techniques, I am

inspired by Ingold (2000) and his suggestion to overcome this dichotomy between mechanical

functioning and symbolic expression in art by focusing also on practical skill.67

In my attempt to capture the materiality Ngan’gi art, I was initially inspired by Gell (1998)

who, rather than being concerned with the communication of meaning, suggests that art is all

about “doing,” and what is interesting is the effect art has on people in the social world.

However, Gell (1998) rejects the symbolic or semiotic approach to art, whereas I find it

meaningless to explore the materiality of things without also exploring and understanding, in

my analysis of the becoming of Ngan’gi art, the cultural significance that Ngan’gi artists place

in the symbols they use in their art designs.68

Therefore, I found the perspectives of Damsholt

and Simonsen (2009) particularly rewarding. Similarly to Gell (1998), Damsholt and

Simonsen (2009) also insist on questioning what the material “does” in the world. An active

focus on “doing” in concrete time and space overcomes the supposed separation between

subject and object, nature and culture, and defines material culture as materialisations: A

performative understanding of something that is active, dynamic and relational (2009: 14).

Furthermore, they also suggest that this recognition of culture being and including things,

materiality, and practices, does not necessitate the exclusion of interest in discursive practices,

social and semiotic processes of signification, and abstract ideologies. This is fitting for my

67

Latour (2005) also has made a similar point by recommending the inclusion in social research of an analysis of

things, objects, their materiality and the concrete ways in which they are connected to the world. 68

The perspectives of Gell and myself on symbolic art analysis will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 5.

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exploration of the becoming of art, in which the materiality of Ngan’gi paintings, as well as

their symbolic content, is interpreted as processual and dependent on social relations. Art is

always emerging through complex networks involving many actors, in which artistic

intention, visual symbols, and material elements are enmeshed.

What characterises Ngan’gi painting practices is that the skills of painting visual forms, and

the knowledge of design stories, are given to each person from senior members of their

immediate kinship and resident group. Taylor’s (2007) term “apprenticeship network” is

useful in describing how “schools” of artists are created at Merrepen Arts, when the young

learn to create art by watching, listening to, and mimicking their elders.69

This form of

learning involves more than mere imitation, as the artists creatively appropriate the

knowledge they receive, and make it their own, when they create their own artworks with

enhanced and individual variations in styles, compositions and uses of colour. Nevertheless,

there is also a clear tendency to share certain stylistic features and designs, particularly among

Ngan’gi artists who are members of the same kinship group.70

This form of socially-situated

art production was transferred early on into the formalised art production at Merrepen Arts,

and artists continue to congregate on a daily basis and produce art together, always in groups.

For the Ngan’gi artists, learning cultural painting conventions is merely the first step in the

art-creation process. Many of the Ngan’gi artists are also employees or members of Merrepen

Arts, an Aboriginal art centre organisation, where they were given the opportunity to learn

and master a variety of art media. Each medium and technique introduced from the external

was taught to the Ngan’gi artists by former art coordinators and through training workshops,

organised by Merrepen Arts management. Such training in each art technique is an absolute

necessity, as described by Becker: “Most of these things cannot be done on the spur of the

moment. They require some training. People must learn the techniques characteristic of the

kind of work they are going to do ... Accordingly, someone must carry on the education and

training through which such learning occurs” (1982: 5). The Ngan’gi artists gradually increase

their skills in a manner that combines technical art education with local Ngan’gi concepts of

collective art production. Thus, learning to create art is founded on hierarchical relationships

embedded in mediating contexts, as well as formal training routines, and an exploration of

this materiality yields an exploration of the sociality of Ngan’gi art.

69

Such an art production practice is similar to what Ingold (2000) describes as “situated learning.” 70

In Chapter 5 I will describe in more detail how styles follow families in Ngan’gi art.

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To learn past and present painting convention, the Ngan’gi are dependent on the knowledge of

their elders, art coordinators, and visiting art technicians. However, producing commercial art

requires a third element, that of achieving the recognition of what they produce by an external

art market. Processes of situated learning and material performance are therefore, I argue,

entangled with artistic creativity and Merrepen Arts management practices, in addition to

aesthetic art market judgment. All Ngan’gi artists share the knowledge, and some, the

intention, needed to produce art, yet only a few excel in mastering the technology necessary to

receive art world recognition where their artistic technique is also judged. Therefore, I aim to

describe in this chapter two interesting challenges particular to the development of art-

producing practices among Aboriginal artists. Aboriginal art was, from early on, marketed as

having a strong cultural foundation, and Aboriginal painting became somehow publicly

conceived as second nature or a natural ability that Aborigines are born with (Michaels 1994).

Although I see this as a misconception, I want to show how such notions created a growing

concern with authenticating traditionalism in the art market. Moreover, I want to question

how such conceptualisations have affected, or perhaps limited, the production of Ngan’gi art.

A second challenge surrounding the circulation and production of Aboriginal art was the issue

of copyright. A gradual realisation surfaced of the need to change international copyright

laws, in recognition of how Aboriginal art production practice sustains sacred and

collectively-owned designs that are produced as commercial art by individual artists. As such,

this chapter also continues, in a manner of speaking, my main thesis ambition of describing

the existing opportunities and limitations for artistic creativity in the art worlds, by also

including those embedded in the material and practical side of Ngan’gi art production.

In the following, I employ a wide approach to materiality, including the performative and

social-material processes of learning and daily art production, with recognition of how these

art production practices also are constituted by external judgment. I found that when Ngan’gi

artists appropriate “external” art production techniques into their own art practices, interesting

contradictions arise, revealing particularities to the becoming of Ngan’gi art. Furthermore, the

technical descriptions of this chapter assists in providing a holistic and total contextualisation

of Ngan’gi art, while also providing a familiarity for the reader with technical terms and

media necessary to appreciate the art analysis of style and symbolic subject-matter in Ngan’gi

designs given in the following chapter. To visualise the existing diversity in Ngan’gi art, and

the variety of art techniques mastered by Ngan’gi artists, I have incorporated suitable

illustrations accompanying the text throughout this chapter.

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This chapter will focus in four main parts on illustrating firstly, how the historical

introduction of new media into Aboriginal art production may initially have been limited,

because of a notion shared by certain art world representatives that Aboriginal art was to

remain traditional and unchanging. Secondly, I describe how national judicial concepts of

copyright had to be expanded to incorporate the particular and kinship-based forms of

Aboriginal artistic practices, when Aboriginal art was produced and circulated for sale.

Thirdly, practical, material, and technical art production practices, as they are performed on a

daily basis at Merrepen Arts by Ngan’gi artists and Merrepen Arts employees, are explored in

detail, to illustrate how artistic creation is skill-dependent and involves technology, sociality

and intercultural exchanges. These descriptions are based on my observations and

participation in art production. I have consulted Chamberlain (1972), and Saff and Sacilotto

(1978), two American artists and printmakers, for technical printmaking terms. Lastly, I

question how artistic innovation can mediate a change in the status of fibre works, and I

describe how the Ngan’gi artists used fibre work production to create a tour for tourists.

“Traditional” Art Produced with “Contemporary” Media

From the first introduction of Aboriginal art to the art worlds, it was described and marketed

as having a spiritual character because of the artists’ insistence that their designs are from the

Dreaming, based on traditional design stories (Myers 2002). Analysing how certain actors of

the art worlds produced particular Aboriginal art categorisations out of these cultural

differences, will illustrate how such evaluations have affected the incorporation of new art

media and techniques in Ngan’gi art production.

The first public Aboriginal art movement started, as mentioned in the Introduction, in

Papunya Tula in the 1970s, when a school teacher, Geoffrey Bardon, encouraged the painting

of a mural at the local school. In the aftermath of these murals the production of canvas

paintings with Dreamtime designs soon proliferated. Initially, the sacred designs would be

covered with a plethora of background dots, which were the start of the excessive use of dots

in this art style (Anderson et al. 1988; Anderson 1990; Willsteed 2004). The artists from the

early art movement at Papunya Tula were from the Warlpiri, Luritja, Pintupi, Anmatyerre,

and Arrente language groups. From Papunya the art production on canvas for sale spread to

Yuendumu, Lajamanu, Balgo, and Utopia. Papunya Tula can therefore be seen as the “birth

place” of the Aboriginal art movement (Bardon 1991; Bardon et al. 2006). Anderson (1990)

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claims that Papunya Tula Artists have established the largest sales of any art centre based on

the acrylic dot style, making their painting constitutive in the art market as representing

“Australian Aboriginal art.”

The mentioned emphasis on mythological reference in the art produced by most Aboriginal

artists may be why Aboriginal art, such as the art from Papunya Tula, was initially labelled

“primitive art.” Many have described how Aboriginal art was conceived and celebrated as

having a traditional, mythological, original and spiritual character, embracing a form of

“spiritual wholeness” (Michaels 1988; Anderson 1990; Marcus et al. 1995). Thus, Aboriginal

art became “icons for primordial integrity” (Brown et al. 1998: 202) due to the international

art world’s nostalgic search for something rare and handmade, which seemed lost among the

mass-produced commodities of the “plastic world” of modern capitalistic societies (Graburn

1976). As a direct consequence, there soon followed a concern that Aboriginal art should

retain its “traditional” qualities in order to remain “genuinely Aboriginal.” Colley made this

comments concerning this tendency, “Aboriginality is often defined by criteria which are

racist, - only ‘traditional’ Aborigines are ‘real’, others are not ‘real’ Aborigines” (Colley

2000: 28). Michaels (1994) also describes how it came to be a generally-held notion that

Aboriginal art was authentic only if it remained in a state of frozen and supposed

timelessness, “uncontaminated” by Western influences and art production techniques. Price

(1989) describes how not only the Aborigines but also other non-Western artists have been

haunted by the supposed divide between the unchanging, exotic, rare, traditional or primitive-

looking art perceived as “authentic,” in contrast to the changing, hybridised, innovative art

often viewed as “inauthentic.”

Furthermore, in Aboriginal communities, every person inherits collective designs and is

taught how to paint them. Thus, when art production is formalised and facilitated by art centre

organisations in various Aboriginal communities, there are often quite a large number of

people who choose to, and know how to, paint. This has given rise to a romantic and

modernist conception that panting is second nature for Aboriginal artists. Artistic talent comes

at birth, with a naturalism that is believed to be corrupted or lost by formal art education and

non-indigenous influence. Michaels (1994) pinpointed this specific set of romantic images in

his interpretation of a newspaper article from The Weekend Australian in 1987 describing an

exhibition by an ethnographer, two anthropologists, and an art curator on the art of the Central

Desert community of Yuendumu: “These clever sorts managed to discover a whole tribe of

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Picassos in the desert, presumably a mysterious result of spontaneous cultural combustion.

We’re told of the curator’s astonishment at finding more painters per capita of population than

in Manhattan’s Soho” (1994: 147-148).

The Western, historically-based, preoccupation with authenticity is partly a remnant left from

early European art history, when objects were classified as either art or as culturally-based

craft. Only outstanding artistic individual creativity and innovation used in the production

process qualified an object for the status of art. In contrast, Aboriginal artworks were

perceived as functional, communally produced, and almost primeval, slavish replicas of

traditional, age-old, Dreamtime-based visual forms; a form of painting that apparently lacked

the presence of individual creativity. “It (Aboriginal art) seemed at once both sophisticated

and yet the product of ‘savages’” (Gibson 2013: 51). This belief was captured by yet another

quote from Hughes, a Time reporter, which celebrates and insists on a form of unchanging

primitivism in Aboriginal art: “Tribal art is never free and does not want to be. The ancestors

do not give one drop of goanna spit for creativity” (cited in Myers 2002: 283).

Such interpretations of Aboriginal art production practices are founded on an essentialist and

static understanding of the concept of tradition, and limited recognition of how the criteria

applied in such aesthetic judgments are culturally determined. I follow Clifford (1988) in

arguing that authenticity is not actually concerned with salvaging something “real;” notions of

authenticity are produced. Aboriginal art objects have never existed in a “pure and

untouched” state. To grasp the fact that Aboriginal art production has emerged from, and is

also an extension of, Aboriginal traditions, one needs a different concept of tradition, not seen

as static but continually “invented” (Crew et al. 1991; Hobsbawm et al. 1992; Errington 1994,

1998; Merlan 2000, 2001; Taylor 2007). The manner in which Aboriginal artists have adapted

their designs to new media is actually extraordinarily innovative. There is a definite existence

of individual and artistic creativity, among Aboriginal artists, who gradually increase their

painting skill through a lifelong process of learning. As will be demonstrated the possibility

for change is integrated in Aboriginal, and Ngan’gi, culture, as one shared Dreamtime story

can be painted in a variety of individual styles and using new techniques, without diminishing

the cultural significance it holds for the artists.

What is important with respect to such misconceptions surrounding Aboriginal art is, as also

pointed out by Crew and Sims (1991), the authority that certain art world participants and

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historical art definitions hold when classifying certain objects as “authentic” or not.

Regardless of how absurd such notions may be, they did, and still do, to a certain extent affect

the creativity of Aboriginal artists. Following the pioneering Papunya Tula artists prolific

artistic production from other areas in Australia gradually introduced different Aboriginal art

styles to the art market, as artists innovatively experimented with strong colours, figurative

designs, and new media such as glass and metal. As argued by Altman (2007) the gradual

acceptance of Western Desert art as fine art in the early 1980s paved the way for the

acceptance of other regional Aboriginal art styles. This is partly true, although I would like to

nuance this claim. My findings indicated, rather, that the public’s initial familiarisation with

Aboriginal art as “Western Desert dot art” may have also limited the appreciation of

stylistically different Aboriginal art, such as Ngan’gi art. According to my ethnographic

material and observations of the art worlds, there is a remaining conservative fascination with

traditionalism in the art market that is particularly apparent among tourists. Among such

customers the appreciation of stylistically different Aboriginal art in new media, introduced to

the art market at a later point in time, is still limited. I will explore in Chapter 7 how such

claims for traditionalism have affected the ways in which Aboriginal art has been aesthetically

judged and represented in the art market. For now, I will explore how this particular definition

of Aboriginal art affected the incorporation of new art media and techniques in Ngan’gi art.

Provided are a few examples that I observed during my fieldworks at Merrepen Arts. They

illustrate narrow conceptualisations of what Aboriginal art is and conservative prejudice

against Aboriginal art production practices, which continue to exist among certain art world

participants and settings.

At Merrepen Arts, a workshop called Stepping Stones for Tourism71

was arranged in

September 2007, in which visiting representatives of the tourism industry provided a small

group of Nauiyu inhabitants with a workshop to facilitate their development of tourism

projects. Despite the visiting representative’s claim of wanting to “help develop the ideas of

the artists,” this project was, according to my observations, riddled with misunderstandings.

The participants expressed to me a feeling of being overrun, dominated, and misunderstood.

71

The Stepping Stones for Tourism workshop was aimed at building the capacity of Aboriginal communities to

engage more formally with tourism development planning. The Program was devised by Nicholas Hall, a

governmental representative, employed by the Department of Environment and Heritage, supported by Tourism

N.T. and N.T. Tourism research centres. The course resulted in the planning and materialisation of the Fi fibre

work tour for tourists, introduced in more detail below on pages 168-171.

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The leader of the workshop referred to them all as artists, which in most situations is

acceptable, but when writing the official report, Patricia Marrfurra objected, saying, “I am a

linguist.” Being an artist is just one of her roles, but being a linguist is her formal occupation.

The workshop leader laughed at her objections, answering, “But you are an artist, you are all

natural artists!”

Then, on a later occasion during this workshop, Marrfurra was explaining how the residents

of Nauiyu train children and teach them painting from an early age, to which the workshop

leader replied, “You don’t need to train your kids! They do painting by themselves!” Though

probably intended as compliments, these statements revealed an essentialist and stereotypical

view of the Aboriginal people’s culture and knowledge of art as something they have or

possess in an unchanging and timeless continuum. In contrast to such fallacies, Ngan’gi artists

learn how and what to paint, and they improve their art production techniques through years

of training with senior artists who abide by local Ancestral painting conventions. From a

young age, they observe and imitate their relatives when developing their artistic ability.

Merrepen Arts regularly arranges workshops for the artists, in which experts are hired for

various art media and techniques to teach and train them, because materialisations are

processes in which something is created and stabilised over time (Damsholt et al. 2009). In

March 2008, the Australian artist Fiona Syvier hosted a painting workshop the Ngan’gi artists

to improve their techniques for blending and shading of acrylic paint. Syvier often received

prejudiced reactions to her work. I observed one such event that occurred in the Merrepen

Arts gallery, and it is described by an excerpt from my field notes:

(17.03.08). I am talking to a customer that I became acquainted with in Maningrida. Syvier arrives

in the gallery taking a break from the workshop and joins the conversation ... The man had a strong

reaction when Syvier tells him she is having a painting workshop with the artists. He looks

confused and with an angry voice asks her; “what do you mean you are teaching them to paint?”

Art production knowledge and painting techniques, which are considered a self-evident

component of the art education of non-Aboriginal artists, are somehow believed to inhibit the

uncultivated creativity that Aboriginal artists are believed to possess. This man’s comment is

an example of how such notions prevail, suggesting that in the case of Aboriginal art, believed

to originate in their cosmology and traditions, only the product of the “untutored mind” can

remain “genuine.” Thus, a white woman teaching Western painting techniques is believed to

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somehow devaluate Aboriginal art. Vogel argues that this notion that Aboriginal art will be

inauthentic “a priori imitations of the West” (1991: 30) if Aborigines use our techniques, is an

absurd prevention of the Aborigines’ right to art education and art development.

Aboriginal artists are not, however, passive towards such opposition. They continue their art

production, gradually changing and broadening the concepts of art among many art world

participants. In some ways, innovation is as much about creativity as it is about the extent to

which there exists an acceptance for change among the artists. The Ngan’gi artists expressed

to me that they are open to changing their designs and improving on conventional modes of

painting by developing new and individual styles, learning new techniques, and thinking of

new ways to express shared design stories or certain subject-matter. Their designs have been

innovative since the beginning of their art movement, when they created a public form of

expression for commercial art sales in 1986. The paintings reflect their current life situations

and their personal life experiences, and their skills grow and develop throughout their lives.

They often say, “When I first began painting, I used to paint like a child, but now I am better,

my lines are finer, and I have found my own way,” confirming how they continually change

their art through learning followed by innovation, negotiation, and improvement.

Ngan’gi artists have been innovative in their development of “external” techniques,

appropriating painting, screen printing on fabric, and batik, making these media their own and

producing these works unassisted; the elders teach the younger artists. Other techniques, such

as silk painting and etching, are produced with the assistance of external art technicians in

annual workshops. To further theorise art as a form of material culture, I want to mention

Bouquet’s (2012) focus on an actual and existing hybridity in works of art, also present when

Ngan’gi artists combine and entangle creativity and technology in this manner, united by their

artistic agency and intention. However, as noted also by Panofsky (1955), the intentions of

those who produce objects are always conditioned by the standards of their period and

environment. And unfortunately, the durable myth of Aboriginal primitivism lingers in certain

art market contexts. I will explore in more detail in Chapter 7 how conservative art market

preferences directly influenced Ngan’gi artists when developing their art styles.

In the following, the case of Merrepen Arts’ management of copyright will be described. I

will illustrate how the government attempted through federal legislation to modify their

judicial laws in order to adapt to Aboriginal concepts of art and art-producing practices.

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Copyright: Contradicting Art Concepts

A fundamental part of Ngan’gi painting practices of great importance to the Ngan’gi artists, is

their responsibility to protect sacred and kinship-owned designs against unauthorised

reproduction. Artworks are forms of material culture that undergo a change in status to

intellectual property once they are produced for sale. Consequently, it is also the

responsibility of Merrepen Arts management to protect the copyright of Ngan’gi art designs.

When the production of Aboriginal art accelerated and Aboriginal art began circulating in

public art world contexts, both in Australia and internationally, the concern with copyright

became acute. This is because when kinship-owned art designs are translated into a

commodity that circulates in art markets this involves a re-contextualisation of the art within a

regime of a different values (Myers 2004a). Particularly, in the early days of the Aboriginal

art movement, many artists experienced unauthorized appropriation of their designs. In 1974

Wandjuk Marika, an established Yolngu artist from Arnhem Land, was devastated to find his

sacred and clan-owned design reprinted on a tea towel and sold in a souvenir shop. He

contacted the government, requesting an investigation into the unauthorised use of this clan-

owned design. By so doing, Marika initiated the process of recognising Aboriginal ownership

and copyright of their art designs (Myers 2004a). To encourage ongoing Aboriginal art

production and sales, which soon became of major importance to Australian tourism, the

government was forced to develop protective legislation. However, this aspiration was

complicated by the fact that the Aboriginal concept of art differed from the Western or

National Australian concepts of art.

In my master’s thesis (Øien 2005), I have described the challenges that arise when

differentiated and contradicting Aboriginal and National Australian concepts of copyright

meet, and I will reiterate some of the main points of interest here. In Aboriginal painting

practices, similarly as in everyday Aboriginal life, the individual is considered to be

subordinated to the collective (Baulch 1990; Golvan 1990; Maddison 2009). Additionally,

according to Ngan’gi painting practices founded on Ancestral Law, only some Ngan’gi art

designs are shared and communally owned by members of certain kinship groups. Further, in

Nauiyu there exist certain apprenticeship networks among the artists, through which, as

described above, the younger members are taught how to paint certain subject-matter and

designs by their older relatives. This sharing of talent and learning by observation is part of

Ngan’gi painting tradition. While painting is structured by Ancestral Law, the conventional

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production of shared subject-matter does allow for artistic creativity, as I have pointed out

before. Thus, Ngan’gi artists may share many Dreamtime designs, yet they simultaneously

apply both regional styles and personal, individual styles, which they develop and improve

over time. Nevertheless, Ngan’gi concepts of copyright involve the protection of collective

ownership in inherited designs.

The most prominent contradiction between this particular painting practice and Western,

liberal, democratic, painting practices is the latter’s prominent and paramount concern with

the rights of the individual artist. A Western concept of copyright states that it has the

function of protecting the art designs of individual artists from unauthorised reproduction,

distortion, and alteration, and protecting and recognising the individual artist’s ownership,

economic return, and authorship of their artwork (Philip et al. 1995; Simons 2000). Copyright

is conceived as such because, according to Western art concepts, the artistic idea is

distinguished from materiality; it is, instead, considered a property that comes from the

individual artist’s intellect (Philip et al. 1995; Simons 2000; Myers 2004a). Bern (1974)

argues in the case of the Ngukurr, that the most outstanding contrast between “Black fella”

and “White fella” law is that the first has a religious base in the Aboriginal customary Law

originating in the Dreaming. For the Ngan’gi, painting, imitating, reproducing, and even

creatively reinventing particular designs is a sacred and inherited right, manifesting their

communal identity as members of certain kinship groups: Kin affiliation is actually a

prerequisite of being able to paint. Myers (1995, 2002) argues that when selecting a design, an

artist is demonstrating his or her right to a design as a member of a family, revealing their

ritually held knowledge of the Dreaming, their attachment to a place, and thus their personal

identity. I argue in line with Myers (2004a) that while Western forms of copyright

fundamentally propose to protect human creativity in an objectified form, the Aboriginal

concern is to protect and maintain control over, not just the art objects as intellectual property,

but the subjective, kinship-dependent connection to the design, the socially valued Ancestral

knowledge gained through the practice of secrecy, and immateriality produced in rituals and

embodied in art objects. The Ngan’gi artists voiced in conversation with me a strong concern

for copyright to protect their kinship dependant right to these designs, as well as their

ownership over their own creations and creativity. Merrepen Arts is an intercultural institution

in which this contradiction between individual and collective ownership must be taken into

account in management, to ensure that the artists can produce and sell their art to non-local

visitors, while protecting their design ownership.

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Marrfurra describes in an interview her concepts of copyright in Ngan’gi art production:

One (type of copyright) em (is) like when Kumbi, Marita, and myself do our paintings, we got’ em

(have) our own way of doing things like Crocodile Skin. When we see someone else doing that we

get like angry or upset because they are copying us. But there are like ten different language groups

here and they don’t have any really significant one thing that this clan or group has to do this or

that pattern all the time, we don’t have that, nothing! Only Brian and Danny, (artists from Arnhem

Land region) got that kind. (Øien) Cross hatch patterns belonging to kinship groups? Yes, that’s

how them Arnhem Land mob do it. But we got our Homeland, nobody else can paint that. Such as

NgambuNgambu only Mercia, and her family Maureen, Katherine, and her two brothers and kids

can paint that, me malla (we) can only do our own Homeland. They have to try and ask us first,

like “malla can do that drawing of that Pelican in Malfiyin?” Em (it’s) like that now!

What Marrfurra describes above in the first sentence is not a form of direct appropriation of

physical objects. Rather, it is the appropriation of artistic content, which is but one building

block or artistic element of a work of art; this is defined by Young (2008) as “appropriation of

style.” The artists Marrfurra mentions are some of the most prolific artists at Merrepen Arts,

and thus also most productive in creating stylistic developments. They often find their

personal styles being appropriated or copied by those “less imaginative” local artists, whom

most Merrepen Arts employees often refer to as “copycats.” In art production training at

Merrepen Arts, an appropriate way of learning and imitating styles follows kinship, defined

above as a form of “situated learning” (Ingold 2000) through “apprenticeship networks”

(Taylor 2007). It is accepted for a novice artist to paint in a style visually similar to the styles

of his or her mothers or siblings. If a person, however, is imitating a style of an artist that is

not of his or her kinship group this would be considered a moral transgression. This first type

of appropriation of someone’s style is not directly illegal or seen as an infringement of

copyright according to either mational Australian or Ngan’gi Law. However, this is morally

condemned, or as Marrfurra describes it; this kind of copying makes her angry.

Marrfurra also mentions a type of copyright common in the Arnhem Land region, which is the

knowledge of, and right to reproduce, certain patterns or styles of infill cross-hatching owned

and inherited within kinship clans (Morphy 1998; Taylor 2007). Marrfurra claims that this

particular convention is not present in Ngan’gi art painting practices. The designs painted in

Nauiyu were developed among the women in 1987 in negotiation with the older men. No

sacred, secret or clan-owned patterns have ever been painted or reproduced in their designs.

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Rather, in agreement with the local men, they paint mostly figurative designs of public

Dreamtime stories, customs, bush tucker, and seasonal signs.

However, what is restricted, prohibited, and penalised by both Ngan’gi Aboriginal Law and

national Australian copyright laws is the painting of Homeland Dreamings. Among the

Ngan’gi, certain designs depict the Dreamings belonging to Homeland areas that are owned

by kinship groups. The right paint to these designs is limited to the collective owning group,

not individual artists; this manifests the artists’ identity as custodians. One can paint the

Homeland that is inherited, or someone else’s country, only with permission from the

Traditional Owners. It rarely happens that anyone would breach these rules, and I never

observed it at Merrepen Arts, as there is a shared consensus among the local artists in Nauiyu

concerning the importance and sacred nature of residents’ Homeland Dreamings.

The Ngan’gi artist Grace Kumbi is part of the kinship group that owned the Homeland

Malfiyin. This painting providing an example of a sacred design, where Kumbi is illustrating

the creation of all of her inherited Dreamings of this geographical area: King Brown Snake

Anganisyi, Water (rain) Kuri, Sand Frog Niyen, Chicken Hawk Angan’pipi, Pelican Burro,

Black Brim Awoin, Bittern Agiminy, and Stars Nggannnime, painted in white on a dot-

decorated hilly landscape, with the forked rivers resembling the Malfiyin topography.

Plate 4.1 “Dreamings of Malfiyin” painted by Gracie Kumbi in 2000.

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Molly Yawalminy, Kumbi’s mother, narrated the creation-story of the Malfiyin Dreamings:

“Pindiyin, a good spirit lives there. He has a large stomach. He lives in a cave on the side of a

mountain. Chicken Hawks also live in this cave. It is a Creation place. Sometimes on the peak

a light can be seen. There is a waterfall – this flows into a river. At the fork of the river one

arm joins up to Kareding and the main arm joins up to Malfiyin. The fork is the place of

Bittern – on one bank is the one with the good eye, on the other, the blind one. It is here that

Black Brim swim in the river. There is a mountainous place where the Star Dreaming is found.

From here you can look down on Yambeing and the Pelican Dreaming. This is the line that

begins another country for another family group. At the foot of the hill where the creek of

Malfiyin comes from, there are two holes made by the Bitterns. Water passes underground

forming a tunnel between the two holes. Long ago, a small boy fell into one of the holes and

came out unconscious from the other. The older people lifted him up by the legs and left him

on an ant’s nest, which eventually woke him up. There is also a little spirit person living in this

country that we call Tyirrity Mamal. He looks after the land. Our people say he’s harmless”

(Farrelly 2003: 5).

Kumbi is sharing through this painting both her visual interpretation of parts of her sacred

Dreaming, as well as the narrated story following the painting. Ngan’gi artists sell their art as

a means of expressing identity and cultural knowledge on their own terms, as well as gaining

financial benefits. Ngan’gi artists claim that their art is essential to the identity of the group,

and that their identity is manifested in material culture. Thus, I believe that an exploration of

the materiality in Ngan’gi painting practices does not just capture, as suggested by Damsholt

and Simonsen (2009), the “doing” of materiality, but also how materiality “does us:” that is,

how the Ngan’gi artists become who they are through these social-material practices.

When the artists paint, they insist that they are “giving away culture.” In spite of this sharing

the Ngan’gi want the recipient to recognise the artists’ right to maintain ownership and

management of this culturally important knowledge. Coleman (2004, 2005; Coleman et al.

2006), holds a main focus in her research on Aboriginal art on copyright, authenticity, and

appropriation, and she claims that “it is this relationship that legitimates the moral argument

by indigenous people that intellectual property should be counted as cultural property,” which

is believed to be essential to the cultural identity of the artists (Coleman 2005: 15). Therefore,

Coleman calls for stronger copyright laws to protect collective ownership of designs and

design stories, and recognition of how Aboriginal art is, in particular, a form of cultural

property.

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Art world institutions, such as Merrepen Arts, became meeting places where conflicting

concepts demanded a change in legislation to additionally incorporate Aboriginal values and

concepts. Developing government copyright legislation changed gradually in an attempt to

incorporate a protection of cultural property, sacred and secret, and collectively-owned

designs, in addition to protecting the artistic creativity and economic return of the individual

artist. This concern to take into consideration cultural differences when protect indigenous art

is universal, and legislation is developed on an international basis. In Australia, the Australian

government implemented the Protection of Movable Cultural Heritage Act in 1986. This Act

stated, among many objectives, that cultural property constitutes one of the basic elements of

civilisation and national culture, and should be appreciated in relation to its origin, history and

traditional setting. Further, it recognises that illicit import, export and transfer of ownership of

cultural property might cause impoverishment of a cultural heritage (Janke 1997). Though

beneficial, this legislation did not suffice, and the government recognised that the protection

of cultural Aboriginal knowledge, as well as protecting intellectual property, was central to

Aboriginal art concepts. Thus, the Moral Rights Legislation Act was introduced in 1999

(Simons 2000). According to Simons (2000) this legislation aimed at also protecting the

cultural and artistic integrity of the individual artist, in addition to collectively-owned designs.

Being an Aboriginal incorporated art business, Merrepen Arts has taken steps to uphold these

Acts and the copyright of their designs by always informing their customers of the sacred

nature and kinship-based origin of the Ngan’gi art. In practical terms the Merrepen Arts

management always sell paintings and prints accompanied by certificates of authenticity. For

the Ngan’gi artists, the most important function of the certificate is being a means for them to

communicate their design stories. A painting is always an artistic interpretation of a design

story holding important cultural knowledge, and the sharing of the design story is as important

to the Ngan’gi as the sharing of visual art. Thus, the Merrepen Arts employees always collect

and record the design stories from the artists upon receiving their work.

The certificate also contains the documentation of the artist’s name, date of birth, language,

size of painting, date of completion, medium, catalogue number, title, Merrepen Arts logo,

and other details. In addition to communicating the artists’ stories, these certificates act as

proof of authenticity; ensuring the necessary authorisation of design ownership and financial

return to the artists. This goes a long way in promoting the respectful treatment of Aboriginal

art as culturally-specific forms of self-expression entering mass societies (Brown 2003).

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Simultaneously, producing art for sale leaves the art open for misuse and unauthorised

reproduction, and can reveal cultural knowledge that might not be appreciated by outsiders. It

is inevitable that the rights to intellectual properly conferred by law are restricted, but not

absolute, in a society that values creativity (Brown et al. 1998). Regardless of the Ngan’gi

artists’ wishes and insistence of sharing their stories through art, they also the fear misuse and

unauthorised reproduction of their sacred designs. They expressed ardently to me in

conversation, “this is our art, and no one can paint our designs but us!” To enable the

continuation of the art market circulation of Ngan’gi art, it is of utmost importance that

heritage legislation in the form of juridical copyright can succeed in stabilising and limiting

the cultural flow by finding a balance between revelation and protection of the cultural

knowledge manifested in Ngan’gi designs. In the following sections, performed forms of

materiality, or the “doing” embedded in material culture (Damsholt et al. 2009), is explored

concretely by presenting all of the art media and techniques learned, used, and innovatively

developed by Ngan’gi artists.

Acrylic Canvas Paintings

A large majority of the artworks produced and sold at Merrepen Arts are acrylic paintings on

canvas. The skilful use of tools and body demands “situated learning” (Ingold 2000), and at

Merrepen Arts, painting is always a social and collective practice. The Ngan’gi artists sit in

groups on the ground or around a table, slowly filling their canvases with painted images.

Those who are mothers often bring their children, who move around freely in the art centre

space, and regularly sit down with their kin to listen to stories, observe the painting process,

and gradually partake in painting by imitating their seniors. Another interesting analytical

parallel to such an art practices is Grasseni’s (2007) term “skilled visions.” He argues that the

knowledge people have is not given, but it is constantly being made through social networks.

In the social construction of skilled vision, learning to paint certain forms and use certain

techniques is an important role played according to personal abilities, and through group

negotiations. While working, the artists are engaged in social interaction, talking about the

technicalities of painting itself, what stories they would illustrate, or other topics of interest

concerning social events in their lives. They play jokes on each other and laugh, followed by

moments of silent contemplation on the choice of lines, colours, and design stories.

Merrepen Arts provides stretched canvases, acrylic paints, and brushes to all of their local

members, in return for a 30 % commission of the painting sales. The canvases are

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manufactured in various sizes by the Merrepen Arts employees. The manager orders and

purchases lengths of plank in bulk, which the employees cut to size on a wood cutter. They

next glue and staple them together to form varying sizes and shapes, rectangular or square.

Onto these frames, pieces of unprepared canvas, cut from large rolls, are stretched and stapled

tightly. The stretched canvases are then painted with two layers of white gesso cover paint,

preventing the acrylic colours from seeping through the canvas.

In my attempt to capture the doing of Ngan’gi art, I will describe, according to my

observations, how an artist performs the entire process of creating an acrylic canvas painting.

The first step is to choose the subject-matter for the design, either a Dreamtime story or an

image of bush tucker. Then they select a canvas of the desired size and shape, brushes, and

preferred paint from the Merrepen Arts storage. Every artistic decision is founded on personal

creativity, skills and knowledge developed through training and learning from others. There

are also more practical considerations affecting the artistic process, such as the available

equipment, including which size and shape of canvases and which colours of paint are

available. From my observations, the Ngan’gi artists paint using acrylic colours individually

or blend them to achieve the desired colour. At times, they apply emulsions to prevent the

acrylic from drying too quickly. The elder artists prefer a dark monochrome background,

while the younger often paint striped, multicoloured backgrounds in which each colour blend

into the next. The Ngan’gi artists often line the imagery with chalk or pencil initially, which

leaves room for corrections, before fixing the design with paint. However, if an artist is

unsatisfied when judging a finished painting, it would certainly be re-painted. While drawing

the outline of a specific design, usually in black, the inside of the figures would not be filled

with colour, thus, permitting the multicoloured backwash to show. Once the images are

complete, the paintings are covered with decorative details such as dots, lines, and swirls.

Plate 4.2 “Frilled Neck Lizard” acrylic canvas painting by Marita Sambono in 2003.

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In Sambono’s figurative depiction of a frilled neck lizard, the background is in shades of light

orange and yellow, which come through within the lizard. It is outlined and decorated with

elaborate dots and patterns in black. This lizard stands with his head lifted to the sky and his

neck spread out in an impressive pose used to scare off potential enemies. Each artist applies

regional, family-based, and individual styles in a way that will be explored in the following

chapters. Sambono commented in an interview what painting means to her:

Like I tried other places to work, but it did not fit me. I just came back to the art centre, I had to

paint! I paint everything we catch out bush! Bush tucker, animals, stories from the Dreamtime too

sometimes. Who told you these stories? My mums. And I paint places, and my country. And then I

paint spiritual or religious paintings. I really like to paint ... Sometimes it is hard, but other times it

goes very easy. If I am not happy with the painting it feels hard and I have to do it over again until

it feels good. I think it is really special to me that maybe I am a gifted person.

According to my understanding of the becoming of art, painting is a processual performance

in which the Ngan’gi artists are improving their skills and developing their art designs by

learning from their senior artists, and through circular negotiation with their former art

coordinators and demanding customers. As commented by Sambono, she wants the fame that

follows art world recognition and she is therefore sensitive to the preferences of customers.

Furthermore, Sambono, and many other Ngan’gi artists, often describe their inner feelings of

great satisfaction when they successfully realise in a painting what they had envisioned. I am

inspired by Merleau-Ponty (1964, 2002) in grasping how Ngan’gi artists imagine this creative

process. Locating the fundamental and primary impulses of painting, he describes it as a

particular form of vision that involves the body. In the creative act of painting, the painted

object, the world it comes from, and the vision created in the mind of the artist, are all unified

and intertwined through the body of the painter. Our bodies are also, as pointed out by Mauss

(1973), our primary and natural instruments for learning. Ingold (2000) continues in

extenuating how art production is embodied as the individual develops skilled practices

though his or her senses, in socially and environmentally situated practices. The skilled

practice necessary to produce a painting involves more than mechanical movement. Painting

involves thought, judgment, care, manual dexterity, perception, and attentive involvement

with the paint medium (Ingold 2000). This explains why Ngan’gi artists associate artistic skill

with feeling. Skill is achieved only gradually, and only then can the artist feel how things are

to be done correctly, embodied as a part of themselves as skilled artist practitioners. Further,

when learning from one’s elders, it is sufficient to observe and be told a formula for painting.

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Each artist must do it for themselves, in dynamic engagement with a performance of

materiality (Damsholt et al. 2009) in which they apply their own bodies, in continuing

attempts to achieve the required fine-tuning of their movements. I claim that creativity

incorporate important sensorial elements that can never be separated from the practical,

material and embodied art-producing practices through which art is created.

Acrylic canvas paintings involve an interesting combination of past painting conventions and

present art techniques. As I have mentioned, all Ngan’gi artists share Dreaming designs and

learn through the relatedness with kin, yet individual creativity is also strongly present, and

therein lies a certain contradiction. I observed how the artists were much differentiated in their

approaches to this conundrum; senior artists chose to paint conservatively according to

Ancestral conventions; while young artists often strived to accentuate their individuality and

approached painting with much creativity. They experimented with colours and composition,

with the aim of standing out in a competitive art market. Both versions of artistic agency are

present in acrylic paintings, when Ngan’gi artists in different ways use, appropriate and

develop these artistic techniques to mediate their stories.

Printing on Paper and Fabric

Several printmaking techniques have been introduced to the Ngan’gi artists over the years by

various art coordinators; these have had an immense influence on their artistic development.

Historically, the technique appropriated by the Ngan’gi artists, second to painting, was

printing on paper using hand-cut stencils. The artists were just beginning to produce acrylic

paintings, when they learned that with printing they could reproduce one design in several

editions. They requested assistance from their first art coordinator, who recalls the event in an

interview: “They wanted to learn printing, so I did some research. Then, I showed them a

printing technique and got the equipment they needed. What amazed me was how quickly

they learned to cut a stencil without it falling to pieces. If I tried to cut a stencil I just couldn’t

… but they did it so accurately, they were just so good!” Currently, the artists apply this

technique in lino cuts, a form of relief printing on a raised surface. They cut out a design from

a linoleum board by hand, using sharp tools, then colour is rolled on the surface and it is

printed onto fabric by hand. Ngan’gi artists have been producing screen and lino prints, at the

art centre, since 1987 and etchings since 1998. Prints on paper and fabric provide an

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affordable option for collectors and tourists as they are less expensive than paintings; thus,

Ngan’gi artists can reach a much larger audience through the medium of print.

Intaglio Printing; Etching, Sugar Lift, and Dry Point on Paper

Gradually, the Ngan’gi artists have appropriated and applied various techniques of intaglio, or

deep printing, in which images are depressed below the surface of a metal printing plate,

using acid or engraved with needles (Saff et al. 1978). Open bite etching, in which plates of

zinc are painted with a design in black liquid and acid-resistant tar (or bitumen), has been

produced by Ngan’gi artists for years. I observed them performing this particular technique at

Merrepen Arts in 2003. They painted the surface of a zinc plate with the resist, and once dry,

it was placed in an acid bath, which etches into the plate around the black lines, forming

groves. In this manner, a reversed image of the design pattern is “bitten” into the plate. The

plate is then rinsed with water and the design is applied by scraping away resist in certain

pieces, before it is returned to the acid bath. This process was repeated numerous times,

resulting in the finished print appearing layered. They blend oil into coloured soft ink and mix

it to archive the desired shade. The colour is rolled onto the plate. Then, cut squares of

cardboard are used to scrape off excess colour, followed by the plate being rubbed with a soft

tarlatan cloth, and finally tissue paper. Consequently, the plate becomes clean on the surface,

with coloured ink deposited in the etched grooves.

Plate 4.3 Gracie Kumbi is preparing the coloured ink for the etching plate in November 2003.

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The Ngan’gi artists printed the plate by placing soft, thick, water-soaked paper on the plate,

which was then rolled together through a compression machine. This was the only step in the

printing process they trusted me to participate in. After carefully placing the wet paper and

rolling it through I remember watching in breathless anticipation with the artists to see how

the design would appear on paper. The paper receives a reversed print from the plate. The

plate is cleaned thoroughly using metholated spirits, a meticulous job, and re-inked for each

print produced. Each design is chosen following a proofing or test printing, performed to

make a record of the state of the plate so that necessary adjustments can be made to the design

and the desired colour selected. This was an artistic decision in which the Ngan’gi artists

always held the authority.

Each plate is printed up in limited editions, a minimum of 20, and a maximum of 50. The

etching is labelled with its sequential number, and the total number of the edition, before the

artists could finally and proudly write their signature and year of printing. This signature is

what grants a printed piece of paper the status of an artwork.

Plate 4.4 “Stingray” etching made by Gracie Kumbi in 2007.

In this etching, the white lines are the stingray design Kumbi painted on the plate with

bitumen, and the blue colour is ink printed from the etched grooves reversing the design.

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A second intaglio printing technique used by the Ngan’gi artists is aquatint or sugar lift,

taught to them by professional printers.72

McTaggart told me that “it was a messy job and I

was just mucking around and suddenly that design came out,” when explaining how he came

up with his “Crocodile Skin” design created in 2007, shown below. I believe that his

explanation illustrates perfectly, to use a term inspired by Ingold (2007), how “materials

flow.” McTaggart’s “doing” (Damsholt et al. 2009) of this particular medium involves his

learned skill, artistic intention and creativity, and apparently a bit of chance. The entire edition

of the Crocodile Skin etching sold out quickly, as the customers at Merrepen Arts expressed

much appreciation for the beauty of the shimmering, green surface of design.

Plate 4.5 “Crocodile Skin” etching made by Aaron McTaggart in 2007.

Plate 4.6 “Red Lotus Lilies Miwulngini” dry point made by Aaron McTaggart in 2003.

Engraving with needles is rarely done at Merrepen Arts, but McTaggart produced this dry

point print at the Garma Art Festival in north east Arnhem Land. Dry point prints are made by

engraving the design with a needle by hand into the plate, creating a line characterised by

Chamberlain (1972) as “nervous and spidery,” evident also in his print.

The Ngan’gi artists have become skilled practitioners in their application of these printing

techniques, which, as I see it, seems to visually complement the figurative and abstract styles

of Ngan’gi designs. The limited, original edition art prints they produce on paper are of high

visual quality because of their experience, training, and strong individual creativity. The

72

I will not describe this printing technique in detail, as I have not observed it myself. Briefly described the

drawing is done with a water-soluble sugar solution, and the plate is covered with liquid hard ground. When the

plate is submerged in water, the sugar solution dissolves and lifts the ground, exposing the image area, etched in

acid and aquatinted before printing. The great advantage of lift-ground is that it allows the freedom and

spontaneity of pen and brush drawings to be recorded faithfully on the plate (Saff et al. 1978: 148).

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former daily print production conducted at Merrepen Arts has been replaced in the present

day by annual printing workshops, arranged by the Merrepen Arts management and led by

printer technicians. The editions of new plates are printed by Northern Editions at Charles

Darwin University and Basil Hall Editions in Darwin. Prints on paper by Ngan’gi artists have

gradually been established in the Australian art market through annual print exhibitions in

Darwin, and due to their visual quality, these works have been granted the status of fine art by

important members of the art worlds, moreso even than Ngan’gi acrylic paintings.

Serigraphy: Screen Printing on Fabric and Paper

In screen printing, or serigraphy, a design is printed on fabric or paper using screens. This is a

technique that has become a significant component of the art production at Merrepen Arts.

The art centre has fully-equipped screen printing facilities, and Ngan’gi artists produce screen

printed cotton fabric in meter lengths, as tea-towels, t-shirts, table cloths, or sarongs.

The printing process is initiated by an artist drawing a design with a black marker pen on a

piece of “tracing paper” or acetate (thin plastic sheets), which is transferred to a screen using

light exposure. Describing screen printing in detail, according to my observations, they use

yellow and untreated screens tightly stretched on a metal frame, and purchased from an art

supply store in Darwin. The screen must be carefully scrubbed with soap and water before the

design is transferred. Then, the artists mix a light-sensitive emulsion in a closed dark room,

located in the work shed of Merrepen Arts. One gallon of Kiwocol Poly-Plus SWR- Red (low

to medium viscosity diazole photo polymer) is mixed with three small bottles of sensitiser A1,

using a wooden ladle. A few spoonfuls of the emulsion are placed in a metal trough and

carefully scraped on the screen in a continuous and slow motion, leaving a thin red layer.

Once dry, the acetate with the design is attached to the screen with transparent tape. In the

dark room, the screen is placed face-down on a glass table with UV lights underneath,

covered with a heavy filth cloth, and weighed down with wood blockers. The screen is

exposed to UV light to transfer the design onto the screen. The light fixes the photo emulsion

on the blank parts of the acetate, while the part of the design painted in black retains the light,

thus leaving the emulsion un-fixed. In the following step, the screen is sprayed with a high

pressure water hose, removing the residues of the un-fixed emulsion. The artists explained to

me how paint will be stopped on the portions of the screen on which the emulsion is fixed

from the light treatment, while the untreated parts under the lines of the drawing revel the

semi-permeable yellow screen, allowing the paint to seep through when it is printed. Printing

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is performed by dabbing the chosen paint at the lower end of the screen, which is then wiped

across the screen by hand using a rubber squeegee. This action is performed once gently to fill

every hole with paint, and a second time with pressure to remove excessive paint, while

applying the design to the fabric placed underneath. An entry from my field notes describes

how Aaron McTaggart and I transferred a design to a screen, to illustrate the technique:

(25.02.2008). Aaron is sitting in silent concentration in the work shed drawing an epelen archerfish

design above the name of the art centre with a black marker pen on a piece of “tracing paper.” He

explains to me enthusiastically how what is black on the drawing is where the colour will come

through on the screen, and what is white in-between the lines on the drawings is where the colour

of the fabric will appear once it is printed. We begin the process of transferring the design to a new

frame that we wash first and are careful to avoid touching it, as any grease stains will ruin the print.

Aaron then mixes the light sensitive emulsion, tapes the design to the untreated screen, and places

it in the dark room for light treatment. We leave the dark room and wait external as the screen is

exposed to UV light for seven minutes and thirty seconds. Then Aaron sprays the screen with a

high pressure water hose, revealing the transferred design. Then we dry the screen with a dryer, and

it is ready for use. All the while Aaron has explained to me with much eagerness how this

technique works, what he is doing, and how it will look. We place the screen on a striped t-towel

and dab black paint at the lower end of a frame. Aaron wipes the paint across by hand, twice, using

a rubber squeegee. The epelen design comes out perfectly! We smile with much relief that our

patience has prevailed, and continue printing accompanied by our usual jokes and laughs.

Once a design is transferred to a frame, it can be printed repeatedly, with an endless choice of

colours and fabric, provided that the screen is thoroughly cleaned with water after each use, to

avoid clogging from dried paint. The frame can also be given a new design by removing the

emulsion with a high-pressure cleaner and repeating the process with a new design. All of the

printed fabric is dried in a heat cupboard at high temperatures, to fix the colours.

Plate 4.7 and 4.8 Øien and Wilson screen printing Sambono’s “Pelican” design on material.

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The production of screen printing took an incredible turn since I conducted my fieldwork,

worth mentioning in the interest of capturing art medium development at Merrepen Arts.

Screen printed fabrics is a versatile medium, and more affordable than paintings. Therefore,

the Ngan’gi artists decided in 2012 to establish a sustainable textile enterprise that could reach

a wider audience. Thus, Merrepen Arts arranged a fabric printing workshop with textile artist,

practising printmaker and screen printer, Bobbie Ruben. With Ruben’s assistance, the

Ngan’gi artists developed and improved their technical screen printing skills, and they were

inspired to create many new designs on much larger screens that resulted in printed fabric of a

higher quality. They still illustrated bush tucker and flora and fauna such as crocodiles, lotus

lilies, birds and fish. However, rather than using their former figurative depictions many of

the new designs were abstract interpretations of the structure in animal skin or of the fibres

used for coiling pandanus baskets and looping merrepen fishing nets and dilly bags.

To succeed in creating a textile enterprise, an improvement of artistic skills, and the

requirement of new equipment, accompanied a massive effort made by their new art

coordinator to achieve extensive distribution of their advanced fabrics. From initially only

using their printed fabric on t-towels or t-shirts, they now had a vision of using their textiles in

clothing design, home furnishing and upholstery, or even stretched over a frame as works of

art. Assisted by Raw cloth and Indigenous Textiles, the fabrics printed by the Ngan’gi artists

were transformed into designed and handcrafted dresses, Danish-inspired couches, and retro

chairs. The fabric was then marketed similarly to their paintings, with a focus on how each

design has a significant story based on local knowledge and Dreamings, and was hand printed

in the community by the Ngan’gi artists.

Both the screen printing production and sales at Merrepen Arts increased massively. A

subsequent national success for the new fabrics came when the dresses were circulated and

sold at the Darwin Aboriginal Art Fair and feathered in fashion shows such as the fashion

parade at the Women of the World (WOW) festival in Katherine in 2014. Also, in the 27th

Merrepen Arts Festival73

in 2014, the fabric was given a leading role with a premiere of a

multi-layered fashion and cultural production, entitled Ngan’gi wetimbi Dememarrgu – Old

Stories New Ways. In this production the Ngan’gi artists stated to their audience, “The stories

in our art connect us with our Ancestors. These dresses show how ancient and modern

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An annual event arranged in Nauiyu by Merrepen Arts, and described in Chapter 8 on pages 381-91.

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techniques have been incorporated into our art, textiles and designs.” Furthermore, a fabric

based on the patterns of the Crocodile Skin made by Aaron McTaggart, was commissioned as

a lining for the elegant and exclusive Di Croco accessories range.

Art world recognition soon followed the increased institutional mediation. First, Marita

Sambono’s Fog Dreaming design printed on a dress gained global attention when it was

selected as the outfit to win the prestigious Myers Fashions on the Field Award at the 2013th

Melbourne Cup.74

Then, Kieren Karritypul, 20 years old, was chosen as the inaugural winner

of the youth category for the Telstra National Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander Art Award75

for his textile design, titled Yerrgi, printed on fabric. The design was his abstract

interpretation of the stripped bundles of pandanus fibres used by the women of Nauiyu in their

coiled baskets.76

He said he got the inspiration for the design by watching his elders:

“As a child, I watched my grandmother, mother and aunties collecting pandanus to weave into

baskets and mats. We would search for many different plants, roots and berries to create the

beautiful colours for the dyes and the Yerrgi would then be bunched ready for the women to weave,

as it is in my design. This was the time my elders would pass on ancient stories and teach me

important knowledge about my Aboriginal culture. My love of textile design comes from being

able to tell these old stories in a new and contemporary way.”

Karritypul was proud and humble to receive an award in this prestigious and international

competition, in which Ngan’gi artists had been making entries for years without winning.

When the judges made their aesthetic judgments of Karritypul’s work, supposedly based on

general opinions concerning which aesthetic virtues qualify objects for an award (Becker

1982; Plattner 1996; Myers 2001), they used these words: “Kieren Karritypul’s work is strong

and ambitious. It reflects his strong community ties and his mastery of the textile medium.

The work speaks to his matrilineal heritage in an original and contemporary manner, re-

examining and reinterpreting this tradition through masculine eyes.” In an instant the Telstra

Art Award judges gave life-altering recognition with these words to a young, up-and-coming

74

The Melbourne Cup is Australia's major thoroughbred horse race. The Victoria Racing Club’s (VRC) Fashions

on the Field competition was established in 1962 and formed part of the Club’s “Fashions, Flowers and

Favourites” promotion to “woo more women to the races.” The competition was launched with the object of

‘finding the smartest dressed women at the Carnival within economic restraints’ and would-be entrants were

enticed with a generous prize pool of goods and cash. 75

The Award was established in 1984 as the National Aboriginal Art Award by the Museum and Art Gallery of

the Northern Territory. The aim of the Award is to recognise the important contribution made by Indigenous

artists and to promote appreciation and understanding of the quality and diversity of Aboriginal and Torres Strait

Islander art from regional and urban-based Indigenous artists throughout Australia. 76

The fibre work coiling technique is described in more detail below on pages 164-167.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Australia

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thoroughbred_horse_racing

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artist. The development of Ngan’gi screen printing illustrates plainly how the art worlds as

intercultural and influential meeting places (Myers 1995, 2002, 2004a, 2006a) bring together

many actors, perspectives, and objects. When Karritypul’s artistic talent, innovations and

technical are combined with widespread distribution in new and interesting fields of

exhibition, this transforms the way this art medium is produced and circulated, the work’s

value, and the status of the artists. These art world mechanisms and the authority held by art

coordinators in including and excluding works of art from prestigious exhibition settings, are

discussed in more detail in Chapter 7.

Returning to descriptions of this art production technique, screen printing in Merrepen Arts is

also used to create multi-layered designs on paper. The artists begin this printing technique by

taking a large piece of paper with a selected background colour. To this, they attach pieces of

“tracing paper” or acetate onto which each colour of the design is painted, one building on top

of the other until the desired design is finished.

Plate 4.9 “Crocodile Eye” screen print made by Patricia Marrfurra in 2003.

In her preparation for the screen print of a “Crocodile Eye” design, illustrating the hypnotising

power in the eyes of a crocodile, Marrfurra chose a background on brown paper. Then, on the

first layer of acetate, she paints the blue lines, on the second the orange, then the yellow eye,

and finally the black pupil of the eye. Once the artist has painted the plastic sheets, the design

on each sheet is transferred to a semi-permeable screen using UV light, in the same process as

described above. A screen print is produced by printing each frame individually with the

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desired coloured ink applied to a brown-coloured paper, using large rubber squeegees and

hand pressure. Consequently, limited edition screen prints on paper, such as this, appear

layered with visual depth and nuances, similar to the qualities of an acrylic painting.77

Silk Painting

The Ngan’gi artists produce silk paintings in vibrant and blended colours on scarves,

tablecloths, sarongs, and, occasionally, stretched on frames. Silk painting workshops have

been conducted annually for many years by silk artist Susan Daily. The silk they use is from

China bought in scarf size with a sown hem, and they use bright, fluent, French H. Dupont

paint such as “Chamois 433,” “Generit 196,” and “Vieurt Blue 551,” to mention a few of the

many shades of colours used. The silk is stretched out across wooden frames and pinned

down with push pins. Then, paint is applied with rectangular sponges and eye makeup

applicators. Occasionally, coarse or fine salt is drizzled over the paint, making it move in

swirling patterns. The silk can also be dabbed gently with water, causing the colours to float

into each other. The artists would also occasionally use acrylic gold paint, blended with a

textile medium to thin it, and placed in small bottles with a nozzle top. When squirting such

paint out in thin lines, the artists were provided with the possibility of more easily creating

figurative shapes. The more elusive silk painting is mostly used for decorative designs. The

finished silks are wrapped in cotton and steamed for four hours, which makes the colours

brighter and fixated so that the silk can withstand washing. An excerpt of my field notes

describes a silk painting workshop I participated in, executed annually at Merrepen Arts:

(12.05.08). Marita Sambono paints a Water lily design viewed from above with strong colours;

pink flowers, green leaves and pods lined in gold, floating on a blue background. Aaron McTaggart

is, by dabbing the sponge sideways, creating short, closely aligned lines. He says he wanted the

design to resemble snake skin; being inspired by a recent event on the road. When we drove Susan

Daily to Nauiyu we hit a large water python, which we put in a bag for Yawalminy to cook on the

fire. Aaron experiments with this technique making five silks with different colours in the

background and different ways of dabbing lines of a darker colour on top.

77

Collography printing is another medium that the Ngan'gi artists have produced occasionally. On cardboard

plates, the design is drawn first in pencil and then in glue with a thin brush. One can also attach weaving

samples, leaves, or sand to the cardboard, which gives the print a grainy and structured appearance. The plate is

painted with a varnish of shellac flakes dissolved in mentholated spirits to fix the design. The plate can then be

rolled with colour and yields a relief print on paper when printed within a pressure printer.

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The Ngan’gi artists enjoyed the opportunity provided by the silk painting to indulge in using

strong, vibrant colours. They had often expressed to me how they liked using strong colours

in their art, explaining that they are inspired by the tropical, lush and colourful environment in

which Nauiyu is located. MacTaggart was also inspired by bush tucker when creating a

“Snake Skin” design that would prove very popular among Merrepen Arts customers.

Plate 4.10 “Red Lotus Lilies Miwulngini” silk painting made by Marita Sambono in 2008.

Plate 4.11 “Snake Skin” silk painting made by Aaron McTaggart in 2008.

Batik

When a former art coordinator arranged a workshop to teach the Ngan’gi artists the technique

of batik on cotton, she hired two specialists who were originally from, and had acquired their

skill, in, Indonesia. Batik is currently produced on cotton t-shirts in varying sizes and has

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become a popular souvenir, especially among the tourists visiting Merrepen Arts. The

technique involves the artists painting designs on white t-shirts, using liquid wax heated in an

electric pan. Producing the vivid colours in batik on fabric involves an intricate mix of

powdered azoic dyes, naphtol, salt, and oil. Marita Sambono is the only Merrepen Arts

employee who remembers the exact mixing process for the colouring, which was taught at

two batik workshops in the distant past. Therefore, she always leads a group of Merrepen Arts

employees in batik colouring, performed once a large number of t-shirts have been painted

with wax, which process is performed by themselves and other Ngan’gi artists. An excerpt of

my field notes describes a batik colouring session led by Sambono in which I participated at

Merrepen Arts, illustrating the technique:

(13.03.08). I arrive at the art centre at nine in the morning anticipating the planned batik colouring.

Marita is just getting started in the shed; she is the colouring expert and boss today, organizing the

event, assisted by myself and her two daughters Elaine and Cassie. The wax painted t-shirts that the

artists have been working on for weeks are lying in big piles, and we begin by turning them inside

out, and separating them in four equally sized piles. Marita is filling large plastic boxes with water

external the shed. She then follows a colouring recipe on a sheet of paper describing how different

numbered naphtol with diazole fast salt provides the base mix for a variety of colour combinations.

Initially a base mix is produced as a preparation for the colouring. Marita places three heaped table-

spoons of Naphtol powder with one decilitre of Red Turkey Oil in a small plastic cup and stirs until

the powder has dissolved into a thick paste. She explains how this will help the powder dissolve

properly in the water. Then three table spoons of caustic soda and boiling water are added. We

stand back avoiding the instant fuming, and then dissolve the mix in a large barrel of water;

resulting in the base for colouring. The azoic colours that are compatible with this specific Naphtol

type are dissolved in cold water in separate barrels. The colouring can commence after the waxed

shirts have been soaked in clean water. We take piles of about five shirts and soaked then

simultaneously first in the base resulting in a light tint, and then in one of the four colour baths.

Once soaked the shirts are instantly dyed in brilliant colours. This first combination of naphtol and

azoic colours resulted in pink, purple, light, and dark blue. We keep working throughout the day,

making several colour combinations. The second gives shades of red and orange, and the third

olive-, dark-, and mint green. When the shirts are dyed, the cotton around the waxed design stands

out. After colouring, we rinse the shirts carefully in water, wring them until our hands are sore, and

hang them to dry in the sun.

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Plate 4.12 Painted and waxed batik t-shirts photographed by Maria Øien.

After the initial colouring described above, the shirts are then painted by the artists with wax

again, a second and a third time, with additional patterns painted upon the first colour. The

second layer of wax will retain the first colour, and a second colour is achieved around this

new pattern once it is coloured again. The repetition of waxing and colouring results in layers

of light, dark, and mixed colours in decorative patterns on the batik t-shirts. The final step

involves boiling the shirts to remove the wax. Merrepen Arts management currently sends the

shirts to a factory in Darwin, which removes the wax in machines. However, the oldest

employees remember how they used to remove the wax in the past. In large barrels over

sizable fires, they would boil the shirts, stir, wring, and scrub off the wax. They remember it

as hard work. The batiks are most commonly painted with decorative patterns of drops, dots,

circles, and lines. Figurative designs such as turtles, dragonflies, or flowers are painted

occasionally; however, such detailed figures challenging to draw using the wax medium.

These products are classified as tourist art and sold in bulk at Merrepen Arts for quite low

prices. However, in June 2008 I had a conversation with a former art coordinator who

remembers a time when this medium was used to produce artworks of a higher status. She

illustrates my argument of how the introduction and appropriation of a new art production

technique involves, for the artists, either the possibility to excel or the potential for failure.

The art coordinator with whom I spoke was visiting Nauiyu, which she did each year at that

time to help the artists with the arrangement of the annual Merrepen Arts Festival. As she was

sorting through piles of unsold batik t-shirts, she expressed disappointment at their poor

quality and a concern for the financial loss of unsold goods:

Look at all these batik t-shirts, there are some good ones here but mostly they are of really low

quality. I am sorting them in three piles now; the good, the bad and the ugly! (Laughing). You

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see batik was one of our earliest projects. We had a workshop with this woman from Darwin

who came down, and she was just wonderful! Then later we had this woman from America

and a man from Indonesia. If you could have seen the batik that was done in the early days,

some done on silk and some ordinary ones done on material such as these. They were very,

very good! But it seems to me that every now and then you need someone to pull them back. I

would just love to have some of these women sit down with me and look at some of the t-

shirts I have rejected here, and just talk about where they are falling down. We need to talk

again about all the things concerned with producing a good sellable shirt!

What may seem as a brutal judgment of the batik works of Ngan’gi artists is actually a

reflection of the realities of the art world. There is an inherent contradiction in the materiality

of Ngan’gi art production practices. All Ngan’gi artists share knowledge of design stories,

they learn to paint from their kin, and though they all mediate this knowledge through works

of art with the intention of being artists, not all are recognised as such in the art world.

Aesthetic judgments, such as that expressed by the former art coordinator, are also made by

other representatives of the art world, in which the mastery of art production techniques, such

as batik, is necessary to receive recognition and reputation as a fine artist. When new

techniques are introduced through workshops at Merrepen Arts, some artists learn them well,

such as Sambono, and develop them to new levels, while others learn only the basics, and

without the ongoing guidance of experts, they can deteriorate in their artistic practices.

Papier Mâché

A few of the Ngan’gi artists produce papier mâché products, taught to them by a former art

coordinator. They take strips or squares of newspaper and stick them on a chicken wire grid

with glue mixed in water, fashioning little bowls, which they paint with decorative patterns,

using acrylic paint. A group of senior Ngan’gi artists creatively developed this technique by

also producing live-sizes 3D sculptures of Mermaids Fallami Kurri and fresh water crocodiles

ewerrmisya, built on wooden skeleton frames. This innovation immediately transforms the

status of these products from souvenirs to fine art (Becker 1982; Morphy 2008). One such

life-sized decorated papier mâché crocodile produced by Marringarr artist Mercia Wawul was

granted the distinction of being elected to participate in the Telstra Award Exhibition in 2003,

though the piece did not receive a price.

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Plate 4.13 Painted papier mâché bowl made by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart in 2008.

Fibre Works

String is an important, versatile, and continuing tradition in Aboriginal material culture. Made

from plant fibres, animal fur, feathers, or, at times, human hair, long established techniques

are applied to produce a variety of ceremonial and functional objects (West 2007). In Nauiyu,

the production of fibre works creates multifunctional objects that were formerly used in

everyday life. They are made from fibres from the sand palm (livistona humilis), named as

such because it grows in sand, but also known as the fan Palm due to its characteristic shape;

it is called merrepen in Ngan’gi. String bags, also called dilly bags or warrgadi in Ngan’gi,

and fishing nets are made using a looping technique from a twined two-ply string. Baskets

made by pandanus (pandanus spirals), called yerrgi in Ngan’gi, are also produced using a

coiling technique, originally introduced to the Aborigines by missionaries in the 1930s.

These skills are considered women’s work; I observed mothers sitting on the ground and, with

experienced and assured movements, creating their fibre works while teaching their

daughters. The knowledge is old and shared within kinship groups; as such, it is integrally

bound up with personal identity and tradition. The task of weaving is time-consuming and the

string fishing nets and dilly bags are essentially utility objects, having largely been replaced

by Western mass-manufactured products. Currently, the women produce these fibre objects

for sale at Merrepen Arts. However, the effort and time the women invest in this production is

not reflected in the price and appreciation they receive in the art market, where these items are

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regarded as “utilitarian craft” (West 2007). Regardless, the women of Nauiyu continue their

production of fibre works and place much pride in their products.

There are many steps required to produce a work in fibre, which is typically performed by

women working in a group. Describing the process in detail, the first step involves the

gathering of the fibres. When in need of more fibres, the women would venture together into

the hot bush, knowing certain locations where sand palms are plentiful. The fresh sand palm

shoots are gathered by firmly ripping them out from the apex of the palm before they unfold.

When large bundles of fresh leaves had been collected, they would return to the community.

The next step is to strip the fibres from the leaves, which is preferably done shortly after the

leaves have been collected, when they are still moist. The tip of the leaves are folded and

ripped off, revealing the fibres that are gently stripped off of each leaf on both sides, a time-

consuming and skill-demanding technique that I, despite eager attempts, never mastered well.

Two pairs of fibres are twinned together, gathered in bundles, and left to dry in the sun.

Marrfurra explained to me how, in the past, the sand palm fibres used for string bags were

dyed by grinding red kugarri or white wesi ochre on a flat rock with water, then rubbing the

colour on the palm of the hand, passing it to the fibres during rolling. As this was time-

consuming the fibre works were often left uncoloured. Tin cans, once introduced to the

Aborigines, created the opportunity for colouring the fibres in boiling water with barks and

seeds over the fire. Now that fibre objects are produced for sale, the female Ngan’gi artists are

experimenting with many forms of natural colouring, elevating their skills and inherited

practices to new levels. The colours purple and lavender are extracted from a seed called kala

damuy in Ngan’gi, growing on a tree named reed root (haemodorum coccineum) in common

English, due to its signal red root. Various shades of the colours golden yellow and light

orange are extracted from the root of a tree named kala yewirr in Ngan’gi. This tree had no

common English name other than the Latin; pogonolobus reticulatus, until it became known

that the Aborigines use this tree for colouring, upon which it has been called colour root tree

(Wightman et al. 2001). The brown corky outer layer of the root is scraped off to reveal a

thick, moist, soft layer of bright orange under-bark that is chopped off and used for colouring.

Light brown and beige tints are extracted from the bark of the jungle ebony (diospyros

cordifolia), named so in English because the tree is a biological relative of the black ebony

(diospyros dendo), and in Ngan’gi it is called kala ninyjininyji (Wightman et al. 1995). The

colour grey comes from the seed of the sand palm called damuy merrepen (the eye of the sand

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palm) in Ngan’gi. Further, the Ngan’gi artists discovered that if light brown fibres are dipped

briefly in the orange bark colour, it comes out olive green. When colouring, the seeds or bark

are stirred in water and left to boil on an open fire for approximately 30 minutes. Each colour

becomes darker by boiling it for a longer period or by adding ashes.

The collection of these roots and seeds is also performed on a collective bush trip, using

scuffles and crowbars, and the shared knowledge of the trees that is necessary. While roots

can be dug out year-around, the seeds for purple are gathered directly after the wet season, in

a specific location near Katherine. The women take a trip to gather these particular seeds

annually, preserving them in a freezer.

Plate 4.14 and plate 4.15 Molly Yawalminy looping sand palm fibre fishing net in 2003. Plate

4.16 A sand palm fibre dilly bag made by Molly Yawalminy in 2008.

The final steps are the twinning and looping of the fibres. A strong, two-ply string is made by

rolling two pairs of fibres together on the thigh, elongating it by continually adding more

fibres. The string is then attached to a toe or a plug in the ground and the fibres are twinned

together using a looping technique, in which one circle is formed and connected to the next.

Differently coloured string is woven in sections on bags and nets. A handle is fashioned by

joining the bundle of string protruding from the top of the bag and rolling another string

tightly around it.

When dilly bags were used a utility objects, they would be carried on the head so that the

hands were free to gather tucker such as water lily nuts, roots and stems, mussel shells, and

goose eggs, when out bush. Sand palm fibre works are also made as large fishing nets, used in

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the past to catch small fish and prawns. Dilly bags were also used in the preparation of the

Round Yam (Dioscorea bulbifera), Mikulurrfu in Ngan’gi. As this Yam is poisonous it is also

called Cheeky Yam, and it is prepared for eating by cutting it into thin slices and placing it in

a dilly bag, which is submerged in a flowing creek. After soaking the yam overnight, it would

be ground and shaped into a round loaf, cooked on hot coals, and eaten safely.

The second type of fibre craft is made of pandanus yerrgi leaves to produce coiled baskets,

mats, and decorative sun shapes. The pandanus palm is tall, so to collect the leaves a forked

stick is used to reach the fresh shoots from the apex of the palm. The pandanus leaves are

harder and thicker than sand palm leaves, with thorns along the edges. Thus, preparation of

the leaves is initiated by removing the outer thorny layer of the leaves with the thumb nail or a

needle. The tip is then folded and the leaf gently separated into two sections, each stripped in

smaller strings with a needle. The fibres are dried and dyed with the same barks and seeds as

the sand palm fibres. The pandanus fibres are not rolled, however; rather, they are collected in

a small bundle, which the artists bite to make softer, and then one single fibre is coiled tightly

around the bundle in dense circles, covering it completely. The bundle of fibres are then

coiled into a tight circle and tied together, joined with another single fibre, using a needle and

building the basket with a roll of secured and extending circles.

Plate 4.17 Pandanus basket made by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart in 2008.

Plate 4.18 The base of a pandanus basket made by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart in 2008.

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Fibre Works: Transformed From Craft to Fine Art

The status of fibre work products in the art market has gradually been re-defined because of

artistic innovation in the use of this medium and a growing appreciation of the skill involved

in their production. Consequently, these works have been incorporated into several art market

contexts. As mentioned, to a certain extent the art market appreciates fibre objects as craft; a

definition based on a distinction between art and craft that originated in the early 18th

century.

Objects that appear straightforward, with little decoration, and clear functional properties,

such as these string bags and fishing nets, were defined as craft. In contrast, more decorated,

refined objects, perhaps with a ceremonial function, were regarded as more transcendent and

therefore defined as art (Errington 1994). Becker (1982) argues that the creation of both art

and craft requires technical skills, whereas what gives art its unique and transcendental

character is the belief that artists contribute with their creative abilities that surpass crafting

skills to produce the object. At the same time Errington (1994) claims that the craft status of

fibre objects in art markets is particularly related to the qualities of the medium itself,

according to how well objects produced in countries such as Africa and Australia endure the

physical move to art market contexts in other countries. Objects made of resistant, hard wood

are durable and keep their aesthetic quality after moving, and were therefore often granted the

status of art. In contrast, soft material objects, such as fibre works, were less portable, and

could more easily deteriorate after moving, which could reduce their economic value and

status once presented in an art world context.

From my perspective such unfavourable judgment of works made of less durable materials is

too simplistic. When fibre works are made with great creativity, much knowledge and skill,

and they are utilitarian, which should grant them additional value. More important is the

artistic agency with which such art products are created. For Ngan’gi women, their fibre work

skills are inherited, yet versatile and open to individual innovation in their use. As described

above, they experiment with colours using different seeds and barks, augmenting the

traditional red or uncoloured fibres with shades of yellow, orange, brown, beige, grey, green,

and purple. Further, instead of limiting their production to the large dilly bags originally

produced to gather bush tucker, they currently produce much smaller bags, which have proved

popular among Merrepen Arts customers. These bags were bought by customers who did not

appreciate them as art, but rather wanted to use them as handbags. Thus, the status of these

fibre works shifted from craft to being appreciated as a form of accessory worn to

complement an “ethnic fashion” style.

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An interesting empirical parallel occurred in the Desert community of Papulankutja,

mentioned to illustrate how artistic innovation can change in the status of a certain material.

In 2005, a group of female weavers from this community facilitated a major change in their

fibre works production when using fibre to produce a Grass Toyota Tjanpi. The car was a

fibre sculpture made of woven desert grass connected with jute string on a frame of chicken

wire, with selected pieces of steel. It won first prize in the Telstra Aboriginal Art Award, as

the judges were completely in awe at this creative use of a traditional medium, stating that this

was unlike anything they had ever seen. The judges’ appreciation and the artists’ innovation

in converting craft to sculpture; entailed that it was exhibited and secured an award as fine art.

The Grass Toyota is an example of how a transition from craft to art was facilitated by the

artistic creativity of segregating the fibre medium from its former functional characteristics.

In 2007, Patricia Marrfurra was the originator in creating a fibre work tour in Nauiyu, which

is another interesting example of how a fibre material could be “done” in a different way in

the performance of a creative tour product (Damsholt et al. 2009). Assisted in the practical

materialisation of her idea by myself, a group of local Ngan’gi women, and the

representatives of the tourism workshop briefly mentioned above, the Fi tour was developed

and offered for the first time at the 2007 Merrepen Arts Festival. Marrfurra had a vision,

believing that such a tour would provide the opportunity to utilise Ngan’gi women’s

knowledge of fibre works, in creating a total experience that visitors coming to the

community could be interested in sharing. Ngan’gi artists are, according to my interpretation,

strategically and creatively appropriating their local cultural knowledge and inherited practice

of producing fibre works, by transforming or converting this knowledge into a commodity of

exchange. Using Coleman and Crang’s (2002) analysis of tourism strategies one can import

this case of re-enactment of a traditional fibre work practice into a framework of national

consumption. This tour is the Ngan’gi women’s way of actively engaging with their audience,

attempting to create intercultural links that extend beyond the exchange of art for money.

In our efforts related to creating the tour, the first step involved selecting a name. Marrfurra

decided to call the tour Fi, an Ngan’gi word meaning endless nothingness or emptiness, but it

can also be used to describe how one can create something out of this nothingness. Marrfurra

found this word fitting because creating a fibre work is a practice in which one begins with

one’s empty hands and collects from nature to create something out of nothing. Our ambition

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was that the tour would include a PowerPoint lecture given at Merrepen Arts by Marrfurra to

describe in words and photographs all of the facets and stages of fibre work production.

Furthermore, the Ngan’gi artists wanted to go beyond this visual appreciation of fibre works

by physically taking the tourists out bush following the PowerPoint lecture, to a billabong

called Chologurr located near Nauiyu. There, the Ngan’gi women would give a practical

demonstration of fibre stripping, coiling and colouring for the tourists to observe, followed by

an encouragement of tourist participation. A goal was that participation in the Fi tour

performance would create a deeper understanding and appreciation for fibre works, as an

important part of Ngan’gi material culture. There are always actual mediation processes

taking place as objects move between contexts and social actors (Coleman et al. 2002).

However, in this tour the artists were going beyond the basic display of art and actively

reproducing and constructing local culture through a live performance.

These tours did, according to my observation, create an appreciation for the skilled practices

behind these objects, among the participating tourists and art customers, who were

predominately female. The Ngan’gi women are motivated by the sharing of knowledge, but

also hope that the tour will ease the selling of their fibre work products. Finlayson (1990)

argues that customers and overseas tourists, in particular, were often under the impression that

handmade objects, such as fibre works, can be subjected to price negotiation. This was also

often experienced by Ngan’gi artists. Once the customers, through participation in this tour

performance, had received more insight into the complex and time-consuming processes of

gathering, preparing and coiling required for fibre work, they were more likely to accept the

set price, without the previous tendency for haggling. Consequently, after the establishment of

these Fi tours, fibre works were afforded an elevated status and higher and fairer prices at

Merrepen Arts.

The Fi tour has generated much interest, and is currently offered regularly, creating many

instances of encouraging sharing and knowledge exchange between tourists and the Ngan’gi

women. I believe that this success has much to do with the opportunities this tour provides for

tourist participation, because when the audience members are included in the performance,

they also participate in creating the experience, and are, as such, part of the processual

becoming of fibre work art.

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Plate 4.19 Mercia Wawul and Maureen Warrumburr interacting with Fi tour participants.

I argue in line with Becker (1982), Layton (1991), and Morphy (1994, 2008) that notions of

what can be characterised as art can change; new definitions arise when previous ones are no

longer adequate to describe the types of works that are widely accepted as art. Such changes

are often brought about by knowledgeable public practitioners of the art worlds. As shown,

such changes are facilitated when artists use media or techniques in a different manner from

their former functional application. Such new agency and creativity can encourage curators to

redefine the boundaries of what defines an object as art. The many Aboriginal art styles and

media have contributed to stretching, redefining, and developing the art categorisations

existing in the art world. Objects such as ceremonial objects, fibre weavings, paper bark trays,

or memorial posts, which had a previous status as crafts or ethnographic objects, are currently

appreciated in many art world contexts as fine art, having aesthetic qualities in addition to

their functional properties and user value.

Summary

Analysing the “doing” of Ngan’gi art materiality through descriptions of how the artists learn

and perform painting, printing and weaving using particular techniques, this chapter illustrates

clearly how art is in a constant state of gradual becoming. Merrepen Arts is a place for cross-

cultural meetings, and in this context, Ngan’gi artists are transforming internal conventional

painting conventions with Ancestral precedence when they appropriate new and external art

production technology. Furthermore, I characterise art production at Merrepen Arts as a

socially situated practice. The artists learn their art styles and the subject-matter of their

designs from the shared knowledge of family and kinship groups, and their artistic skills are

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developed in life-long and everyday learning through observation, mimicking and

internalisation (Ingold 2000; Taylor 2007). This represents a starting point, as the artists are

then introduced to new media and specific techniques appropriated from the outside through

art coordinators and training workshops. Consequently, every artist in Nauiyu masters the

medium of acrylic painting. All of the employees of Merrepen Arts practice screen printing,

and some have mastered specialised techniques such as batik colouring and etching, gaining

authority from their accomplished skills, serving as role models for other artists.

When Ngan’gi artists were assisted by former art coordinators and art technicians in learning

new media and techniques, I observed how they welcomed advice in terms of practical skills,

the use of colours, and beneficial visual composition. However, external influences on their

designs were strongly resisted by the artists. Ngan’gi artists reported to me their

understanding that “our art is our culture and yes outsiders can teach us how to do certain

things, but they cannot tell us what to paint.” This is partly because of the sacred significance

the art holds to them and because the use of certain designs is restricted according to

particular kinship-founded identities. As argued by Tilley (2006), when using, creating, living

with, and exchanging things, people also create themselves in the process. Thus, objects of art,

such as these, also manifest a particular Aboriginal artistic identity. The frustration is

therefore considerable when certain art market contexts limit Aboriginal creativity with

claims for traditionalism in design subject-matter and styles. The claim made by certain art

market participants that Aboriginal art traditions have to remain unchanging should therefore,

I argue, be abandoned for a wider understanding of the complex status of Aboriginal art. As

argued by Ingold and Hallam (2007), creativity and development is demanded to actually

sustain social and cultural life. The “doing” of Ngan’gi materiality embraces creative

practices that blur the boundaries between past and present art production techniques, and

results in unique forms of art that are simultaneously shared and individual, conventional and

creative, traditional and innovative. Moreover, Ngan’gi art maintains a particular cultural

significance to the Ngan’gi artists, regardless of any and all technical developments.

In the following chapter, I continue in analysing Ngan’gi art production, but with a focus on

the emerging styles and symbolic forms of subject-matter in the designs of Ngan’gi acrylic

paintings. I attempt to grasp how these designs manifest specific and layered meanings, and

how these works are created in the intersection of the technical artistic innovations described

in this chapter, personal creativity, and cultural painting conventions.

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5

NGAN’GI ART: MANIFESTING NGAN’GI LIFE-WORLD

TRANSFORMING STYLES AND SUBJECT-MATTER

This chapter aims to provide a detailed analysis of the designs that the Ngan’gi artists of

Nauiyu create in their acrylic canvas paintings. It is my ambition to use the term “becoming of

art” (Morphy 2008) analytically to explore every aspect of the contextual and dynamic

creation of Ngan’gi art. This chapter does so by exploring the origin, transformations and

content of the styles and subject-matter the Ngan’gi artists communicate visually, in painted

forms and in narrated design stories.78

Ngan’gi paintings are, I argue, in a processual state of

becoming, because Ngan’gi artistic production practices entangle interplaying notions of

cultural painting conventions with artistic creativity, in a manner particular to Nauiyu society.

Ngan’gi art, durrmu, is, as described in the thesis Introduction, is founded on artistic

interpretations of social life, everyday and ritual practices, as well as shared knowledge of the

Dreaming, which each artist has a kinship-based right to paint. As such, the subject-matter of

every Ngan’gi art design is a visualisation of the artists’ kinship-based identity, religious

convictions, and the particular relationship the Ngan’gi artists have to the Dreaming, the

Ancestral Law, and the land. Thus, art mediates, in a manner of speaking, their social order.

The paintings are, in themselves, symbolic representations because the subject-matter of each

design has, using Taylor’s (2007) term, “sociological meaning” localised beneath what one

can see, holding references to many aspects of the Ngan’gi life-world. Consulting former

anthropological research on Aboriginal art from other areas, I found similar descriptions

concerning how Aboriginal paintings are visual interpretations of design stories, holding

complex forms of representation that have strong cultural significance, and a spiritual

dimension; as they are believed to connect individuals to the ancestrally created world (Munn

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The given design stories are either oral narrations from the artists that I have collected, or the written stories

from the certificates produced with each painting that I have located in the Merrepen Arts archives.

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1973; Myers 1986; Morphy 1991; Taylor 2007). Further, as I also mentioned, because of this

quality, the Ngan’gi artists interpret and value their art not simply as representations, but as

manifestations of their spiritual and kinship-based identity and particular meanings, because

the artworks provide re-embodiments of creative Ancestral acts (Morphy 1991, 1998; Taylor

2007). Ngan’gi artists communicate multiple layers of meaning by using culturally-specific

signs in their designs, in a manner that embraces a complex form of symbolic manifestations.

Therefore, I find it rewarding to use a wide and dynamic form of symbolic art analysis when

assessing Ngan’gi art designs. I believe it is necessary in an anthropological analysis of

artworks with these particular qualities to question how Ngan’gi artists encode and

communicate meanings and their particular worldview in a culturally-specific manner, by

applying visual styles and signs in aesthetic systems.

From a Saussurian (1959) perspective, which provides a starting point for a semiological or

symbolic analysis, objects come into being through encoding in a sign system, and can be

used in communication by those who know the code. Saussure argues that in natural signs

used in language the bond between signifier (concept) and signified (sound-image) is an

arbitrary or independent relation, in its respective system of similarity and difference; this

explains the unique and various cultural forms, languages, and artistic systems (Saussure

1959: 67). His argument that the relationship between signifiers and signified becomes linked

through processes of communication, or as in the case of Ngan’gi art, through continuing

creative artistic interpretation, is interesting. However, the way I see it, the bond between

signifier and signified is not arbitrary in Ngan’gi art, because an understanding of the

meanings of visual elements depends upon a “correct” interpretation, which is an essential

component of cultural knowledge (Taylor 2007). Inspired by Taylor’s (2007) and Bakhtin’s

(Todorov 1984) critique of Saussure, I insist that my symbolic art analysis will attempt to go

beyond an analysis of the “ready-made” sign and its meaning by addressing how social

practice, artistic intention and the process of transmission in itself is also a critical aspect in

the construction and communication of meaning. My aim is to illustrate how painting

conventions and design stories can be shared, yet incorporate a dynamic form of creativity.

This is particular to Ngan’gi art, because Ngan’gi artists encourage and allow for much

innovation in their art production, which includes a continuing dialectic between cultural

painting conventions and individual artistic creativity. Thus, the symbolic framework on

which I base my analysis of Ngan’gi design is not considered independent of social activities

and artistic modifications. Rather, I want to explore the meanings founded in the styles and

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subject-matter of Ngan’gi design on three levels. On the first level I will describe how

Ngan’gi artists use “figuratively styled” designs to provide a culturally perceived resemblance

between painted form (the signifier) and meaning (the signified), while in “abstract styled”

designs the painted forms (the signifier) include a wide form of represented meaning (the

signified). I will also look, on a second level, beyond such resemblance and representations to

capture how Ngan’gi art designs widely embrace more than a simple signifier and signified

relationship, because the first (symbols in a design) is a manifestation of the latter (the

communicated meaning). On a third level, I finally include a focus on how each individual

artist in Nauiyu is continually and actively modifying, interpreting and using multi-vocal

visual elements differently when painting their designs with significant creative agency.

To further elaborate on my theoretical perspective, I find it rewarding to include a discussion

concerning symbolic art analysis between Gell and Morphy. I am aware that Gell (1998)

rejects the symbolic or semiotic approach to art. Not seeing art as text, but as having a

practical mediatory role in social process, he focuses his anthropology of art, as mentioned in

the Introduction, around a theory of agency. Gell (1998) discards established views on art as

externalisations of aesthetic worldviews as he is not concerned with the communication of

meaning. As mentioned in Chapter 4 Gell suggests that art is all about “doing,” and that our

focus should be on the effect art has on people in the social world. Building on Mauss (1969),

he suggests that art is a kind of distributed personhood. An artwork is a detachable part of the

artist; in other words, the artist’s mind can be distributed into social space. Gell (1998)

operates with the term index as kinds of signs from which meaning is abducted, stating that

art can use graphic signs that are part of a language, but not have or be a visual language in

itself. Gell (1998) rather uses the term “index” to account for the relation between the artist

and their artworks. While not being semantically related to a meaning, the index makes the

intentionality of the artist visible. The most important aspect of Gell’s conception of art is his

insistence that art is always relational; it always entails an agent and a patient, someone who

wants to exert intentionality into the world and someone who is affected thereby (Gell 1998).

According to Morphy’s (2009) critique of Gell, symbolic meaning, however, is more than a

momentary reading of signs. It includes a broad analysis of the object’s meaning in its cultural

context. Morphy (2009) also suggests that Gell’s replacement of this form of representation

with terms such as indexical signs or abduction of agency, is difficult to understand without a

theory of semiotics defining how these signs are actually indexical. Representations in art do

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not derive their form in the same way that natural signs are connected to their maker; rather,

humans perceive and respond to objects and make the connections. Understanding how these

responses are related to context and ongoing socio-cultural processes is central to the

anthropology of art (Morphy 2009).

Nevertheless, I believe that Gell’s insights are valuable to this thesis. These insights concern

the importance of artistic innovation, agency, and how art objects have a practical, relational

and mediatory role in social processes more generally, and social interaction between the

artists and their audience more particularly. An art analysis based specifically and only on a

symbolic model of art can be limiting, I agree, if applying a narrow definition of semiotics

that does not adequately consider the action-oriented intentions of the makers. Further, the

social interplay between art and human actors is of importance in the processual and active

creation of art. However, at the same time art can, I believe, have the status of a “culturally

constructed” medium of visual expression. Although visual signs used in designs may have

some “language-like” structural characteristics, I hold that they still have a materiality that

cannot be reduced to language or texts, as each symbol can have multiple meanings dependent

on processual development, use, interpretations, and context. Therefore, I suggest a

combination of certain aspects of the perspectives of Gell (1998) and Morphy (2008)+1994.

My art analysis will be focused on the paintings’ representational or interpretive and visual

attributes (Morphy 1994), not with the narrow definition of semiotics dismissed by Gell

(1998), but with a wide definition of representations, which is, as suggested by Morphy

(2008), context-dependent, manifests specific meanings, and also includes a concern with

artistic creativity, intention, and agency.

I have chosen to initially introduce my use of a symbolic theoretical perspective by presenting

my analysis of a particular painting. The artist, Dorothy Sambono, is member of one of the

smaller language group in Nauiyu called Marringarr and is therefore not an Ngan’gi artist.

However, she lives in Nauiyu and paints for Merrepen Arts and uses the same visual and

symbolic painting conventions as the artists from the Ngan’gi language group. Her layered

Homeland design titled “The Spirit People Warrakuntha at Ferriderr” provides a perfect

example of the complex forms of symbolic manifestations present in Ngan’gi (and

Marringarr) art designs.

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Plate 5.1 “The Spirit People Warrakuntha at Ferriderr” painted by Dorothy Sambono in 1987.

This is the story of the Little People who look after my Father’s country – Ferriderr. The Moil

River runs through it. At night you can see the lights of the paperback torches that the Little People

carry. The Little People live in caves in a hill and many of the Aborigines are frightened to go

there. When a person from another country goes to Ferriderr he must be welcomed in a special way

by, having water put on his head by the elders. If this is not done, the Little People can drag the

visitor away from his camping place. I know people who had this happen to them. The white

circles at the corners of my painting represent the Sores Dreaming. I put them there to mark the

boundaries of Ferriderr. Two large brown and white circles are the holes in the river where the

Sores Dreaming lives. If strangers swim there they can get sores or their hair will fall out.

However, the Little People look after us. At Ferriderr, a plain stretches into the distance from the

river, right out to a range of hills. There are small holes in the plain. The fine black and brown lines

are the smoother parts. We have other Dreamings. An important one is the Emu Dreaming. A long

time ago, the Emu came underground from Pulampa. The tunnel came out near a tree beside the

Moil River. If someone is seriously ill or even dies, relatives at Ferriderr can hear the Little People

crying at night. They know something is wrong. This painting tells about things that happen to this

day, particularly for people who live in or come from Ferriderr (Farrelly 2003: 7).

Paintings from Merrepen Arts are always followed by a design story such as this, written in

the words of the artist. Upon reading Dorothy Sambono’s design story, the particular subject-

matter of these Dreamings and the Ancestral presence in the land are revealed to the

inexperienced spectator of the painting. A symbolic analysis of the figurative and abstract

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styles that Sambono paints will also reveal how the symbolic elements in this design represent

her visual manifestation of the creational Dreamings of her geographical Homeland, Ferriderr.

A figurative element, such as the centred tree, is painted with resemblance to features in the

landscape. The ghostlike figures are her figurative interpretation resembling a local

conceptualisation of the appearance of the Ancestral Little People residing in her Homeland.

She uses circles in abstract representations of particular creational Dreamings: the Sore

Dreaming, referring to an Ancestral being who was once wounded and named by his sores.

The white circles located in each corner of the design represent this Ancestral being, and the

white and brown dotted circles in the centre of the design represent where he lives; as such,

all of the circles make reference to specific geographical locations in her Homeland.

Now, looking further than these figurative and abstract representations, the painting is, in

itself, also a manifestation of tangible connections between people, their kinship-owned

Homeland, and the Ancestral Little People who resides there, who are both dangerous and

protecting. Their presence is so imminent that travelling on the land requires the performance

of the customary Welcome to Country Ceremony to introduce visitors to the Little People.

The story also describes how the Little People are so connected to the kinship group owning

the land, that they will know when one of the Traditional Owners is sick or dying, and signal

this grief to the relatives. Furthermore, this is a kinship-dependent design that can only be

reproduced by the Traditional Owners of Ferriderr, and is, as such, structured by Ancestral

painting conventions. Thus, Sambono, in the creation of this work built on networks of social

relations with her elders, from whom she originally learned how to paint through observation,

as has been described in previous chapters (Ingold 2000; Taylor 2007). This social dimension

of art production contributes in developing the materiality of the designs and each person’s

artistic insight and performances. Yet, how Sambono paints these Dreamings also includes

elements of personal style and creativity, as it is her artistic choice to create this particular

design composition that combines figurative and abstract visual elements and that features

these colours. In conclusion, to be able to grasp how the white circles in Sambono’s painting

are actually visual elements that manifest particular meanings and knowledge, Ancestral

connections, and artistic creativity, the form of symbolic art analysis that I apply when

exploring the subject-matter of Ngan’gi designs is, I argue, an absolute necessity.

My overall interest in the paradoxes that simultaneously enable and limit Ngan’gi art

production and artistic intentions is carried through in this chapter, with a focus on capturing

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how Ngan’gi artists strive to balance the restrictions caused by of Ancestral painting

conventions with a desire for creative freedom when creating saleable acrylic paintings.

This chapter contains two main parts, with the ambition of analysing, firstly, the levels of

styles present in Ngan’gi art and secondly, the subject-matter of Ngan’gi designs, which are

both used by Ngan’gi artists to communicate culturally-specific and personal meaning. In

exploring Ngan’gi art styles, I begin with descriptions of how they originated and have

developed through artistic interpretations, followed by an illustration of how Ngan’gi styles

can be explored on three basic levels. That is, particular art styles can reveal regional and

local affiliation, as well as illustrating individual artistic idiosyncrasies. In the second half of

the chapter, the inside forms of subject-matter of Ngan’gi art are analysed by presenting

paintings in the various design categories existing in Ngan’gi art, which is categorised by the

Ngan’gi artists according to the theme and content of the design stories. The categories

include various Dreamtime, bush tucker, custom, Catholic Christian, and decorative designs.

Ngan’gi Art’s Transforming Styles

The term “style” is an elusive, yet, I argue, useful concept because art styles develop over

time, and an exploration of styles therefore provides a historical framework to Ngan’gi art.

The visual definition of style in art objects has a multithreaded applicability, from being the

style of a particular period in history; of a geographical place or region; of different media; of

certain art categories; or as used to describe individual stylistic idiosyncrasies. Within one

society, styles can be shared, personal, and diverse (Schapiro 1953; Morphy 1994; Hatcher

1999). However, the most common use of the term style focuses on the observable, formal

qualities of a design, at times separated from content (Layton 1991; Morphy 1994).

I define style as a concept that refers to particular visual attributes and shapes in the designs

by describing the motif, composition, and use of colour. Furthermore, such a style concept

goes beyond the observable features in art, incorporating a symbolic analysis of how Ngan’gi

artists are actively incorporating and communicating meaning both using figurative and

abstract styles in the subject-matter of their transforming designs (Layton 1991; Morphy

1994). The Ngan’gi use in their figuratively styled designs naturalistic and lifelike

illustrations that resemble with much accuracy the objects they illustrate in the physical

world; for example, a landscape, animals or bush tucker. They use in abstract styled designs

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particular visual elements such as circles, lines, and dots, which are part of a culturally-

specific system of representing context-dependent and encoded meaning; underlying the

visual design. It is important to emphasise that the word abstract is not applied with the

understanding that a non-figurative design is open to individual, subjective interpretation.

Rather, as also described by Marrie (1985), Aboriginal art designs are abstract in the manner

that they abstract something specific from a design story, such as a geographical feature.

Similarly each visual element in Ngan’gi designs communicates a specific underlying and

manifested meaning. The circle, kulirr in Ngan’gi, is a multi-vocal symbol that can have

multiple meanings in various designs. Marrfurra explained to me how a circle is as able to

represent an abstract notion such as life, or concretely represent a particular person, a

geographically located water hole, or in general, be a fireplace, someone’s uterus, breast, or

face. It is necessary to know Ngan’gi painting practices and the particularly illustrated design

story worded with artistic intention to grasp the particular meaning communicated and

manifested in a circle. Taylor (2007) describes how Yolngu artists use iconicity in abstract

designs, in particular, to achieve secrecy in male ceremonial designs. The very ambiguity

embedded in an abstract design, because of the lack of similarity to the illustrated Ancestral

beings, is employed intentionally. Thus, a reference is made to Ancestral localities, yet

without revealing sacred, secret, inside knowledge. In contrast Ngan’gi artists only paint

external designs in their public saleable paintings; therefore, they mostly select figurative

paintings that always rely on similarity in form. However, when using signs or symbols in

their abstract works, this is done with much creative freedom. Ancestral precedence is for the

Ngan’gi mainly concerned with reconciling Laws of ownership to the kinship-owned designs.

Taylor (2007) identifies three levels when describing the styles of Kunwinjku artists of

Arnhem Land. I found that these levels mirror stylistic aspects expressed and applied also by

Ngan’gi artists. Thus, I follow Taylor (2007) when identifying the stylistic aspects of Ngan’gi

art, in both figurative and abstract designs, as distinguished on three basic levels. On the first

level, Ngan’gi art styles share regional features and subject-matter particular to the Ngan’gi

artists of Nauiyu and the Fitzmaurice region. There also exists on a second level diversified

individual artistic uniqueness in styles. Ngan’gi artists lastly paint in styles that can be

identified as belonging to a “school” of artists sharing certain local stylistic features, because

they have been taught to paint by the same immediate kinship group. This form of art training

is what Taylor (2007) defines as an “apprenticeship network,” which in Nauiyu often follows

residence and kinship groups. Thus, styles communicate the social identity of Ngan’gi artists

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by expressing their regional and local belonging and affiliation, as well as their individual

idiosyncrasies. I would like to add that art styles are also influenced in their processual

development by constant aesthetic judgments coming from various external art market

participants. The customers who view, buy, or critique the art, and the art teachers and the art

coordinators who advise the artists, all contribute to influencing the stylistic developments of

Ngan’gi art. However, in the following, I will analyse how the Ngan’gi artists develop styles

when illustrating certain subject-matter, in a continuing intermediating process affected by

kinship-based style conventions and personal creativity, while the effects of aesthetic art

market judgment will be explored in Chapters 7 and 8.

The many levels of style and stylistic development will be exemplified by presenting several

selected Ngan’gi paintings in the text and the Appendix. I am introducing initially a painting

chosen to exemplify how Ngan’gi artists use figurative styles by applying resemblance in

form and abstract styles to represent underlying meaning, presented also to illustrate how

manifested meanings are grasped through my theoretical perspective of symbolic art analysis.

Plate 5.2 “Travelling Woman” painted by Marita Sambono in August 2004.

This painting is Sambono’s illustration of the Dreamtime story “Travelling Woman” given in

the words of the artist:

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This story is about a young woman with lots of children, travelling to a ceremony camp. The

painting shows the woman and her children walking through the country, past rocks, and long grass.

The woman and children are at the front of the group of people all walking to the ceremonial camp.

The woman is carrying bush tucker collected in her dilly bag. Then the others pass the woman and

children because they are slow in their travelling. The Elders say to her as they pass “don’t look

back or something will happen!” The young woman is struggling to look after all the children; she

is carrying them on her back and in her arms. Then she looks back. Suddenly rocks start falling

down, crush the woman and the children. This is my aunties’ story and this is a real place.

The older members of Nauiyu community often told me, while reminiscing about the “olden

days,” how movement had been part of the daily rhythm of life when they lived a nomadic

existence. They travelled to hunting grounds, to areas were certain food items were collected,

and also to sacred areas such as Dream sites, Homeland areas, and ceremonial sites.

Sambono’s painting is her visual interpretation of a Dreamtime story of such a group of

women walking to a ceremonial site to perform a tradition ritual given to them by their

Ancestors. They walk on land created by their Ancestors, follow a path and navigate the

landscape according to the knowledge of their elders. I follow Munn’s (1973) claim that when

the human bodies are moving through the Ancestrally-created world from which they

originate, people are re-connected with their Ancestors. Furthermore, I argue that this

Ancestral connection is also extended through the painting of these stories.

In Sambono’s painting, she combines an abstract and figurative style to communicate the

subject-matter and culturally-specific meaning of her inherited Dreamtime story. Her

figurative style elements, such as patches of grass and rocks, provide a naturalistic and lifelike

resemblance to the landscape they pass through. Now, Sambono also uses abstract elements in

her painting, such as circles, lines, and dots as visual representations of an underlying

meaning. Analysing this painting from the top, the grey, white dotted, winding, and line

represents the path the group is travelling along. In the middle of the canvas, small grey

footsteps represent their movement. At the end of the grey path, a figure with a yellow

concentric circle represents the young woman of the story. At the bottom of the painting, a

brown circle is a representation of the ceremonial camp they are walking towards. The woman

and her children only made it half-way to the ceremonial ground; the rest of the way is lined

with yellow rocks representing the sandstone landscape of this specific geographical place.

Finally, an outer layer of white dots around the path represents the rocks that fell down from

the sky, crushing the mother and her children.

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The main message communicated in both the design story and the painting is the importance

of following Ancestral Law. In this story, the woman first falls behind and, as a result,

threatens the unity of her kinship-based group; she is struggling to take care of her children. In

nomadic groups, but also in contemporary communities, kinship is of utmost importance.

Peoples’ first responsibility is to look after their relatives, and as the Ngan’gi express it, “to

grow up their children.” The woman walking in solitude, carrying her tired children, looks

back, and as such, neglects the advice she was given by her elders. This breach of her elders’

authority is what releases a rush of rocks from the sky, taking their lives, as a strict warning to

always follow the Law of the elders and Ancestors. Sambono explains to me how she

represented in her painting this imminent danger and the trials the woman faces during her

journey with the brown, pointed, and yellow dotted stick-like shapes placed around the path.

Looking beyond these figurative and abstract visual elements this painting is also a

manifestation of the many emergent meanings it communicates simultaneously. It manifests

her culturally-specific knowledge of this Dreaming concerned with the importance of

following the Law, and the Ancestral power for destruction if this Law is broken. The

painting manifests an Ancestral past, yet, simultaneously, it refers to a contemporary

geographical place. The vivid colours and the extensive decorative details in Sambono's

painting reveal her affiliation with regional Ngan’gi art styles. Further, the painting manifests

Sambono’s kinship-based right to paint this story, as this cosmological knowledge concerning

nomadic movement and the importance of following the Ancestral Law, was given to her by

her aunt. This particular subject-matter was taught to her by her elder kin; thus, including her

local stylistic affiliation, Ngan’gi painting conventions still allow for individual creativity. It

was Sambono’s own creativity that allowed her to illustrate the story with such specific

colours, using this composition and these symbolic representations. This illustrates how

creative agency and painting conventions both play a role when Ngan’gi artists are actively

using and modifying multi-vocal symbols to communicate a Dreamtime story though art.

The Historicity of Ngan’gi Styles

The particular subject-matter and styles of Ngan’gi art grew, as mentioned, out of historical

and gendered negotiations between the local men and women of Nauiyu. Miriam-Rose

Ungunmerr was one of the main founders of Merrepen Arts who initiated this debate, which

eventually resulted in the women claiming the right to produce commercial paintings. Their

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designs visualise shared stories of non-secret Dreamings and their knowledge of the bush, as

it had been given to them by their elders. Aboriginal identity is constantly constructed anew,

with shifting significance according to historical circumstances of Aboriginal experience.

Therefore, Merlan (2000, 2001) argues that what characterises an oral tradition, which

Ngan’gi art is also founded on, is how meaning and subject-matter are continually recreated in

the moment of narration. Aboriginal women from other areas of Australia were also gradually

incorporated in revised forms of art production formerly performed only by men. Taylor

(2007, 2008) observed an increased participation of women in West Arnhem Land in art

production, and argues that this change is partly due to an increased support for women artists

from female art advisers and the art market. Thus, an increasing number of women are

learning to paint from their husbands and fathers. Morphy (1998) similarly describes how at

Elcho Island the changes in social and economic circumstances due to the presence of

missionaries, initiated an increased number of female artists, though at an earlier point in time

and in a different form than in Nauiyu. At Elcho Island, Morphy (1998) claims, men would

teach their sons and daughters from the 1960s ceremonial designs that had been previously

hidden for women. However, in Nauiyu, all of the Ngan’gi artists have continued to respect

their arrangement with the elders by always taking great care to consciously avoid any

reference to the men’s secret ceremonial designs in their art (West et al. 2007). I observed in

Nauiyu how design ownership also includes the right to view, know the correct interpretation,

transmit, and reproduce by illustration certain story and design. In contrast, other designs

were limited to male or female ceremonial activities, creating, similarly to what Morphy

(1991) describes, as a continuum of more or less restricted knowledge of designs and stories,

accessible only by initiated people of a certain gender, age, and kinship group.

To capture the origins and developments of Ngan’gi art styles, the starting point should be the

earliest designs produced in Nauiyu. Historic sources mention that the two former Missions of

Nauiyu encouraged art production, which may have been traded with settlers and travellers

for goods (Pye 1976; Richards 1982). I have no record of these images except for the stories

of my informants. Certain forms were painted by men on ceremonial wooden objects, and as

described by Patricia Marrfurra, her father drew sand paintings when teaching local children

bush knowledge and Dreamtime stories: “Yes, I used to watch’ my dad tell us stories and

draw circles for waterholes in our homeland, or draw things in the sand showing us how pig

foot tracks used to look like, and birds walking, and snake trails. He used to draw all them

things and tell us stories from our Dreaming.” When Magellan Women Centre, which later

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became Merrepen Arts, first opened, Marrfurra observed the oldest generation of women

painting in styles similar to her father’s sand drawings:

Topsy Waya, she lost an eye in a spear fight when she was very young, and she would always paint

in a bird perspective. Once she was explaining a painting she had made of Paperbark Trees on the

bank full of white dots, saying the white dots were Cockatoos. One time the art coordinator sat

Mary Kunji, Mercia Wawul, and Mabel Kanityanyu together asking them to make a painting of

their country. They would paint the map in bird perspective with lines being rivers or walking

paths, waterholes or large creeks were circles, and things like trees and rocks were marked with

dots or smaller circles. All of them would paint like this.

Marrfurra’s description indicates an early abstract style of painting, where the senior artists

used bird perspective and depicted birds, rivers and paths, and waterholes with symbolic

elements such as dots, lines, and circles, in a way that indicate ceremonial links to Wadeye art

(a neighbouring community) or further south along the Victoria River through to the “Desert”

cultures (West et al. 2007). In Desert regions, the artists paint abstract country maps in this

manner, using circles and lines to represent specific geographical places and features.

However, this is atypical of the figurative, decorative, and highly colourful styles that most

contemporary Ngan’gi artists have developed and use in their paintings.

The roots of the figurative styles particular to contemporary Ngan’gi art began with Miriam-

Rose Ungunmerr. When asking Ungunmerr how she started painting, she told me that part of

her degree in teaching was to illustrate stories from her elders as teaching aids: “Then I

realized that I can paint. I got sort of exited because people started noticing. First I started off

doing landscapes, because I guess I was a fan of Albert Namatjira.79

Yes, then someone said

to me, “Why don’t you go and make up your own style to paint. Anyone can go and paint the

scenery,” I said OK and started painting the way we do now.” Encouraged by this un-named

person, Ungunmerr attempted to find a style founded on her Ngan’gi cultural background.

79

Albert Namatjira was a renowned Arrernte artist from the Hermannsburg Mission in central Australia. He

began painting water colour landscapes in 1936 as one of the first Aborigines using a style closely resembling

his art teacher, Rex Battarbee. Albert’s work originated what has become known as the “Hermannsburg School.”

His paintings received a high level of recognition, appreciated for their aesthetic appeal, but were not without

controversies. The art market was at first intrigued that an Aboriginal person could paint like a white artist. This

initial curiosity was soon replaced by the want for more “traditional looking” designs, as Aboriginal art was

supposed to fit the pigeon hole of “uninfluenced primitive art.” The paintings of the Hermannsburg School were,

for a long time, seen as symbol of assimilation and the submission of Aborigines to new forms. However, the

paintings, Morphy (1998) argues, should be understood in relation to a context in which the Christian Mission,

the pastoral industry, and governmental assimilation polices had a strong influence on people. With hindsight,

Albert Namatjira’s paintings reflect, in a complex way, his life in its entirety. They are now recognised as

entailing his Aboriginal perspective of the landscape, using a European medium.

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Thus, the Ngan’gi artists had, as a starting point, their kinship-owned designs, the shapes they

had observed their parents paint on wooden objects, and their personal creativity. The now

middle-aged generation raised in the local boarding schools were also taught to paint

landscapes in Western styles by the nuns. Many of the Ngan’gi artists I have spoken with,

who began producing art in 1986, therefore recognise Ungunmerr as their first Aboriginal art

teacher. She taught painting to the most recent generation of younger artists at the local school

and the middel-aged women at Magellan Women Centre. She encouraged and assisted them

in finding styles they experienced as “right for them.” These styles grew out of their Ngan’gi

cultural system of representations, using their knowledge of the bush and their Dreamtime

stories, as a foundation to create commercial, figurative paintings. In spite of their art being

founded on such cultural knowledge and holding Ancestral precdence the Ngan’gi artists

would always emphasise and express openly to me how they embrace change in their art.

They also insisted that the teachings of Ungumnerr represented only the begining of their

artistic and personal proliferation, underlining the individual elements in their constantly

developing styles. When comparing early works to contemporary ones, many stated,

“Miriam-Rose taught me, but I have gone my own way now, and found my own style.”

Stylistic development in Ngan’gi art will be tracked in more concrete detail by analysing and

comparing some of the early works of Ungunmerr with contemporary works by Ngan’gi

artists. The comparison will demonstrate change as well as continuity in the Ngan’gi art

styles, by illustrating how a majority of first-generation Ngan’gi artists appropriated many of

Ungunmerr’s stylistic elements, while also developing their own stylistic individual

variations. Due to the 1997 flood, most of the early Merrepen Arts archives were, as

mentioned, destroyed. Thus, limited documentation exists of the first acrylic paintings

produced for sale in Nauiyu. Fortunately, some of the first paintings made by Ungunmerr,

even before Merrepen Arts was established, were published.80

I selected four paintings from

this publication to illustrate how certain stylistic features that were commonly used by

Ungunmerr have become part of conventional local and regional Ngan’gi art styles, through

her art teachings.

80

Alan Marshall (1978) wrote “People of the Dreamtime” featuring stories from tribes in the Arnhem Land

region, and he asked Ungunmerr to paint the illustrations. She made 20 paintings for the book in 1977-78. The

Dreamtime stories illustrated in this book will not be presented, because they are not from Nauiyu.

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Plate 5.3 “How the Moon Came” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 1977.

Plate 5.4 “Kapok Tree” painted by Marita Sambono in 2002.

Ungunmerr is illustrating a Dreamtime story, while Sambono’s painting of a Kapok Tree is a

seasonal design. Sambono’s design represents the bush knowledge of how the Kapok Tree,

with its release of white, fluffy seeds, signals the time to collect freshwater crocodile eggs. In

spite of the diversifying subject-matter there are visual similarities between these designs. The

manner in which Ungunmerr has shaped and centred the tree seems to be appropriated by

Sambono. Furthermore, Ungunmerr has painted the women in her design with circles

representing their heads, and their bodies covered in black decorative patterns resembling

Ngan’gi ceremonial body paint. These are stylistic elements that a majority of Ngan’gi artists

currently use when illustrating their Ancestors. A difference between the artworks is,

however, Sambono’s far more extensive use of decorative details. This stylistic trend has also

become one of the main characteristics of Ngan’gi art, representing a change from the more

sombre look of Ungunmerr’s early works. Some Ngan’gi artists told me how they used

extensive decorative details due to a shared conviction that this would increase saleability.

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Plate 5.5 “Loolo the Blue Fish and Nullandi the Moon” painted by Ungunmerr in 1987.

A majority of Ungunmerr’s early illustrations are made with a background of blended

horizontal stripes in shades of red, yellow, and orange, particularly apparent in this painting.

Her figurative illustration of the fishbone and the landscape is lined in black, with black

decorative dots and lines. Her use of decorative detail, with the striping of the background

coming through inside the figures always lined up in black, have become continuing features

in contemporary Ngan’gi styles, appropriated by a majority of Ngan’gi artists.

Plate 5.6 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in February 2008.

A continuation of these stylistic features, as introduced by Ungunmerr, is exemplified by this

“Barramundi” bush tucker design painted by Gracie Kumbi. She uses these style features

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methodically in all of her figurative designs, always beginning a painting with a striped and

multi-coloured backwash that remains visible inside the figures, which are lined in black, and

lastly covered with black decorative details. However, Kumbi has her own stylistic

idiosyncrasies and when compared to the artworks of Ungunmerr, Kumbi has a finer level of

detail and uses thinner lines in her exceptionally naturalistic illustrations.

Plate 5.7 “The Rainbow and the Bread-Fruit Flower” painted by Ungunmerr in 1987.

Plate 5.8 “The Three Hunters” painted by Gracie Kumbi in December 1999.

I have chosen this design from Ungunmerr’s early works, to illustrate the origin and

continuation of a particular stylistic feature that many Ngan’gi artists have appropriated in

their Christian Nativity designs. When painting a figurative camp shelter humpy Ungunmerr

decided to illustrate rays of light by using diagonal stripes dotted in white and black. In

Kumbi’s illustration of the Nativity, she placed this Biblical event in an Ngan’gi frame of

reference by including the humpy, bush tucker, the baby Jesus in a Paperbark tray Coolamon

and the Three Wise Men are portrayed as three hunters. A main point is the clear stylistic

parallel and visual resemblance between these two paintings concerning their composition and

the use of diagonal dotted lines to illustrate the light of the star of Bethlehem.81

81

In this Christian Nativity illustration, Kumbi is, in the conventional local Ngan’gi art style, using circles to

represent the heads of the figures. As an interesting comparison, I have only once, among the many Ngan’gi

paintings I have observed, witnessed the painting of facial features. In 1989, Kumbi, as a young artist, illustrated

the Nativity in an ink drawing titled “A Child is Born,” (see the Appendix, page 414) in which she drew the

facial features of Joseph and Mary. Ngan’gi artists have told me that they paint a circle in the place of people’s

heads, because they believe that the depiction of facial features will expose the painted person to dangerous spirit

attacks. As far as I know, this was the first and only time that Kumbi painted facial features.

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Plate 5.10 “Why Tribes Speak Different Languages” painted by Ungunmerr in 1987.

Finally, I have chosen a painting in which Ungunmerr has painted a Brolga with its wings

spread, covered in decorative details. In contemporary art production, many of the Ngan’gi

artists paint their Brolgas similarly.

Plate 5.11 “The Brolga and the Storm Wind” painted by Gracie Kumbi in November 2004.

Kumbi narrates the Dreamtime story “The Brolga and the Storm Wind” that she has painted:

Back in the Dreamtime the Brolga was a beautiful girl and a very good dancer. She was promised

in marriage to the old man Pelican. But she did not want to marry him, and her mum did not like it

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either because he was so much older than her. Storm Wind he was in love with her, and used to

bring her fish. But she could not eat it because he was of the wrong tribe. So one night she was

dancing on a sand hill, and then Willy Willy (Storm Wind) came, but it was really a young man. He

swept her away, and they lived happily ever after. And her parents knew that she was gone and that

she would never come back to them. When Storm Wind took her she turned into a Brolga. The next

evening her people saw a grey, beautiful bird dancing, and they knew that it was Brolga. Today you

can see that bird dancing, but you will never see a Brolga and a Pelican in the same billabong.

Kumbi has represented the Storm Wind with grey swirling and concentric circles, and the

Brolga is painted in a slightly similar pose to Ungunmerr’s Brolga, though with a even more

dramatic spreading of the wings, which are covered in details particular to her personal style.

(See the Appendix, pages 414-15, for two additional versions of this design painted by

Benigna Ngulfundi in 1996 and Philip Wilson in 2008.) The comparison of all of these

paintings illustrates how the stylistic influence of Ungunmerr remains in Ngan’gi art. Inspite

of these local stylistic similarities, individual creativity is also a factor.

Ngan’gi Artistic Stylistic Interpretations

Ngan’gi artists mostly paint in figurative styles that incorporate abstract elements to

communicate a particular meaning. Morphy (1991), when interpreting Yolngu designs,

describes how their artistic system is powerful in itself, because of its actual capacity to

express multi-layered meanings that manifest the artists’ life-worlds.

Through the following presentation of two Ngan’gi Homeland designs, I will exemplify how

the same subject-matter is interpreted by two artists in differentiating figurative and abstract

styles of painting. Their designs will illustrate how Ngan’gi art is an artistic form of

communication where artistic intention and cultural painting convention co-exist.

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Plate 5.14 “Dreamings of Rak-Merrepen” painted by Philomena Mulvien in 1999.

Plate 5.15 “Dreamings of Rak-Merrepen” painted by Ann Carmel Mulvien in 1997.

Rak-Merrepen is a Homeland located near Moyle River. These artists are sisters are who

Traditional Owners of this land, where they also have residency on an established outstation.

They have made personal illustrations and design stories of their land, narrated first by

Philomena Mulvien, and then by Ann Carmel Mulvien:

Merrepen is the Ngan’gi kurunggurr name for the Sand (Fan) Palm that grows in the area. It is also

the name of our traditional Homeland. This is the Dreaming of that country. When you go out to

that country, not far from the houses, there is a hill – not a very big one – small one. You can see

the track of the Merrepen Dreaming looking for a place to stay. It found its place near the hill. The

Dreaming of that Merrepen is the mother Falmi Merrepen. It carries its child on its shoulder. The

one standing opposite is the father Yerridi Merrepen. The Leech is my family’s Dreaming.

Merrepen told Leech Adiny to go and live in the swamp. As he moved down from the top of where

the outstation is now, he made holes in the grass, moving through the swamp, making waterholes

as he moved in and out of the ground and settled down in the billabong Adiny Kirim. Leech has

been there for a very long time.

My Dreaming is Merrepen, the Fan Palm. In my painting the black circle represents the Merrepen

Dreaming. Around are the Little People. The white circle and the Little People are my Mum’s

Dreaming, the Water Python. At the top, the four circles represent the Leech Dreaming and the

lines show the tracks of Merrepen and Leech. Our great-great grandfather came to Merrepen from

Nardirri. There are little people there but they speak a different language from those at Merrepen or

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Ferriderr. Little people do not like strangers coming into their country. They smell their sweat and

could hurt them. That’s why it is important to be properly welcomed into a new country. I often

hear them talking. One day we went out hunting getting sugar bag from an ant pit. There was lots

of it there. We saw some strangers. Next day when we went out to get some more honey it was all

gone. The little people had hidden it (Farrelly 2003: 6).

The subject-matter of both paintings and the design stories tell of the creation of the artists’

Homeland named Merrepen, the Ngan’gi word for the sand palm. While they illustrate the

same Homeland, the sisters paint it in completely differentiated styles, exemplifying how

artistic creativity and social practice also play a role when interpreting a design of which they

hold shared ownership. Philomena has applied a figurative style to her Homeland design. In

the background, the fan-shaped sand palm is painted naturalistically with similarity to the

real-life plant form. A round, light brown, dotted, drop-shaped circle bears a visual

resemblance to the hill in this geographical country. In Philomena’s design, the Merrepen

Ancestors have figurative shapes resembling the outline of humans: a mother, father, and two

children, all four figures encircled by the hill-circle. They are a family walking across the land

looking for a place to stay, and the path they walked left lines in the hill represented by a tale-

like ending to the hill-circle. They settled in this area where their presence is manifested

atemporally by an abundance of sand palms and the name Merrepen. The area also holds, as

narrated in the story, a Leech Dreaming, as the Leech Ancestor settled in a billabong there.

Figurative designs, such as this, through applying naturalistic elements, are still conceptual

interpretations by artists who choose to depict lifelike forms according to their artistic skill,

personal experience, and mental images of the world (Layton 1991).

Ann Carmel uses an abstract style to portray the same Merrepen Homeland, and to grasp the

underlying meanings in her painting, there is a particular need for interpretation. The correct

interpretations of symbolic elements in abstract designs are based on a shared representational

system, which are an essential component of cultural knowledge used in art (Taylor 2007).

Ann Carmel applies circles to mark the geographical Dream-sites of the Sand Palm and Leech

– her own Dreamings, which are surrounded by the Little People residing in the area – and her

mother’s Dreaming the Water Python. Her painting and design story create a manifestation of

the particular relationship between Ancestor beings and the Traditional Owners of the land.

The story mentions, for instance, the danger of entering another man’s land, because the Little

People are fickle beings. They can protect and help people by looking after their country, but

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can also tease you. Thus, a stranger not welcomed to the country through the Welcome to

Country Ceremony, will be threatened by the Little People.

Munn’s (1973) componential analysis of the art of Warlpiri, (an Western desert group from

Central Australia,) illustrates how form and meaning in designs are closely linked to the

cultural context. Munn explores how visual forms, originated in sand and body paintings, are

connected to the subjects’ identity, time, and space; in fact, the wider socio-cultural order.

Warlpiri artists apply multi-vocal, condensed signs, where one sign can provide representation

of a whole: “an image of dynamic societal unity in microcosm” (1973: 220). The designs have

representational qualities, when referring to the internal, semantic structure of the art designs,

as one single sign can signify multi-vocal meanings. The designs also apply signs with socio-

cultural symbolism, referring to the designs’ significance and function in Warlpiri society.

Munn (1973) describes how once this multiplicity of meaning is encoded in a limited stock of

signs used in paintings, they are learned as “collective representations” helping to mediate

between the objective determinations of social order, and the subjective determinations of

individual experience. Munn’s work provides a theoretical parallel to my analysis of the

becoming of Ngan’gi art, as I found that Ngan’gi designs are also multi-layered, holding both

representational qualities and socio-cultural symbolism originating from Nauiyu society. The

artists who are familiar with the Dreamings of Rak-Merrepen will know that the circles used

in the paintings above represent their geographical place and its particular Ancestral figures.

Applied in the context of illustrating another design story, the circle can represent a different

meaning. Further, the artists’ use of such multi-vocal symbols also refers to a shared

understanding among the Ngan’gi that their art manifests kinship-based identity and their

concepts of time and space in contemporary life. In the past, the Ancestors created the land

and charged kinship groups with being the custodians of the land. Homeland designs, such as

these, create a visual manifestation of how the remaining Ancestral presence in these areas

has created a continuing connection between Ancestors and humans in contemporary life.

With Munn’s analysis as a foundation, I argue that one must also investigate how seemingly

standardised symbolic designs develop and are reinterpreted in a dialectic relationship

between individual action and the social order.82

Artists who share Homeland ownership can

82

See also Anderson and Dussart’s (1988) critique of Munn, arguing that abstract and figurative designs can

themselves be interpreted differently by different social actors, as they demonstrated when analysing how

Warlpiri paintings are used in new ways by Warlpiri artists as media for political negotiation with the state.

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still produce diverse styles, because the meaning of the signs are through semiological

processes, continually recreated and reconstituted over time through artistic creativity

(Giddens 1979; Morphy 1991; Keller 2008). “In actual practice signs don’t just have a

meaning; they are made to have meaning, given signifieds (sic) in practice” (Myers 2005: 6).

Ancestral precedence in Ngan’gi painting conventions creates a limitation concerning who

can paint what. Nevertheless, Traditional Owners have the ability to stake out new aesthetic

territory within the existing local Ngan’gi art styles. This is confirmed through the above

analysis, as one Mulvien sister used a circle and the other a figurative drawing to illustrate the

same Ancestors of their Homeland.

Regional, Local, and Individual Stylistic Idiosyncrasies

Subsequently, the three stylistic levels, regional, local or kinship-based, and individual, that I

have identified in Ngan’gi art are explored in detail by presenting a selected group of

paintings, illustrating various types of subject-matter. First, I compare two designs to illustrate

how their styles vary regionally. Two artists who originate from geographically different

regions have illustrated a shared Dreamtime story, “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle,”

narrating how these two Ancestral beings came to have their physical appearances. Brian

Miller is a Kurringu artist originating from Oenpelli and Marita Sambono is an Ngan’gi artist,

though they both currently live in Nauiyu and paint for Merrepen Arts. Sambono narrates her

version of the “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle” design story:83

Long time ago, back in the Dreamtime, Porcupine lived with her friend Turtle in the same camp.

They lived near a creek, and Porcupine had a baby. Everyday Porcupine would go hunting to bring

home something to eat, while Turtle was babysitting. One time Porcupine was away for many days

looking for something to eat. As Turtle was waiting he got so hungry and had nothing to eat, so he

killed the little Porcupine baby, cooked it, and ate it. Porcupine came back and looked for her baby

and asked Turtle where it was. He told her that he ate it. Porcupine got very angry and gathered

rocks from the creek, Turtle went and got his spears and they started fighting. Turtle threw his

spears at porcupine, and she threw her rocks back. That is why porcupines carry these spears on the

back, and turtles got round dents from the rocks on his back.

83

See the Appendix, pages 416-17 for four additional “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle” paintings by

Sambono. Presented is also Brian Miller’s design story that varies slightly from that of Sambono on page 415.

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Plate 5.20 “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle” painted by Miller painted in 2007.

Plate 5.21 “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle” painted by Marita Sambono in 1995.

Both paintings have a similar figurative style, yet show slight variations. Sambono’s painting

is set in the shared camp, with the Paperbark shelter humpy in naturalistic surroundings.

Miller’s painting has the figures placed on a signal red background. In both paintings, rocks

are painted next to Porcupine and spears next to Turtle. Porcupine is painted in cross-section

to accentuate the spikes on his back, created by the spears Turtle threw at him. Miller has

painted the baby porcupine in a human shape as a manifestation of how animals and humans

share substance, due to their common origin. The designs differ in use of colour and

decorative patterns, which is, I believe, due to the different regional affiliations of the artists.

Sambono’s style represents what are typical stylistic features for Ngan’gi art representing the

Fitzmaurice region; being colourful, naturalistic, and decorative. Miller’s style is

representative for his Arnhem Land region, as he applies “cross hatched” patterns, and shades

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of red, brown, black, or yellow, resembling the ochre and charcoal colours often used by

Arnhem Land artists. 84

In the following, three artists’ versions of the same design are given to illustrate the second

and third levels of stylistic identification, individual and local or kinship-dependent styles.

Plate 5.22 “The Falling Star” painted by Mercia Wawul in 1988.

Plate 5.23 “The Falling Star” painted by Marita Sambono in August 2004.

84

“Cross hatching,” known as Rarrk, is the final element of a bark painting done with much regional variety by

Arnhem Land artists. It demands a particular technique of filling in the silhouette of a figure in a design with sets

of fine, thin parallel lines. Such designs might feature either simple single-coloured hatchings, or more

decorative bi- or tri-colour patterns of “cross hatching,” that were traditionally, and still are, used as body

paintings in rituals (Taylor 2007). Patterns are owned by certain kinship clans, and transmitted between the

generations from father to son. Morphy (1991) argues that the painting of cross-hatching is what transforms a

painting from a rough dull state to a state of bright shimmering brilliance, creating a visual beauty that is

associated with Ancestral powers.

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Plate 5.24 “The Falling Star” painted by Christina Yambeing in February 2005.

The subject-matter of all three paintings concerns how a falling star, according to shared

Ngan’gi custom and knowledge of how to read the meanings of signs in nature, is interpreted

as a sign of bad luck or an imminent unfavourable event. Sambono’s design story was told to

her as a child by Wawul, her mother: “The old people tell us that whenever we see a falling

star, with little star following behind as it falls, it is a sign of death. We know that someone in

the family is going to die. Then in a week or two we hear the bad news about that person’s

death.” In some cases it can also be a “star of vengeance.” When a person has died retribution

must fall on the person, known or unknown, who caused the death. In such cases a falling star

is on its way to seek out the wrongdoer. Some of the older women told me that the fear of

what they refer to as “black magic” is so strong that people can become sick or die, simply by

their own conviction of such ill doings. I have witnessed how people throw ashes into the air

at the sight of a falling star; a customary act, I was told, meant to prevent “black magic.” The

knowledge of sign reading is passed from generation to generation through stories and art.

The first painting by Marringarr artist Wawul has an abstract style in which “The Falling

Star” is painted in a large, bright orange, drop-shape with radiating yellow rays of light, as it

passes over the sky towards a hill. The circles at the top part of the canvas represents other

stars. The lined up circles at the lower end of the canvas represents people observing the sign

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in fear (Farrelly 2003). Marita Sambono, Wawul’s daughter, painted “The Falling Star” in a

design quite similar in motif and composition, revealing that these two artists share an

apprenticeship network (Taylor 2007). Sambono was taught to paint by observing her mother

painting, and learned through such training particular local stylistic features. Sambono’s

abstract painting illustrates “The Falling Star” by using a drop-shape, that is visually similar

to that of her mother, and indicating swift movement from the right top of the canvas. The star

is surrounded by spikes in golden yellow, being her interpretation of the radiating light. This

is accentuated by dotted black and blue lines from the star to the edges of the canvas, which

Sambono explains as manifesting the danger emanating from the shooting star. Although, the

designs are similar, they vary slightly in their use of colours, and Sambono’s is more

decorative, as the artists’ individual creativity contributes to local style.

The third design, painted by Christine Yambeing, is also an illustration of “The Falling Star”

in a completely differrent figurative and naturalistic style resembling a star constellation. On a

gentian blue background there are scatters of soft blue, silver, and white dots, and lines

creating the illusion of gazing up to a starlit night sky. These paintings illustrate how Ngan’gi

artists can paint the same subject-matter in styles that share local and kinship-based features

and that vary as each artist adds personal stylistic idiosyncrasies.

The region of residence, the elders who teach the artist, and individual personal creativity, are

all factors that have contributed to the gradual transformations of Ngan’gi styles. When

looking closely at art training through apprenticeships, one consequence is that “schools” of

artists are created where local members share certain stylistic features, because they have

learned to paint by imitating the same senior members of their kinship groups. In May 2008, I

discussed the existence of kinship-based “schools” sharing styles at Merrepen Arts, in an

interview with Sister Susan Daily:

See there’s sort of the Gracie Kumbi and Benigna School, and then there is the Marita Sambono

School. Now there was a chap called Henry Sambono who used to do little water lilies and they are

very similar to what Marita does, because he taught her to paint. She is inspired by Miriam-Rose

too, though the Sambono style is slightly different.

Yes, Marita is literally rounder in her figures … Yes, Exactly.

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Plate 5.25 “Barramundi” painted by Marita Sambono in August 2007.

Plate 5.26 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in 2006.

The “Barramundi” design has come to epitomise the Ngan’gi art movement, because it is an

important bush tucker item to the Ngan’gi, and the Daly River is famous for its barramundi

fishing. This has made the “Barramundi” design popular among tourists, who visit the region

to fish. Art training through kinship-based apprenticeships, which is common in Nauiyu, is

exemplified by these paintings of the “Barramundi” design made by artists from the two

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different “schools” mentioned by Daily. To describe their styles, Kumbi’s “Barramundi”

appears slender and filled with neat, tiny decorative details. Sambono’s “Barramundi” has a

more rounded form, appearing larger and more bulky. Although Marita and Kumbi are

related, they have not grown up in the same immediate household. Kumbi is one of “the four

sisters:” Patricia Marrfurra, Christine Yambeing, and Benigna Ngulfundi, who are the most

prolific and established artists at Merrepen Arts. All of their children paint in similar styles

adhering to the apprenticeship network of “Kumbi School” in their figurative designs. The

“Sambono School” was most likely developed and taught to Marita Sambono by Henry

Sambono.85

Marita Sambono and her daughters Cassie and Elaine all employ similar styles.

Continuing my detailed exploration of Ngan’gi art styles, I would like to introduce an opinion

on this topic by Fiona Syvier. She is a non-aboriginal artist and art teacher who has been

training Aboriginal artists from many Australian communities in the techniques of acrylic

painting for years, which gives her a certain authority on the topic of Aboriginal art in

general. She has also visited Nauiyu occasionally to instruct the Ngan’gi artists in painting

workshops. She shared her opinion on Ngan’gi art styles with me in an interview:

Ngan’gi art forms are very distinctive, figurative and highly decorative, they have a lot of

symbolism and a strong design sense. Yes, it is heavily design orientated, in that sense it can b

quite rigid and stylised. Colourful and sometimes not informed colours, there is a real mix of

artists. When I close my eyes and go “think of Merrepen Arts” I see that stylised dragonfly.

Inspired by Syvier’s comment, I have chosen to present several versions of dragonflies made

by Ngan’gi artists that share local and regional stylistic features, with rigid, figurative

compositions and the use of strong colours, and that include individual stylistic variations.

They simultaneously exemplify what stylistically unifies and differentiates Ngan’gi artists.

Starting with their shared features, all of the Ngan’gi artists presented here have chosen to

portray the dragonflies figuratively, with a double wing set on an oval body decorated with

dots, a circular head with two feelers, and a tail part. Furthermore, the insect is always viewed

from a bird’s perspective. Below, I will explore the more individual stylistic features.

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Henry Sambono is the brother of Peter Sambono who is Marita’s former husband. However, she has another

kinship link to Henry, as he is married to Kitty Kamarrama’s daughter Dorothy, defined as Marita’s cousin.

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Plate 5.27 “Dragonflies” painted by Christina Yambeing in December 2002.

Yambeing’s painting is, typically for her, expressive and imaginative. The dragonflies are

lined in aqua blue and purple, and placed erratically and intertwined, the tails marked with

diminishing dots in elongated curves.

Plate 5.28 “Dragonflies” painted by Miriam-Rose in May 2003.

Ungunmerr uses a more rigid composition, with the dragonflies lined in yellow and flying in

vertical and diagonal lines from the lower end to the top of the canvas on a blue background.

The dragonflies’ positioning makes them resemble little aeroplanes in flight formations.

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Plate 5.29 “Dragonflies” in post card size, painted by Marita Sambono in August 2003.

Sambono has painted the background in stripes of red and orange coming through inside the

dragonflies lined up in black, and surrounded by wavy lines and decorative dots. The

decorative, colourful style is conventional for artists from the Daly River region; yet, the

shape of the dragonflies is typical for Sambono’s personal style, rounded and plump.

Plate 5.30 “Dragonflies” etching on paper by Aaron Kingangu McTaggart printed in 2007.

In McTaggart’s etching, the wings of the dragonflies are decorated with dots, and the tail is

made by little swirling dots like a string of pearls, printed in navy blue, resembling the

evening sky. The style of the print is neat and, as Syvier rightly describes it, stylised. It

epitomises the local and regional Ngan’gi style and is therefore used on Merrepen Arts logos

and brochures. The artist McTaggart is inspired by Gracie Kumbi, which as his classificatory

mother, and has taught him to paint in an apprenticeship network. McTaggart’s affiliation

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with the Kumbi School of style is evident when comparing his work to one of Kumbi’s

dragonfly designs.

Plate 5.31 “Dragonflies” painted by Gracie Kumbi in March 2008.

Kumbi’s style also shares the local features, although the neatness of the decorative details

and the insect’s slender shape are particular to her personal style. Margie West, a curator at

The Museum and Art Gallery of Northern Territory (MAGNT) once said to me in an

interview about Ngan’gi art styles: “I guess you can even call Ngan’gi art cartoon like!”

Plate 5.32 “Dragonflies” painted by Melissa Wungung in May 2008.

This last artwork, painted by an inexperienced Marringarr artist, exemplifies this naiveté, with

its large, rounded, naivistic shapes, and strong colours. This painting illustrates West’s claim

concerning how certain Nauiyu artists, painting for Merrepen Arts, use styles that can be seen

as resembling cartoons.

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Making a unified statement to characterise Ngan’gi styles is difficult, due to all of the stylistic

variations, evident in the works presented. Shared features include, as mentioned, the starting

of a design with a multi-coloured backwash in blended vertical “rainbow-like” stripes. Other

common features include the elements of the chosen design lined in black, with the striped

background coming through inside the figures; the filling of space with decorative dots, rays,

or lines; and the abstract use of multi-vocal symbols such as circles and lines, combined with

vibrant colours. Ngan’gi artists are taught to paint as children by observing their elder

relatives and appropriating their styles; thus, inspirational similarities are expected. These

paintings were not chosen randomly. They all demonstrate the figurative, decorative, and

colourful styles that are used most repeatedly by many Ngan’gi artists, thus providing the

most accurate summary of generalised Ngan’gi art styles. These local style features has also

become identifiable in the art market as typical for art from Nauiyu and the Fitzmaurice

region, recognisable by those customers and curators familiar with Ngan’gi art and Merrepen

Arts. However, these paintings illustrate, more importantly, that there also exists an

unrestricted range of individual stylistic variation within Ngan’gi art. The assertion of creative

innovation has resulted in some pioneering stylistic changes made recently by individual

Ngan’gi artists that have proven central to art market success, which will be explored below

and in the following chapter.

Having conducted fieldwork in Nauiyu twice, I am able to recognise changes that have

occurred over time in both shared regional styles and in the personal styles of individual

artists. A great majority of Ngan’gi artists tend to favour the production of figurative designs

that are semi-abstract because they incorporate abstract elements, as opposed to completely

abstract designs. However, from 2005, there has been a stylistic move towards an increased

use of completely abstract designs painted on larger canvases. From my perspective the

increase in abstract designs might come from the artists’ attempts to adapt to art market

preferences, by creating designs similar to the large abstract paintings from the Central and

Western Desert (Bardon 1991; Perkins et al. 2000; Myers 2002), which receive much more

recognition and high prices in fine art contexts. The Ngan’gi artists may also have been

influenced by the artists of their neighbouring community of Peppimenarti. There, Regina

Wilson, a senior artist, initiated a move from figurative designs to her own abstract

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representations of fibre work patterns, which have received much art market recognition.86

Although, individual differentiation exists, the Ngan’gi artists have developed recognisable

stylistic genres known as regional Ngan’gi art in the art market, which differ significantly

from Aboriginal art from other areas in Australia. An interesting point is that it might be

exactly the decorative, figurative, and colourful features that Ngan’gi art has become known

for that have contributed to limiting Ngan’gi art’s recognition as high art in the fine art

market; this will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 7.

Ngan’gi Art Designs: Analysing “Inside” Subject-Matter

Through observing and participating in the social practice of painting, Ngan’gi artists learn,

similarly to other Aboriginal artists, how to paint certain types of subject-matter, how to

interpret stories in designs, and how to apply the specific signs used in art that belong to a

culturally-specific system of representations (Taylor 2007). Most of the paintings of Ngan’gi

artists are illustrations of stories, which are printed on a certificate of authenticity sold with

the painting, to assist the customer in his or her interpretation of the art. Thus, the artists are

attempting to communicate the subject-matter of their painting to their customers, through a

combination of visual and narrative accounts, due to a strong intention for cross-cultural

communication through art. However, customers are a diverse group, and a differentiated

appreciation of the art and story among the customers is probable. Some may have a genuine

interest in knowing what lies behind the designs; other may take a more shallow approach.

One cannot help but wonder whether or not most customers actually read the stories that are

sold with the paintings.

The designs produced by Ngan’gi artists can be organised into a variety of design types or

categories, guided by the theme or subject-matter of the design story, illustrating, as

mentioned, their knowledge of the Dreaming, practices of hunting and gathering, notions of

season, customs and traditions, and their concepts of Catholic Christianity. The artists

themselves define four main design categories: Dreamtime, Bush tucker, Custom, and

Christian designs, described in my master’s thesis (Øien 2005). These categories have rather

fluid, rather than rigid, boundaries, as certain designs do not fit perfectly into a single

86

There has always been a close relationship between the two communities, as residents moved from Nauiyu in

the early 1970s to form an outstation that developed into the independent Peppimenarti community. Regina

Wilson has received much recognition for her abstract style art, winning the Telstra General Painting Award in

the Telstra National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Art Award in 2003 (West et al. 2007).

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category, but occasionally will fit into several categories. I am a bit reluctant to organise

Ngan’gi paintings in this way, as it might give the impression that the designs can be places

easily into inflexible categories. Thus, to capture and indicate the nuances and differentiation

existing within the artists’ four collective categories, I will, in my design analysis use their

design groups as starting points, and then add a few sub-design categories within each of

them. I also suggest adding one more main category, purely decorative designs. Taking into

consideration that the categories are fluent, I will apply them in an extended form because

they provide a practical organisation of design types that have imagery and story elements in

common. Furthermore, these design categories provide an opportunity to analyse Ngan’gi

designs in a more descriptive and detailed manner. A few paintings with their design stories

will be provided to illustrate each of these design categories.87

“We paint the stories from our Dreamings”

The Aboriginal religious concept has been labelled with the term the Dreamtime or the

Dreaming, which, as mentioned, incorporates the Ancestors, and the land, Law, and people,

all are believed to have been created by the Ancestors in the Dreamtime. Former research

concerning Aboriginal art has noted how art, for these artists is a manifestation of the creative

acts of the Ancestors. This renders paintings that illustrate Dreamings with a transcendental

character because they create a network of “connectedness” by capturing events of a sacred

past that also underlies the present (Stanner 1956; Munn 1973; Elkin 1979; Morphy 1991,

1998). The Ngan’gi artists express similar notions when painting their Dreamings. However,

as described, the sacred Dreamtime designs are modified for public viewing through local

negotiation, opening up for the acceptance of change, and incorporating new ideas external to

the ritual domain. Thus, all Dreamtime designs produced for sale in Nauiyu are illustrations of

public, non-secret stories. Regardless of the formal character changing, commercial Dreaming

designs have a sacred character for Ngan’gi artists, as they are illustrations of Ancestral

creations and Dream-sites given to them by their Ancestors. For them, their Ancestors became

manifested in the landscape during creation, and their connection to the Ancestors and the

land is reflected on, and expressed, every time they paint and interpret their Dreamings. They

say “we come from our Dreamings, and go back to them when we die,” and the paintings

presented below will illustrate how this sharing of substance is communicated through art.

The art has become, for the Ngan’gi, a means to express their knowledge of, and belonging to,

87

There will also be several additional paintings of each design category presented in the following chapter.

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the Dreaming, thus each Dreamtime designs imply a “sharing of culture” with customers. The

past is revisited, brought forward, and re-enacted when these traditional Dreamtime stories are

translated into contemporary paintings.

Dreamtime designs include three sub-categories: The first includes illustrations of stories

describing the Ancestral creations of animals, birds, plants, or humans, often including moral

points reminding people to follow the Law. The second includes illustrations of the

Dreamings that describes the creation of kinship-owned Homelands. The third includes

illustrations of the personal Child Spirit of each artist.88

Dreamtime Story Designs

Fallami kurri, Mermaids, translated directly as woman water or “water women,” are

Ancestral beings described in many Ngan’gi Dreamtime stories known publicly by all.

Mermaid Dreamings are often illustrated by Ngan’gi artists. Most of the Dreamtime stories

concerning Mermaids describe them as playful creatures, especially active at night. They are

also considered quite dangerous, having teeth like sharks and being able to smell the sweat of

young men and lure them with their singing or tricks. These Ancestral Beings do not only

exist in these past Dreamtime events. According to Aboriginal religious concepts the past

times of creation and present life have a parallel existence, thus, Ancestral beings such as

these water creatures are believed to be present in the contemporary world.89

The two

Mermaid Dreamtime story designs I have selected illustrate the creation of the first Mermaid

and the creation of the first Bat, which were both believed to be facilitated directly through

the actions of Ancestral Beings.

88

The artists would often paint their Child Spirits, expressing through art their close relationship to their own

conception spirit. However, these spirits are, as described in Chapter 2 considered private, and I will therefore

not present such designs, as that would require presenting them un-named. 89

The Mermaid or female Water Spirits are present in the Dreamtime stories of many Aboriginal communities in

the top end of Australia. In the Western Arnhem Land community, Maningrida, the female water spirit is known

as Yawkyawk in the Kunwinjku language. She is believed to reside in freshwater streams and is described and

depicted with the tail of a fish. This is an Ancestor spirit who in a similar manner as in the Ngan’gi Dreaming,

originally had human form and can at times, especially at night, change back to human form (Caruana 2003).

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Plate 5.33 “How the Mermaid got Her Tail” painted by Bernadette Tyilngilin in 1994.

Tyilngilin is a Matngala artist, painting at Merrepen Arts, and this is her design story:

Long, long time ago in the Dreamtime, a young Aboriginal girl was walking along in the dry

season. She came upon a billabong that was almost dried up. In the mud she saw a barramundi

gasping for breath. She picked him up and took him along to the river to wash off the mud. When

she had cleaned him she held the barramundi in her arms, trying to keep him to herself. But the

barramundi wanted to get back into the water and he struggled. She held him tight but he was

stronger. In trying to escape the barramundi pulled her into the river. In the tussle, scales from the

barramundi rubbed off on to her and she became the first Mermaid (Farrelly 2003: 12).

Tyilngilin’s painting is dominated by signal red and brick brown colours, resembling the

scorched soil of the dry season. She has portrayed the subject-matter of the story in two

sections: Moving from the left, the girl comes across the barramundi; drops of water pour

from his eyes as he is dying, stuck in the dry, yellow mud. To the left of the painting, she is

holding on to the barramundi’s tail, when washing him. The girl is drawn in both sections in

the shape of a Mermaid, even before the transformation; the artist depicts her as what she is

about to become rather than the girl she still is. Dreamtime stories often describe the

Ancestors’ transformative powers and how they originally were human-like in their form,

which substantiates of the notion of shared substance between Ancestors and humans.

Dreaming designs, such as this, originated in a ritual context in which they would be

reproduced on smaller surfaces, such as human bodies. The participants would share the

knowledge of the ritual context necessary to interpret the cultural significance of the design.

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However, when producing a commercial painting, the meaning of the design, and the

complete design story, have to be communicated to an outsider unfamiliar with the

Dreamtime story and the former ritual context. A solution was introduced to Ngan’gi artists

by Ungunmerr at an early stage in Ngan’gi art production. She suggested that painting be

done in sections, in the manner that Matngala artist Tyilngilin has done, to be able to

communicate all of the narrative, chronological sequences, and transforming events of each

Dreamtime story (Derrington 2000). Tyilngilin’s decision to paint this Dreamtime story in

narrative sequences resulted from the artist’s attempt to adapt and communicate the religious

significance of these designs when translated into commercial art. A similar creative move

was also observed by Morphy (1998) among Yolngu artists. The achievement of

communicating the whole Dreamtime story in narrative sequences was of great importance to

all of the artists at Merrepen Arts, to reveal layers of meaning and complex details in their

cosmology and Ancestral connections to art customers.

Plate 5.34 “The Little Bat and the Mermaids” painted by Benigna Ngulfundi in 2000.

This painting illustrates the shared Dreamtime story concerning the origin of bats:

My Aunt Nancy Wudiyerr gave this story to me. A long time ago there were three Mermaids who

lived together in a camp. There was a man they wanted for their husband but he did not want them

for his wives. To get away from them he said, “I'm going out hunting.” He took his spears, his

Woomera and his dilly bag. He went a long way to a rocky hill. He saw a rock kangaroo. He

speared that kangaroo and made a hole in the ground at the bottom of the hill to roast him. When he

had covered him up he lay down to sleep with his hands behind his head and his legs in number

four positions. The three Mermaids had followed behind. From the top of the hill they threw stones

down to tease him. He stood and swore really badly. He said “I don’t know why this mob keeps

following me.” After he got up he dug out the kangaroo and started eating it. They were giggling

and making fun of him. He said to himself “I want to move on.” He collected his spears, his

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Woomera and his dilly bag and drank and drank lots of water. He was full. They called after him;

“where are you going?” He said, “I’m going home.” “No” they said; “you come this way.” To each

other they said; “We’re going to kill him.” They got string from the fig tree and made a really long

rope. They said; “you climb up that rope.” He climbed up and they pulled him up and let him down

several times. They teased him. At last, when he got right near the top. They cut the string and the

man fell down on the rocks. His body broke into little bits that became the Little Grey Bat. He flew

into a cave and lived there forever (Farrelly 2003).

The subject-matter of the story reveals the character of the Mermaids as being hungry for

men, playful, and dangerous. Ngulfundi has depicted them in a layered format, representing

them as a group. Their bodies are decorated with black details and heads are represented by

circles. The man is painted as the Bat he will become once dropped on the rocks, once again

signalling the imminent transformation given as a manifestation of shared Ancestral and

human substance.90

Homeland Designs

The Ngan’gi artists often paint the kinship-owned Dreamings from their Homelands. These

designs are personal and spiritually powerful, because they make tangible the omnipresent

connection between the Ngan’gi people, their land, and the Ancestral creators. The Pelican

Dreaming located on their Homeland Malfiyin is described to illustrate this connection.

Plate 5.36 Photograph of the Pelican Site reproduced courtesy of Mark Crocum and

permission by from the Traditional Owners of the Malfiyin Homeland.

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One additional Mermaid story and design painted by Maureen Warrumburr is given in the Appendix page 418.

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The Ngan’gi often retold me the Dreamtime story of the Ancestral creation of Malfiyin:

It was during flood time and the female Pelican was making her way on a paper bark raft up from

the flood plains to lay her eggs. At the foot of the mountains the river made a whirlpool. Pelican

got caught in it and almost died. She managed to get to shore and landed on a rocky outcrop. She

laid her eggs. The moment she was finished she and her eggs turned into stone. The Pelican and her

eggs still stand there today.

The large white stone surrounded by smaller round stones was created through a

metamorphosis in the Dreamtime, manifesting in an atemporal manner, the essence of the

Ancestral Pelican, who was permanently transformed to stones. The Ancestral presence

residing in these stones makes the place sacred and directly linked to the kinship group that

owns this Dream site. Gracie Kumbi explained this connection, a knowledge given to her by

her brother: “If you move one of these rocks, the oldest man in our family will die. When my

father, Roger, died one of them rocks in that Dreaming fell down by itself” (Øien 2005: 46).

According to the Ngan’gi, the connection between them and their Ancestors is tangible;

consequently, as described by Kumbi, a physical change to the rock formation is believed to

directly affect the senior elder of the kinship group.

I argue, in line with Myers (2002), that country is, in itself, a sign that represents in the

narrow sense what occurred in the Dreaming, and in a wide sense enters and affects a large

number of social relationships. The country and the Dreaming are components of a system of

social action, as these stories bind each individual to his or her specific Homeland, and the

people of one kinship group together. They are united by their shared forefathers, and shared

land ownership and responsibilities, passed from generation to generation. The Ancestral

connection is reproduced, made tangible, and in a manner of speaking, fuses the body of the

artists to their land each time they illustrate their inherited Dreamings in a painting.

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Plate 5.37 “Pelican Dreaming” from

Malfiyin Homeland painted by Gracie

Kumbi in post card size in August 2003.

(See the Appendix, pages 419-20, for three

additional versions). Kumbi’s illustration

of the Pelican Dreaming is always

decorative, with a figurative illustration of

the stones in the area together with one or

two Pelicans guarding their eggs. She only

varies slightly in the use of colours and

compositions in her many reproductions of

this design.

Another Homeland in the Daly River region is Lafugannyi, located near Fish River.

Philippine Parling is one of the Traditional Owners and has painted one of the Dreamings in

her Homeland, “Sore Eye Dreaming,” repeatedly. Three painted versions of the “Sore Eye

Dreaming” are presented and compared, all illustrating Parling’s design story:

Back in the Dreamtime two Ancestor brothers called Good Eye and Bad Eye were out in the bush

looking for sugar bag. They saw it in a tree and started chopping the tree down. Then Bad Eye got a

big wooden splinter in his eye that he could not get out. His eye got really sore and he lost his

vision. In this country there flows a little creek. Bad Eye says to Good Eye he would live upstream

and Good Eye had to live downstream from now. They are still there as two hills with the little

creek running in between them. In this creek Mermaids swim at night. This is now called the Sore

Eye Dreaming place or Lafugannyi in my language and it is in my country.

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Plate 5.41 “Sore Eye Dreaming” painted by Philippine Parling in 2001.

The Ancestral beings in the story are named according to the imminent transformation. Even

before one brother suffers the splinter in his eye, he is named “Bad Eye.” The two brothers

are turned into hills by metamorphosis, and in the river located between them, Mermaids are

believed to presently reside. The artist described to me how the Bad Eye brother is associated

with evil, while the Good Eye brother is associated with strength and health of spirit. These

opposite characters are manifested in the land, the bad Eye Dreaming area is a dangerous site,

while the God Eye Dreaming is an area that bestows good health upon visitors. In the first

painting, Parling has illustrated the Mermaids figuratively and swimming in circles around the

light blue and signal red Bad Eye Dreaming in the centre of the painting. The Mermaids are

decorated with patterns in light pastel colours; tiny circles around them are decorative

elements resembling figurative water bubbles created by the Mermaids’ movements.

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Plate 5.42 “Sore Eye Dreaming” painted by Philippine Parling in December 2004.

Plate 5.43 “Sore Eye Dreaming” painted by Philippine Parling in December 2007.

In these paintings, Parling has interpreted her Dreaming with a completely different abstract

style using multi-vocal symbols, such as circles, lines and dots to represent particular

geographical features in her Homeland. The continent of Australia is covered in an intricate

web of such Dreamings that are geographically located. Morphy (1991) points out that

Dreamtime designs such as these can also be seen as maps due to their specific geographical

references. These three designs by Parling further illustrate how Homeland Dreamings,

though owned by kinship groups, can be interpreted in individual and differentiated styles.

As described, a physical movement of the sacred rocks that manifest the Ancestral Pelican in

the Homeland Malfiyin will literally affect the life of the Traditional Owners, as walking on

the land of the Homeland Lafugannyi will also affect the health of visitors. Thus, I interpret

Homeland paintings, which illustrate the creational power of the Ancestors, as direct

manifestations of the Ancestors themselves. The artists also express this literal manifestation

between the illustrations and the place when pointing to their Homeland designs and saying

“this is my Dreaming.” This is a complex form of representation in which the art embodies

the Ancestors and the land, a connection that is reacted though painting (Morphy 1991).

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Thus, paintings illustrating Dreamtime stories incorporate meaning on several levels. Because

the Homeland designs are kinship-dependent they constitute the artists’ kinship-based

identity, demonstrate the right to paint and own Homeland places, communicate the artists’

religiosity and re-enact Ancestral connections. The stories themselves communicate general

mythologies from The Dreamtime and moral arguments from the Eternal Law. This

knowledge is constituted, passed on to the next generation, and therefore kept alive through

art. When artists paint their Dreamings the content of the stories are not to be changed.

However, the artists can make creative interpretations of the stories concerning how they want

to visualise the stories in designs by using particular compositions, diversifying styles and

certain colours. These ideas are also illustrated in more detail in the following section.

Dreamtime Stories: Change and Continuity

Aboriginal religious concepts state that Dreamtime designs have originated, as described in

the thesis Introduction, from the Dreaming, as they are the actual illustrations of the creational

stories that came out of Ancestral action in creating the world and all that is in it. These

stories and the knowledge of how to paint them are, as has been described, maintained and

transferred by the following generations’ through retelling and painting. Ngan’gi artists

interpret their important heritage in such a way as to strictly separate the inside ritual sphere

from their external painting practice, to allow for much creative freedom in the creations of a

wide variety of Dreaming designs. As suggested by Ingold and Hallam (2007) when

explaining creativity, one must not only examine artistic improvisation, but also analyse the

social relations and cultural formations, such as this, that guide it. Nevertheless, Ngan’gi

artists insist that Ancestral precedence remain in their art. As pointed out by Morphy (1991),

this belief obligates the Ngan’gi, and other Aboriginal artists, with the need to combine and

reconcile change and continuity. They must balance the ideological notion of art motives

having originated in a prehistoric past and shared Dreamtime stories, that are now reinvented

by new art imagery, media, and techniques, while living in a contemporary society dominated

by change. Coleman (2005) argues that this change of meaning, as practices are transferred,

translated, affirmed, and modified, may actually be necessary for the continuation of art

production practices that are based on oral story traditions. Neuenfeldt and Magowan (2005)

claim that, among Yolngu performers, the terms “traditional” or “untraditional” interestingly

become blurred in the hands of skilled and creative artists, which is also fitting when

describing how Ngan’gi artists combine past and present painting practices. Elaborating on

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the peculiarities concerning how Ngan’gi artists conceptualise change in their art, I want to

compare with Yolngu art in more detail.

Morphy describes the art of the Yolngu of north east Arnhem Land as dynamic and changing

in spite of an ideology of conservatism: “Yolngu art mediates between the ideology of

immutable forms and orders originating in the Ancestral past, and the reality of sociocultural

change and political process” (1991: 300). In Morphy’s earliest fieldwork, among the Yolngu,

he brought photos of Yolngu art from an old museum collection. Comparing the photos to the

present art, he noticed developments and wanted to record the artists’ reflections on these

changes. However, upon asking them they denied change and one artist stated “... you want to

show us that our art has changed, we will show you that it has not” (1991: 182). The

constraints lay for the Yolngu artists in the Ancestral nature of the art; patterns were created

in the past and still influence the forms and content of the art in the present (Morphy 2008).

Most Yolngu artists produce both “inside” and “outside” designs, terms that I introduced in

the Introduction, with respect to particular kinship-owned patterns. Morphy (1991) describes

that, although changes in forms do occur, such as a formerly inside design developing into an

external design, a change soon becomes recast in the minds of the art community as an

always-existing form so that the value of the art remains. This is in harmony with the notion

of designs being immutable forms, moving from the Ancestral past to the present day. Thus,

for the Yolngu possibilities for change exist and occur when artists negotiate which designs

are inside or outside, when exploring new art media, and when developing individual styles of

cross-hatching. Nevertheless, when parents teach their children to paint, they de-emphasise

change on the level of meaning in the art and the pre-existing visual forms. In their view,

when changes to form occur, they will accordingly not affect the remaining significance of the

value system embodied in the art (Morphy 1991).

My ethnographic material will illustrate that, for the Ngan’gi artists, there is also a similar

understanding that although new art production practices change how the visual appearance of

the art, the significance of the art and the cultural values the art is founded on remain. In

contrast to the Yolngu, the Ngan’gi artists expressed openly to me that they embraced change

in their designs. When we were comparing early works with contemporary pieces many of the

Ngan’gi artists expressed to me in similar ways that “I used to paint like a child, now my lines

are finer. I have gone my own way and found my own style.” Perhaps because my question

maintained focus on Ngan’gi art production practice, I was given answers that confirmed how

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designs are continually changed through innovation, negotiation, and improvement. In

contrast, the Yolngu may have taken Morphy’s queries as paralleling change in art with

changes in the cosmological foundation of their art, causing them to deny change. In any case,

my material revealed a strong focus on individual and artistic creativity, education and

development in designs, styles, and media. At the same time the cultural foundation remains

creating a coexistence of change and continuity in Ngan’gi art production. Their production

for sale has been developed in collaboration with art coordinators and their former Catholic

teachers. Perhaps because of this particular history, the style restrictions are less explicit,

making the relationship between change and continuity less problematic for Ngan’gi artists.

Thus, Ngan’gi artists are more willing to acknowledge change in their designs because they

view their art as more separate from traditional patterns and designs than the Yolngu. The

analysis of styles and forms of subject-matter in Ngan’gi designs presented in this chapter has

certainly illustrated, I believe, the Ngan’gi artists’ openness to developing new styles, and

individual and varying ways of painting collectively-shared Dreamtime stories. Similarly to

the Yolngu, Ngan’gi artists do acknowledge constraints concerning how kinship-based design

ownership determines which design stories one can paint, and the shared notion of certain

designs having Ancestral origin. Though innovative, the designs still refer to culturally-

specific meaning and knowledge of great significance to Ngan’gi artists and the people of the

Nauiyu community in general.

I occasionally experienced that a Dreamtime story could be retold and painted by Ngan’gi

artists using several versions. However, several interpretations or varying re-enactments

would not diminish the meaning and importance of the story. I am presenting two versions of

the same public Dreamtime story, concerning the theft of water, to illustrate how Dreamtime

stories transform over time, and are interpreted or accounted for differently by individual

artists. The first story version is called “The Mic Mic and the Bottle Tree:”

Two Brolgas meet MicMic when he was looking for sugar bag (wild bee’s honey). They asked him

if they could borrow his axe, he said “I do not have an axe;” hiding it in some bushes. The Brolgas

were so angry that they decided to play a trick on him, by hiding all the water inside a bottle tree.

When MicMic later decided to take a bath he only landed in a mud puddle, the Brolgas and the

other animals laughing at his frustrations. But with all the water gone the animals soon got thirsty.

They went to get the Sand frog and asked him if he could spear the tree. Sand frog did and brought

all the water back. The animals were happy to have water; and the Brolgas flew away in shame.

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Plate 5.44 “The Mic Mic and the Bottle Tree” painted by Benigna Ngulfundi in 2003.

(See the Appendix, page 420 for one additional design version created by Ngulfundi).

Ngulfundi has painted the subject-matter of “the Mic Mic and the Bottle Tree” Dreamtime

story figuratively in light shades of green, pink, blues, and yellow colours, with the figures of

the story gathered around a large bottle tree. The story reveals an emphasis on the Ngan’gi

moral concern for sharing water. Stealing water is a crime, and when it is restored the Brolgas

experience shame. The Mic Mic is looking for sugar bag, a favoured bush sweet among the

Aborigines. When the animals were thirsty, the only one that could help was the Sand Frog;

because he, according to Ngan’gi bush knowledge, hibernates near the roots of trees, is

always swollen with water; and thus, is temporarily unaffected by the drought.

In an old certificate, I found another version of the water-stealing Dreamtime story called

“The Thirsty Sand Frog:”

Long ago back in the Dreamtime there lived a thirsty Sand Frog. One-day he played a trick on all

the other animals. While they were out hunting he decided to drink all the water from the every

waterhole, billabong, creek, and river that he could find. After when he had finished he climbed a

big high hill so that nobody could find him and went to sleep there. Sugar bag Bee was very thirsty

and went to his favourite water hole to drink. To his surprise he saw that there was no water. He

went to find the other animals that were out hunting, and they were very thirsty. They went from

river to river but they couldn’t find water anywhere. They asked everybody where’s all the water

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gone to but nobody knew. So all the animals gathered together and had a big meeting. They

realised that the Sand Frog must have drunk all the water because he was not there. After the

meeting they all went to search for the Sand Frog that drank all the water. They went from place to

place, but they couldn’t find him anywhere. Then the animals asked the hawk to fly up into the sky

to see if he could see the Sand Frog who drank all the water. Then finally there he saw him

sleeping right on top of the hill. He was big and round. One of the animals called up to him to give

back the water, but Sand Frog just laughed and went back to sleep. That made the animals really

angry. They screamed and shouted at him and then they all started throwing their spears at him one

by one. The hawk was the lucky one he threw a spear that hit Sand Frog in the side and all the

water came rushing down the hill and filled all the rivers and creeks, and water holes again. All the

animals were very happy once more. The Thirsty Sand Frog was so ashamed that he went and hid

himself in the sand. To this day he always hides himself under the sand.

Plate 5.46 “The Thirsty Sand Frog” painted by Marita Sambono in November 1998.

The story refers to a Dream-site in the Homeland of Sambono: Ngambu Ngambu, also called

Niyen, where this Dreamtime story took place. This cosmological origin is reflected in the

Ngan’gi word for Sand Frog, which is Aniyen. Sambono has painted the frog with a rounded

shape representing how he is full of water. The spear is pointed towards his body and he is

surrounded by a circular wave of water, representing how the hawk’s spear releases the water.

At the edges of the canvas, she has painted all of the animals witnessing the event.

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Although this version has not, to my knowledge, been painted recently at Merrepen Arts, it

has occasionally been referred to orally by the artists. Once, Patricia Marrfurra and I were

walking from the river and upon passing an area with soft, brown sand, she said: “See these

marks? That is from the sand frog, he digs himself down in sand. The old people say that he

does this out of shame because he once stole all the water back in the Dreamtime.” The story

also refers to the knowledge of the sand frog being swollen with water when he hibernates,

though applied differently, in the first story, he is the helper, and in the second, the

perpetrator. However, the moral messages manifested in the Dreaming stories and the

paintings remain present in both design versions, that is, not to steal, but share water.

The Ngan’gi artistic system is flexible with respect to change through the artists’ openness to

develop and improve their styles, apply new media, and learn new techniques, while

simultaneously producing inherited images relevant to their experiences in the world and their

identity as Aborigines. They share imagery combined with the need to find their own personal

style: “I have been taught to paint by my mothers, but now I want to find my own way.” As

long as the stories are part of the artistic system and illustrate important points of meaning and

knowledge to the Ngan’gi people, they can be continually reworked in various versions

through the creative acts of artistic production and storytelling.

Bush Tucker Designs

Nauiyu is located directly on the banks of the Daly River in a lush, tropical region. The flora

and fauna are rich and diverse, and almost every species of wild life is hunted or collected by

the Ngan’gi, using various techniques. Today, the Ngan’gi are not directly dependent on bush

tucker for survival, however, hunting and gathering remains an important part of social life

that people partake in with much joy. Residents would always be looking to catch a ride out

bush. The cars driving out would be filled with people, excited at the prospect of hunting and

fishing until sun-down, followed by a bush tucker meal prepared at camp site fires, while

joking, laughing, and talking.91

Their appreciation for the bush is expressed through bush

tucker designs, produced seemingly, as an enthusiastic celebration of local wildlife, hunting

and gathering activities. The word “bush tucker” is a collective term referring to all of the

common, natural food sources gathered in the bush. The bush tucker designs are a direct

91

See the Appendix, pages 421-25, for general information about the types of hunting and gathering conducted

in Nauiyu with flora and fauna language names, and a few diary entrances describing hunting trips.

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visualisation of their everyday activities, life experiences, environment, and culture. Thus,

bush tucker designs are direct illustrations of the Ngan’gi life-world. Some Ngan’gi artists

told me repeatedly that their preference for strong and vivid colours – blues, pinks, and greens

– is inspired by the sensorial experience of the tropical, lush environment with dense

vegetation on which they live, and from which they derive their motives. Bush tucker designs

include five sub-categories: The first includes illustrations of bush flora and fauna; the

second, knowledge of seasonal signs initiating certain hunting and gathering activities; the

third provides illustrations of bush medicine knowledge; in the fourth, hunting and gathering

techniques; and finally, bush food preparations are depicted. The boundaries of these sub-

categories are fluid, as some of these designs can also be custom designs, because they

describe shared Ngan’gi knowledge of local practices.

Hunted and Gathered Flora and Fauna Designs

This design category is what a majority of Ngan’gi artists paint most repeatedly. In particular,

bush tucker designs such as water lilies, dragonflies and barramundis are the most popular.

Molly Yawalminy paints bush tucker designs exclusively, illustrating her own design stories:

This is a painting about bush tucker that I used to collect when I lived out in the bush as a young

woman. The tuber on the top of the painting is a cheeky yam, Mininytyi. This was dug up from the

ground, then ground into smaller pieces with a small rock and cooked in a ground oven. The large

light green plant in the centre of the painting is Miwangi. This yam like tuber grows on the hillside.

It is dug up from the ground, peeled, then cooked on the fire, and eaten. This is a very tasty yam. At

the bottom of the painting I have painted the Black Currant, Mimeli. The plant with the green

berries shows what it looks like when the berry is raw, the plant next to it shows the bright red

colour of the ripe berries, sweet and ready to be picked and eaten. Around these plants are the

Malgin, which is a sharp, prickly grass that cuts your leg when you’re collecting bush tucker.

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Plate 5.47 “Bush Tucker” painted by Molly Yawalminy in 2008.

Yawalminy paints on a matte black background, bush tucker plants in their various stages of

ripening; this is represented by the berries turning from green to red. Yawalminy reveals in

her bush tucker paintings her intimate knowledge of bush food collection and preparation.92

Seasonal Sign Designs

For the Ngan’gi, the calendar year is divided into two halves, which represent climatic

extremes. The dry season is exceptionally hot with no rainfall. The following wet season

releases massive storms with heavy rainfall that continues for months, resulting in rising

water levels and an annual flooding of the community. For the Ngan’gi, these two halves are

again separated by a number of shorter seasons, each initiated by different signs in nature

indicating the time for the specific activities of gathering, fishing, and hunting.93

In Ngan’gi,

many seasonal names can describe the weather, climatic changes, animal behaviour, or the

stages of certain plants occurring at a certain times. Seasons dictate what is available in the

bush, and accordingly the hunting and gathering activities performed in people’s spare time

that follows from this availability. While some bush food is available throughout the year,

others are seasonally dependent. To mention a few, there is a season for atyalmer barramundi

92

A second bush tucker story and design painted by Mary Kanngi in 1999 is given in the Appendix, page 427. 93

A collection of Ngan’gi season names and their meaning is presented in the Appendix, pages 425-27.

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fishing, for gathering of misyawuni bush potato and ewerrmisya amurri crocodile eggs, for

hunting anganni magpie goose, and anganifinyi echidna, and collecting miwulngini red lotus

lilies, favoured for their tasty seeds. Patricia Marrfurra explains:

You see, your people you follow the calendar, but we follow seasons. Our world is like a circle, but

in two halves with the dry and the wet on each side. For example, when the wurrmuy, spear grass,

grows, we know that’s the time to gather one type of food. And we have different words for all the

stages in the growth of that grass. In the time when they lived off bush there were times of plenty,

such as in the dry when you can collect, and there was times when they went hungry, such as in the

wet when the animals and plants are renewing themselves and growing. It is all a circle of different

seasons, things to gather at different times (Øien 2005: 85).

An intimate knowledge of the natural environment and seasonal signs was crucial in the days

of nomadic existence, as survival depended on what could be extracted from nature. Their

knowledge of seasonal signs would, in the past, be transferred by the adults’ stories, followed

by drawings in the sand, and children observing and participating in hunting activities. Today,

the knowledge is translated into art. Artists maintain parts of this knowledge for following

generations in bush tucker paintings, as well as through stories and community participation.

Plate 5.49 “Kapok Tree” painted by Geraldine Ungunmerr in December 2004.

Ungunmerr is illustrating how the kapok tree provides a seasonal sign for the gathering of

crocodile eggs:

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In the centre of the painting there are many families who are out bush looking for crocodile eggs.

The children are in the centre of the painting surrounded by the adults and crocodile eggs. The

external border is full of kapok flowers telling us as the white fluffy seeds fill the air that the rains

will be coming soon. The story of the kapok and the crocodile eggs is our seasonal calendar.

Ungunmerr has painted this seasonal sign in an abstract design by using circles. The children

are in the centre, and then in concentric layers, additional circles represent the adults and the

eggs. The entire composition is surrounded by the white fluff of the kapok tree flower,

providing the seasonal indication shared as Ngan’gi bush knowledge; manifested in art.94

Bush Medicine Designs

Bush medicine designs can be characterised as bush tucker designs, because they involve the

communication of bush knowledge of local flora and fauna for medicinal use. Mercia Wawul

narrated her story on the certificate for a bush medicine design she painted in 1988:

The painting in this picture is about bush medicine. The Yerrdinin was used for sores. They would

break the branches of this tree and pick the new shoots, which are growing at the very tip of the

branch. The fluid that comes out is very sticky. This is put on the sore. Ant bed was used for

diarrhoea. The people would eat some of it and this would stop the diarrhoea or any other stomach

pain. The tree on your right is the ironwood, Mawuny. The leaves of this tree were used for

headache and flu. They would put the leaves over the fire and they would be careful not to burn it.

Just warmed till they had enough heat, then the warmed leaves would be pressed on the part that

was painful. That was a soothing thing.

The medicine tree, yerrdinin, mentioned at the beginning of the story was painted by Maureen

Warrumburr in January 2008.95

She painted the tree in green on a yellow background, while

talking of how they use the sap from the yerrdinin Tree directly on the skin to heal sores. In

an ethnobotany book concerning plant use in Nauiyu, the plant gardenia megasperma is

described as having a healing effect: “The yerrdinin is used to treat skin sores. The apical tip

is pinched off the twig tip and a drop of clear sap is exuded, the sap is dabbed directly on the

cut or wound ... This medicine is considered very potent” (Wightman et al. 1995: 102).

Wawul’s design story also mentions the eating of ant bed to stop diarrhoea. Some of the

Nauiyu elders conformed to me in conversation how they used to eat certain types of dirt and

94

See the Appendix page 428 for one additional seasonal design titled “Every Storm,” depicting the wet season,

painted by Philippine Parling painted in November 2007. 95

Unfortunately, I have no photographs of such designs, as they are rarely produced. Warrumburr’s Yerrdinin

was mistakenly sold before having been photographed. Thus, the story is given with my design descriptions.

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ant bed because it relived stomachache, but also because they enjoyed the salty taste.

Marrfurra has also described to me how they used the grey mud from the billabongs to rub on

itchy skin caused by the itchy tree or grubs. The leaves of the ironwood tree Mawuny were

also used for its medicinal qualities; curing headache, it is also used in smoking ceremonies

after someone has passed away and to welcome newborn children to the world. Important

knowledge such as the use of medicinal plants is now maintained for following generations

and communicated both through storytelling and through Ngan’gi art.

Food Preparation Designs

Most types of bush tucker, including all kinds of mammals, birds, lizards, snakes, and fish, as

well as seeds and yams, would be prepared by the Ngan’gi by roasting them on the hot coals

of an open fire when out in the bush. The meat would retain a juicy tender inside and a burnt,

seared outside, providing a smoky flavour much appreciated by the Ngan’gi. Another

technique is an underground oven, interpreted in a painting by Kenneth Minggun presented

below, in which he painted all of the bush food that is usually cooked in an underground oven

in a circle located inside the dark brown and black ground. A big fire is made, and when the

flames are high round rocks are thrown in and left until the fire has burned down. The hot

rocks are picked up with paper bark and placed in a hole that has been dug in the ground. The

meat of snake, echidna, or kangaroo is wrapped in paper bark and placed on top of the hot

rocks, then covered in green leaves and buried under a layer of sand. This is left for a few

hours, cooking the meat slowly. Although it takes longer, the result is succulent meat.

Plate 5.51 “Underground Oven” painted by Kenneth Minggun in April 2008.

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All bush tucker designs involve subject-matter describing the knowledge of how food is

collected from the bush, prepared, and eaten. Also portrayed are the signs in nature that aid in

their collection, along with the usability of certain species as food. These designs manifest

significant descriptions of a shared Ngan’gi cultural background and knowledge, their

everyday life practices, as well as illustrating the ancestrally created landscapes, and local

flora and fauna.

Custom Designs

What the Ngan’gi artists’ label “custom designs,” I define as including illustrations of two

sub-categories: The first kind of custom design includes illustrations of the local people’s

knowledge of significant ceremonies, both those still performed, and those that are no longer

performed. The second, concerns depictions of stories that remind people of moral obedience

of the Eternal Law created by their Ancestors. Ceremonies are performances involving

participants from Nauiyu, and occasionally relatives visiting from other communities in the

Daly River region. The organisation of ceremonies demands cooperation between several men

or women, and occasionally, between people living in different geographical areas. When

ceremonies are painted, the memory of them is carried over from the ritual context to the

context of art production. In my view these designs aids people in maintaining the memory of

such past local, cultural-specific knowledge and activities, after the performance has ceased.

The custom design I have selected gives an artistic interpretation of several Ngan’gi transition

rituals, and the painting and design story is presented by two Ngan’gi artists together:

In the olden days our people used to mark their bodies with shells from the billabong. The circle in

the middle represents the head: when somebody dies they hit themselves on the head with stones.

This drawing of blood would take the sadness away. The lines on top of the circle represents when

the young girls start menstruating. Her parents would use the shell to cut marks on the front of

their chest and then use lots of red cheeky ants to heal the wound. The lines underneath the circle

represent the mother when her son goes to the circumcision ceremony and the lines at the side

represent the brother going through circumcision. The lines at the top show when an uncle passed

away and the three lines at the base show when the brother passed away. The dots represent the

red cheeky ants that are used to heal the wounds. We call it Apilirr.

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Plate 5.52 “Apilirr” red and black ants painted by Christina Yambeing and Gracie Kumbi in

October 2004.

The subject-matter of the design story describes significant elements of both funerals and

initiation ceremonies. The artists have translated them into this abstract design with lines and

circles, representing different ceremonial stages occurring through a person’s life, marked by

scars on their bodies. The story describes how, in funeral ceremonies, the drawing of blood in

sorrow is believed to wash away the sadness, while the scars leave the memory of the event.

Funerals, and other transition rituals, were and are also often followed by “smoking

ceremonies.” The smoke from ironwood leaves is believed to be soothing, calming, cleansing,

and it protects against evil spirits. A smoking ceremony is performed at funerals to assist the

spirits of the deceased to cross over to the Ancestral realm.

Initiation ceremonies were performed for young men and women in Nauiyu until recently;

these marked their coming-of-age, and organised the transmittance of knowledge and

responsibilities from the Elders to the younger generation. An initiation ceremony included

circumcision of men and Madiwanggi, the Ngan’gi word for cutting cicatrices, or decorative

scars. They would be cut in the chest, back, upper arms, and the back of the thighs and legs, to

physically mark the life stage event celebrated and facilitated through ceremony. To close and

clean the knife cut scars, they would take red cheeky ants aripiri, as described in the design

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story, and hold them by their rears close to the edges of the wound, forcing them to bite the

edges again and again. The formic acid produced by the ants would keep the wound sterile,

and the skin would swell up, forcing the edges together, resulting in a raised scar (Wightman

et al. 1995). Men would be given the scars as part of their initiation ceremony, while women

received them when their younger brothers went through initiation (Reid et al. 2008). The

bent lines in the design represent both burial and transition ceremonies, but they also

represent a figurative and visual similarity to the Madiwanggi cicatrices.

Most of Nauiyu’s oldest men and women carried such scars. According to statements from

the Ngan’gi, as well as my observations, representatives of the youngest generation in Nauiyu

do not carry such scars. I assume that this ritualised scarification is not part of contemporary

initiations, for men or women, demonstrating how such rituals are dynamic: though appearing

to be repetitive and formalised by practice, they do change in form and content.

Although not mentioned in the design story, ceremonies are always followed by the

performance of two song and dance styles, Lirrga owned by the Ngen’giwumirri (also

Marringarr and Wagiman people), and Wangga owned by the Ngan’gi kurunggurr (and Mairri

people) (Reid et al. 2008). These song styles would be performed at initiations and smoking

ceremonies, accompanied with clap sticks and dancers. Which style is used, is determined by

patrilineal affiliation and becomes a marker of identity for the novice. After the circumcision,

the novice can say, “I was cut the Lirrga way” (Reid et al. 2008). The song style will now be

owned by the novice, with the rights to sing it and the responsibility to pass it on. As

mentioned in the design story, when a mother then sends her sons to a transition ceremony,

her relationship with her sons will change, as they are now initiated as adult men.

Currently, initiation ceremonies are not, as far as I am aware, performed in Nauiyu. Only a

few informants older than 25 years of age told me that they had participated in them. I

observed how the decline in ceremony performances rendered the people of Nauiyu open to

criticism from relatives in communities in which initiation ceremonies were still performed;

they criticised “they got no culture,” which is a grave and hurtful accusation. The most

common explanation I was given for why these ceremonies, so regularity performed in the

past, had temporarily ceased, were the lack of older men in Nauiyu. “The death of the elders

in a few years would cut a major link with the past” (McKnight 2002: 64). Presently, there is

only one singer in Nauiyu and he is aging, his fading memory affecting his singing. Thus,

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without a singer, ceremonies are impossible to perform. These two songs styles used to be

taught at the local school, but to my knowledge, this is no longer the case. I have also been

told that some Catholic Church representatives encouraged mothers not to have their children

initiated, as the ordeals they must suffer were seen by the Church authorities as violent.

Regardless, custom designs have currently been converted and have encoded the culturally

significant meaning of ceremonies into durable forms, maintaining memories and knowledge

for the artists, and communicating visually to the external world the Ngan’gi ways of

experiencing reality and marking life events.

Catholic Christian Designs

Nauiyu was, as described in previous chapters, a Jesuit, and then a Catholic mission.

Although the administration of Nauiyu is no longer managed by the Catholic mission, this

history has given the Catholic Church a strong and remaining influence in Nauiyu and in the

lives of the Ngan’gi. Similarly, as described by Magowan and Neuenfeldt (2005),

missionisation and christianisation have had an ubiquitous and enduring influence throughout

the Australian continent. This history has also led to diverse expressions of spiritual unity in

the context of contemporary Christian worship, performed in Nauiyu at the local St. Frances

Xavier Catholic Church during services and Baptisms, with much local participation. The

Ngan’gi view their traditions as simultaneously Christian and rooted in a pre-Christian past,

and one does not exclude the other (Toren 1988; Duelke 2005). This spiritual unity is also

often expressed through art. Fundamentally speaking all Ngan’gi art designs are of a religious

character, as they grow out of the Ngan’gi Dreaming and are illustrations of a life-world

created by sacred Ancestors. However, what the Ngan’gi artists classify as Christian designs

go beyond their traditional concepts of their Dreaming, because they include their concept of

personal Catholic Christianity. When I asked Ngan’gi artists how they create Christian

designs, they say that they look for similarities or parallels between their own stories and

Catholic Biblical stories. As described in my master’s thesis (Øien 2005) Bible stories are

translated to illustrate their personal religiosity, as it is exercised in their life-world. Christian

elements such as the dove, the cross, the rosary, sacraments like Baptism and Eucharist, in

relation to the Nativity, the Passion, and resurrection of Christ, are creatively combined with

Ngan’gi Ancestral visual symbolism and concepts of the Dreaming, Law, traditions, and their

natural environment; creating powerful religious expressions through art (Nichols 2002).

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To frame these designs historically, the production of Christian designs by Ngan’gi artists

may partly – in addition to a Mission past – also stem from an influence from their first art

coordinator, who was a devout Catholic, and the second, who was a Catholic nun. As

commented by West and Barber (2007), the Ngan’gi artists’ illustrations of Christian themes

distinguish them from most other Aboriginal artists. As has been mentioned in Chapter 4,

Aboriginal art was introduced to the art markets as having a spiritual character because of the

artists’ insistence that their designs are from the Dreaming. This gave rise to the

misconception that Aboriginal artists create art with a naturalism, holding a form of

authenticity that was believed to be corrupted or lost by any form of external influence

(Graburn 1976; Anderson 1990; Michaels 1994; Marcus et al. 1995; Brown et al. 1998).

Consequently, a challenge to the production of Christian designs, particularly at the beginning

of the Aboriginal art movement, was that the art market showed limited appreciation for

Christian Aboriginal art; as it was often interpreted as an “inauthentic” result of a devaluating,

syncretic, Christian influence.

Even though Christian designs are rare and apparently unappreciated by the art market, there

are some Aboriginal artists who produce them in a similar manner to the Ngan’gi. Morphy

(1998) describes how the Yolngu also occasionally produced Christian art, where the

Yolngus’ spiritual relationship with the land is made compatible with Christian beliefs. Myers

(2002) describes Linda Syddick, a Pintupi Western Desert artist, known for using Pintupi

symbols when telling Christian stories in her art, who has also found it challenging to have

her paintings accepted in the art market as “authentic” Aboriginal art.

At Merrepen Arts, the former art coordinators responded to such claims of inauthenticity by

attempting to convince the customers that the Christian symbolism was created by the artists

themselves. For example, they added a short statement to Sambono’s 1992 design story

printed on the certificate of authenticity: “Concepts, such as interpreted here, come from

Sambono’s own understanding of Christian teaching. The transference to Aboriginal

symbolism is entirely her own without any prompting or previous discussion.” However, I

was told that the following art coordinators at Merrepen Arts chose to discourage the

production of Christian designs, probably recognising customers’ preferences for Dreamtime

designs. Therefore, the Christian designs, produced in such large numbers at the beginning of

the Merrepen Arts movement, are rarer and are currently declining.

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The tendency for art markets to see Aboriginal Christian designs as inauthentic and syncretic

necessitates a discussion about what constitutes the term syncretism. Syncretism has often

been employed in referring to the active fusion, joining together, borrowing, or reconciliation

of two belief systems to create a third, hybrid entity (Veer 1994; Hosseini 2002; Nichols

2002). I argue that such a narrow definition of syncretism allows for the interpretation of

certain belief systems to be inauthentic or contaminated, because this definition is founded on

the idea that certain belief systems are “pure” and “original.” However, I follow established

anthropological perspectives stating that the idea of such cultural purity, “authenticity,” or

wholeness has been abandoned for the recognition of processual change and continual cultural

development (Marcus et al. 1986; Clifford 1988; Hobsbawm et al. 1992; Harvey 2000). I

appreciate the understanding that specific belief systems are not static, but historically

constituted and continuously changing. As mentioned by Veer (1994) using a historic

perspective, belief systems are always syncretic. Once one realises that belief system are not

“pure” and incompatible, the notion that a combination of belief systems is a devaluating,

hybrid infiltration can be unproblematically dismissed.

I further follow Shaw and Steward (1994) in arguing that simply identifying a religious

practice as “syncretic” is of little interest. Rather, when analysing co-existing or combined

belief systems the focus should be on the processes of religious synthesis, and the workings of

artistic agency and identity negotiation in the process. Christianity does not replace peoples’

concepts based, for example, on the Dreaming; rather, Christian ideas are introduced and

absorbed into, in this case, the artists’ system of belief, in a process of active negotiation that

gradually incorporates the new concepts into their worldview (Kabo 2001). What is

interesting is how some of the Ngan’gi artists, regardless of the art market’s labelling of

Christian designs as inauthentic and despite art coordinators’ influences to the contrary, have

continued to produce Christian designs, as an expression of their personal Christian

convictions. They embrace Christianity by actively selecting and mixing Christian elements

with local contextualising imagery, such as similar elements from their Dreamtime stories and

bush scenes. This combination yields designs particular to Merrepen Arts. Derrington (2000)

argues that when Ngan’gi artists are combining essential elements of both belief systems, this

suggests more than co-existence. Rather, it implies that the belief systems are mutually

supportive, Catholicism is maintained alongside their existing spiritual framework.

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Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr describes herself as a Christian and expresses a belief in uniting

traditional Aboriginal practices with Christian theology. Ungunmerr states in a book on

Aboriginal Pedagogy: “I long for the day when our deep ceremonial instincts can find genuine

expression in our Christian celebrations. When this happens the Christian celebrations will no

longer be foreign but truly ours” (Ungunmerr-Bauman 2000: 166). Ungunmerr explained to

me in conversation how she is equating Christianity with their Dreaming in her art, to create a

Biblical hermeneutic that is more culturally relevant to them. She says in an interview, “In

Christian designs we tell our religious story for all the Christians of the world to hear.”96

Gracie Kumbi also describes in an interview how she paints Biblical events by focusing on

the comparability between Christianity and her Aboriginal frame of reference:

Yes, I do religious paintings, and sometimes I read the bible. I read that story and I think I gotta do

this on a painting. But instead of me doing it white-man-way I do it Black fella way. Like for one

of my paintings I did not read any books, but I was just thinking. The Coming of Christmas! I did

that with two figures, and the baby lying in that cradle, and the big star. And I wrote that story

myself. I explained it in the story that it’s not white man way, it is Aboriginal way. Because I set it

in the bush, next to a billabong, with the wise men pointing at the Star.

Kumbi’s painting of the Nativity titled “The Three Hunters” is presented above as Plate 5.8

on page 189. It demonstrates how Christianity is not passively absorbed, nor does one set of

beliefs extinguish the other. Rather, when the Ngan’gi artists, such as Kumbi, interpret

Christian narratives according to their own cultural frame of reference, they establish a co-

existence of Christianity and personal ancestral spirituality.

A Christian design that is often painted by Ngan’gi artists is an illustration of the parallel

between the Ngan’gi Welcome to Country Ceremony, previously described, and Christian

Baptism, which I have also described in my master’s thesis (Øien 2005). Patricia Marrfurra

describes how Ngan’gi artists equate the unity created between Traditional Owners and the

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Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr told me in an interview that when she was asked in 1974 by the Catholic Mission to

illustrate the Catholic “Stations of the Cross,” she immediately wanted to interpret this Bibilical event with her

own stories and designs. Her intention was to create paintings that would make the Stations of the Cross more

accessible to Aboriginal people, as well as providing a personal account of her combined religious beliefs to

outsiders. These paintings are currently exhibited in the St. Frances Xavier Church in Nauiyu. The stations were

temporarily moved to be exhibited at the High Court of Australia, for the Aboriginal Art and Spirituality

Exhibition at the World Councils of Churches Assembly (Derrington 2000: 13). They were also reproduced in a

Dove Communications publication in 1988 titled Stations of the Cross (Ungunmerr-Bauman 1984). Several of

Ungunmerr’s Christian designs are analysed in the following chapter.

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Ancestors of the land through water in the Welcome to Country Ceremony, with the unity

created between humans and God through water in the Baptism:

Like for baptism, how’ em (is) is similar to our traditional way of Welcoming strangers to Country.

So we try and combine them two together, and we do painting about that. It takes lot of thinking

too, how to see our traditional ways and stories and how they are similar to the Bible. Our way and

the Catholic way together.97

Marrfurra has painted their welcoming ceremony often, illustrating her own design story:

When a stranger is coming to our land for the first time a special ceremony must take place. An

elder takes the person to the edge of the water and calls out to the Ancestors. When this happens,

the pigeons are heard calling – they represent the Ancestors. The elder takes a hand full of water

and puts it in his mouth. The water is then spat on the head and navel of the person visiting the

land. They have been accepted and will always be welcome to come again. John the Baptist also

welcomed Jesus when he baptized him and the Holy Spirit spoke. When we are baptized we

become children of God. When our elders put water on our head our sweat is carried by the water

and we become a child again with the Ancestors.

Plate 5.53 “Welcome to Country Ceremony” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in September

1991.98

97

A Pitjantjatjara artist from Ernabella expresses the same sentiment when the missionaries introduced

Christianity, “We’re interested in God’s story. God and my story underneath, both – Kutjara (translated God’s

words and my own way both stand together)” (Eickelkamp 1999: 30). 98

Six additional Christian designs with their stories and my interpretations are given in the Appendix, pages

429-34, to illustrate how the Ngan’gi artists combine Aboriginal and Catholic concepts in their art: “Welcome to

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There are many layers of meaning in the subject matter of this painting. Taking a closer look

at the design, a large yellow pigeon is positioned in the upper half of the composition,

spreading its wings over the event. The painting is Marrfurra’s illustration of the Ancestors.

Marrfurra has painted the senior elder performing the ceremony with black and brown

concentric circles located behind the pigeon. Finally, the person who is to be Welcomed to

Country in the Ngan’gi ritual, or baptised in the Christian ritual, is painted with a yellow

dotted circle. The circle is centrally placed in the painting, at the river’s edge, which is

depicted with light blue wavy lines and brown, round pebbles at the lower end of the

composition. When the senior elder leading the ceremony calls out to the Ancestors present in

the sacred homeland, the Ancestors answer through the call of the pigeon, owollulu, as

described in the design story. It is commonly believed that birds such as the crow, the

kookaburra, the white cockatoo, and pigeons are Ancestors in bird shape that can

communicate messages to people, which I often witnessed on bush trips. Marrfurra told to me

how birds are believed to give omens of imminent danger or deaths, and the Willy Wagtail

gives a sign telling when young boys are ready for their transition ritual. This explains why

Marrfurra chose to paint the Ancestor in the shape of a pigeon.

The Welcome to Country Ceremony transpires when a Traditional Owner visit his or her

Homeland for the first time. This ceremony ensures that the Ancestors will accept the visitor’s

presence on the land. This event instantly creates a lifelong connectivity with the Ancestors.

Through the ceremony, members of the kinship group that owns this land becomes one with

the Ancestors, from whom one comes and to whom ones returns after death. Moreover, there

is yet another level of meaning to Marrfurra’s depiction of a pigeon, in addition to expressing

this Ancestral connectivity: the bird has a visual similarity to a dove, which is a universal

Christian symbol, visually manifesting Marrfurra’s parallel to Christianity.

Additionally, it is in the symbolism surrounding water that the parallel becomes explicit.

Marrfurra explained to me how water for the Ngan’gi manifests rebirth, healing, initiation,

and inclusion, and creates a tangible connection between land, Ancestors, and humans when

used in rituals. This makes water what Munn (1973: 220) describes as a “multi-vocal

Country Ceremony” silk painting made by Wilson in 2008; “The Miracle of the Loaves and the Fishes” painted

in 1992, and “The Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary” painted in 1997, both by Sambono; “The Sacred Heart of

Jesus” painted in August 2004, and “Our Lady of the Sacred Heart” painted in August 2004, both by Nurra.

These five designs are all abstract Christian designs, where the artists use symbolic elements to tell a story. I am

also including “Our Lady of the Sacred Heart” silk painting, made by Ngulfundi in May 2008, in which the artist

has used a figurative style. Lastly, a photograph of a ceramic figure of Mary provides another visual parallel.

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symbol.” In Christian doctrine, water is also a multi-vocal symbol for incorporation,

purification, renunciation, and transformation. The circle representing the ritual participant in

the painting is covered in white dots, which symbolises how the water is being sprayed on the

participant. The radiating white and orange lines represent how the air around the welcoming

site becomes filled with the presence of this person after the ceremony. Marrfurra parallels

visually, and in her story, the Welcome to Country Ceremony with Christian Baptism, in

which water is used similarly to welcome people as children of God, incorporating them into

the body and Church of Christ. A Baptism also includes the purification of sin, the

renunciation of and separation from the past, spiritual transformation, and rebirth to a new life

(Dillistone 1985, 1986). Marrfurra also equates the unity created between Traditional Owners

and Ancestors in a Welcome to Country Ceremony, with the unity created between humans

and God in a Baptism, as both are mediated by water. Finally, how the pigeon embraces the

event with its spread wings is also a visual manifestation of how the Ngan’gi people conceive

both the Ancestors and God as omnipresent in the world, seeing the event, but also being the

event, as the Ancestors and God are present in the land and in the water.

Marrfurra has a strong intention to partake in cross-cultural communication through her art.

This painting, in particular, expresses her artistic creative vision of what she has identified as

a parallel between the Ngan’gi traditional practice of Welcome to Country Ceremony and the

Christian ritual of Baptism. Simultaneously, the design illustrating this ceremonial parallel is

critical to mediate her particular and personal form of Christian faith; this design is focused

on the unity of being both Christian and Ngan’gi.

When analysing these Christian designs, I focused on how the artists express their version of

co-residing worldviews and belief systems. Looking beyond the art, it is also interesting to see

how the Catholic Church and its missionaries often claimed the right to identify some

practices as truthful and others as false (Veer 1994). Christian rituals were once “owned” by

the church and the colonising power. However, as the mission history of Nauiyu illustrated,

the Catholic Church eventually changed its Gospel to include forms of worship and

Aboriginal Christian paintings, attempting to embrace a form of Christianity more relevant to

Aborigines. Thus, I want to replace the assumption that priests and missionaries preaching

Christianity are the only ones influencing Aboriginal people. Rather, I suggest that the

Ngan’gi also shape, influence, and adapt Christianity and Christian theology with their art

interpretations. Kabo (2001) makes a valid point concerning the importance of artistic agency

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when artists choose to reinterpret a Biblical story in their own frame of reference. Kabo

(2001) further argues that the presence of Christian designs is clear evidence of the

acceptance of Christianity; however, my material proves otherwise. The degree to which

Christianity has been embraced varies immensely from artist to artist. For some, like

Ungunmerr, their Christianity is of great importance, while a majority of Ngan’gi artists never

paint Christian designs, and do not identify themselves as Christians.

In conclusion, those Aborigines, who choose to do so, have, in various ways, made

Christianity their own. A range of novel artistic interpretations have contributed to extending

past and present painting practices, enabling expressions of personal religiosity, the

negotiation of faith and the role of Christianity in the life of Ngan’gi artists. Culminating from

a complex and ambivalent past, the becoming of Christian designs demonstrates the potential

for the co-existence of Christianity, Aboriginal symbols and narratives (Hosseini 2002).

Decorative Designs

A minority of Ngan’gi designs are produced by Ngan’gi artists without being an illustration of

an adherent story. They are purely decorative designs made by repetition of core elements

such as dots, circles, and swirls. Decorative styles are occasionally used in paintings, but

mostly on art media such as fabric, silk, batik shirts, and papier mâché bowls or figures.

Plate 5.61 A decorative silk scarf painted by Aaron McTaggart in May 2008.

(See the Appendix, pages 434-35 for four additional silk designs).

Placing the production of decorative designs without a design story in a national Aboriginal

context, I will make a brief stylistic comparison to the art from the Pitjantjatjara and

Yankunytjatjara women from Ernabella in Central Australia. They paint colourful and

decorative designs that are non-narrative or topical. As one of their artists explains:

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“We’re not telling stories. We don’t think too long, pick it up (the pencil) and when it’s

finished, the woman think “I leave it like that, it’s pretty.” Don’t ask for stories. This is not a

sacred one, wildflower Wiya. It comes from our mind and our hearts” (Eickelkamp 1999: 56).

Similarly, when the Ngan’gi use the particular art production techniques mentioned above

they are also mostly producing decorative designs and patterns, to create visually stunning art,

without illustrating a specific design story.

Summary

Ngan’gi paintings communicate both visually and textually who the people of Nauiyu are,

where they come from, and which art themes matter to them. Consequently, the paintings

analysed in this chapter are more than styles and forms of subject-matter; they act as markers

of a cultural identity. I claim that the words of Caruana are of relevance to all Aboriginal

artists when he states that “art is central to Aboriginal life. Whether it is made for political,

social, utilitarian, or didactic purposes – and these functions constantly overlap – art is

inherently connected to the spiritual domain” (2003: 7). Performing a symbolic art analysis is

an important part of the becoming of Ngan’gi art. Every painting presented above exemplifies

clearly how the Ngan’gi artists communicate multiple layers of manifested meanings using

symbolic signs (Morphy 1991; Taylor 2007). Ngan’gi artists participate in the transmission of

mutually shared knowledge that binds them together and creates common frames of reference.

Design stories that originate from the creations of kinship-owned Homeland must not be

changed or painted by uninitiated people external of the kinship group. Yet, I have

demonstrated how Ngan’gi artists are allowed to negotiate, modify, and interpret symbols

differently when illustrating shared design stories, by developing personal styles that combine

figurative and abstract elements. This offers insight into how cultural painting conventions

and personal creativity are entangled in symbolic forms of expression. In spite of such

transformations, I maintain that the sacred meaning and ownership of these designs remain.

Even bush tucker paintings have a sacred nature, as Ngan’gi religious concepts based on the

Dreaming bind Ancestral power in the landforms and every living thing.

In the next chapter, I pursue the matter of how developments in Ngan’gi design occur at the

intersection between established painting conventions and individual creativity. I intend to

explore this issue from a personalised angle by presenting several works of art and the life

stories of a group of well-established and prolific Ngan’gi artists.

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6

NGAN’GI ARTIST PROFILES:

INDIVIDUALISED ART

This chapter continues a detailed analysis of Ngan’gi acrylic canvas paintings, by exploring

how these works of art are situated in the lives of the producing artists. By analysing several

versions of signature works produced over time by a group of prolific Merrepen Arts artists, I

will reveal how specific and seemingly random events directly shape the creation of each

Ngan’gi design. I will make queries that can identify what lies behind the choices the Ngan’gi

artists make in their artistic paths. Why do some artists maintain a learned, conservative style

when others invent a ground-breaking style? How and why will an artist change a design in

compliance with a customer preference? How can a life-altering experience be expressed

through painting? I claim that by asking and answering such questions this chapter will

capture the becoming of Ngan’gi art (Morphy 2008) by illustrating how the creation of art is

always in the state of emergence shaped through artistic intentions, a particular form of

sociality, life events, and art market circulation.

Ngan’gi artists are creative persons who continuously balance learned social and cultural

conventions concerning how to paint certain forms of subject-matter, with the demands of the

art market, as well as the events in their personal lives. I follow, as mentioned, Taylor (2007)

and Morphy (2008) in suggesting that the circumstances surrounding Aboriginal art in

general, and Ngan’gi art production in particular, do not inhibit the opportunity for individual

innovation and creativity. The daily activity of painting contributes to the creation of new

social conventions and the development of a multitude of stylistic and subject-matter

variations. As pointed out by Myers (2005) and Keller (2008), supposedly “traditionally-

oriented” people are also active when reinterpreting their designs according to what they

experience in their lives. Building on the previous chapter, I argue that the focus when

analysing Aboriginal art should be located somewhere in between cultural painting

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conventions and artistic agency (Taylor 2007). Each painting presented below reveals the

general similarities of Ngan’gi art because they are illustrations of Dreamings, traditions,

ritual practices, and regional styles, shared among the Ngan’gi artists. However, and more

importantly, every painting also reveals individual artistic development and an existing

variation between the artists, in terms of styles and according to how each artist chose to

visually interpret particular design stories in abstract or figurative designs.

The six selected artists will be introduced separately in this chapter with section titles based

on personal quotes, followed by biographical details and short life narratives. I follow

Eickelkamp (1999) when positing that such biographic descriptions, presented in addition to

their works of art, provide a coherent narrative of the life experiences of each individual artist,

which are of great value to be able to recognize and analyse artistic development. Further, I

argue that it is important to present a wide artistic repertoire by providing several works from

each artist, to visually illustrate how they are maturing as artists through continuing artistic

development, which cannot be achieved by presenting only a single work. The paintings are

chosen to illustrate, specifically, how art creation is a dynamic process, arising from the

enduring relationships existing between the artists, their creative intellect, their physical hands

and eyes, the social and cultural context of art production, and art circulation.

The Ngan’gi artists transform sacred Ngan’gi religious imagery into saleable art with the

intention of sharing stories and the culturally-specific knowledge presented in their paintings.

Ngan’gi designs communicate multiple layers of meaning through culturally-specific signs in

a manner that embraces a complex form of symbolic representation (Morphy 1991; Taylor

2007). I will present each painting in the text with its design story and then analyse it

according to such symbolic representations and visual composition, patterns, and use of

colours, which will illustrate how a painting holds manifestations of spiritual and kinship-

based identity (Morphy 1991; Taylor 2007). Furthermore, I will continue to explore the

ambivalences and disjunctions resulting from sacred art being commoditised and judged in

the art market according to aesthetic and financial value, and where artistic recognition is not

equally bestowed on all artists (Myers 1995, 2002, 2004b, 2006a). From a personalised point

of view, I will capture how individual artists handle such incommensurable regimes of value

existing in the art worlds. Finally, the painting’s visual qualities can only be insufficiently

described using words alone; thus, I shall be basing my art analysis on both text and

photographs throughout this chapter.

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Marita Ann Sambono Diyini

Marita Ann Sambono Diyini was born on the 22nd

of September in 1968. “My mother told me

that she was at a fishing hole when she nearly gave birth to me, and they had to rush her to the

old clinic in Nauiyu,” she explains. Her language group is Ngan’gi kurunggurr and her

inherited Dreamings are Emu Ngurrp, Water Pythons Emire, and Little People

Tyirritymalmal. Her Homeland is NgambuNgambu. Sambono began painting when taught by

Ungunmerr at the local St. Francis Xavier School. She has spent most of her life in Nauiyu,

but also lived temporarily in Darwin and the Tiwi Islands, due to work commitments of her

former husband. Of her three children, Mathias, Elaine Newi, and Cassandra Karda, both

daughters are artists and were formerly employed at Merrepen Arts. Sambono is currently

employed at Merrepen Arts, and holds a position on its board. She is considered a leading

artist in techniques such as batik-colouring and screen printing on fabric.

“I hope that I keep on doing that painting until I get really famous …”

Sambono introduces herself as an artist, and as evident in her quote, she does not conceal her

desire for artistic success. In terms of creating novel styles, Sambono is unparalleled among

Ngan’gi artists. Beginning to paint at eight years of age, she was taught both in school and by

older kin the designs and styles that she has appropriated and eventually made her own. As an

adult, she is an art teacher and has developed a style formerly referred to as the Sambono

School, transferring it to her daughters and cousins in kinship-based apprenticeships. The

Sambono School is, as mentioned, characterised by the painting in figurative styles designs

that are highly decorative and colourful, with rounded shapes and thick lines.

Sambono’s work has, throughout her career, received much recognition from customers, art

coordinators, art critics, and other Ngan’gi artists for its characteristic style, and for her ability

to continually deliver original works of a high visual quality. This recognition may have made

Sambono sensitive to the interests of the art market. As previously discussed, there exists a

preference in the Aboriginal art market for abstract dot paintings. Over time, Sambono has

been able to incorporate such conservative expectations into a coherent aesthetic strategy.

Thus, in 2004, Sambono began implementing major changes to her aesthetic repertoires by

moving from mainly painting in figurative styles, to exploring abstract interpretations of

certain forms of subject-matter with underlying meanings. Guided by her vivid imagination,

she continues to explore new and abstract designs, giving her a standalone style among

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Ngan’gi artists. Sambono’s art will be introduced with several paintings showing three

designs. These art works will illustrate how she paints the subject-matter taught to her by her

mother; her artistic development of abstract styles; and the diversity in her styles.

Sambono, when asked in an interview what motivates her painting echoes the strong desire

shared among all Ngan’gi artists of telling and sharing stories through art:

It is good to give our stories to “white fellas” like that. So they can learn about how people used to

live and walk around here. Yes, I have them stories! I start with a story in my head and then I just

paint it on the canvas. By knowing these stories we know the right thing to do; to look after our

Land and our Ancestors.

Sambono is also expressing the process of artistic creation from an idea in the mind to skilful

execution on canvas, as shared cultural knowledge is materialised into art.

A formerly practiced birth ritual called “a Girl Must be Humble” is painted repeatedly by

Sambono, probably spurred by her stated desire to illustrate knowledge of past practices.

According to an Ngan’gi ritual, the top joint of the index finger was removed on infant girls

by tying it with strings of spider web. It is maintained that a woman should obey the older

relatives in her kinship group, particularly the male. The missing top joint would ensure that

she never forgot her place in the kinship-based hierarchy. This ritual act also marked the child

as a part of a kinship group, protected and looked after. Sambono’s mother, Mercia Wawul,

born in 1924, is the last living woman in Nauiyu to have undergone this ritual. As a young

girl, Sambono listened to her mother describing the ritual, and her painting visualises this

important event in her mother’s life:

Mercia, my mother, is missing the last joint of her left index finger. This is because when she was a

baby her grandmother took a length of spider web and tied it around the top joint of her index

finger, and left it there until her finger joint fell off. This was a traditional custom practiced three

generations ago, and they did it to keep a girl humble.

I have chosen five paintings made by Sambono illustrating the ritual, presented in the text and

in the Appendix, representing both her artistic interpretation of the formerly practiced ritual

and illustrating her personal artistic development.

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Plate 6.1 “A Girl Must be Humble” painted by Marita Sambono; (year unknown.)

Although the exact year of this relatively small painting is unknown, it is possibly among

Sambono’s earliest works, offered for sale at Merrepen Arts around 1989. At that time,

Sambono was as a novice painter, applying a simplistic style, thick brush strokes, square and

roughly-painted figures, in neutral tones of orange on a black background. Sambono has

painted the child in a paper bark cradle, with the mother and grandmother seated nearby, and

the circular spiderweb is located directly above their heads. The spiderweb is a visual

manifestation of new life and the shared communality and relatedness of family members,

because the ritual initiates a newborn child’s socialisation, marking the child as part of a

group, and a follower of the shared Ancestral Law. A black and wavy line extending from the

spider to the child resembles an umbilical cord. Cut at birth, the cord represents how the

newborn baby is first separated from her mother at birth, and then reconnected to her mother

and family through this ritual. Sambono has extended the spider web beyond the initial web

circle, using lines and white dots, representing how the ritual incorporates the child, mother,

and grandmother as one, having shared kinship, substance and Ancestral origin.

All of Sambono’s later illustrations of the joint removal ritual include these visual elements of

the spider, the circular web, and the family members together with the baby in the paper bark

cradle. However, in the three following versions of the design, painted a decade later,

Sambono reveals significant stylistic progress.

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Plate 6.2 “A Girl Must be Humble” painted by Marita Sambono in early 1998.

The mother and the grandmother are, in this design, lined in white and standing gently

swayed over the cradle. The scene is encircled by detailed leaves from the tree, in which the

spider rests on a much smaller circular web, shown as a wavy, beige circle on a light orange

background, radiating out in white figures, with thin black lines resembling tree roots. In

Sambono’s version the circle around the main figures provides a visual resemblance to the

womb, as the ritual is performed on newborns. The roots and leaves also encircle the group;

the tree is a metaphor for growth and the sharing of the knowledge of an old ritual practice

between generations, knowledge currently maintained and manifested in acrylic art.

In the next two versions, given in the Appendix, page 436, Sambono retains her detailed style,

only improving her fine brush strokes and including more decorative details. She achieves

variation by changing the composition, creating in 1998 a version in which the tree is placed

to the side of the canvas. She is experimental in her use of colours from soft pastel to her

fourth version, painted in 2000, with dark colours on a black background, specked with tiny,

white dots; this style makes the child, mother, and grandmother appear to sit under a starlit

night sky.

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Plate 6.5 “A Girl Must be Humble” painted by Marita Sambono in 2003.

In the last painting, the manifestation of shared substance and conceived unity between

family members is even more explicit; Sambono has modified her symbolic use of the circle

by expanding the web into a marked ring encircling all of the ritual participants. Further,

Sambono has removed some of the figurative elements such as the tree, replaced by erratic

and densely painted leaves enclosing the circle; these elements make her style more abstract.

All five paintings, though different, are unmistakably from the Sambono School, decorative,

detailed, and with rounded figures. The memory of the now-antiquated joint removal ritual is

maintained in Sambono’s celebrated artwork, much recognised by Merrepen Arts customers

both for its strong and interesting story, as well as Sambono’s unmistakable talent.

The “Fog Dreaming” is a kinship-owned Dreamtime design in which Sambono visually

interprets a Homeland called Marringarr, belonging to her grandmother Yantyarra.99

99

As described previously, during Ancestral creation of the land, certain geographical-specific areas, called

Homeland Dede Putymemme in Ngan’gi, became associated with particular creational stories. According to

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Sambono has permission to paint the design from her grandmother, who is one of the

Traditional Owners of Marringarr. Homelands can be described as Dream-sites, which give

the design the title “Fog Dreaming.” This has become one of Sambono’s signature designs;

thus, seven “Fog Dreamings,” painted over a period of four years, will be presented in the text

and the Appendix, to visualise Sambono’s artistic development of her design. The creation of

the design involves a fascinating combination of conventional painting practices, stylistic

adaption to art market trends, and individual artistic inventiveness. Furthermore, the design

visualises Sambono’s artistic development from figurative towards abstract art. The land on

Marringarr is known for having holes in the ground that often produce a heavy fog, Dagum in

Ngan’gi. Sambono shares a design story in her own words on the certificate of authenticity:

I paint a place that is very special to me because it is my grandmother’s Dreaming. Near the Moyle

River there is a place called Marringarr where the fog comes out of the ground near the station

house. This painting shows the holes in the ground where fog from. In the centre of the circles are

these holes. The different layers around the circles are the fog spreading and floating over the land.

My painting shows the movement of the fog. If you come into this country as a stranger the fog can

be dangerous to come into contact with as it might follow you.

Plate 6.6 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono August 2004.

Aboriginal Law, ownership of these spiritually sacred areas is inherited through patrilineal descent (Myers 1986;

Williams 1988; Morphy 1991).

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Analysing the subject-matter of Sambono’s “Fog Dreaming,” the design has the

characteristics of a map, being an illustration of a Homeland, which is a specific geographical

area. The design story mentions a certain danger in relation to the fog. In conversation, I made

queries concerning this phenomenon and Sambono, her mother Wawul, and daughters

explained how it is related to Ancestral presence in the land. People who own the land are

known to the Ancestors, as they have been properly introduced through the Welcome to

Country Ceremony as children. Thus, the Ancestor spirits residing in the land will not

threaten their presence there; rather, they will protect them. However, uninitiated visitors can

be threatened and chased by the Ancestors in the shape of fog. This spiritual connection

between people and their Ancestors is manifested in the land and in Sambono’s paintings.

In an abstract style, her “Fog Dreaming” design is composed around one main circle in the

centre of the canvas, representing one of the holes in the ground in Marringarr that produce

fog. The surrounding concentric circles and the patterns created by short, white, marks and

black dots, flowing to the edges of the painting, represent the fog’s movement, as it is visually

interpreted by Sambono. A fossil grey background gives the painting a sombre look.

The “Fog Dreaming” is different from earlier works of Sambono, as she had always preferred

and perfected figurative styles. Therefore, I asked Sambono what motivated her idea:

I wanted to do different styles and paint my imaginary things. I was looking at that Dagum (fog)

and how that fog was moving across the land. Then I was thinking back to the old days of how our

Ancestors used to paint on rocks. And then I was talking to “Kimberly” (a former art coordinator)

about how to paint that thing, and she said “maybe you should use dots?”

Sambono holds the knowledge of a Dream-site and the kinship-based permission to paint it,

which is the foundation of the “Fog Dreaming” design. Inspired by the movements of the fog,

she initially recalls past painting practices to help her in visualising an idea from her mind to

the canvas. Prior to the Merrepen Arts movement there was, as described in the previous

chapter, an abstract style of painting on rocks and sand, in which senior men from the

Fitzmaurice region depicted rivers paths, and waterholes using symbolic elements such as

dots, lines, and circles. Furthermore, Sambono also seeks the advice of a former art

coordinator, who encourages Sambono to paint with dots, probably because she knows there

exists a preference in the art market for the abstract dot-paintings of the Western Desert.

Hence, a design springs from an artist’s intention, but is completed through the interaction,

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negotiations and cooperation between artists and their elders, and art world representatives

such as art coordinators and customers. An important part of the becoming of Ngan’gi art is to

capture how particular social relations and practices are involved in painting, which in itself

represents a distinctive form of “cultural production” (Myers 2002: 7).

The following four “Fog Dreamings” are provided in the Appendix, pages 437-38, and

illustrate the stylistic steps taken by Sambono as she develops and changes the composition

and use of patterns and colours in her design.

In a second version painted two months later, Sambono locates the circle towards the top-left

side of the canvas, enhancing a feeling of movement. The colours are in lighter shades of

lavender and soft yellow. In a third version, painted in January 2005, she introduces a smooth,

murky, blurry style with a certain dimness, caused by the lines being almost erased. This style

again enhances the notion of flow and even more accurately resembles the movement of thin

veils of fog. Two months later, that same year, Sambono makes a compositional change in

choosing to represent visually more than one of the holes in the Marringarr land. Her painting

retains the same mellow, murky style and touches of red-brown and grey; however, she is

now basing the design on two circles. In pursuit of her idea, Sambono, in early 2006, paints a

“Fog Dreaming” based on five main circles. She is also gradually choosing increasingly larger

canvases, and her signature design takes form.

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Plate 6.11 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in late 2006.

In late 2006, Sambono painted the first “Fog Dreaming,” in which she chose to use a

completely new composition by covering the entire canvas with a multitude of many circles in

a seemingly random placement. The rhythmic and dynamic fog pattern, with arbitrary endings

for each fog circle, makes the image appear to move and flow beyond the edges of the canvas.

Sambono also gradually increased the canvas sizes when painting her “Fog Dreamings;” this

painting was 150 x 115 centimetres. The almost psychedelic qualities and large scale of the

painting could make a staring spectator dizzy. There is also a marked change in colour now

dominated by shades of red-brown, orange, beige, and yellow. The style of her signature

design was gradually formed, and from this day, in late 2006, Sambono’s production of her

design proliferated, with only minimal variations in the use of colours, such as in the design

below.

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Plate 6.12 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in March 2008.

This “Fog Dreaming” shows how Sambono took yet another stylistic step in creating an even

blurrier look, by almost eradicating the lines of the circles, barely traceable under thousands

of little dots. The use of colour is also different, with light, mandarin orange being featured.

Sambono was recognised as a talented and an up-and-coming artist, yet this design was

granted the aesthetic status of “fine art,” mirrored in the price, fine gallery inclusion, and the

interest the “Fog Dreaming” received from customers and critics. Such aesthetic judgment

results, I argue, from a combination of factors. Initially, the design holds an incredible level of

skill-demanding detail and it is an illustration of an interesting Dream site design story.

Sambono’s success can therefore be linked to her entrepreneurial subjectivities (Comaroff et

al. 2009). Her artistic skill, creativity, entrepreneurship and ability to generate and mobilise

aesthetics in a way new way positions her work as more valuable and authoritative in the

Aboriginal art market. Furthermore, there seems to be, according to my observations in many

fine art galleries, a preference in the art market for abstract Aboriginal art. Particularly, dot-

paintings produced by Western and Central Desert artists on large canvases are well

established and recognised in the art market and consequently sold with the highest prices.

Both the former Merrepen Arts art coordinator and Sambono were sensitive to this art market

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trend when developing the design, as artistic recognition remains a shared goal among

Ngan’gi, and perhaps all, artists. It is conceivable that the abstract style and use of large

canvas sizes in Sambono’s “Fog Dreamings” created a resemblance to Western Desert dot

paintings that also contributed in transforming the status of her work to fine art. The design

has achieved many accolades and the highest recorded prices of paintings sold at Merrepen

Arts. Thus, Sambono achieved the artistic recognition she strived for so determinedly.100

Sambono also repeatedly paints turtles, which are a bush tucker design. I have chosen to

compare three of Sambono’s turtle designs because they clearly visualise the stylistic breadth

and diversity in her artworks. The paintings are illustrations of these certificate stories:

The long neck turtle is most commonly found in shallow water at the river’s edge or in billabongs.

They can be caught with a fishing line, but are generally hunted by hand or by tracking their burial

holes in the mud around billabongs. The billabongs dry up in the mid dry season; the turtles bury

themselves in the mud to wait it out. Experienced hunters can find signs of these holes and the area

is poked with a sharp stick until the shell is tapped. There are often several, up to six in one hole.

They are generally roasted on their belly over hot coals, but can be cooked covered with paper bark

in a small ground oven.

The Pig Nose Turtle is a poor swimmer who floats along fairly slowly in the water. In the past they

were caught by hand in the river, but are now caught with fishing lines. Generally they are roasted

on their belly in hot coals; however they can be roasted on their back cooked in their own juices.

The Pig Nose Turtle is usually found in saltwater, although they have adapted themselves to

freshwater, the Daly River is one of the only sites where this is recognised.

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Simultaneously, as Sambono began developing the “Fog Dreaming,” she experimented with abstract

paintings for other designs. In the Appendix, page 439, the paintings a “Smoking Ceremony for a Dead Person”

and “Willy-Willy,” produced in August and September 2004, are presented with design stories and my analysis,

to provide a stylistic parallel of two designs with different subject-matter, yet similar styles to her “Fog

Dreaming.”

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Plate 6.15 “Long Neck Turtles Malarrgu and Short Neck Turtles Atyindirrity” painted by

Marita Sambono in 1999.

In this small painting Sambono has illustrated two long neck turtles, malarrgu, two short neck

turtles, atyindirrity, using thick strokes of paint and a decorative, colourful, and figurative

style, conventional for most Ngan’gi artists. A bird perspective highlights the heavily-

decorated shells of the turtles, which are depicted with a rounded shape, typical to Sambono’s

personal style, and placed in the corners of the canvas in a rigid, poster-like manner.

Plate 6.16 “Pig Nose Turtles Yirrng” painted by Marita Sambono in 2001.

Her next painting features a strikingly different style, two lifelike and naturalistic pig nose

turtles, yirrng, is swimming, and appears to move, surrounded by air bubbles in a navy blue

underwater world. In this painting, the decorative elements are replaced with a realism of

photographic qualities. These two paintings certify the width of Sambono’s talent and

imagination, and showcase the different extremes of the styles she masters: from cartoon-like

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figures to a naturalistic rendering of turtles with impressive accuracy. The paintings are also a

manifestation of her knowledge of the hunting and preparation of this bush tucker.

Painting skills are acquired by Ngan’gi artists, as mentioned, through a form of “situated

learning” (Ingold 2000) in which senior members of each kinship group train the young in

“apprenticeship networks” (Taylor 2007). At Merrepen Arts, Sambono is a prominent art

teacher, and inspired by her talent and success, many artists appropriate her stylistic

developments. Hence, Sambono has become a leading figure in the stylistic move from

figurative towards abstract designs, now shared among many of the artists producing at

Merrepen Arts. Moreover, Sambono’s development of such a multitude of styles illustrates

how artistic versatility and originality can coexist with cultural Ngan’gi painting conventions.

As argued by Eickelkamp (1999), Taylor (2007) and Merlan (2000, 2001), although

Dreamtime stories illustrating the creation of Homelands are collectively owned by kinship

groups, artists still have an opportunity for personal innovation. This is exemplified by

Sambono, who uses the knowledge she has received from her elders to create and perfect a

unique abstract style in her “Fog Dreaming” designs. Through institutional mediation, her

efforts are rewarded when high-status people in the art worlds judge her work as fine art and,

by so doing, complete the becoming of her art (Myers 2002; Morphy 2008).

Philip Joseph Merrdi Wilson

Philip Joseph Merrdi Wilson, of the Ngen’gi kurunggurr language group, was born on the 12th

of September, 1982, in Adelaide, South Australia. Although, born at this location, he has

spent most his life in Nauiyu, Peppimenarti, and Darwin. His Homeland is located in

Peppimenarti and his inherited Dreaming is the Water Python Emire. Wilson is the son of

Benigna Ngulfundi, one of the most renowned artists at Merrepen Arts, and Wilson began

painting at an early age, inspired by her and his other classificatory mothers: “I’ve been

looking at my mother and mama Kumbi how they develop their styles, and I think I have

inherited a lot from them.” This learning by observing, as already described, creates networks

of apprenticeships (Taylor 2007), resulting in Wilson’s art having marked stylistic similarities

to the styles of his mothers Ngulfundi, Kumbi, and Yambeing. Wilson is the oldest of four

brothers, who also include Kane, Malcolm, and Henry. Two of them are artists, living and

painting in Peppimenarti. Wilson attended Kormilda and St. John’s high schools, Yirrara and

Bachelor Colleges, from which he graduated with an art degree and certificates in business,

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office, and administration skills. “I enjoyed my time in the arts room, I painted a lot then. I

never used to like any of the other classes; only in the art room I was really happy! I would

behave in the art classes, cause I was really interested in art!” Wilson was employed at

Merrepen Arts as the Assistant Manager, where he is still the Board Treasure. He is currently

employed in the field of elder care in Nauiyu.

“I paint cause it’s a stress free thing, it’s like my medicine ...”

I argue that, far from being a detached activity, painting is closely related to personal life

events, experiences, and moods of the artists; this is particularly apparent in Wilson’s

statement. Wilson explained openly to me how he uses painting to externalise his inner

feelings, and to cope with his daily struggle to remain sober:

One day in 2005 I just woke up and felt tired of getting up to drink every day. So I went to rehab

for three months, where I did counselling sessions, painting, and AA meetings ... After six weeks I

got to leave because they had put their trust in me, but I still went drinking. But they took me back

and then I decided that it was enough. I have not drunk since that. I haven’t been to the pub in over

two years ... Well now I paint! ... Not only for money, but I paint because I find it relaxing. When I

stress too much it gets really hard on me. Because I was a drinker, today I still have flash backs to

my drinking, and sometimes I feel I wanna go and have a drink; that’s why I paint! Yeah, just to

take it out of me and make me forget about it, I think of my culture and the stories I want to tell. It

is very important for me to paint, because I don’t wanna (sic) end up drinking, or I don’t want to

get too depressed or stressed out. I paint cause it’s a stress free thing, it’s like my medicine.

For Wilson, the act of painting helps him to overcome former alcohol abuse. Once Wilson

embraced his role as an artist, he soon excelled. Through his art training network, he

appropriated styles from the “Kumbi School,” applying thin, neat lines, mostly figurative

designs with slender figures, and much decorative detail. However, Wilson often expressed a

wish to stand out as an up-and-coming artist. Wanting a personal and recognisable style, he is

always searching for artistic inspiration. I often found him sitting in the Merrepen Arts office

searching for treasures among pictures of old artworks in the Merrepen Arts computer

archive, saying: “I think all the time about getting new ideas for my art.” Wilson would also

practice by drawing large leaves on paper with a pencil to improve his technique.

In 2006, Wilson began experimenting with solitary black designs on white backgrounds, or

designs with these colours reversed. Black and white designs have formerly been produced at

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Merrepen Arts by Gracie Kumbi and Christine Yambeing. Examples of Kumbi’s and

Yambeing’s black and white designs are provided in the Appendix, on pages 440-41, to offer

a visual parallel to this stylistic move. Wilson was clearly inspired by his senior artists, which

are also his “mothers,” when developing his art. However, these artists only produced black

and white designs occasionally, while Wilson began producing them repeatedly and regularly

in a conscious attempt to make black-white designs his “trademark.” Wilson gradually made

this colour combination “his own” by creating numerous black and white versions of “Red

Lotus Lilies Miwulngini.” Two versions are presented in the Appendix, on pages 441-42, that

were painted by Wilson in June and August 2008. They illustrate his particular use of black

figures on a white background, or white figures on a black background, as well as how he

draws the red lotus lily pods and leaves figuratively, neatly, and densely, with much

naturalistic accuracy.

In early 2008, Wilson made another stylistic leap by developing abstract designs. When asked

how he came up with these changes, his answer captures how Aboriginal artists develop their

designs in a confluence between the cultural convention of painting taught by older relatives,

and individual innovation achieved through silent contemplation: “I think I was inspired by

Miriam-Rose and Kumbi with black and white painting, and the abstract probably from

Regina.101

But usually I just sit down and think on how to paint and it comes to me.” The two

designs “the old man and the Mermaids” and “Yerrwirimbi” will be presented to illustrate

how Wilson is standing on the shoulders of his art teachers, yet developing beyond his elders,

by preferring his personal styles in black and white, with minimalistic and abstract

characteristics (Morphy 1991; Merlan 2000, 2001; Taylor 2007).

Wilson also interpreted the Dreamtime story “the Old Man and the Mermaid Fallami Kurri”

in a Dreamtime design painted in white on a black background. He narrated this design story:

In this Dreamtime story the Mermaids were swimming in a pool, one of them was lying on a rock

enjoying the sun. One old man walked by and saw her. He speared her thigh. Then he grabbed her,

took the spear out of her thigh, and took her with him. He put his boomerang in her mouth and

broke out all her sharp teeth so she could not bite him. Then, he made a fire and put her through

smoke. After the smoking she turned into a woman with long hair. When she was a real person the

man dragged her by the hair back to his camp. She lived with him for one year. One day the man

asked the woman to go to the river and get some water in a paper bark tray. She went to the river,

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Philip Wilson is “allowed” to appropriate from Regina Wilson from Peppimenarti, because she is his relative.

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filled the tray and left it on the embankment. The other Mermaids in the pool sensed that she was

there. The Mermaid woman started to stomp her feet so the ground became wet with water. She

cried and dived into the pool. The moment she hit the water she turned into a Mermaid again. Her

friends were happy to see her again and took her back to their home. The old man waited and

waited, and when she did not return he went to look for her. He saw the tray and the bubbles rising

from the water and he knew his Mermaid wife was gone forever. He got very angry, trampled on

the tray and cried for the Mermaid. Today the Mermaids can be heard at night calling to each other

while collecting food.

Plate 6.21 “The Old Man and the Mermaid Fallami Kurri” painted by Philip Wilson in

October 2007.

In the centre of his painting, the old man sits with his legs crossed and his boomerang in front

of him; this was a traditional way of depicting a senior male, according to Ngan’gi painting

conventions. He uses smoke to facilitate the transformation from a Mermaid to a woman. The

Mermaids, slender and swaying with movement, are all painted underneath him representing

how he is on land while they are underwater. The circles around the Mermaids are a figurative

resemblance of water bubbles. Circles on their shoulders represent their heads. Swirling

vegetation is a decorative element, but also figuratively resembles the growth of trees and

leaves at the water’s edge. The second transformation occurs when the Ancestral woman hits

the water and becomes a water creature again (Morphy 1991).102

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Smoke, particularly the smoke from ironwood leaves, and water are believed to have transforming and also

healing qualities used to heal sorrow after a death, in Welcome to Country - and birth ceremonies.

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Compared to one of Gracie Kumbi’s Mermaid designs presented below, there are evident

stylistic similarities. As in Wilson’s design, the figures are encapsulated in a hill-like shape

covered in spreading vegetation, the Mermaids have a slender shape, and Kumbi uses many

decorative details.103

Most Ngan’gi artists paint their Fallami Kurri designs in a local art style

similar to that employed by Kumbi, with much decoration on the Mermaids’ tails. However,

Wilson has chosen to leave them undecorated; achieving his minimalistic style.

Plate 6.22 “Mermaid Dreaming” painted by Gracie Kumbi in 2003.

Wilson’s illustration shows how he is influenced both by shared Ngan’gi styles, developed

locally, and his personal creativity. Nevertheless, his connection to Kumbi’s apprenticeship

network (Taylor 2007) becomes explicit when comparing his Mermaid design to one made by

Sambono in 2001, provided in the Appendix on page 442. The style of her Mermaid design is

clearly part of the “Sambono School” with rounded, figures, less intricate decoration, and a

less rigid composition; the Mermaids appear to move upwards in a dark underwater world.

According to Ngan’gi bush knowledge, the flaking of the white gum tree bark yerrwirimbi

initiates the season for shark fishing. Most Ngan’gi artists would paint this seasonal design

with figurative depictions of sharks or the tree. However, in December 2007, Wilson began

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Kumbi narrated this story for her Mermaid Dreamtime design: “This around it is bush or trees; this is a hill,

and this is the bones of a man that the Mermaids have trapped. They wanted him to be their husband, you see,

but he wasn’t interested, so they trapped him inside the hill! The Mermaids are very ugly, with long hair, and

they have sharp teeth like sharks, and they like young men and lure them with singing. They can smell their

sweat, so they call out to them. So, men them fear the Mermaids. I myself have never seen one, but I know

people that have heard them sing and play in the water at night.”

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painting this seasonal bush tucker design with an abstract representation of the structure of a

section of the flaking, white gum tree bark. Wilson wrote his own design story:

This painting depicts the bark of the yerrwirimbi (eucalyptus/ white gum tree). This is a

seasonal tree as it signals the season for shark hunting. When the outer layer of the bark

starts to dry up and peel off we know that now the sharks are fat and ready to be hunted.

We also use this bark together with our chewing tobacco. We burn the bark to a fine

white ash. When the tobacco is rolled in this white ash it enhances the nicotine sensation.

The white gum tree is also excellent firewood when we cook our meals out in the bush. I

was inspired by the structure of the white gum bark when I created this painting.

The story captures the shared knowledge held by the people of Nauiyu of seasonal signs and

the bark’s many practical uses.

Plate 6.24 “Yerrwirimbi” painted by Philip Wilson in January 2008.

Plate 6.25 “Yerrwirimbi” painted by Philip Wilson in February 2008.

Wilson’s first “Yerrwirimbi,” painted in January, has a background with stripes in shades of

sand, almond, and light brown melding into each other. Thin black lines, covered with tiny

black dots, are drawn vertically in close alignment; swaying lines from top to bottom make

the design appear to move. The second version, created a month later, had the same

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composition, but different background colours, in blended shades of light and ruby red, and

light orange. These colours were actually inspired by a bad print-out. When Wilson printed

the certificate for his grey and brown shark “Yerrwirimbi” design the photo of the painting

was displayed in shades of red due to a faulty printer. Wilson looked at the different colour

combination and said; “that looks really great!” and consequently he made a painting with

these red, earthy colours. As such, a random event in the office triggered Wilson’s artistic

development. A final “Yerrwirimbi,” made a month later, is given in the Appendix on page

443, showing Wilsons ongoing stylistic experimentation with colour and composition. He has

painted closely drawn black lines in varying thicknesses to resemble the grooves of the bark,

but now without dots, and the background is in blended shades of beige, pink, and signal-red.

At the age of 27, Wilson is at the beginning of a promising career, and has developed rapidly

from a novice painter to an artist recognised by customers and fellow Ngan’gi artists, as one

of the top artists at Merrepen Arts. Younger artists look up to him, admire his talent, and learn

from him as he learns from his elders: “I sometimes help other artists to line up their designs

and they just fill in the decoration and colours.” I ask if he receives a part of the money when

these paintings are sold, to which he replies: “No, but they sometimes give me money when

they win at cards.” Such cooperation in Aboriginal art production is a fundamental part of the

training of younger artists. Also, as argued by Taylor (2007), the practice of help in art

production, rewarded with the sharing of resources, is part of a kinship-dependent reciprocity.

Founded on seasonal and Dreamtime knowledge, and the styles Wilson learned from his

elders, he has created his own signature styles. These designs demonstrate his artistic novelty,

and once again, the entanglement of Ngan’gi painting conventions with personal creativity in

the becoming of Ngan’gi art.

Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart

Patricia Marrfurra was born under a Tamarind tree close to Nauiyu on the 9th

of March, 1959.

Marrfurra told me that she is proud to have been born out in the open. Her birthplace

manifests her close connection to the community, where she has spent all of her life in the

company of her forefathers and mothers: “When I sit here (under the Tamarind tree) alone, it

is almost like I can hear the voices of them “old people” who lived here and have passed

away.” Marrfurra’s inherited Dreamings are the King Brown Snake Anganisyi, Water or Rain

Kuri, Sand Frog Niyen, Chicken Hawk Angan’pipi, Pelican burro, Black Brim Awoin, and

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Bittern Agiminy. Her language group is Ngen’giwumirri; however, due to her work as a

linguist, she also speaks and writes the languages Ngan’gi kurunggurr, MalakMalak, and

Matngala. Her Homeland is Malfiyin. She is the eldest of the four sisters, who also include

Benigna Ngulfundi, Christine Yambeing, and Gracie Kumbi, who together constitute the base

group of the most prolific and recognised artists at Merrepen Arts.

Growing up, Marrfurra attended the mission boarding school in Nauiyu until the age of nine,

and then the St. John’s Catholic High School in Darwin. As an adult, she earned an Advanced

Diploma in Linguistics and Arts from Bachelor College in Darwin, and has contributed to

several publications in her work as a linguist.104

Marrfurra has three sons, Aaron Kingangu,

Nathan Kulmunggu, and Kieren Karritypul; two of them have been established artists from a

young age. Marrfurra is employed on a daily basis by the Nauiyu Nambiyu Council as a

public servant, working with the elders of the community to document their languages and

knowledge of their former nomadic way of life. Marrfurra places much emphasis on

respecting her elders in her work, as they are above her in the hierarchic kinship structure due

to their older age and the knowledge they hold:

I have all this knowledge in here, (she points to her head) ... I have had people asking why do you

know so much, I say I have been learning by listening to old people. I sit down with them old

people, and I listen to their stories, you know. When you are with them old people you gotta learn

how to be a child again, because they’ve got all the knowledge you are trying to learn. And you

have to respect them, then they will respect you, and slowly, slowly they put their trust in you.

Marrfurra is currently the President of Merrepen Arts, a board member of the Nauiyu

Nambiyu Council and a board member of the Nauiyu Nambiyu Inc. Marrfurra participates as

the leading figure in several cultural exchange programmes. One of them, in which police

recruits are invited to Nauiyu to learn about Aboriginal language, art, and kinship-based

practices, is held annually. In 2005, Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart received The Order of

Australia from representatives of Queen Elisabeth II and the Australian government,

recognising her work to promote and preserve knowledge of Aboriginal languages and

culture.

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She has been working with linguist Nick Reid from the University of New England since 1992, producing a

dictionary for the two main languages in Daly River. Ngan’gikurunggurr and Ngen’giwumirri. This dictionary

was published in October 2008 (Reid et al. 2008). In collaboration with the Parks & Wildlife Commission, the

elders of the community, and the ethnobotanist Glen Wightman, Marrfurra has contributed to the production of

two ethnobotany books (Wightman et al. 1995; Wightman et al. 2001).

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“We are living in two worlds today, but we can live both ways, and keep our

knowledge by painting and writing it down ...”

According to Duelke’s (2005) historical descriptions of Nauiyu, its people have experienced

continuing and significant changes in a relatively short timespan, resulting in Aboriginal and

white people having, though living in the same area, different frames of reference. They live

in “two worlds,” in the way that the Aborigines have to balance “white fella” culture with

“black fella” cultures, the knowledge of English with Ngan’gi languages, their Dreaming with

Catholicism. Furthermore, from having had a nomadic past, they now live in a community

that unites several Aboriginal language groups. The juxtaposition of cultural values, practices,

and dialogical forms reveals existing ambiguities in the contemporary Aboriginal community

(Bakhtin et al. 1981). One of Marrfurra’s main goals in life is to help the Ngan’gi to

successfully link their past and present, and learn to adapt to changes without losing their

cultural background. The “two worlds” the people of Nauiyu live in are clearly entangled, but

as indicated by Marrfurra’s statement the uncertainties this entanglement creates, can be

resolved through painting and writing. What unifies all of the positions held by Marrfurra, as

public servant, linguist, translator, artist, weaver, and Board trustee, is her concern for

maintaining Ngan’gi culture through art and detailed design stories, as well as through

photographs, weaving, and book publications. Through such documentation, she seeks to

teach Ngan’gi children and “white fellas” about the culture to which she belongs, through

both visual and oral means. Marrfurra insists that Aboriginal children need to know their

place in the world in order to be strong. The only way to achieve this strength is to know who

they are and where they come from, with their identity grounded in both their own culture and

in Australian mainstream influences.

Marrfurra’s appreciation for her elders’ knowledge of Ngan’gi culture marks her art and

choices of designs. Marrfurra invests a lot of thought in her paintings, describing herself as a

“deep thinker.” “When you paint you have to use your own mind and think really hard how

you can try and put what you are thinking onto a canvas. So that’s how I do it!” Marrfurra

describes how her first step in creating a painting involves contemplation, remembering, and

finding ways of first imagining the object or practice she wants to paint. Only after visualising

it in her can she translate her intentions onto canvas using her hands. Similarly, Merleau-

Ponty (1964, 2002) claims that in the act of painting vision and movement are linked through

the body and the painter must develop a particular sensitivity to the elements of visual

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experience. The painter makes the world visible within oneself, which is then made visible to

the world through the act of paining. Thus, the act of seeing or perceiving is extended and

transcended as the artist expands the original thought or inspiration through an embodied art

making (Merleau-Ponty 1964, 2002). Marrfurra’s description also finds resonance in

Taussig’s (2009) term “mute conversation” used to describe drawing as a process of looking

at one’s work, doing and re-doing until satisfied, while remembering or imagining the object

to be drawn in a prolonged and total immersion. This theoretical term captures, I suggest, how

Marrfurra describes the contemplation involved in artistic creations, but also my view on art

as always in a state of becoming rather than being. In a matter of speaking, Taussig (2009)

suggests, with which I concur, that the continuing conversation that is part of a processual art

production can also be extended to include the artist and the thing being drawn, as well as the

hypothetical viewers. Art becomes art in a three-way “mute conversation” of sensorial

communication among the hands and mind of the painter, the sensorial effects created by

visual attributes of the artwork, and the eyes of the viewer.

I will analyse four designs by Marrfurra. They illustrate how she communicates her cultural

background and knowledge of traditional practices through her art. These designs attest to

how she is inspired by the stories she collects from her elders and her recent success in

developing her own individual style by creating innovative and abstract designs.

Two of Marrfurra’s custom designs, analysed in the following, are concerned with the

conceived power of the element water. In Ngan’gi tradition, Marrfurra told me, there is a

notion of the strong and tangible connections between land, humans, and water. Water is an

element with multi-layered sets of meanings, related to a variety of social events, and

therefore, often illustrated in symbolic art. The tendency to relate several social and symbolic

meanings in one element is what Munn (1973) refers to as multi-vocal symbols, and Layton

describes as “acting out a play with a limited number of properties,” in his analysis of myths

and rituals among the Murngin in north east Arnhem Land (1970:487). He writes how the

participants in rituals are in agreement that one object represents several meanings in rituals.

Marrfurra created a painting titled “Footprints in the Sand of Time” illustrating her story:

The past away people they leave footprints in the sand. So when the flood waters come and starts

rising in the wet, the elders always say, “I hope the water comes up all the way to here.” They want

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the water to come up high so it will wash away the footprints of the dead, so as to let them go. This

is why the water is healing.

Plate 6.27 “Footprints in the Sand of Time” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in 1998.

Her abstract painting illustrates how the rising flood-water in wavy, sapphire blue lines and

dots on a cardinal red background, washes over the sandbank. It erases the black footsteps of

the people who have died since the last flood, whose presence still lingers in Nauiyu. With the

removal of both visible and invisible footprints in the sand, the sorrow in people’s minds and

hearts is eased, due to the conceived healing powers of water. Marrfurra and Ngulfundi stated

me how the first rain of the wet season has a particularly strong healing effect on sorrow:

The first rain is part of a healing process. It starts at the end of October after the dry season or at the

beginning of November; the first drops or the first sound of thunder bring the feeling of sadness.

We look up at the sky; we feel sad, and we remember all the people that have passed away and the

problems they had. This is the tradition of remembering our loved ones and gone kin, and we all do

it every year. When the first rain drop falls to the ground it washed away all the sadness. Then new

life starts, new shoots come up, flowers that will turn in to fruit, new life and growth. If a new born

baby that is still lying on its back, it rolls over on its tummy, stands up or walks for the first time on

the time of the first rain or the first sound of thunder then that is a good sign. Because this is a new

baby growing, it means new life (Øien 2005: 92).

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The moment of remembering, healing, and moving on as growth and life continues, is an

annually repeated personal ritual practice. Through Marrfurra’s work, she also gained the

knowledge from her elders concerning how to read signs from the earth. The elders told her

how a certain colour in the sky when it rains, reveals the earth’s grieving. Consequently,

Marrfurra illustrated this knowledge in a painting with her own design story:

“Dede” in my language means a place. Most of all it is a word for Mother Earth. It’s not only

people who weep for their loved ones who have passed away. Mother Earth also weeps at the loss

of her custodians. She shows her grief by displaying bright colours during the evening sunset;

orange and pink. There are also grey clouds. They represent the tears that she is shedding. When

this happens the elders can feel her sorrow in their hearts and minds. They say “look Mother Earth

is crying today for all the people that have passed on” and they grieve with her in silence.

Plate 6.28 “Mother Earth is Crying” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in 1998.

Marrfurra painted the sky with these specific colours, signal and tomato-red, and dark-orange.

The circular, soft blue rain clouds represent the eyes of Mother Earth shedding tears on Earth,

weeping for her dead sons and daughters. According to these Ngan’gi practices and

Marrfurra’s design stories, water is an element that demonstrates multi-vocal meaning in

several contexts by framing social, biological, and ritual events. Water initiates a new season,

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and the first rain commences a time for grief and remembrance of forefathers; thus, water

sustains the relationship to forefathers. When rain falls, it has the power to heal grief. Water

represents good luck when related to a child’s development, and a new beginning, creating

life and growth in nature and among humans. Finally, water is used to welcome newborns to

life and strangers to kinship-owned land, as previously described.105

The knowledge of the

properties of water is manifested and maintained in Marrfurra’s layered paintings.

In 2004, Marrfurra developed two visually similar designs that became her artistic hallmark.

Titled “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” and “Crocodile Eye,” Marrfurra created patterns in abstract

styles, which she says were inspired by the structure of the skin of the crocodile, and local

belief in the power of the eyes of crocodiles. Both designs are, as such, manifesting Ngan’gi

bush knowledge and customary ways of thinking. I have chosen ten “Crocodile Skin

Agarrfiri,” two are presented in the text and the rest are included in the Appendix on pages

444-47. These paintings are only a small selection among the many versions Marrfurra

produced of this design between 2004 and 2008, and I am presenting them to illustrate her

gradual stylistic development of a design that eventually achieved the status of fine art.

The “Crocodile Skin” is a bush tucker design, as in the first design story Marrfurra wrote

from her memory of the historical hunting of crocodiles:

My parents used to hunt the crocodiles in the early years of living in the Daly Region at the peanut

farm. At night my father the farmer and a couple of men would go and hunt for crocodiles. They

usually canoed up to Fletcher’s Gully. A couple of men would walk on the bank carrying torches

made out of paper bark. The spotter in the front of the canoe also carries a torch. When they spot a

crocodile the men would shoot them with a shot gun and bring them back to shore. Everyone

gathered around and admired the catch. It was usually a big crocodile. My mother and my aunties

would skin the croc and the meat would be distributed in the camp. We enjoyed eating the meat.

Mother and the aunties would clean the skin and salt it, and roll it up. When one of the farmers

would go into Darwin they would take the prepared hides and sell it.

Yawalminy, who is the mother of Marrfurra, partook in crocodile hunting and skin

preparation as a young woman, which she recounted to me repeatedly, while visualising her

story by drawing a finger around her neck and arms where she used to cut the skin off the

crocodile. In August 2004, Marrfurra changed the design story for the certificate of

105

Christine Yambeing and Catherine Ariuu have also illustrated this birth ritual, which will be presented below.

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authenticity following her “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” paintings, by focusing on the skin and

an adding a comment more suited to the crocodile’s current status as a protected species:

This painting is about the crocodile skin. My parents used to hunt for the crocodile in the early

mission days ... Today we don’t hurt the crocodiles. This painting shows the dark skin of the

crocodile and the way it looks when he swims in the water’s surface.

Plate 6.29 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Marrfurra in February 2004.

This is, as far as I know, the first “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” that Marrfurra painted in an

abstract style. On a black background, Marrfurra has painted thick diagonal red and thin

brown lines, broken up by short, white horizontal lines; this create a checked grid marked by

yellow and white dots. Marrfurra has, with her design, created a visual pattern that

figuratively resembles, and abstractly represents, the structure of the crocodile skin.

Marrfurra’s inventive manner of illustrating the crocodile is in stark visual contrast to the

conventional and regional styles most local Ngan’gi artists use to paint crocodiles. In the

interest of comparison, two crocodile designs painted by Marita Sambono in 1998 and 2007

are provided in the Appendix on pages 443-44. These paintings show how most Ngan’gi

artists, and also Marrfurra in her previous works, paint crocodiles figuratively and from a

bird’s perspective, using strong colours and many decorative details. Marrfurra’s artistic

innovation occurred at around the same time as Sambono developed her Fog Dreaming,

described above; perhaps they spurred each other on with their abstract experimentation.

Marrfurra’s abstract designs also soon received recognition by customers as “fine art;” they

were sought after and sold at high prices. This illustrates how Ngan’gi artists develop their art

designs with sensitivity towards art market trends, but also how they are influenced by other

local artists in their artistic development.

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I have chosen to present eight supplementary versions of Marrfurra’s “Crocodile Skin

Agarrfiri” in the Appendix pages 444-47, all painted between 2004 and 2008, to visualise the

magnitude of her prolific reproduction of this design. In all of her later versions of “Crocodile

Skin” Marrfurra retains her use of horizontal dots and diagonal lines covering the canvas,

although she soon began experimenting by varying her use of colour and making small

alterations in the composition. For example, in her March version, Marrfurra chose to paint

the vertical lines more closely aligned, on a dark blue background. The horizontal lines are

replaced with white dots in varying sizes, making the grid less visible. The four following

versions maintain a more detailed look, but they are remarkably similar, only varying in use

of blended and bright colours, canvas size and shape. In early 2005, she makes another

stylistic change in a design showing a more naturalistic representation of “Crocodile Skin”

with a marked checked grid lined in black with white dots, on a cold grey background. In

April 2008, Marrfurra experimented with the design again. On a red-brown background, she

combines black diagonal lines in the centre of the canvas, with wavy diagonal lines on each

side. In May 2008, she paints wavy lines in blended shades of grey and yellow all over the

canvas. When I commented on this stylistic change in conversation she explained to me how

she was attempting to depict how water ripples on the back of the crocodile when it surfaces

from the water, by using varying types of wavy lines.

Plate 6.40 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in May 2008.

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In this version, Marrfurra’s style is even more blurry, barely tracing a significantly uneven

checked grid with thin and fragile lines in light green lines, and a multitude of tiny white dots

on a dark background. Similarly to Sambono, Marrfurra also chose to gradually paint her

abstract “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” designs on larger canvases, and this painting had

dimensions of 120 x 120 centimetres. The aesthetic judgment of these designs given by

curators and Merrepen Art customers granted the “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” paintings with

the status of fine art; this ensured higher prices and much artistic recognition (Myers 2002;

Morphy 2008). In addition to realising her intention of sharing cultural knowledge through

art, such accolades also provide vital motivation for Marrfurra’s prolific reproduction of this

design with only limited stylistic variations.

Imaginatively, Marrfurra also used her “Crocodile Skin” design on another art medium;

painting a papier mâché bowl green and decorating it with black lines and white dots.106

Plate 6.46 Papier mâché bowl made and decorated with “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” by Patricia

Marrfurra in May 2008.

Through Marrfurra’s work with the elders, she has gained insight into past practices and

traditions, which often inspire her art. While she was painting her “Crocodile Skin” designs

she told me that the older women kept reminding her of the power of the crocodile, which

resulted in another design, the “Crocodile Eye,” illustrating this design story written by

Marrfurra:

106

In the interest of comparison, Helen McCarthy Tyalmuty also painted two crocodile skins a few months after

Marrfurra, provided with her design story in the Appendix, page 448. Many of the artists at Merrepen Arts are

also currently exploring more abstract designs. Provided in the Appendix, pages 449-50, are three of Kieren

McTaggart’s abstract designs and stories that he created after observing the works of senior artists.

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Muybang. No other name is used for the saltwater crocodile living on the banks of the river. We are

always near him. The old people say the saltwater crocodile will always try and hypnotize you.

When the eyes stare into your eyes, you feel that he is trying to draw you to him. At the same time

you become all tight inside, you feel you cannot look at him because he is so powerful.107

Plate 6.47 “Crocodile Eye” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in September 2006.

In her first “Crocodile Eye,” Marrfurra painted an orange, centred eye on a brown

background, encircled by a black checked grid, specked with white dots and yellow dashes.108

This large painting gives a striking aesthetic sensation of the strength in the piercing eyes of

the crocodile and the danger, according to the wisdom of the elders, associated with looking

into them.

107

During Marrfurra’s linguistic work for the Darwin Courts, translating juridical terms, an interesting parallel

between the word Gagu Akerre for judge and the power of a crocodile surfaced; this also shed light on the

Ngan’gi world view. The word gagu akerre is used for important leaders; in the past, this term referred to a

medicine man, and currently refers to a bishop, pope, prime minister, or judge. The word Gagu is a collective

term that refers to meat, in opposition to vegetable food; big animals; Ancestors; spirits; and ghosts. When used

in combination with the word Akerre, it refers to a leader who is powerful, strong, and wise. Used together, the

word Gagu then refers specifically to animals that are strong predators, such as a crocodile, because their

strength is equalled to the strength of a leader. This word also refers, in a spiritual way, to the Ancestors, their

powers, and the strength of their knowledge, which is both admired and feared, in the same way as a crocodile is

admired and feared. Thus, in the Ngan’gi words Gagu Akerre, the knowledge and strength of a leader are

paralleled to the strength of a crocodile, and the wisdom of the Ancestors. The Ngan’gi languages sustain, as

such, the conceived unity in substance and space between animals, Ancestors, and humans. 108

This composition was also used for a “Crocodile Eye” etching on paper, given in the Appendix on page 451.

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Plate 6.49 “Crocodile Eye” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in 2006.

In this painting Marrfurra made a marked change in the composition of her “Crocodile Eye”

design. On a grey background she used curved grey and blue lines and white dots to create an

hourglass shape with two yellow eyes on each side, resembling the head of the crocodile

viewed in bird perspective, while lurking at the water’s surface. In this “Crocodile Eye”

painting the now two piercing eyes of the crocodile also provides a visual manifestation of the

danger associated with looking into these eyes.

Simultaneously, as Marrfurra developed these designs, she also experimented with abstract

representations of design stories that she had formerly painted figuratively. Two Mermaids

Fallami Kurri paintings, illustrating this Dreamtime story, exemplify her new abstract style:

Long, long ago back in the dreamtime, there lived a man. One day he decided to go out hunting. He

walked and walked until he came to a river. He put his spears and boomerangs near a tree and sat

down to rest. Suddenly he heard voices. He stood up and took his spears and boomerangs and crept

over to where the voices were coming from. He hid behind some rocks and he peeped out and saw

these women sitting on the rocks near the water. They were sunning themselves and talking. They

were the Mermaids. When the man was about to get up and creep away something happened, he

dropped his spear on the rocks - the Mermaids heard it. The man was so terrified that he didn’t run.

The Mermaids got him and took him back to their caves. The Mermaids dug a hole and filled it

with rocks. They collected firewood. They were planning to roast him the next day. When it was

dark the man was planning to run away, so when it was quiet he crept out. He was free. He ran and

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he ran without making a noise. Back at the cave one of the Mermaids got up and went to see the

man. She saw no-one. She ran and told the others that the man had run away. Two of the Mermaids

got up early the next morning. With spears in hand they went after the man. Along the way the man

rested. After a while he heard voices. He stood up and saw the Mermaids. He had a plan, he hid

himself. So when they got closer he jumped on them and dragged them back to his village and kept

them for his wives. From then on the people moved away and lived in the desert. Today, people do

not live near the river because they are afraid of the Mermaids.

Plate 6.50 “Mermaids” painted by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart in 1989.

In Marrfurra’s “Mermaids” drawing, she used thin lines in red and black ink. The man, placed

in the centre, is sitting cross-legged, wearing traditional hair armlets pinpin and a head-band

adawayirr. Decorative lines and dots on his chest represent and resemble his initiation

cicatrices madiwanggi, and his arms are painted with body painting durrmu, patterns owned

by his patri-clan. All of these visual elements manifest Ngan’gi ritual practices. The

Mermaids have decorated tails and their heads are represented by circles. In the Dreamtime

story that Marrfurra is illustrating in her Mermaid design, the Mermaids are considered

dangerous, with a predatory desire for young men, and they move around freely. It is believed

that the Ancestral beings possess this power of transformation, able to change from a human

form to the form of a Water Woman at will (Morphy 1991).

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Plate 6.51 “Mermaids” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in March 2004.

Marrfurra explained to me that when choosing to develop an abstract style to interpret

Mermaids, as she did in this painting, she was inspired by how the Mermaids are said to

create bubbles when they swim and splash in the water. Therefore, thousands of tiny, white

and grey water bubbles on a black background cover the entire canvas. The design is her

abstract representation of Mermaids, also providing a visual manifestation of the Dreaming.

For the unknowing spectator, only the title and certificate story reveal the subject-matter of

this painting as being Mermaids. This abstract and inventive version of a Mermaids design is

painted exclusively by Marrfurra.

Due to Marrfurra’s work with the elders of Nauiyu she is knowledgeable about Ngan’gi

languages, traditions, and cosmology. Consequently, her art is characterised as illustrations of

detailed customs and Dreamtime stories, in both figurative and abstract designs. Marrfurra’s

vast knowledge of Ngan’gi culture, her education, and her dedication to preserve Aboriginal

languages make her a respected, leading figure in Nauiyu and at Merrepen Arts. She

expressed in an interview how people often come to her if they have forgotten a language

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word, or all the details of a Dreamtime story, and she holds the answers because she spends

her days listening to “the old people.” Marrfurra says that she is tired of learning about the

white man’s history all the time, and thinks it is time for white people to learn about their

history. Art, she says, has provided an opportunity for her and the other Ngan’gi artists. This

artistic agency of Marrfurra, but also the agentive power of her abstract paintings (Gell 1998),

has increased through purposeful innovation the authority and value of her art because it tells

her story and also appeals to the desires of art consumers. Marrfurra paves the way for change

and development in Ngan’gi art styles with her inventiveness, and ensures continuity and the

memory of learned painting conventions through her art designs.

Gracie Bernadette Kumbi

Grace Bernadette Kumbi was born the 30th of in October 1967 in Darwin. Her language is

Ngen’giwumirri, her Homeland is Malfiyin, and her inherited Dreamings in this geographical

area are King Brown Snake Anganisyi, Water (rain) Kuri, Sand Frog Niyen, Chicken Hawk

Angan’pipi, Pelican Burro, Black Brim Awoin, Bittern Agiminy, and Stars Nggannnime.109

Growing up in Nauiyu Kumbi attended the local St. Frances Xavier School and then the St.

John’s Catholic College in Darwin, upon returned to Nauiyu. Kumbi is currently employed at

Merrepen Arts in a secretarial position, a job that she had also held when the art centre was

started. In between, she was an overseer of CDEP workers at the local shop. She has two

children, Andrew and Tineka, and she is raising her sister’s youngest daughter, Britta.

“When I do my Barra painting people recognise my work, they come into the art

centre to see my art, and they know which paintings are mine ...”

Kumbi was introduced to painting when watching her father decorate wooden carvings when

she was a young girl, followed by art training at the local school by Ungunmerr, who has

inspired her work. Kumbi was among the core group of artists that initiated the Ngan’gi art

movement. Her style was distinctive from early on in her career. As Kumbi asserts in her

statement above, it is recognised and much sought after among regular Merrepen Arts

customers. Established as one of the top Ngan’gi artists, Kumbi now teaches her relatives in

apprenticeships (Taylor 2007), allowing them to observe her working while she gives artistic

advice. Kumbi developed a style previously referred to as the “Kumbi School,” characterised

by figurative designs on a multi-coloured background, with slender motifs lined in black, and

109

See Chapter 4 page 144 for a painting she made of all the Dreamings of her kin in Malfiyin.

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filled with neat decorations, elaborate dots and patterns. Kumbi and many of the other

Ngan’gi artists have appropriated this stylistic recipe, originally inspired by their first art

teacher Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr. However, Kumbi has made it her own by developing a

delicate, fine-brushed look, with lifelike motifs, extensive, tiny details, and strong colours, in

a manner particular to her artworks. Perhaps because Kumbi received so much customer

recognition from early on in her artistic career, she did not need to change her style radically.

The three presented designs, Kumbi’s “Barramundi” and her detailed depiction of two

Dreamtime stories, will illustrate how Kumbi is more conservative in her painting practice,

using limited stylistic variations, compared with the Ngan’gi artists presented above.

The Barramundi is an icon for the Daly River region and Nauiyu. Barra fishing commences

annually after the wet season; it attracts many visiting tourists. These tourists often purchase a

barra painting, printed card or t-shirt; consequently, it has become the most popular design

among regular customers of Merrepen Arts. Kumbi has painted the barramundi innumerable

times, making her figurative interpretations of this fish her signature design. However, she is

not only obliging to an art market interest; it is also a seasonal bush tucker design. As narrated

in her design story, fishing is an activity that is also much appreciated by the Ngan’gi. The

fishing season commences when dragonflies fill the air, signalling that the Barra are fat,

plentiful, and easy to catch.

Plate 6.52 “Barramundi” drawn by Gracie Kumbi in 1987.

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Plate 6.53 “Barramundi” drawn by Gracie Kumbi in 2008.

I have selected two versions of Kumbi’s “Barramundi” design. These include a drawing of a

jumping barra made in 1987 and the same design painted 21 years later, though with

strikingly visual similarities. Both illustrate the Barra figuratively with much naturalistic

accuracy; her lines are neat and her style is decorative. Although the contemporary version is

more colourful and the fish is jumping from the water, these designs still illustrate limited

artistic modifications. The second “Barramundi” painting was sold at the Merrepen Arts

Festival auction in 2008. Kumbi is considered one of the top artists at Merrepen Arts.

Furthermore, she has established the barramundi as her signature design. Hence, this piece

received a record high price when it was sold at the Merrepen Arts Festival Auction, an event

described in Chapter 8, on page 390.

I have chosen to present five additional “Barramundi” paintings by Kumbi in the Appendix on

pages 452-454, to illustrate not only the particularities of her figurative and naturalistic style,

but also to visualise an artistic form of reproduction with limited stylistic innovation. Kumbi

always paints the fish’s shape accurately, with almost photographic quality, in cross-section

profile. Her designs do vary, but only slightly in use of colour, decoration, and compositions.

The Barras are painted either as jumping out of the water, the single Barra in profile encircled

with dots, a group of barras varying in size on a background of decorative dots, or swimming

under water amongst vegetation. These paintings confirm how repeated reproduction, such as

this, is common when an artist finds a design they and the customer prefer. However,

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Kumbi’s work stands out, and is easily recognised by Merrepen Arts customers, precisely

because she is changing it so minimally and has perfected her own reconcilable style.110

“The Bat and the Rainbow Serpent” is a Dreamtime story Kumbi learned from her mother

Yawalminy, which she paints in much detail, but also with little stylistic variation:

A long time ago back in the Dreamtime, Bat, a very good dancer lived in the cave, not far from the

water hole of Rainbow Serpent. He painted himself with ochre and danced at the corroboree111

every night, and he worked really hard. He had two wives promised to him, the two Whistle Ducks

that lived near the billabong. Rainbow Serpent lived there too, he was lazy and had beautiful

patterns on his back but he was jealous of Bat because of his two promised wives. Rainbow Serpent

thought he was better than the Bat because he was more beautiful, so after another night of

dancing, when everybody was asleep he took the two ducks and made them his wives. Bat was

very angry, and he gathered some flint stone and took them back to his cave. He started making

two spear heads. To test if they were sharp enough he cut his own nose; he was bleeding but did

not care, he wanted his wives back. But the spears were not good enough so he flew to the highest

hill where he knew of a good piece of flint. He took it and made a new spear and this time it was so

sharp that when he tested it he cut his whole nose right off. That is why the Bat has got a flat face

today. He put the spearhead on a bamboo stick and went down for the dance. He said to himself, “I

am going to kill Rainbow Serpent!” and he hid the spear and attended the corroboree with the other

animals. Everyone was dancing to the clap sticks and the didgeridoos, cheering for the bat as he

was such a good dancer. Rainbow Serpent just ignored him. They danced all night until everyone

was sleeping. Then Bat woke up and crawled to where he had hid his spear. He flew up to the

sleeping animals and threw the spear into the serpent. He cried out, the animals were all frightened

and ran away and the birds flapped their wings and flew for the first time. The ducks flew away;

Bat went back to his cave where he lives today. Rainbow Serpent fell into the billabong and died,

but his spirit comes out when it rains.

110

In the Appendix, on pages 454-55, two Barra designs painted by Wilson and Yambeing in 2008 are provided

to illustrate the local stylistic similarities and individual variation that exists when artists paint the same design. 111

The word Corroboree is used all over Australia when referring to Aboriginal ceremonies. The word

originated from Daruk, a language group from the Sydney region (Ween 2003).

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Plate 6.61 “The Bat and the Rainbow Serpent” painted by Kumbi in 2003.

Plate 6.62 “The Bat and the Rainbow Serpent” painted by Kumbi in 2008.

These mini post-card-size paintings are quite similar in style, despite having been painted

years apart; both are figurative, neat, and featured in fine detail. Kumbi has painted the Bat in

both versions with his wings spread in a lethal attack, spearing the wiggling Serpent, with the

ducks witnessing the event. Kumbi’s only visual variation is in her use of colours and in the

compositional placement of the Serpent. Both paintings are a manifestation of the Ancestral

knowledge of creation; describing how the Bat lost its nose and acquired its flat-faced

appearance, and how birds began to fly, as well as reminding people of the dangers of

breaching the Ancestral Law by stealing someone else's promised wives. The story’s subject-

matter also reveals the character of the Rainbow Serpent; he is lazy, beautiful, self-conscious,

and cheeky. Kumbi told me how her mother had an angry voice when narrating the story,

upset by the Rainbow Serpent’s lack of respect for the Ancestral Law. After the battle the

Serpent is killed by Bat’s sharp spear; however, his presence remains atemporally in water.

Water is also to this day considered to be beautiful and threatening, similar to the

characteristics of the Rainbow Serpent.

The Dreamtime story “The Rainbow Serpent, Eagle and Fire Stick” is a creational story that

also reminds people to follow the Law. Two of Kumbi’s many illustrations of this story,

painted 13 years apart, illustrate her artistic development. This is her design story:

Long ago back in the Dreamtime some people were dancing at a corroborre. They were really

enjoying themselves. The rainbow serpent was among the dancers. He was not a good man because

he wanted to take two of the women he was dancing with. He had fallen in love with them; the two

women were not his right skin. He got angry and as the corroboree continued through the night.

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The Rainbow serpent crawled away and stole the fire stick. He was going to drop the fire stick in

the water. Then the Eagle saw him and came straight down and took the fire stick and threw it onto

the land, as he did that, everything became quiet. The Land began to burn and all the people turned

into animals to escape the fire. If the Rainbow Serpent had taken the fire stick and dropped it into

the water everybody would still be eating meat raw today.

Plate 6.63 “The Rainbow Serpent, Eagle and Fire Stick” painted by Kumbi in 1994.

Plate 6.64 “The Rainbow Serpent, Eagle and Fire Stick” painted by Kumbi in 2007.

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Kumbi’s first painting illustrates “the Rainbow Serpent, Eagle and Fire Stick” Dreaming with

a harsh juxtaposition of warm and cooler colour contrasts, placing the Eagle over the signal-

red earth and the Serpent over the navy blue water, with the animals witnessing the exciting

fire stick battle. In her second, she has replaced the animals with a naturalistic-looking bush

fire background, though still using a similar composition and colour separation. An artistic

development is the more extensive use of decorative details, the colourful striped background,

and more lifelike animals. The Dreamtime story contains several levels of meaning, which are

also manifested in Kumbi’s paintings: It reminds people of the importance of complying with

kinship rules, as the Rainbow Serpent is again breaking them by trying to steal another’s wife,

which is also of the wrong skin group.112

The story and designs also manifest the shared

substance between humans and animals, because the animals were once humans, and humans

were once animals. Finally, this story can be related to the symbolic transformation of nature

into culture through the device of fire, which is used to prepare food (Leach 1974).

Kumbi is a prolific, yet conservative artist, often producing several paintings a week with her

signature look. Known among regular Merrepen Arts customers, I often met customers who

told me that they had built Kumbi collections by buying her work exclusively for years.

Kumbi has developed a style unparalleled among the Ngan’gi artists, characterised by the

extensive use of neat detail and fine-lined figures. Many of the younger artists have

appropriate her style, through her teaching or due to their recognition of her artistic talent.

Thus, Kumbi has succeeded in making her style an epitome of local and regional Ngan’gi art.

Christina Rebecca Yambeing

Christina Rebecca Yambeing was born in Daly River on the 23rd

of December, 1966.

Yambeing’s language is Ngen’giwumirri. As joint owner of Malfiyin Homeland she has the

same Dreamings as her sisters: King Brown Snake Anganisyi, Water (rain) Kuri, Sand Frog

Niyen, Chicken Hawk Angan’pipi, Pelican Burro, Black Brim Awoin, Bittern Agiminy, and

Stars Nggannnime. Yambeing attended school in Nauiyu and Kormilda College in Darwin,

before she began her training as a teacher. She was employed at Merrepen Arts, and is still a

Board member. Yambeing is a mother of five: Bakhita, Joshua, Daniel, Roger, and Britta.

112

Skin groups were, in Ngan’gi terminology, defined as Finy names that defined, according to a subsection

system based on matrilineal descent, whom one can, and cannot, marry (Wightman et al. 1995: 362).

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“I just paint whatever I feel like, and when I make that gecko look like em’ moving,

it makes me happy and proud ...”

Yambeing can be characterised as an experimental artist, often taking her art in new

directions, interchanging between a multitude of different styles that break away from her

former works, as well as from local and regional Ngan’gi styles. Other Ngan’gi artists identify

Yambeing’s art as particularly imaginative and often look to her for inspiration, while she, as

stated above, draws on her internal feelings for inspiration. She told me how the geckos are

her favourite art motif: “I like to watch them geckos run across the ceiling at night.”

Plate 6.65 “Geckos” mini painting by Christina Yambeing in 2003.

The gecko is a funny little lizard in this decorative mini-painting; Yambeing captures

accurately their movement and amusing postures as they dance across the ceiling.

Plate 6.66 “Gecko” painted on marbling by Christina Yambeing in June 2004.

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Yambeing is an artist who experiments much in her artworks both with her designs and the

media. Whereas Ngan’gi artists usually make purely decorative marbling on fabric for

scarves, table clothes, and handkerchiefs, Yambeing chose to stretch her marbling on a frame.

On her marbling, in an explosion of moving colours, she innovatively painted a little gecko in

a thin black line, wriggling in from the side, a visual verification of her innovativeness.

Yambeing is also an artist who expresses openly her personal feelings through her art and

design stories. Susan Daily, a silk painter working with Ngan’gi artists for years, described in

an interview with me Yambeing’s honesty in expressing feelings in art as “mood painting:”

Christina she went thought some hard times … and made those black ones. (Øien) The bush fire

paintings? Yes, she went for that sort of thing for quite a few years. She broke right away from

everything that everyone else was doing. She did scarves like that too, which was dark and

absolutely stunning. “Mood painting” I guess you can call them.

The first art coordinator at Merrepen Arts described in an interview with me how her “mood

painting” was initiated:

“Sally” (a former art coordinator) did something when Yambeing was going through a period of

depression and wasn’t painting. To pull her out of it “Sally” gave her a big canvas, set her down

with big brushes and said “put anything you like on it, don’t worry about what you paint.” And she

began doing her dark bush fire paintings.

Artists do not produce their works in isolation from events in their lives and society, and

occasionally depression is reflected in their works. The term “mood painting” was originally

used by Daily, and I have appropriated it in this text as a descriptive term used to capture how

inner feelings can be visually expressed through art. I argue that for Aboriginal artists, forms

of “mood painting” can be related to their ways of publicly articulating grief. Ngan’gi people

partake in expressive and visual acts of mourning at the loss of a relative, which I observed at

a funeral in Nauiyu in 2008. Loud wailing and crying, was accompanied by cutting the head,

drawing blood; I interpret this, following Morphy (1991), as an exchange of spiritual

substance between humans and the Ancestral world. Painting represents a different form of

relief for feelings of sorrow, yet it is also on the continuum of Ngan’gi mourning rituals in

which grief is publicly and visually displayed. Initiated by advice from a former art

coordinator, Yambeing made the stylistic move of painting dark, coarse paintings that

reflected her inner state of mind. Three paintings are chosen to illustrate Yambeing’s courage

in artistic experimentation, her differentiated styles, and her interpretation of birth rituals.

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From 1999 until 2003, Yambeing repeatedly painted a bush tucker design she titled

“Bushfire.” Bushfires are considered seasonal signs because they initiate the end of the dry

season, either lit by the hot sun in the dry grass, or deliberately, to keep vegetation low.

However, for Yambeing, her dark bushfire paintings are simultaneously depictions of her

childhood memory of bushfires in her Homeland, as well as being interpreted by me as a form

of “mood painting:”

This painting is about a bushfire at my country Malfiyin. I still remember the bushfire burning at

my country when I was about nine or ten years old. When I first did this painting I pictured the

country, the river, the trees, and the hills. I remembered my old Dad telling us Dreamtime stories

from our land, but he passed away. When I did this painting I had tears in my eyes because I was

thinking of my Dad. I remember him telling us — “If a bushfire comes, run through the burning

fires, but take bunches of green leaves and cover yourself as you run through the fire.” The green

leaves protected us from the burning bush. When the bushfire gets really big and noisy; you can

hear the noise and feel the heat. Looking up you can see the clouds changing colour, they are

forming like rain clouds. They have very dark black and blue colours.

Plate 6.67 “Bushfire” painted by Christina Yambeing in March 2002.

Yambeing has, in her painting, created a figurative and naturalistic interpretation of the fire,

using a style characterised by rough strokes and wild brush work.113

The paint is dark, thick

and impenetrably coated and blended; the trees are black and entangled with green vegetation,

breaking off in pieces and reducing to ashes. Glimpses of dark blue sky are covered in thick,

113

I have selected two additional versions of Yambeing’s “Bushfire” design provided in the Appendix, page 456,

to illustrate her prolific production with limited stylistic variations. I included a photograph of a bush fire, on

page 457; this provides a visual parallel between her artistic interpretation and the natural phenomenon.

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grey smoke, with the signal-red glowing fire. She is visually communicating both the wild

and dangerous bushfire, and a treasured childhood memory. The dark style, so different from

the colourful local Ngan’gi styles, may also manifest her internal grieving for her father and

issues she struggles with in her daily life.

Contemporaneously with the production of her dark “Bushfire” paintings, Yambeing began

painting other designs using the same “dark” style. Two versions of a Dreamtime story “The

Children and the Rocks that fell from the Sky” are provided to illustrate how her style

changed from colourful and neat to dark and blurry. Yambeing narrates the Dreaming:

In the Dreamtime, some aboriginal people lived near a creek. The children in a village one day

wanted to go and pick mimeli green plums. Before they went the elders of the tribe warned them

and said they could eat the berries, but when finished they should not throw the seeds around, only

place them carefully in one place on the ground. They were told that if they did not do so,

something very bad would happen. The children set out and walked until some of them found some

plums. They made sure that the seeds were not thrown around but were placed carefully on the

ground. In the group was a small child who had forgotten the warning. He threw the seeds

everywhere. The other children saw him and were frightened. Suddenly there was a loud rumbling

noise and the sky went black. The children looked up and saw large rocks falling from the sky.

They screamed and tried to run, but the rocks fell on them. Two girls tried to climb a tree but could

not escape. People back in the village were worried and went to look for them. They found the

children under the rocks, with blood all over. Today, you still see these rocks at Tom Turner’s

crossing, near Peppimenarti.

Plate 6.71 “The Children and the Rocks that fell from the Sky” painted by Yambeing in 1994.

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Plate 6.72 “The Children and the Rocks that fell from the Sky” painted by Yambeing in 2003.

This Dreamtime story conveys a moral point by revealing the fatal consequences of breaking

the Ancestral Law, an event manifested in the contemporary presence of the rocks at a

geographic place and in her painting. In 1994, Yambeing interpreted this Dreamtime story

with a centred plum tree, in neat, clean lines on a black background, with little black plums

hanging on the tips of the branches. The seeds are painted as swirling strands of white dots,

representing how they were thrown everywhere by the disobedient children. The rocks that

came rushing from the sky are painted in a figurative and naturalistic shape, while the circles

are an abstract representation of the children. Yambeing explained to me how this visual

abstraction was employed to prevent the disaster from reoccurring. The second painting was

created in 2003, during her period of “mood painting.” Although similar in composition and

use of symbolism, her brush work and colours differ: It is much murkier; the lines are thick

strokes, erratic, and roughly blended. Comparing these two versions of the same design

illustrates the stylistic diversity present in Yambeing’s works of art.

Yambeing often explores semi-abstract designs. These are exemplified in the following

painting, illustrating the transition rituals surrounding a child’s birth in the bush. The design

story was narrated Yambeing, her mother Yawalminy, and her eldest sister Marrfurra:

The painting is set on a background of night and day. While the mother was in labour a fire would

be made up with wallaby droppings nekin wamangal and paper bark wasari – a fire stick palayin

was used to light it. She would sit there with her back to the fire for warmth, rubbing her back to

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ease the pain. When the baby was born, the (umbilical) cord detterdi would be cut with a mussel

shell afurra. The baby was laid on a sheet of paper bark. The afterbirth was put up in a pandanus to

prevent animals eating it. Grass was used to clear away any blood. When the umbilical cord had

dried it was placed carefully in a snail shell. It would be carried around for a long time in a dilly

bag kept by the old people. If there should be an Akaka bird around it was necessary to keep the

baby quiet, because the bird might get annoyed and steal its (the baby’s) spirit. A pregnant woman

was not allowed to eat goanna eggs amundi; otherwise the baby could be born with “flat” legs. In

the background of the painting are fine, black lines. They are the strings of the banyan tree fingi.

People were afraid to go near it because a devil lived in it (Farrelly 2003: 21; Øien 2005).

Plate 6.73 “Traditional Birth” painted by Christina Yambeing in 2002.

Yambeing has painted the upper canvas section in a dark colour with a white moon and white

dots resembling a starlit night sky to represent night, while on the lower part of the canvas,

the daytime is represented with the red and yellow rays from a rising sun. This night and day

symbolism parallels how the night is dying and the day being born, creating also a visual

parallel to the newborn life. Yambeing has painted all of the elements for a birth taking place

in the open inside a red circle. These elements include paper bark sheets used as a bed, grass

used to rub the baby clean, the mussel shell used instead of a knife or a pair of scissors to cut

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to cord, the snail shell, the Akaka bird, the fire sticks, the wallaby droppings, goanna eggs,

and pandanus leaves. The red circle is also a representation of the womb. The story goes on

describing the danger of the akaka bird; as mentioned, spirits can take the shape of birds, and

while some protect you, others, like this one, can be dangerous. Yambeing has painted the

mother inside a black circle, and the baby is in its own black circle below her, connected by

the umbilical cord. These separate, yet connected, circles represent how, during the birth

process the mother and child are first one, and then become separated. As mentioned in the

story, the umbilical cord from a child would be kept in a snail house and carried in a fibre

string bag, usually by the child’s grandmother, thus, creating a bond between the child and its

Elders. Yambeing has represented this Ngan’gi custom by painting a dilly bag on the shoulder

of the mother. The design story mentions the banyan tree (see photograph in the Appendix,

page 457). Marrfurra told me how spirits called Buymen, grey creatures with long nails, are

believed to reside in caves and banyan trees, and they are known to lure young children. In

her painting Yambeing has represented the banyan tree by thin, long, black lines stretching

across the red circle as a representation of these spirits who call on children, to capture them

and take them away from their mothers. Yambeing has visually manifested in her painting all

of the layers of meaning and knowledge that are part of an outdoor Ngan’gi birth ritual.114

Yambeing’s art production has always been closely connected to her state of mind, and is

therefore irregular. Periodically, she would prolifically paint, Dreamtime and custom designs,

only to stop producing, before resuming with her dark and individualistic versions of her

Dreamings and Ngan’gi customs. These changes over time displayed publicly her state of

mind. She has always produced art with much variation in styles, design choices, and

techniques; her originality is admired. In this manner, through the becoming of Ngan’gi art,

artists can alternate between expressing personal feelings and a shared cultural background.

Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr Bauman

Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr Bauman was born on the 1st of July in 1950 on the banks of Daly

River. Her language is Ngen’giwumirri, and her Homeland is Malfiyin. Her Dreamings

consist of King Brown Snake Anganisyi, Sand Frog Niyen, Chicken Hawk Angan’pipi,

Pelican Burro, Black Brim Awoin, and Bittern Agiminy. She was raised by her uncle and aunt

114

In the Appendix, on pages 458-59, two versions of “Traditional Birth” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in 1998

and Catherine Ariuu in 2002, with different design stories, are given. They provide stylistic paralells of how

Ngan’gi artists depict even the same subject-matter using differentated and individual styles.

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in Adelaide, but returned to Nauiyu at the age of fourteen. She has a master’s degree in

education, a bachelor in art, and an honorary doctorate in writing. I have heard Ungunmerr

described as “a force of nature.” She began teaching at St Francis Xavier School, where she

later became the principal. Ungunmerr was, as mentioned, one of the instigators of Merrepen

Arts and the previous President of the board. She was a leading figure in the negotiations that

took place with the old men of the community when they obtained permission for women to

paint. As a teacher, she has taught many of the current artists to paint. Consequently, her

influence on the styles of Ngan’gi art has been substantial. She was the CEO of the local

Nauiyu Nambiyu Council for years, and is currently a board member. In December 2007, she

retired at the age of 58, while expressing the desire to find more time for her art.

“Aboriginal people are very spiritual. I do Christian spiritual paintings in an

Aboriginal sense, and that’s a special thing for me …”

Ungunmerr describes herself as a devout Christian, a devotion she often expresses through her

art. For Ungunmerr, painting has a sacramental character, and her designs are always

followed by personal and detailed design stories. As mentioned in the previous chapter,

Ungunmerr espouses the belief that Aborigines and Christians share a common spirituality.

Her paintings and stories communicate her conceived comparability between Ngan’gi

customs, spirituality, and traditional visual practices, with Christian religiosity. Her Christian

designs have been much appreciated by white Christians. A Queensland poet, Bruce Dawe,

was so inspired by her drawing “the light of the world” created in 1987 that he composed a

poem describing it (Derrington 2000).115

The three presented designs by Ungunmerr are all

visualisations of her personal Christianity.

The painting “Both Ways to Heal the Spirit,”116 painted by Ungunmerr in 1987, illustrates her

own suggested comparison between Ngan’gi healing practices and Christian absolution.

Ungunmerr explained to me how the Ngan’gi people believe that nothing happens

115

This drawing, her design story, my comments, and Dawe’s poem are presented in the Appendix on pages

460-61. I also added a photograph of Molly Yawalminy demonstrating the traditional method of carrying a string

dilly bag while collecting Water lilies in a billabong, as illustrated in Ungunmerr’s drawing. 116

Ungunmerr was chosen by the Northern Territory Government to meet with British Royalty Prince Charles

when he visited Darwin in 1988. She presented this painting to him as a commissioned gift representing all of

the Aboriginal people living in and around the Darwin area (Derrington 2000). At the time, the painting was

titled “The Healing Ceremony,” a title also used in Derrington (2000). However, in my conversation with

Ungunmerr when receiving permission orally to reprint it, the artists spoke about her work using the title “Both

Ways to Heal the Spirit.” Upon locating the original Certificate of Authenticity for this work in the Merrepen

Arts archives, the work was titled “Both Ways to Heal the Spirit,” which is the title I have elected to use.

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coincidentally. Sickness, accidents, or deaths could be the result of “bone pointing,” a ritual

performed by a person angered by conflict, casting sickness or death on another. Ungunmerr’s

design story outlines the healing powers for the victim of such ill deeds, suffering from pains

and fever, both in the rituals of an Aboriginal “Faith Healer”117

and the prayers of a Christian:

Healing takes place in many ways. In my painting I have expressed the duality that many

Aboriginal people experience. In the Western form of prayer (rosary beads) people recognize that

God is the greatest healer of all. This is true for many Aboriginal people, but they also have their

own traditional customs. They know that certain tribal members have a special power. This can be

transmitted through the laying of hands. Branches of the ironwood tree, warmed over a fire, release

an essence that has a healing effect, particularly for those who are emotionally depressed. It can

help to break the spell for those who, believing themselves to be “sung” and can will themselves to

die. I have painted the central figure in such a way to indicate that the whole body is involved when

healing takes place. In the lower part of the painting I have used mainly browns (sadness and

depression or pain) while the brighter colours at the top indicate spiritual and temporal release as a

result of the healing.

Plate 6.80 “Both ways to heal the spirit” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 1987.

In Ungunmerr’s painting, the person in the centre is depressed, sick, or in fear of death due to

bone pointing. The sick have two possibilities for redemption, represented by two figures

clutching their healing regalia, the smoke of burning ironwood branches and the Rosary

117

I have added in the Appendix on page 463 a painting titled “the Faith Healer” made by Patricia Marrfurra in

1993, with her design story; providing a visual and narrative parallel to Ungunmerr’s piece.

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beads. The Rosary holds important prayers for Catholics, and when praying, the fingers grip

each bead while contemplating the five mysteries in Christ’s life. This form of worship is,

according to Derrington (2000), similar to meditation due to its repetitive nature. Ungunmerr

has painted the body of the sick person to be heavily decorated, and the sick person appears

defeated by his suffering - his heart and stomach are revealed in an “x-ray” like style,

representing the fears and sorrow he holds there.118

This represents a stark visual contrast with

the white, blank bodies of the healers. Around the figures at the bottom of the painting,

Ungunmerr notes how downwards-sloping, diagonal lines are illustrations of the pain of the

sick person. Colours change from dark to light at the top of the canvas, filled with diagonal

lines, radiating from the sick, and manifesting the continuing healing process. The victim’s

suffering flows from the top of his head in a wavy line as he is experiencing spiritual release;

this is Ungunmerr’s painted manifestation of how he is being “healed both ways.”119

As an adult, Ungunmerr was teaching in Nauiyu, while gradually becoming an established

artist. However, with a desire to increasing cross-cultural communication between the

Australian “black fella” and “white fella,” she began giving public lectures in the major cities

of Australia. One of the concepts she uses when describing “Aboriginal being in the world” is

the Ngan’gi word Dadirri. She translates the term as “inner, deep listening and silence, still

awareness, or contemplation,” which Aborigines cherish and experience when out bush or

sitting around the camp fire, but which Ungunmerr argues is not often present in white

culture. In her lectures, she says that Dadirri is her gift to the white fella; encouraging them to

take time to listen to nature and contemplate life. Following one such lecture in 1988,

Ungunmerr received a painting commission from St. Mary’s Cathedral in Darwin. She created

“The Tree of Life” illustrating her concept of Dadirri and her Aboriginal Christian identity:

When I was asked to paint a painting that goes with my talk called DADIRRI meaning silence or

stillness, it was the time when the saltwater crocodiles lay their eggs in the mounds that they have

prepared along the river banks or a swamp in amongst the cane grass. The mound is on the left side

of the painting. On the right side is the spear grass that normally grows during our wet season. For

us there are so many seasons. Nature is our calendar. We can relate to it by letting it talk to us, and

we talk to nature. It tells us what fruits, yams, animals, reptiles, fish or birds to hunt. By looking at

certain flowers that might be blossoming, or which way the winds are blowing we know what to

look for and gather. We feel at home with the silence and the peacefulness of the bush. That is how

118

According to Ngan’gi concepts of fear, fears are believed to be located in the stomach. 119

See Derrington (2000) for her analysis of this and other works by Ungunmerr.

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we get renewed when we are confronted with pressure from today’s way of living. The bottom of

the painting is us. The circles and the lines coming from them mean that we have been washed with

Jesus’ blood running from the paper-bark chalice. The yam under the cross is Jesus’ body. The

cross means that Jesus died for our sins and rose to life again. At the top of the cross there are

flames coming from fire sticks. Jesus is the light of the world. The tree in the middle of the painting

represents the aboriginal people again, and relates to the talk from the Holy Father when he said,

“You are like a tree standing in the middle of a bush-fire sweeping through the timber. The leaves

are scorched and the tough bark is scarred and burned, but inside the tree the sap is still flowing,

and under the ground the roots are still strong. Like that tree you have endured the flames and you

still have the power to be reborn.” The time of this rebirth is now. When the wet season really sets

in and the rain comes, the tree grows and blossoms with water from the rain. The storm winds

come too. The white lines on each side of the tree are water and wind representing the Holy Spirit.

Plate 6.81 “The Tree of Life” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 1988.

Ungunmerr’s painting provides her conceptual combination of elements from the Christian

Eucharist and Aboriginal notions of seasons, used in a mutually supportive manner to tell her

story. The challis is painted in an Aboriginal form as a paper bark tray coolamon. Jesus’ body

becomes the people’s bread through Holy Communion, and the Aboriginal equivalent for

bread is the yam Mimuy, painted under the paper bark tray. The scorched tree surviving a

bushfire is Ungunmerr’s visual parallel to the sufferings of Jesus, who experienced physical

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hurt, yet remained strong in his faith. The crossed placement of Aboriginal fire sticks under

the tree represents the cross of Jesus’ crucifixion and the making of fire. The creation of light

when making fire also represents the metaphysical light of Jesus. There are two seasonal

references in the painting: the two crocodiles signal how the flowering of the Kapok Tree

initiates the gathering of crocodile eggs. Finally, the life-giving wet season’s wind and rains

are depicted as white lines, waves, and dots, representing a parallel to new life created by the

Holy Spirit. Ungunmerr also uses colours to communicate her spiritual vision. When Christ

died, the heavens were darkened, represented by darker colours in the top portion of the

painting. Then, the blood of Christ washed the earth of its sins, symbolised by the red-brown

lower section. Thus, Ungunmerr paints Christian designs by combining essential elements of

both of her faiths by interlocking and intepreting Christian symbols with Ngan’gi concepts,

language, and objects in this complicated visual arrangement (Derrington 2000). 120

The final two paintings by Ungunmerr are custom designs involving her illustration of the

male Ngan’gi transition rituals, chosen because she interestingly, as described by Ungunmerr

in her design story, also relates these Ngan’gi transition rituals to Christianity:

This painting depicts the cycle of a male from birth through to adulthood. In the lower section of

the painting, there are two freshwater mussels. The shells of these have long been used by

Aboriginal people for severing the umbilical cord, thus, bringing the baby to his first experience of

independence from his mother. After birth, the purification ceremony takes place when the baby is

cleansed by fire and smoke before being anointed with the sweat of the older members of the tribe.

This will cleanse him in mind a heart as he approaches the various stages of initiation, preparing

him for manhood. When the boy reaches puberty he goes through the Law. Through the training

and guidance of the older men, he learns skills for survival and so passes into full adulthood when

he is ready to take up his role of leadership among his people. The mother of pearl shell which he is

given at this time symbolizes this leadership. They are also his means of independence as he uses

them to trade with other tribal people of close kinship. These mothers of pearl shells are also

symbolic of the two tablets of stone on-which were written the Ten Commandments of God

through which, as an Aboriginal Christian, he will survive in his spiritual life and attain a spiritual

leadership among his people. The life of Jesus from childhood to manhood followed a similar

pattern as he grew in wisdom and maturity. As Saint Paul says of Jesus, “Although he was God’s

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Before coming to the Cathedral, the painting was exhibited in Hobart when Ungunmerr attended the

International Liturgical Convention, giving her lecture together with Cardinal Basil Hume (Derrington 2000).

Then, as it was hanging in St. Mary’s Cathedral, this painting was stolen, and cut in half by the perpetrators.

Only the lower half has been restored; it surfaced at an art auction, and is now in the possession of Stephen

Hacket, hanging in his office at the Catholic Mission Headquarters in Darwin.

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Son, he learnt to obey through suffering. But having been made perfect, he became for all who

obey him, the source of eternal life.”

Before describing the details in Ungunmerr’s paintings, I will explore the cultural significance

of mussel and mother of pearl shells according to traditional Ngan’gi ritual practices. The

value of mother of pearl shells is related to creation stories of the Rainbow Serpent, the most

powerful of all the Ancestral Beings. All cross the Northern Territory, there are many stories

of how the Rainbow Serpent created people by regurgitation, in different places and as

different clans or language groups. He is present in water and the rainbow, and there are

certain rules of conduct that stop him from becoming angry, as described by Ungunmerr:

When you see a rainbow you cannot point directly at it with your index finger, only your pinkie.

The rainbow comes from the Rainbow Serpent to-which we have a motherly relationship of

respect. When a child says I think I am beautiful, the mother says you were regurgitated from the

Rainbow Serpent and he was really beautiful. But since he regurgitated you that must mean that

you are not as beautiful as him and we must treat him with respect. When the Rainbow Serpent was

going to die he travelled through the creeks and rivers and the water under the ground and out to

the ocean. When he came to the sea, he died and sank to the bottom. But his jaw bone became the

mother of pearl shells. And the pearl inside these shells are the testicles of the Rainbow Serpent. In

the olden days men used such pearls to make it rain since they are from the Rainbow Serpent.

Pearls and shells were also used as money to trade with for other things. When you owned a string

of pearls or pearl shells you were seen as the chief of the camp and your job was to keep order in

the camp. They would wear nothing but a loin cloth, and the shells around their waist.

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Plate 6.82 “Male Life Cycles” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 1987.

Plate 6.83 “Male Life Cycles” painted by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 2000.

According to Ngan’gi Dreamtimes stories, as described by Ungunmerr, the Rainbow Serpent

went to the ocean to die and the pearl shells were believed to be his jawbone. His testicles

became pearls, used as rain-stones in rainmaking rituals (Derrington 2000). These shells,

when inscribed, were symbols of power and authority only given to a young man after he had

“been through the Law,” meaning the initiation ceremony in which he would be circumcised

and trained by the elders of the community. These pearl shells would be carried as status

symbols and traded among different groups. (See the Appendix, page 463, for a photograph of

an inscribed mother of pearl shell.)

In Ungunmerr’s paintings, the subject-matter of the male life cycle is marked by several ritual

stages, illustrated by separating the paintings into segments, though varying slightly in

composition. The circle in the centre, in light-red in the first painting and white and yellow in

the second, is a representation of the male novice. The line from the circle represents the

umbilical cord, which is cut with two mussel shells, placed in both paintings towards the

bottom. Moving up, in the first design a red snail shell is painted, in which the cut umbilical

cord is carried; however, the snail shell is not present in the second design. The next element

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is the fire, painted in red and black or a yellow band with leaves at the top of the paintings

representing the smoke of ironwood branches, through which the newborn child is held. For

the Ngan’gi, smoke welcomes a child to the world, purifying and strengthening them. A

“smoking ceremony” with burning ironwood leaves and song is also required to facilitate the

journey from life to death for the deceased, making the dead one with their Ancestors as they

return to the site of their conception, maintaining an existential cycle of substance exchange.

In Christian symbolism, fire represents and implies damnation, but also martyrdom and

religious enthusiasm. In the Old and New Testaments, fire also symbolises the presence of

God and the Holy Ghost in the world (Kabo 2001). Thus, fire represents in this painting both

spiritual transformation and the Resurrection of Christ. Mother of pearl shells are painted in

white at each side in the first canvas and at the top of the second; the shells are decorated with

yellow, black, and white patterns representing the incisions.

Ungunmerr has illustrated the transition ritual as a layered and conceptual custom design,

revealing the knowledge of Ngan’gi male initiations, the Ngan’gi people’s relationships to

their Ancestors, and social practices. Ungunmerr also includes her personal Christian identity

by manifesting a parallel in her paintings to the stages of Aboriginal male development and to

the transformations that Jesus experienced when becoming a man.

What characterises the majority of Ungunmerr’s works is the personal manner in which she

expresses her Christian faith incorporated into her Ngan’gi cultural background. As Hosseini

describes it, “the commonalities between Christian sacrament and indigenous modes of

worship were effectively visualised in Bauman’s paintings” (2002: 81). Through her design

stories, she wishes to communicate her combined Christian and Aboriginal identity to her art

audience, focusing on her religious relationship to the land. Historically, the role of

Ungunmerr in developing Ngan’gi art from Nauiyu has been – and still is – significant.

Summary

The artists introduced in this chapter are all prolific in their production and have made

substantial artistic contributions to the Ngan’gi art movement at Merrepen Arts. Analysing

several of their works has shed light on the stylistic changes and transformations that occur

over time in Ngan’gi art designs, as the Ngan’gi artists develop their talents and artistic

agency in search of art world recognition. I insist that art arises from the events that take place

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in the lives of the artists, what they do on a daily basis, and what they have a passion for.

Exploring artistic development from a personalised point of view represents my attempt to

build a bridge between the life of the artists and their art. Art is never created in a void, nor is

art ever static; rather, painting is a form of cultural production (Myers 2002) situated in the

lives of the producing artists. Evaluating what underlies and triggers artistic development

provides an important facet of the total becoming of Ngan’gi art (Morphy 2008).

With a common starting point, the introduced artists have all learned Ngan’gi painting

practices from each other, in kinship-based apprenticeships (Taylor 2007). They share

Dreamtime stories, a body of cosmology, customs, and practices of hunting and gathering of

bush tucker, guided by seasonal changes; this knowledge is visually interpreted and

transformed into saleable art. For the Ngan’gi artists, creating art is a process of value

production, and their paintings are, as such, manifestations of their spiritual and kinship-based

identity. Therefore, the circulation of their art represents a sharing of their world view

(Merlan 2000, 2001; Myers 2002; Taylor 2007; Morphy 2008). Hence, Ngan’gi artists

visualise shared knowledge of Ngan’gi culture. Nevertheless, as the paintings analysed above

plainly demonstrate, they do so by using unique, diverging and individualised styles.

Furthermore, these artists partake in continuing negotiations with art customers, trying to

persuade them to recognise the cultural value in Ngan’gi design and to appreciate the

messages that Ngan’gi artists express in their design stories(Morphy 2008). Through

institutional mediation, their voices co-exist in the same performative space with other artists

and other art world participants. This chapter describes how member of this particular group

of Ngan’gi artists are actively developing their art designs through relationships with the

people present around them, by responding to them and anticipating their response. Although

they share an interest in telling their story, their personal lives and motivations differ,

differences that are consequently also carried through in their artistic choices. Thus, art must

be understood within its social, cultural, and geographical contexts of production and

circulation as the material product of networks of actors.

For example, it seems to be important for Marita Sambono and Gracie Kumbi to develop their

art in compliance with art market demands, motivated by their shared wish for art world

recognition. They have become the best-known artists in Nauiyu, despite having developed

completely different artistic strategies. Sambono developed an innovative, abstract art style,

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which diverges from her former work and local Ngan’gi art styles, but was soon recognised as

“fine art” in many art market contexts. In contrast, Kumbi chose to perfect, in a conservative

manner, her signature figurative style, which is much appreciated by regular Merrepen Arts

customers for its detailed neatness. Both of their versions of Ngan’gi styles have gained

authority and legitimacy in the art market; this recognition has also affected the art production

of other artists at Merrepen Arts. For Philip Wilson and Christina Yambeing, art production

seemingly embodies therapeutic qualities, with both using art to work through difficulties in

their lives. Wilson paints relentlessly in innovative styles, providing him with a status as a

notable up-and-coming artist, while Yambeing, already an established artist, changes her

styles at will, according to her inner feelings. Patricia Marrfurra is active in local politics,

language preservation, community and Merrepen Arts management. Her main concern is to

use art as a medium to express Aboriginal identity, increase cross-cultural communication,

and maintain the knowledge of Ngan’gi language, customs, and cosmology, in a community

characterised by social change. Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr uses art to express how her

religiosity combines a sacred relationship to her Land, Ancestors, and Dreamings, with

personal Catholicism. For her, art provides a platform using which believers, both black and

white, can meet and discover common elements in their faiths and cultures. These personal

accounts demonstrate how social events in the life of each artist, in addition to the artist’s

character, personality, intentions, experiences, and inventiveness, are deeply entangled with

the becoming of Ngan’gi art.

In the following chapter, I will look beyond the content of Ngan’gi paintings by exploring

Ngan’gi art circulation in various art world contexts. My goal is to illuminate how the social

practice of presenting and judging, which I describe as “the showing and seeing of art,” also

plays an important constitutive role to the becoming of Ngan’gi art.

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PART III

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7

THE “SEEING” AND “SHOWING” OF NGAN’GI ART:

INSIDE AND OUTSIDE OF ART WORLDS

In this chapter, I closely examine how the circulation of Ngan’gi art, through art exchanging

contexts and institutions, also plays a constitutive role in the becoming of Ngan’gi art. In the

words of Myers, “not everything about the painting is inside the frame” (2002: 53). I follow

Myers (2002) and Errington (2005) in claiming that the most rewarding anthropological art

analysis is accomplished by exploring both the art inside the frames, as well as looking

beyond the visual imagery, to contextualise art objects in their creation and circulation. The

previous chapters presented the socio-historical and cultural contexts from which Ngan’gi art

grew, and analysed the changing representative and stylistic attributes of Ngan’gi art, located

in the nexus of cultural painting conventions and artistic creativity. This chapter will focus on

analysing how Aboriginal art in general, and Ngan’gi art in particular, is affected by its

entanglement with many stratified art exchanging contexts and institutions.

All artistic work, like all human activity, involves the joint activity of a number, often a large

number, of people. Through their cooperation, the artwork we eventually see or hear comes to be

and continues to be. The work always shows signs of that cooperation … The forms of cooperation

may be ephemeral, but often become more or less routine, producing patterns of collective activity

that we can call an art world (Becker 1982: 1).

A work of art begins with a person’s artistic idea and initiative, yet, the completion of a work

of art depends on more than one person. Artists require training and artistic inspiration from

teachers or senior relatives, and equipment, such as paint, brushes, and canvas; to enable the

materialisation of an artistic vision. Artists rely on curators and gallery owners to advertise

and exhibit their work in galleries and museums, and may depend on governmental policy

makers to provide financial support. It is also an absolute necessity that public spectators such

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as art critics, collectors, and customers react to the artists’ work emotionally and

intellectually, consequently providing the artists with recognition and sales. Finally, artists

depend on earlier, and contemporary, artists, who through their production have created

contexts in which art makes sense as art (Danto 1964; Becker 1982; Myers 2002). All of these

creative and practical processes together constitute what Becker (1982) defines in the quote

above as an art world. Defining this term initially, “the art worlds” was first introduced by

Danto (1964), an art critic and philosopher, encompassing all of the objects, actors, and

institutions that art exchanging spheres involve. Danto’s (2005) definition of art is based on

his understanding of how art exhibition contexts themselves, as well as historical

circumstances, penetrate the substance of art, contributing to its constitution. However, his

definition did not leave much room for the constitutive roles of the public, the artists, and the

art objects themselves. Drawing on Bourdieu (1993), Marcus and Myers (1995) and Myers

(1995, 2002, 2004a, 2006a), I describe art worlds as intercultural and influential meeting

places, and complex social fields of performance, bringing together many actors, perspectives,

and objects. In these meeting places discourses are continuously negotiated concerning

cultural values and artistic identities, which contribute to constitute and transform art.

Aboriginal art is currently well-represented in galleries, shops and museums in Australia and

globally. Morphy (2001, 2006) describes how Aborigines have moved from public invisibility

to considerable prominence, making Aboriginal art one of the world’s most visible forms of

art. The art worlds have become significant spaces for art exchanges that contribute to

intercultural communication, create versions of “Aboriginality,” and convey something about

the particularities of Aboriginal art. Ngan’gi artists have also become part of these art worlds.

Therefore, it is necessary for my anthropological art analysis to do justice to these events of

cultural exchange by exploring how the Ngan’gi artists are in active engagement with local,

national, and global art world contexts. A main point of interest for me is how the value of art

is never set; rather, it is always negotiated through its entanglement with cultural, social, and

historical art exchanging contexts. Thus, I seek inspiration in Appadurai and Kopytoff’s

(1986) attempts to address the distinction between humans and things, as they argue for a

focus, not only on objects themselves, but also on the exchanges they go through, to be able to

grasp the politics of value creation in art. In the words of Morphy and Perkins, “it is now

understood that value creation processes in which objects partake are not restricted to the

place and time of their production, but in-here in all of the interactions in which they are

involved” (2006: 19). As previously pointed out, I argue that once the artworks of Ngan’gi

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artists are incorporated into public art institutions, they are subjected to two main exhibition

and exchange practices, art appreciation and art presentation, to which I refer by using the

analytical terms the “seeing” and “showing” of art. I argue further that these two practices are

mutually constitutive in the creative play that contributes to the becoming of Ngan’gi art.

Thus, exploring the total becoming of Ngan’gi art, one must include, I argue, a focus on how

human intention grant material objects with significance, value, and meaning, when the

Ngan’gi works of art circulate from the hands of the artists to those of customers and curators,

who come together to exchange and evaluate art.

I further maintain that discourses surrounding art exchanges are not direct and tension-free

and that exhibitions do not provide an unrestricted exchange of objects. Through research on

different forms of representations, many have argued that arranged exhibitions of any form

are not neutral arenas providing static representations of what is out there, nor a transparent

lens through which art is viewed (Clifford 1988; Vogel 1989; Karp et al. 1991; Michaels

1994; Steiner 1994; Marcus et al. 1995; Myers 1995, 2006a; Svašek 2007). Rather, various art

world representatives participate with differentiated, and occasionally conflicting, agendas

and motivations, consequently creating networks of new local and national representations

and misrepresentations surrounding Aboriginal art.

Unique to Aboriginal art, compared with non-Aboriginal styles, is the Aboriginal artists’

insistence that their designs are from the Dreaming and therefore of great cultural significance

to them. However, once offered for sale the paintings are evaluated according to what

Appadurai (1986: 4) and later also Myers (2001) designates as different “regimes of value,”

where the customer evaluates the art as “pretty pictures” or affordable bargains (Myers 1995).

Consequently, Aboriginal art is simultaneously a commodity and an object of significant,

sacred value to its producers, creating a disjunction in value systems that Myers (2005) labels

“unsettling business.” There is also a pronounced difference in how the art is produced. In

Aboriginal art production practices the artists paint designs with Ancestral precedence owned

by their kinship group and taught to them by their elders. As such sacred design stories are

translated into contemporary forms of fine art that can be sold, circulated, and displayed,

creating what Morphy (1991) describes as a “creative tension.” Myers (1995), labels this a

second disjunction existing between the social art production practices of the local

community-based art enterprises versus the global art market. Therefore, I agree with

Michaels (1994) in maintaining a critical perspective on the particular manner in which

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Aboriginal art is judged and incorporated into contemporary art markets, to capture how art

world judgment reveals particular differences in creative and exchange practices, and to

pinpoint how these difference affect the way Aboriginal artists create art.

Ngan’gi artists told me how their art centre had provided them with a space where they could

partake in income-generating exchanges and communicate a particular vision of their culture

through their art. They initiated the commercial circulation of artworks that for them are

anchored in a sacred Dreaming. According to the Ngan’gi artists, their creative art production

is an important form of “giving away culture.” This opportunity for sharing of culture, and as

such, attempting to educate and persuade their external audience of the particular value and

meaning in their art, is what motivates Ngan’gi art production and sales.

Now, customers are a differentiated group, and between Aboriginal artists and their audience

there exists a distance that is, as pointed out by Altman (2007), both geographical and

cultural because customers are generally non-Aboriginal residing in other areas. Customers

can seek out art with the intentions of learning more about Aboriginal culture through art, or

may simply be interested in discovering a beautiful piece to hang on their wall, or to make a

valuable investment. Currently, most customers, art critics, and curators have accepted and

embraced the huge variety of cultural practices and art styles present in contemporary

Aboriginal art. Furthermore, they are familiar with the compositional complexity in the

paintings, their references to physical location, and their narrative subject-matter. However,

this acceptance was gradual, and according to my observations of art world practices, such

knowledge is not equally shared among all art world representatives. According to my

fieldwork material, there were some identifiable tendencies in the preferences among the

customers of Merrepen Arts. They wanted the artworks to be recognisable according to their

version of what authentic Aboriginal art should look like, which for many customers equated

with “traditional looking” Aboriginal art. Merlan also commented on how Aboriginal artists

are still trying to free themselves from the constraint of categorisation, “constantly subjected

to pressures to remain recognizable as ‘Aboriginal art’” (2001: 203). As demonstrated by

Myers (2002) in his study of Aboriginal art marketing in fine art contexts, the customers’

appreciation of Aboriginal art is shaped by what they believe they know about Aboriginal

culture. Such representation of “Aboriginality” has, in some cases, proved restricting because

certain customers have a narrow definition of what Aboriginal art is.

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Complicating the matter further, Aboriginality is also according to Beckett, “behavioural,

situational, and heterogeneous” (1988: 191). Thus, when Ngan’gi art is subjected to showing

and seeing in various art world contexts, the customers’ aesthetic judgments and motivations

for art purchase divert to that of the Ngan’gi artists. Bakhtin’s idea of dialogical imagination

fittingly describes the existing juxtaposition in art world contexts of many different, and at

times, contradictory statements, appreciations, and narratives concerning art such as these,

which he labels “othervoiceness” (2004). Such othervoiceness is founded on a differentiated

understanding of what makes art valuable and of contradicting motivations when a customer

purchases art and artists make art. A conversation I had with a customer at Maningrida Arts

and Cultural Centre, while looking at their art centre display, provides an example illustrating

the contradictions embodied in othervoiceness:

(30.08.09). The art centre consists of a spacious exhibition area built over two floors with a large

wooden counter on the first floor. There is a large collection of art exhibited; bark paintings, hollow

logs, didgeridoos, fish traps, fibre weavings, spears, wood carvings, clap sticks, decorated wooden

mimih figures, and shell jewelleries. An elderly woman addresses me, standing in the middle of the

exhibition room saying; “where is the art?” I reply “well here you have bark paintings, hollow

logs” and so on while pointing to the objects next to us, but she simply repeats the question looking

confused “but where is the art?” while forming a square in the air with her hands, apparently

referring to canvas paintings. I explain that they only display and sell bark paintings at this art

centre, to-which she seems disappointed and immediately leaves.

This customer seems to hold a stereotypical view of what Aboriginal art is, apparently

entering the gallery with the expectation of seeing dot-painted canvases, not bark paintings

and hollow logs. Our conversation illustrates how the appreciation of certain Aboriginal art

objects may be limited by a customer’s concept of what constitutes art. Hence, I am, in this

chapter, concerned with the implications of such a fundamental difference of opinion.

After the gradual inclusion of Aboriginal art into public galleries, art awards, and museums in

Australia and internationally, Aboriginal artists have been beleaguered with inappropriate

constraints and constantly changing representations, which will be demonstrated throughout

this chapter. Nevertheless, the art’s presence and the artists’ persistence in persuasion have

gradually brought about changes in Western concepts concerning what Aboriginal art is.

Morphy comments how Aboriginal artists, such as the Yolngu, “have continued to move their

performances and artefacts into colonial spaces, occupying stages that they have helped to

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create” (2006: 493). I believe that the contradictions embedded in the art worlds are of great

significance because they hold in themselves the actual power to transform the value of

Ngan’gi art, as well as general understandings of what art is. Thus, I will illustrate below how

the social practices of seeing and showing art contribute directly in making Ngan’gi art come

into existence as either high art or souvenirs. I also wish to keep a focus on exploring how the

intentions, motivations, and preferences of Ngan’gi artists versus those of curators and

customers might be both consistent and conflicting when the art worlds bring them together in

new global spheres of cultural translation. Furthermore, I find it important to question how art

world contexts provide both opportunities for cross-cultural art exchanges and

communication, while simultaneously limiting the unrestricted creativity of Aboriginal artists,

due to institutional constraints, existing misrepresentations, and mechanisms of exclusion

based on particular aesthetic judgments.

This chapter has four main parts. I will firstly, provide a general description of the art world

practices of seeing and showing art. This will be followed by an analysis of how Ngan’gi art

is entangled with these practices, as it circulates in various art world contexts, and is subjected

to aesthetic judgments by art customers. Secondly, I question whether Aboriginal art in fine

art galleries can be described as “black art on white walls,” because art exchanging contexts

could be experienced as foreign to Aboriginal artists. Some Ngan’gi artists find customer

interaction difficult and label it as a “shame job,” a kinship-based term I analyse as a result of

conflicting codes for social interaction, complicating Ngan’gi artists’ possibilies for

autonomous art world participation. Thirdly, I will discuss to what extent the categorisation of

Ngan’gi art as “tourist art” or “commercial fine art” according to aesthetic and formal

standards of art judgment can be seen as a consequence of a stratified art market, which

contributes directly in transforming the status and value of the exhibited art. Such value

transformation is exemplified with a final exploration of what happens when Aboriginal art is

presented and sold with, or without, its adherent design story.

Defining Art World Practices: The Seeing and Showing of Art

In galleries and museums, customers and visitors enter with the intent of “seeing” the art the

curators are “showing.” I believe, building partly on an institutional definition of art (Morphy

1994), that the social practices of seeing and showing art involve a juxtaposition of the voices

and perspectives of artists, curators, and customers, which contribute directly in making

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objects come into existence as art. I believe that it is helpful to investigating visual artistic

practices and art market circulation together. Connecting the sensuous aspects of art

evaluation to what art does, and how art is produced and categorised, connects the social

relations that exist between art objects, producers and consumers.

The practice of seeing exhibited art visually is explored initially, as it is the most

characteristic and main collective activity performed in art world contexts. Marcus and Myers

(1995) describe how the Western-centred tradition of fine art exhibitions began at the birth of

modernism, which developed into an art market from a dominant Academy system in 19th

century France. Currently, although its form and connotations have been challenged by

postmodern attempts for change, Marcus and Myers (1995) argue that the art worlds are still

defined by the experience of aesthetic appreciation in which objects are observed and

contemplated as art, removed from their instrumental associations. As mentioned, I have

decided to define “seeing” in this text as aesthetic judgments founded on a range of sensorial

responses to conventional forms. Exhibition audiences, and in particular, customers, make

aesthetic judgments by, for instance, comparing the talent of one artist with the next, while

pondering whether the quality of an artwork gives them a desired internal sensorial reaction.

The communication and the audiences’ identification with the visual give art its completion,

and an appreciated reaction justifies their spending money on a chosen piece. Thus, art

encourages aesthetic responses; whether these responses are positive or negative, artists are

dependent on some form of audience appreciation. “Art making is a particular kind of human

activity that involves both the creativity of the producer and the capacity of others to respond

to and use art objects, or to use the objects as art” (Morphy et al. 2006: 12). Unappreciated

objects can still be produced by artists who insist that their works are art. However, without

the viewing, acceptance, and recognition of other art world representatives and institutions

giving them the opportunity to exhibit the work, the artists’ potential for a profitable sale and

artistic recognition is limited. The practice of seeing, though seemingly a self-evident activity,

is not, as maintained by many, for instance Campbell (2001) and Grasseni (2007), neutral and

detached. Svašek (2007) also insists on the importance of appreciating how aesthetic

judgments founded on sensorial responses are influenced by social context, fashion, personal

taste, an people’s experiences, as well as history. Thus, an initial discussion questioning the

possibility for cross-cultural application of the term aesthetics is necessary, and will clarify of

my use of the term.

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“Aesthetics is a rubric term with no simple, universally accepted definition” (Morphy 2006:

302). A classic notion of the term aesthetics would be concerned with the art object’s

essentially visual qualities such as balance, composition, rhythm, and harmony, judged

according to standards of beauty and taste (Layton 1991; Hatcher 1999). However, according

to Morphy (1994, 2006), the definition of aesthetics can be extended to include how art is felt

and experienced as well as how art is visually interpreted in terms of its meaning and value.

Thus, aesthetics is not merely a search for abstract notions of beauty; rather, in my use of the

term, I am concerned with the conditions of sensorial perception and responses, as the visual

properties of art objects create sensorial effects on the people viewing them.121

The viewing of

art, using Bakhtin’s (2004) term, creates a “dialogical conversation” between a person and an

image. Bakhtin (Todorov 1984; 2004) describe how the aesthetic pleasure experienced when

sensing an objects creates an internal fusion between the audience and art, founded on the

spectator’s empathy and identification with the sensed art. Sensorial reactions are dynamic

and, in my view, created in the momentary relationships between the sensorial body and art,

making the materiality of images flow beyond the frame.

Gell (1998) takes a critical stand by asking for caution when applying the concept of

aesthetics as a universal form of perception based on certain tastes, suggesting an

abandonment of the term altogether in anthropological art analysis. Operating with a narrow

definition, he describes aesthetic judgments as “only interior mental acts” while art objects, in

contrast, are concretely present, produced, and circulated in the social, physical world (Gell

1998: 3). Gell (1998) does acknowledge the importance of form, balance and rhythm, and that

works of art are sometimes intended and received as objects of aesthetic appreciation.

Yet, artefacts can induce such a variety of responses as part of social life, and describing these

sensorial appreciations as aesthetic feelings is, to him, a reductive, generalising, and detached

form of analysis, not applicable for anthropological research. Art is an extension of sociality

into material form that enchants, engages, and makes strong impacts on a spectator by

motivating them to take social action, evoking ideas and emotional states, generating social

action, and mediating agency. Therefore, instead of understanding art as communicating a

certain meaning, Gell (1992; 1998) emphasises that art is integral to social relationships.

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Buck-Morss writes in her analysis of Walter Benjamin’s essays on art, that the original etymological meaning

of the word aesthetics, from the Greek word aisthitikos, is “perceptive by feeling” (1992: 6). Thus, the early use

of the term aesthetics was defined as a form of cognition (to feel, see, hear, and smell) grounded in the sensorial,

material body. However, through the modern era, the meaning of aesthetics was transformed, gradually focused

on the illusory quality of art imagery and cultural forms, rather than sensorial, materialised experiences. Buck-

Morss suggests that Benjamin contributed in turning the focus in aesthetic art analyses back on the senses.

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Aesthetics is interesting for anthropology only when analysed in terms of how aesthetic

judgments are mobilised in social processes of interaction, through which they are generated,

grasping how objects work, and what they are meant to achieve in their cultural contexts with

particular conceptualisations.

I find it motivating how Gell (1998) has found a way to talk about material efficacy by

describing how art objects become social actors with distributed personhood, given agency by

being entangled within networks of social relations. I suggest the exploration of the

apparently opposite stand taken by Morphy (1994, 2006), Morphy and Perkins (2006), and

Pinney (2001), who will not accept Gell’s claim that aesthetics is external the scope of

anthropological analysis. Rather, they provide a possible solution by placing great emphasis

on understanding local ideological location of aesthetic reactions and by applying a broader

definition of aesthetic perception as including a whole range of sensory responses to

conventional forms. Morphy gives the term aesthetics a cross-cultural dimension by

determining aesthetic responses as a human sensorial capacity that in various, but

nevertheless, existing ways make, “physical, emotional and/or cognitive judgments” of what

we see visually (Morphy et al. 2006: 14). Because of this universal capacity, aesthetics

actually provide a good starting point to exploring cross-cultural art appreciation.

Layton (2003) and Tamisari (2005) question Gell’s (1998) approach to social agency,

interpreting it as reductive, as they consider aesthetic and sensorial experience to be a

fundamentally constitutive part of social life. Layton (1991, 2003) characterises Gell’s (1998)

dismissal of aesthetics as uncontroversial, particularly when Gell questions whether other

cultures have an understanding of the concept of aesthetics that is comparable to our own.

Layton (1991, 2003) takes it as obvious that when applying the term aesthetics in an

anthropological art analysis, one must take into account how aesthetic judgments vary from

culture to culture. Claiming that aesthetic responses may be universally present is not to say

they have the same connotations in different settings and societies. Aesthetic values vary from

culture to culture, and their effects may be constructed in different ways of being (Layton

1991, 2003). Others have also critiqued Gell (1998), for instance Coote and Shelton (2005)

and Taylor (2008), arguing for considering aesthetics as a useful term when attempting

anthropological translation of the sensorial aspects of experiencing human art.

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Once again, I claim to find, in spite of the seemingly opposing positions taken by Gell (1998)

and Morphy (2006), certain similarities concerning what their analyses aim to achieve, which

has also been pointed out by Coote and Shelton (2005). Although Morphy chooses to uses the

term aesthetics where Gell does not, they are both actually concerned with describing

people’s various perceptions, how art objects work in their cultural contexts, rather than

describing universal standards of beauty. I choose to use the term aesthetics in my analysis of

the sensorial reactions and judgments made during the seeing of art by both artists and

customers. I apply a wide definition of aesthetics as a term able to describe a range of

sensorial reactions when referring to the visual effect that objects have on human senses.

Furthermore, I interpret aesthetic judgments as being incorporated with particular cultural

meaning that can differ in meaning cross-culturally.

Nevertheless, I do sympathise with Gell’s (1998) suggestion that a pure or isolated

understanding of an aesthetic response is a myth. Aesthetic responses always occur within a

social frame of some kind. Svašek (2007) interestingly introduces the term “aestheticisation”

to conceptualise how people’s sensorial experiences and interpretations are processual, not

static, in character created in the dialectics between peoples’ perception of objects and the

creation of ideas of the objects’ meaning, both within and external the artistic field of practice.

When making use of aesthetic responses in an anthropological analysis of art, I have to, as

also suggested by Morphy and Perkins (2006), first describe the quality of both customers’

and artists’ aesthetic responses, and then place them into contexts of the art producing society

and art market exchanges, to be able to determine their meaning.122

Hence, I follow Svašek

(2007), Appadurai (1986), Bakhtin (2004), and Morphy (2007), in understanding the term

aesthetics as processual, by taking into consideration how aesthetic appreciations need to be

located in time and space, including an analysis of social, cultural, and historical contexts. My

main interest is in describing the many transformations and changes in meaning and status

that Ngan’gi art is subjected to because of its movement through the differentiated channels of

art world distribution. I will then describe below how the aesthetic judgments surrounding

Ngan’gi art, as they are made both by Ngan’gi artists and customers, might differ and may

eventually influence the production of Ngan’gi art.

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I am familiar with the anthropology of the senses, advocating the importance of the senses for understanding

the way people interact with each other and their surroundings (see Feld et al. 1996; Howes 2003, 2005; Jones

2006; MacDougall 2006). While, I am inspired by this perspective, my focus when analysing aesthetic sensorial

reactions is on describing the knowledge and experience behind people’s responses and how this structures their

art appreciation, moreso than exploring the sensorial reactions in themselves.

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The second, yet intertwined, main art word practice explored in more detail in the following is

the “showing” of art. There exist a number of art world contexts: galleries, shops, art fairs,

and museums. Although they sustain diverging representative practices, concerning how they

exhibit, interpret, present and represent art objects, they are united and ultimately connected

in the collective activity of public art showing. My claim is that the exhibition institutions

themselves contribute to different ways of seeing, interpreting, understanding, and

appreciating art, as there exists a clear link between how art objects are displayed and the

ways in which they are understood. Thus, art showing institutions and their curators hold a

certain authority to direct customers’ aesthetic judgments, which directly affects the status and

value of art.

The power of the art exhibition context, I believe, is its ability to reflect what the curator is

aiming to present, according to which objects are included and the manner in which the

curators choose to show them. Thus, the creative act is not performed by the artists alone. The

art objects’ contact with the external world, the artist’s agency, the interpretations of the

spectators, and the inclusion of the curators contribute to the creative act.123

The art market is moreover stratified; what is judged as fine art when exhibited in a gallery

might be defined as a sellable souvenir when exhibited in an art shop. There is a general belief

that what distinguishes a high class gallery, aiming to elevate the objects they exhibit to the

category of fine art, is an uncluttered, large, clean gallery area, with works hung spaciously on

white, well-lit walls. A smaller gallery space, with many and diverse art products, placed in

crowded arrangements, is more likely to be selling art categorised as commercial, tourist art,

or souvenirs. A museum will exhibit art objects with extensive ethnographic information,

appreciating the objects as material culture and presenting them as visually interesting. These

particular contexts of showing will be explored in more detail in the following Chapter 8. For

now, my interest in this chapter is to analyse how art objects change status when moving

through sites of representation, and how such practices of art world inclusion and exclusion

affect the status and agency of the artists.

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It is well known, for instance, how Marcel Duchamp in 1917 created an experimental artwork from a urinal,

titled “The Fountain,” that was exhibited in the Society of Independent Artists exhibition. This initiated debates

concerning what is considered art or not art. At the time, the committee rejected his piece as art, creating uproar

among artists. However, more importantly, this act illustrates the authority that the exhibition context and the

artists have in redefining the definition of art. Regardless of how resistant the art world participants were at the

time, as pointed out by Danto (2005), once the piece was exhibited in a gallery, it had already become part of the

art worlds. In 2004, the piece was selected as “the most influential artwork of the 20th century” by 500 renowned

artists and historians (Becker 1982).

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Objects, I suggest, become art through their participation in art world contexts, due to

inclusion by curators and gradually changing customer appreciation. However, an exclusive

focus on the authority of these institutions, curators, and customers might create a deceptive

indication that art objects and artists are inactive. Generally speaking let me point out that

artists also actively partake in these constitutive discourses in the art worlds, when they talk to

customers and share their art with them. I argue that both artists and their artworks have

agency. I use the term agency in a manner inspired by Gell (1998). He describes how the

“intention” of an artist, primary agency, is lodged in their artworks, giving them a secondary

agency that makes also art objects appear as agents in particular social situations, which in

turn has an effect on their spectators. Artworks can, as such, be instruments that command a

certain authority over the spectator, because of their particular visual attributes and their

ability to communicate visual representations that hold specific cultural meaning (Andermann

et al. 2005). From this general exploration and introduction of the art world practices of

showing and seeing art, I will, in the following, examine how Aboriginal art in general, and

Ngan’gi art in particular, is subjected to various aesthetic judgments when incorporated in

these relational art world practices. Exactly because all artists, including the Ngan’gi , depend

on the practices of seeing and showing art, and because the roles, value, and status of

Aboriginal art today has grown out of such global interconnectedness, is it important to

explore these practices and how they affect artistic production.

Aesthetic Judgments of Ngan’gi Art: “I want your traditional paintings!”

Tourists have become a central force in the development of local art in Nauiyu, as they are

usually the intended recipients of the works produced at Merrepen Arts. Aboriginal artists

have, as I described in Chapter 4, been subjected to requests to remain “traditional” in their

styles and use of art medias among certain types of customers, particularly the tourists, who

have a tendency to equate “authentic Aboriginal art” with unchanging Aboriginal art. The

quote in this section heading was contributed by a customer entering Merrepen Arts, which is

a reaction the Ngan’gi artists frequently encountered. I use the quote to illustrate my claim

that certain Merrepen Arts customers have conservative preferences concerning what qualifies

as “Aboriginal art.” The quote also highlights my interest in comparing and exploring in the

following how the aesthetic judgments made by Ngan’gi artists might both diverge from and

converge to that of their customers, and what impact this has on their art sales and production.

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All artists that sell their art in public are subjected to aesthetic judgments that evaluate the

status and value of their work, making aesthetic desires and expectations central to art

production. The art critic R. Hughes pinpoints that a “painting... is of unknown value until it is

judged by people external your own society” (1990: 4). Nonetheless, I believe that there are

certain representations and forms of aesthetic judgments that have become particular to

Aboriginal art. These are founded on an intricate history of changing categorisations and

various marketing strategies, and are also partly due to the particular attributes of the art itself,

as well as the public’s understanding of Aboriginal culture. As described in Chapter 4

Aboriginal art was, from early on, conceived as having a traditional, mythological and

spiritual character, due to the artists’ insistence that the designs are from the Dreaming, but

also because such characteristics was reinforced by the marketing of Aboriginal art (Myers

2002). Thus, aesthetic conservatism is often still expected by some art customers.

Furthermore, as mentioned above, Aboriginal art simultaneously embodies the capacity of

being a commodity and an object of significant sacred value to its producers (Myers 1995,

2005). This discrepancy in how the art is valued creates a differentiated understanding

between the customers who purchase art with the interest in finding “pretty pictures” and

affordable bargains, and Ngan’gi artists who create art of great cultural significance, which

Bakhtin labels “othervoiceness” (2004).

In the aftermath of such differences in art appreciation and art production practices, I

observed particularly among the Merrepen Arts audience a lingering conservatism concerning

Ngan’gi art. It has been documented how most Aboriginal artists have, in certain ways, been

forced to deal with similar judgments. Noted by Johnson (1990) and Keller (2008), some art

customers, tourists in particular, equate “traditional- looking” Aboriginal art with authentic

Aboriginal art, displaying conservative resistance to innovative Aboriginal art. Or, in the

words of Thomas, “a preoccupation with “authenticity” still remains powerful in the tribal art

market” (1999: 197). Also, Langton (2006) commented how the global art market has a

hunger for emblems of primitivism, a label that has remained with Aboriginal art due to its

origin in Aboriginal traditional cultural forms and stories. Similarly, Gibson also states that

“remnants of tradition are not what the market wants; what the market wants is the imagined

purity and authenticity of tradition untainted by colonization” (2013: 54).

For me, it is important to capture the consequences of such representations. When curators

following customer preferences choose to exclude innovative artists and reward those with

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“traditional” looking art by representing them, this significantly affects the status and art

production of Aboriginal artists (Michaels 1994; Morphy 1994; Colley 2000; Merlan 2001).

Simultaneously, a focus on tradition can generate limitations, ambiguities, and boundaries that

impair artistic creativity and limit customers’ acceptance for innovative, contemporary styles

and the use of new media by the Ngan’gi artists. I will explore specifically how aesthetic

judgments of Ngan’gi art have granted the art a specific categorisation, and how Ngan’gi

artists deal with the existing contradictions in the creative practices of the art worlds, when

artists and customers meet in the small and local arena of Merrepen Arts.

Ngan’gi artists participate actively in art world practices in their roles as creative artists and as

art centre employees, creating art displays and interacting with customers. Ngan’gi artists are,

as mentioned, motivated in their art production by their intention to teach people different

ways of seeing, and explaining the cultural significance their art holds for them. When

Ngan’gi artists paint, they make continual qualitative and stylistic decisions and adjustments

according to aesthetic judgments of the visual quality of their own work, founded on their

sensorial responses. This is similar to the manner in which customers judge the art, though, I

argue, with a different motivation.

Ngan’gi artists are mainly concerned with how well their works in progress express the

sacred, cosmological and layered content of the design story. This is because they are always

creating visualised relationships between subject-matter and imagery in their paintings. They

describe a good painting as giving them the feeling of a visually flowing movement, while

simultaneously, and most importantly, communicating a reference to their Dreaming.

Furthermore, all artists, also the Ngan’gi, who produce art for sale, are inevitably dependent

on being able to sell to an art market. I observed at Merrepen Arts, and in other Aboriginal art

galleries I visited, a concern among the artists to incorporate into their work knowledge of the

customer’s aesthetic preferences. Duelke also claims that artists from Nauiyu are well aware

that many of their customers’ prefer to buy paintings with a ”traditional flavour,” having a

story reference to the Dreaming (2005: foot note 280). Thus, trying to include the customers’

aesthetic preference for emblems of tradition might influence Ngan’gi artists’ choice in

painting Dreamtime and custom designs. Now, some artists would occasionally and

understandably express a desire to receive “big money” for their paintings; however, more

generally, the interest in money seemed to be underemphasised by a majority of the artists.

The interest in sharing story was more often given as providing the strongest motivation for

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painting. Presented are concrete descriptions of how the Ngan’gi artists express their aesthetic

responses to their own art during the production process. Gracie Kumbi states:

When I do painting, and if I do something wrong then I can feel that I’m not happy here. (Pointing

to the chest). So I paint it over and start again. I work on a little bit. I see it, but inside me it tells me

that it is good. So I feel really happy, and I can continue painting that story until I get it finished.

Kumbi describes how she, as an artist, judges her work as a good painting according to a

strong, positive, and embodied aesthetic response of contentment and happiness. Patricia

Marrfurra adds to this sentiment:

When I finish a painting I step back from it and I look at it, and sometimes I get this feeling that I

am not happy with certain colours in the painting or I left a figure in a wrong place. I feel I’m not

happy, and I try to change em (it) again. When you are painting you are sitting there and trying to

get all the colour and lines right, then when you are finished you feel happy in here (pointing to the

chest) and you step back and try look, and it looks good that feels good, and everything inside

loosens up. When I go back and look at another painting I am not happy with, the tightness is still

there. And I think I should have put another colour on, or another animal or figure on that story,

and it feels really tight inside. It’s like when we have all been stuck in here for what, three weeks, a

month, everything start to close in on us124

… Then when that water is going down like all that

feeling of being tight inside em (it) just goes with the flow of the water. When the sun comes out

and that water is gone you just feel like a flower in bloom ... That’s how I feel with that painting,

when em (its) good, everything just flows!

Most Ngan’gi artists, when asked how they make aesthetic judgments of their work, would

describe this “routine-like” action of placing the art in front of them and viewing it for an

extended period. This act of viewing is probably performed by most artists when judging and

perfecting their own artworks. However, I claim that there is a slight difference in the criteria

for aesthetic judgment. Ngan’gi artists never, as I observed, described paintings as beautiful;

rather, they make aesthetic judgments according to how well they visualise the meanings and

content of the particular design story they are illustrating. They were also concerned with how

well they achieved the appearance of visual movement by using patterns and colours.

As articulated by Marrfurra, her aesthetic judgment of quality in her works is furthermore

governed by internal, physical, sensorially experienced feelings. Thus, a painting is felt as

124

Due to the wet season, the water level rises so high that the community becomes an island surrounded by

water. This creates isolation for a few months, during which time the surrounding regions and the road can only

be reached by boat.

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much as it is seen by Ngan’gi artists. I am sympathetic to Svašek’s (2007) approach to

emotions. She focuses in her art analysis of how artefacts can be active mediators of a wide

variety of emotions or particularly strong feelings. It should be noted that Svašek (2007) sees

emotions as embodied experiences through which individuals actively relate to their human

and non-human environments. Moreover, emotions can be interactive, as they are both

physical and mental. Emotions are also intra-subjective as people influence each other and

create new meanings and emotions through shared social life. Emotions involve both meaning

and feeling, a notion that contributes to bridging the domains of “culture” and “body”

(Merleau-Ponty 1964; Leavitt 1996; Svašek 2005, 2007).125

This approach captures well the

Ngan’gi artists’ aesthetic responses, as Marrfurra links her satisfaction in producing a good

painting with an internal feeling of happiness, experienced when the external floodwater is

withdrawing. Also, customers make their aesthetic judgments based on inner sensorial and

emotional responses experienced when seeing art. As mentioned, Morphy and Perkins (2006)

give the term aesthetics a cross-cultural dimension by describing the ability to respond

sensorially to what we see as a capability shared between all humans. This shared ability is a

necessary premise in making cross-cultural art exchanges meaningful. Nevertheless, what

motivates customers, curators and artists may differ, as they are influenced by personal

preferences and changing art market trends.

Customers are a heterogeneous and diversified group. One main differentiation is between

those only interested in viewing or aesthetically appreciating art, versus those entering a

gallery with a specific intention of purchasing art. Whether the artist is Aboriginal or non-

Aboriginal most customers are searching to achieve a sensorial reaction when viewing a

painting they are content with. This sensorial reaction is what justifies the viewing or buying.

Whereas some customers experience intense emotional responses in a search for inner peace

or even happiness found in visual images, others take a more practical or intellectual

approach. Motivations range from the tourist looking for a souvenir with which to remember

their holiday, to art collectors looking for a purely financial investment. Those who approach

art with the intention of finding something to decorate their home with, are generally more

concerned with how the colours and visual style of a painting match their walls, rather than

taking an interest in the painting’s sacred subject-matter, which is considered so important by

the artists. The customers who views art as a financial investment are more concerned with

125

This is an extended debate that I will not describe any further in this text, only mentioning that Svašek is

probably building on Rosaldo and his analysis of the cultural force of emotions (Rosaldo 1984, 2004).

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judging the economic value of art. They will balance the affordability of a painting against the

status of an artist. Furthermore, as pointed out by Simpson (1981), people make art objects,

but art objects also make people, and customers often attempt to project their identity,

preferences, and status through the art they chose to buy.126

This illuminates the ambiguities

and contrasts present both in contemporary society and cross-cultural art exchanges. A

common ground is the shared interest in exchanging something of value, that of art for

money. In the present day, many customers have learned to appreciate the cultural

significance of Aboriginal art, educated through the insistence of Aboriginal artists on sharing

stories through art. Many customers recognise and value how one receives more than just the

painting when purchasing Aboriginal art; one also gain the cultural knowledge behind each

design, which is included with the painting on the certificate of authenticity.

Philip Wilson ponders whether or not his satisfaction with his work equals that of the

customer: “Like if I am painting and if I make one little mistake, I paint em over and start

again. I really like most of my work, but I don’t know how other people would feel about it.”

All artists must endure this scrutiny, as their artworks are saleable commodities. The level of

recognition for Ngan’gi art changes with the type of art world context they are exhibited in

and according to the types of customers they are viewed by. The visitors to the Merrepen Arts

centre are mostly tourists, both foreign and Australian, who tend to have conservative

preferences. Related to their concern for “authenticity,” I often observed Merrepen Arts

customers asking. “Are the artists local?” Locality is important to many customers, I believe,

wanting to ensure that they are buying a handmade, locally-produced work, which is

conceived as having a higher value than a mass-produced, imported product. Local artists and

curators are able to satisfy desires by customers of Aboriginal art for objects that are locally

produced by “authentic” Aboriginal people by communicating this through their products.

The artists provide detailed stories following each artwork and Merrepen Arts labels state that

these are “authentic designs handmade and printed by Aboriginal artists.”127

Compliments are often paid to the Merrepen Arts gallery; it is spacious and comfortably air

conditioned. Following such initial greetings, most customers are positive with respect to the

126

Simpson (1981) describes in his study of SoHo artists, how customers purchase avant-garde art to express

their own achievement of status in their prosperous careers: It is believed, especially among middle class

customers, that rare art will communicate and facilitate a new social position, based in an individual and

innovative vision, making them stand out from the crowds. 127

The curator at Warlukurlangu Artist Aboriginal Association in Yuendumu jokingly told me how she had

recently changed the labels in a manner she believed would resonate with the authenticity-craving customers:

“This is a piece of art made with love by local artists!”

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art and appreciate the striking, decorative, colourful, and figurative Ngan’gi styles; most

repeatedly complimenting the level of detail in the fine-lined design decorations. However,

many appear baffled by how Ngan’gi art styles appear to be so different from other Aboriginal

art styles. Margie West, a curator of Aboriginal art at The Museum and Art Gallery of

Northern Territory (MAGNT), commented in an interview on how Ngan’gi art’s style

difference, may in her opinion, have complicated their art market acceptance:

I will characterize Ngan’gi art as very graphic (figurative). Also Arnhem Land region has mostly

figurative designs and they had to struggle for a while getting approval for this type of design when

the dominant style in the Aboriginal art market was, and still is, abstract Western Desert designs. I

believe that the strong colours and figurative style of Ngan’gi might be why the Ngan’gi artists

have not received much recognition in the art market for their paintings. The Ngan’gi artists were

also quite boldly painting Christian designs, which have never had a big commercial market.

Western Desert dot paintings were the first forms of Aboriginal art established in the art

market, as Papunya Tula artists were the first to paint their Dreamings on sellable canvases

(Bardon 1991; Bardon et al. 2006). Consequently, certain customers still define dot paintings

as the iconic Aboriginal art style (Gibson 2013). Aboriginal artists from the Desert, Central

and Arnhem Land regions began their art production with red and yellow ochre, white clay

and black charcoal. Thus, the innovative use of bright acrylic pinks, blues, and greens are

regarded by some customers as too “modern” and not fitting their views of traditional

Aboriginal art. However, such reactions differ, as customers either admire or criticise designs

according to personal preferences and what motivates their purchase. Those who favour

Ngan’gi art may do so precisely because of the artists’ use of vivid colours: One customer

stated that “I am so very much drawn to this art, because I love strong colours!” Witnessing

the customers who admired the art, they seemed to have aesthetic responses that almost

transcended the distance between the spectator and the painting they desired. The paintings

themselves act as mediators in the social relationships that arise. In contrast, some customers,

with a little grin, dismissed the art as “too colourful!”

The Ngan’gi artists’ occasional depiction of Christian designs is characterised by West as a

courageous move, because many customers interpret them as an unauthentic expressions of

Catholicism influencing art, which should, according to their preferences, be depictions of

Aboriginal Dreamings rendered in a traditional manner. Ngan’gi artists are, however,

expressing their contemporary ways of being, as both Aborigine and Catholics.

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In an interview with me, the former local manager of Merrepen Arts summarises the critical

customer judgments he frequently received from customers:

Sometimes they (customers) complain about the price, saying that’s too much. When they say that,

especially for the weaving products, saying they are too dear, we show them the photographic

presentation of how we make them. Then they understand it better, how long it takes, and all that

craft and skill is what they pay for. The tourist ask; “why do you all the time use such bright

colours?” “You should paint more traditional” they say things like that. Because what they have in

their minds are ochre colours, but we tell them “no, all the colours you see in our paintings has to

do with in the environment we live in, with green grass and pink flowers in the billabong, and

because of the river em flowing pass our village ... “Oh” they say, “is that why!”

The aesthetic judgments of customers can be harsh and provide an indication of their

motivation for making a purchase. However, Ngan’gi artists are not passive towards such

judgments. I often observed how local employees encouraged their art customers to change

their critical attitudes and broaden their aesthetic appreciation by focusing on the specific

meaning of their art. They explained repeatedly to customers how their paintings are founded

on kinship-owned designs and elaborate stories from their Dreaming, as such sustaining their

local and contemporary world-view and Ngan’gi identity. In a similar way to all artists,

Aboriginal artists create contemporary works that reflect on their present lives, as well as their

historical struggles (Michaels 1994). In this manner, mutually influential and day-to-day

dialogues between artists and other art world participants, contribute to adjusting the

standards for aesthetic art judgments. Unfortunately, in some art world contexts, the “iconic”

definitions of Aboriginal art as abstract Western Desert dot or Arnhem Land cross-hatch

paintings prevail, illustrated in the following customers’ comments at Ngan’gi art:

(02.10.07). Upon entering the gallery a visiting tourist asks “where are your more traditional

paintings?” Then the manger shows him some of the old designs from their acquisition collection.

The visitor looks at them a bit baffled, then concludes “they look nothing like the Aboriginal cross-

hatch paintings I have seen.” We explain how cross-hatch designs are specific for Arnhem Land

region and this is the style that has developed and is painted in Nauiyu.

(23.12.08). Three young girls are taking a look at the gallery exhibition. For a while I walk with

them and tell them a few design stories of the paintings they compliment. During the conversation

one of them asked for didgeridoos, upon explaining that they are not currently produced she

replies; “that is so sad, all this art looks so commercialized! I am sure they sell didgeridoos in

Peppimenarti (neighbouring community), their work is more traditional and with ochre colours.”

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This is yet another example of the requests I observed being made by visiting customers,

especially tourists, for more “traditional” art at Merrepen Arts. I have concluded from my

observation of many such statements, with Finlayson (1990) and Altman and Taylor (2000)

arguing likewise, that tourists can be quite conservative when judging what kind of art

qualifies as “authentic Aboriginal art.” According to my experiences with art sales at

Merrepen Arts, and from my observations and conversations with curators and customers at

many Australian galleries representing Aboriginal artists, I suggest that the type of customers

that visit fine art galleries have a higher degree of acceptance for innovative Aboriginal art.

However, such acceptance is limited by the customers of the broader art markets, who often

visit souvenir shops, art fairs, and small local art centres such as Merrepen Arts.

These comments also illustrate how certain customers still consider change and development

in Aboriginal designs as devaluating. Furthermore, certain art categories, such as the Arnhem

Land region’s cross-hatch designs, Western Desert dot paintings, or Peppimenarti weaving

designs, in which the artists have chosen to paint abstractly and with acrylics colours of ochre

shades, are still interpreted as more “traditional,” and thus, more “authentic” by certain

customers. Consequently, not all Aboriginal art styles have received the same art world

recognition. In my role as an assistant in art sales I had to explain to tourists countless times

how all Aboriginal art produced today for sale is contemporary, and that the choice of

Ngan’gi artists to use a large spectrum of colours is not “less traditional” or “more

commercialised”, only innovative. The most assertive customers would express a refusal to

accept Ngan’gi art as authentic, claiming upon entering the gallery, “This is not Aboriginal

art!”128

Such strong reactions are fortunately rare and based on a lack of knowledge about the

existing diversity in Aboriginal art styles. Ngan’gi artists told me how they perceived such

comments as extremely offensive and I once saw the manager give a quite emotional

response, “That is how we paint; that is our style, we paint the world around us as we see it;

we paint how we feel inside. We paint from our hearts” (Øien 2005). It is an ironic contrast to

the art world participants’ conservative claim for “traditional” Aboriginal art, as commented

by Thomas (1999), that the manner in which Aboriginal artists have adapted their designs to

new media is actually extraordinarily innovative.

128

Dubin (2001) describes how Navajo Indians producing art in north east Arizona struggle with similar

restrictions, as their art is represented, exchanged, discussed and judged by non-Native people: Some

representatives of the art world even dismiss their art as “just not Indian enough” (Dubin 2001: 1).

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As I have touched upon previously, I believe that the apparent immediacy of an aesthetic

response can be misleading, because it is conditioned by experiences created over time,

through learned art appreciation. Apparent from the descriptions above, if customers judge the

visual qualities of an Ngan’gi painting based exclusively on their own personal and emotional

response, they might miss out on the richness that more cultural contextualisation would bring

to the experience. A loss of some of the complexities in the designs and the perspectives of

the Ngan’gi artists may occur if customers insist on interpreting art only according to their

own personal and “familiar” aesthetic responses and preferences. Morphy (2007) suggests to

overcome the difference in aesthetic judgment by arguing that to apply aesthetics cross-

culturally, one must make “the familiar unfamiliar.” He means that one should not take one’s

aesthetic responses for granted, but should look more closely and try to see what the artists

see: Finding differences in the similar acts of visual appreciation.

Marrfurra often ponders whether what she is trying to communicate actually comes across:

“Yes, sometimes they (customers) just walk off after talking to you and mumble to

themselves, and I think “might be them mob did not understand me,” but most of the time I

think they understand, or at least a little bit. I guess all you can do is try.” The effectiveness of

such communication remains uncertain, but I believe that Ngan’gi art and the Ngan’gi artists

command some reaction with their mere presence. Assisted by the artists’ sharing of their

design stories, a majority of the Merrepen Arts customers have now widened their

perspectives on art and are gradually becoming more sensitive to the cultural significance of

the art, which enhances the possibility for cross-cultural aesthetics. This is true at least among

the customers who are willing to challenge their familiar aesthetic responses with the

unfamiliar and gaze beyond the “pretty pictures” by also reading the stories of the artists.

Regardless of these achievements, when art is produced to be offered for sale in the art

market, it will be evaluated visually by critics, customers, and buyers who focus on notions of

individual artistry, creativity and the aesthetic quality of the object created (Benjamin 1998;

Merlan 2001). Such constant judgments, at their worst going so far as to even question the

artists’ identities as Aborigines, makes it understandable that many Aboriginal artists describe

customer interaction as a “shame job.” The “shame job” term will be analysed below in

relation to how conflicting and culturally-founded codes of conduct affect the interactions

between “black fella” artists and “white fella” customers in the art worlds.

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“Black” Art on “White” Walls?129

When Ngan’gi artists participate in various art world settings, such as urban fine art galleries,

the Merrepen Arts Festival, or the local Merrepen Arts local gallery, they do so with a goal of

sharing their culture through art. In this way, they achieve moments of cross-cultural

communication with customers and spectators. The art world contexts representing their art

are, as previously mentioned, meeting places where Aboriginal art can possibly acts as a

mediator between artists and their audience. However, these arenas are not neutral (Clifford

1988; Vogel 1989; Karp et al. 1991; Michaels 1994; Steiner 1994; Marcus et al. 1995; Myers

1995, 2006a; Svašek 2007). Rather, according to my own observations of various forms of art

showing, I found that in some ways, exhibition contexts maintain an asymmetrical power

balance that does not favour Ngan’gi artists, or their particular ways of being and interacting.

I claim that the ways of interacting among white art world representatives differ strongly from

Aboriginal, often kinship-based, codes for social interaction. Therefore, many Ngan’gi artists

reported to me that the artist-customer interactions they are expected to partake in when

circulating their art is experienced as a “shame job.” Taking a critical view on contemporary

exchanges of Aboriginal and Ngan’gi art, I question in the following what are the

contradictions manifested in the art market institutions, to cause Ngan’gi artists to experience

such a loss of autonomy and sense of limited mastery of the social codes, that they would

label customer interactions as a shame job. Furthermore, it will be questioned in the following

whether or not these art world meetings actually do allow for movements of cross-cultural

communication when faced with such differentiated codes of social interaction.

Let me first explore what could be the historical and institutional elements in the

asymmetrical power balance that is manifested in the art worlds. Graburn (1976) labels

Aboriginal art as “arts of the Fourth world,” characterised by being produced by minorities

engulfed in a larger nation state. Tonkinson uses the term “white fella business” when

describing early contact during the historical establishment of the mission stations; “contact

with the whites represented an alien culture and an alien power” (1978: 115). In such settler

societies as Australia, there are complex boundaries between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal

people, which can also be extended into the art exchanging spheres, and as such, possibly

diminish the Aboriginal artists’ control over their own art. Furthermore, in the past, the role of

129

I chose this title because it is descriptive of the existing paradoxes and contradictions that may be present

when Australian art world institutions exhibit Aboriginal art. Later, I saw the same title used in another

publication (Caruana 2006), and although it was an inspiring text, the title was not taken from this publication.

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the individual creative artist and art market institutions did not exist in Aboriginal

communities. As Merlan (2000) also comments, the reformulation of Aboriginal stories and

past experiences into art and political struggles creates new representations of “Aboriginality”

that, at the same time, validates Aboriginal culture and contributes to inequality; by reducing

the producers’ control over how their stories are presented and conceived. Furthermore, when

Aborigines began producing art for sale, their art was represented in galleries and museums.

These were art world institutions that could be labelled as “white fellas businesses,” because

they were historically developed and constructed external of Aboriginal communities, in

Western or European societies. Furthermore, Graburn (1976) argues, with relevance to

Ngan’gi artists, that they rarely produce art for their own consumption, yet suddenly their art

production is dependent on commercial art market and customer demands.

Another factor that could further alienate Aboriginal artists from art exchanging contexts is

the actuality that galleries and museums are often owned and managed by members of the

National Australian majority, not the Aboriginal minority. Many Aboriginal art centres in the

Northern Territory have external art curators, mostly non-Aborigines, in leading positions,

though facilitating local art production. This was also the case at Merrepen Arts from its

initiation in 1988 until 2005. As described in Chapter 3 the Ngan’gi artists and employees had

a strong desire for complete control when managing their own art centre. However, the

business laws proved too demanding, and in spite of much effort expended by the local

management, Merrepen Arts was closed until they received external management assistance.

Though art sales and income is a goal for the Ngan’gi artists, they stated that their interest in

economic gain is less important to them than the sharing of story. Thus, there might also be a

contradiction arising from the art worlds’ stronger focus on business and material gain,

compared with the artists’ focus on sharing sacred designs. In a MAGNT exhibition in

Darwin, I read this quote by the artist Wandu Marika, saying “I do not paint just for the

pleasure of it. My painting has meaning, knowledge, and power.” When Aboriginal paintings

are defined as high art and are featured in the fine art galleries, they are, as mentioned above,

detached from their local site of production, as well as their local significance (Myers 1995,

2005). Simpson (1981: 63) describes how artists often claim that producing art is more than

an occupation or a way of making a living: Artists’ occupational identity is based on a certain

“mode of consciousness, a way of being in the world.” However, the Ngan’gi artists

participate within contexts having an infrastructure that is not of their own making, where

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their art will be judged according to aesthetic quality and artistic talent by non-Aboriginal

customers and curators. There is no guarantee that the customers who come from a different

cultural background will appreciate the culturally-based significance of the cosmological

knowledge they share through kinship-owned designs (Michaels 1994).

It is hard to grasp how all of these contradictions materialize. However, claiming that the art

worlds are only “white fella business,” or a matter of “black” art on “white” walls, as

questioned in this section heading, is to simplify a complex situation of exchange. Such a

conclusion would also deprive Aborigines of agency, and deem irrelevant the intent and the

ability they have demonstrated for changing and adapting their cultural practices for art

exchanges (Morphy 2006). Rather, I will describe below how these contradictions between

“black” artists and “white” art world participants are founded on conflicting, culturally-

specific, kinship-based ways of being and communicating.

When talking to two of the founding women of the art movement in Nauiyu, Miriam-Rose

Ungunmerr and Patricia Marrfurra, they both expressed how they and many of their fellow

local artists were, at times, uncomfortable with sharing their stories through talking publicly.

However, they both insist they can share stories through painting with ease and pride! Forge

(1973) argues that the value of art lies primarily in its ability to communicate that which is not

communicable in any other way; this also applies to the Ngan’gi artists. For them, painting is

performed with comfort. Moreover, the public display of paintings, rather than talking

publicly, builds on their tradition of visual representations of shared stories. Yet, art

exhibition settings are still, for some Ngan’gi artists, experienced as unfamiliar places. In

particular, the expected customer interaction is dreaded and described by many Ngan’gi artists

as a “shame job.” In the following section I will discuss in more specific terms why and how

institutional authority, aesthetic judgments of their art, and conventions of interaction in art

exchanging contexts are experienced by many Ngan’gi artists as a “shame job.”

Kinship is important to understanding the social organisation and forms of social interaction

taking place in Aboriginal communities, and, I believe, also vital to understanding how and

why Ngan’gi artists use the term “shame job” to describe art world interaction. Myers (1986)

also encountered the term shame among the Pintupi, an Aboriginal group from the Gibson

Desert of Western Australia, and I concur with his suggestion of relating the term to kinship-

dependent concepts of relatedness. Similarly to how the Ngan’gi artists describe that they

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experience customer interactions as difficult, Myers also observes how the Pintupi behaved in

a restrained way, and seemingly with embarrassment, when the community received visitors

from the external. Myers (1986) argues that the ability to experience a particular form of

shame is developed as part of individual socialisation: What can be conceived as “shyness”

might, according to Aboriginal behavioural codes or social practices, be an expression of

politeness. Underpinning such behavioural codes is the Aboriginal perception or conception

of the presentation of self. Shared identity with others is seen as the primary feature of

selfhood, and when in public, this shared identity should always be prominent. In a manner of

speaking, “shame” helps to separate what are defined as “private” and “public” spheres. A

person interacting in public should be “devoid of egotism, selfishness, or individuality”

(Myers 1991:121). Because of the kinship-based ideology of “relatedness” and the

overarching concept of “looking after each other,” it is of great importance to sustain

relationships with others by respecting each person’s autonomy. These concepts include

learning and internalising the standards for showing respect for communality and acting

according to certain codes of behaviour when in public settings. The term “shame” is used to

express the discomfort experienced by Aborigines in the public domain when they are being

observed by others, a discomfort that seemed to originate from fear of acting wrongly

according to these moral and behavioural codes. If a person speaks up too vocally in public or

places too much emphasis on the individual, this is seen as “shameful” because it breaches the

Law of relatedness, thus exposing the person as acting egotistically (Myers 1986).

Gibson (2013) also describes the pressure to act in accordance with societal norms and

communal values present in Aboriginal culture. Particularly, behaviour that causes the

individual to stand out from the group is socially condemned. However, her analysis of the art

of Wilcannia Aborigines, illustrates how art provided new possibilities for negotiation

through the construction of an artistic identity, which allowed for more intersubjective

freedom concerning communal constraints (Gibson 2013). Similarly, the Ngan’gi artists also

created their own strategies when combining the roles of being individual artists with notions

of kinship-based relatedness. According to my ethnographic material, I also found that among

the Ngan’gi, the kinship-based concept of “relatedness” incorporates the importance of

respecting each person’s autonomy in public, and to “looking after each other” by sharing

material goods and always placing the interest of the group above that of the individual. These

social codes affect the interactions between community members, but also the interactions

with non-Aboriginal customers. For instance I observed at an etching exhibition in Darwin,

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how enthusiastic and pushy customers who admired Ngan’gi art flocked around the artists,

wanting to talk to them and praise their work. The Ngan’gi artists, who always behave with

modesty in public, seemed to be uncomfortable, according to my observations. Seemingly

positive attention and artistic approval given to individual artists when judging their personal

talent, made him or her stand out from the kinship groups of which they are a part. I suggest

that when the role of an individual artist is being accentuated at the cost of communality, this

is perceived as a negative experience, because it conflicts with the shared values and codes of

interaction founded on relatedness.

According to kinship-based practices founded on relatedness, one is, as a community and

kinship member, obliged to give, but also to receive, material goods such as food and money,

nurture, and support from relatives. The kinship-based bonds that are manifested through such

exchanges draw one’s relatives closer, yet place strangers, who are not part of the kinship-

based exchanging groups, at a distance. Therefore, strangers are often seen as dangerous, as

one cannot discern their intentions or predict their behaviour, and they cannot be expected to

have the same rights and duties as locals (Myers 1986). Thus, according to Ngan’gi concepts,

a stranger is an outsider, who should, in this position, behave modestly and hesitantly in

public, and in their approach to the Aboriginal people. In my experience, visiting customers

rarely display what the Aborigines would describe as modesty. I observed them as having a

strong desire to talk to, photograph, or even hug the artists. I believe that such breaches of

Aboriginal codes for proper public conduct contribute strongly to the perception that

interacting with customers is a “shame job.” In the front region of the gallery area, the artists

are obliged to endure critical and demanding, as well as over-enthusiastic, customers.

However, in “backstage” areas (Goffman 1992), the tourists were the recipients of judgment,

as the artists felt free to make fun of their clothes, smell, body shape, and demeanour.

Sylvia Klienert, an Associate Professor at the Centre for Cross-Cultural Research at the

National Australian University in Canberra, has conducted research and written a number of

publications on Aboriginal art. When I interviewed her in February 2008, she shared with me

her informed view on the concept of “shame job:”

I think that idea of shame has a strong dynamic role to play in Aboriginal communities. It has also

come up in the music industry; there are instances where Aboriginal rock bands play with their

backs facing the audience because it is such a shame job. So how do you get around that? I can’t

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answer that. It is just something that they have to understand that that’s how they feel about it, but

it is important for the community that they do that.

When playing on stage, the musicians are highlighting their individuality. Thus, turning their

backs is an act I interpret as their strategy to avoid accentuating themselves at the cost of their

kinship group, which is shameful according to social codes of behaviour based on relatedness.

I encountered and observed, on several occasions, the use and expression of “shame job.” I

have gathered a collection of statements from several Ngan’gi artists and Merrepen Arts

employees, given to me when I asked them how they experience dealing with customers:

“Shame job! I get nervous. I don’t want to talk to them (customers). I get embarrassed. I don’t

know what to say, or I am afraid I can’t answer their questions, or I’ll give the wrong answer or say

something out of place.”...

“Shame job means that people are too shy to talk in front of customers” …

“Shame job means being very shy to talk to white people, or we are ashamed because of the other

people around, because they might tease. Most people like to tease a lot, if we or an Aboriginal are

talking to a white person. Most Aborigines get really shy, they don’t want to talk, and they just

walk off or look another way” …

“Shame job just means that you are nervous to say something out of place, or that people might

laugh at you or make fun of you. You don’t wanna make eye contact with people, so you look

around at what is happening in the room” …

“Embarrassed, yeh! Only sometimes I feel … when I’m having two or four (customers) around me,

like em (it’s) too much for me”...

This collection of artist statements expresses the experience of embarrassment and fear of

failure when talking to customers, and the importance of acting modestly in public. The

“teasing” the artists are subjected to by other members of the Nauiyu community, mentioned

here, is an act performed to remind each other not to stand out too much, draw attention to

themselves in public, or develop relationships with outsiders though interaction. Rather, in

public, one should always appreciate and favour relatedness with locals, at the expense of

contact with strangers. I observed how Aboriginal artists appearing to become comfortable in

the “white art world settings” would immediately have to endure teasing from their relatives,

who describe them as “too busy becoming white fellas.” This acts as a constant reminder to

value the shared communality in Nauiyu, above the fleeting relationships of the art worlds.

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Many artists told me how they prefer having the art and design stories “speak” on their behalf,

as a materialisation of their voices that extends into the world, making the dreaded public

speaking redundant. However, when public speaking was unavoidable, I observed how the

artists were happy to let their art curators speak on their behalf. I spoke to many art curators

who were frustrated by the critique they received when speaking for their artists, often

interpreted as white domination of Aboriginal artists. One curator said: “But people don’t

understand that they (the Aboriginal artists) are just going to freak out, they don’t wanna talk

to the “white fellas.” That’s what they pay us for, you are our art coordinator; you talk for

us!” When artists prefer to have their coordinator talk for them, it is not merely because of a

dislike of talking to white fellas. It may also be a case of them not being so familiar with the

codes of conduct in art world contexts. The artists also find it uncomfortable that the

customers are so unfamiliar with their codes of conduct and ways of interacting. A majority

of customers are unaware of how Aborigines prefer a modest demeanour in public, and would

prefer approval as kinship groups that share design ownership in communality. This is one of

the contradictions embedded in the art world due to differentiated art production practices,

described by Michaels (1994). Although many Aboriginal artists often paint and reproduce

designs owned by collective kinship groups, they are nevertheless always valued and

recognised in the art worlds for their individual talent (Michaels 1994).

Susan Daily, a silk painter regularly involved in silk painting workshops at Merrepen Arts,

describes in an interview how she frequently observed the artists avoiding customers, because

the customers act disrespectfully according to Ngan’gi codes of public behaviour:

I have many times seen them see a tourist and run for it. I have been in the shed and everybody

suddenly left and I am there all alone and I look up and there is this tourist standing at the door.

They just go, and I don’t blame them cause a lot of people come just to look, if they bought things

that would be fine, but to go into a place and just stare like it is a zoo really goes up my nose.

According to my observance of customer interaction in the Merrepen Arts gallery, the

Ngan’gi artists seem to prefer interacting with customers when the artists are present in

groups, as illustrated in the following field note event:

(11.06.08). An elderly couple arrives in the gallery and appears to be interested in the art. At that

moment a group of four artists were inside the gallery, talking. To my surprise they do not leave as

they often do when customers arrive, rather they follow the couple through the gallery openly

telling them stories for each design they are looking at.

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While acting as a group, the kinship-based communality is not threatened, and according to

my interpretation, being in a group seems to make the Ngan’gi artists more willing to interact

with the customers. Observing the social interaction transpiring in the gallery, I also found

that older artists communicated more freely with customers, in spite of the younger artists

having a better command of the English language. I believe that the younger employees were

more likely to worry about critiques from their relatives. This greater willingness of the elder

artists to interact with customers occurs, perhaps, because the elders have higher statuses in

the kinship groups, and are therefore less likely to be teased or believed to be breaching the

codes of relatedness when interacting with outsiders.

Apparently, for Ngan’gi artists, the act of painting is performed with ease. Public speaking is

considered less problematic when performed in groups. However, handling criticism; good or

bad; and talking to customers alone is avoided and disliked by many Ngan’gi artists and

employees. Thus, when participating in art exchanging practices, some borders are crossed,

while others remain. Following Myers (2002), I acknowledge that contemporary Aboriginal

artists strive to create artworks that can be considered “intercultural products” whose

meaning is negotiated within art world contexts. Thus, Aboriginal artists are not just culture-

bearers, but cultural producers (Myers 2006a). Aboriginal art forms are increasingly

recognised for their cultural significance, precisely because the artists have been participating

in art world discourses. Through continuing art exchanges, the art worlds are gradually

becoming less foreign to Ngan’gi artists, who continue to make themselves and their culture

visible through art circulation. Below, I further explore how stratified art markets nevertheless

maintain a certain authority in defining the status of art, according to how and where it is

exhibited.

Ngan’gi Art Characterised by Stratified Art Worlds

The art worlds are stratified, from the low-end market of shops and art fairs, to commercial

fine art galleries. I argue that when art objects that are offered for sale move from the site of

production to one of these sale exhibition settings to be viewed, judged, and eventually

purchased and transferred to someone’s home, these movements are not merely physical.

Movement is integral to the becoming of art, as each step contributes to transformative

processes of value production. I maintain that, for all artists, the institution their works are

exhibited in, whether a souvenir shop or a gallery, has direct consequences concerning how

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their art is categorised, priced, and valued by art customers and art critics. As demonstrated by

Strathern (1999), all objects, including art, have endless potential for dissemination, but the

uninhibited circulation of art is limited by particular curatorial forms of exclusion that create

fickle boundaries in the art market. Becker (1982) developed an interesting sociological and

contextual approach to art by focusing on how the inclusion of art in certain exhibition

settings is actually based on exclusion, and is determined by various art world participants.

Becker (1982) focuses on analysing the art worlds by exploring the complexity of the

collaborative networks of participants, and how they create fickle categories based on general

opinions when defining which kinds of objects, which attributes, which forms of artistic

talent, and which aesthetic virtues qualify objects with the status of art. Inspired by Clifford

(1988), I wish to critique the boundaries resulting from such art world practices of

segregation and exclusion, where certain forms of Aboriginal art is selected as fine art and

others are not, based on aesthetic judgments by authoritative art world representatives.

Thus, following my own ethnographic research, and former analyses of the art worlds and art

circulation (Becker 1982; Appadurai 1986; Ericson 1988; Plattner 1996; Svašek 1997, 2007),

I argue that objects enter into many value-changing transformations due to the economic

exchanges in which they participate, in specific cultural and historical contexts. I also

maintain that the formal qualities of art and artistic talent are not the only factors in achieving

the status and reputation of a “top artist.” Achieved or denied inclusion in certain art world

institutions directly affects the recognition and status one receives by art world participants.

Therefore, it is of utmost importance to explore the specific consequences that art world

inclusion or exclusion has for Ngan’gi artists and their art. However, before specifically

analysing the effect that circulation has had on the categorisation of Ngan’gi art, I must

provide an initial elaboration of the particular practices characterising stratified art worlds. I

will explore, first, how the aesthetic judgments to which their art is subjected are founded on

historical practices of exclusion. I am then interested in analysing how the judgment of

curators consequently contributes to creating a variety of art categories, which directly affect

the status and value of the art. I will provide general ethnographic examples throughout,

according to my own observations of such art world practices.

Providing a historical contextualisation of the aesthetic judgment of art allows me to explore

how curatorial definitions of what is, and what is not, art depend on sorting mechanisms that

extenuate exclusivity. These sorting mechanisms can be described by using Kant’s (1951)

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well-known philosophical demarcation of an autonomous aesthetic domain of human

judgment, separate from practical, utilitarian reason and moral judgment. From Kant’s (1951)

philosophy grew an art definition in which the subjective, aesthetic art experience was in

focus, and the creative, individual, art genius was seen as having a gift that separates him or

her from the general public. Art is seen as created with skill, to be visually beautiful;

something cultivated and sublime, in contrast to natural beauty, providing the spectators an

overwhelming experience. Thus, only objects considered extraordinary were worthy of the

status of art. I believe, contrary to Kant (1951), that there is much more to art than talent and

beauty. Such characteristics are, I argue, simplifications of the complexities behind achieving

the status and recognition of a top artist.

Nevertheless, in my own explorations of the art worlds, I repeatedly encountered an attitude

among curators that art was judged, by themselves and others, according to talent and

seemingly universal standards of beauty (Kant 1951). Also, Svašek (1997), building on Kant,

has pointed out how the popularised view of the artist as a talented genius and icon of

creativity is still presently reinforced by art world participants such as art dealers, historians,

critics, and even the artists themselves. Many of the curators with whom I spoke seemed

convinced that as long as “artistic talent” and aesthetic excellence are present, art world

recognition would result. A conversation I had with a curator, at Papunya Tula Artists in Alice

Springs, illustrates how her aesthetic judgments are based on what she views as talent:

June 2008. “Top artists that make fine art are first and foremost chosen on talent! That somebody

makes art of good quality and details have a good story and an eye for composition, balance, and

use of colour.” I ask “but isn’t there also other factors of importance such as having a good curator

and being represented by a gallery to help you build an artistic career?” “Well that goes along side

it, underneath so to speak.”

The curator insists that when she is accrediting certain artists with the status “top artist,” her

judgment is based purely on recognition of great artistic talent. Most of the curators with

whom I spoke, including this one, downplay the importance of art world recognition, stating

that talent is the main factor. I argue that this leaves the impression that curators, when

choosing to define certain objects as art follow some sort of shared, agreed upon, and

established conventional standards for their judgments; this was as also pointed out by Becker

(1982). Subsequently, acclaimed talent reassures the customer that it is the quality of the work

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that endows artists with their exclusive status, which justifies the high prices curators demand

for fine art.

Furthermore, when curators make aesthetic, qualitative judgments about a work of art, they

decide more than merely whether or not to exhibit the art piece in a particular display.

Curators also judge what characteristics qualify an object for the cultural category of art, and

then, as good or bad, high or low art, with an authority described by Myers (2001) as

“powerful discrimination.” Citing Hatcher (1999: 191), there exists in the art worlds “a more

or less generally accepted continuum from cheap, ugly, poorly made objects to expensive

works of high aesthetic quality and fine craftsmanship that are very expensive.” Graburn

(1976) classified as many as seven categories existing in the art worlds based on aesthetic and

formal standards of art valuation, artists’ intention, and intended audiences, creating a

hierarchical scale from the lower to the higher end of the market. Three of them were

“traditional or functional art,” “souvenirs / tourist art,” and “commercial fine art:” these are

categories that are still applied in the contemporary art market, according to my observations.

Povinelli (2002), describes how categorisation depends on how and where the art is being

exhibited, I concur with this view. She describes how “good Aboriginal art” includes

paintings, sculptures, and artefacts that are displayed in international galleries to critical

approval, while what has been classified as “bad Aboriginal art” is sold in tourist stalls across

Australia and beyond. Thus, as claimed by Fabian (1998) the real aesthetic power lies not

with those who paint but with those who classify.

Though it may seem harsh to judge, and possibly exclude, the works of eager artists, this

“discrimination” has the function of maintaining the exclusivity of the fine art category by

elevating certain objects to a status, price, and value higher than other practical, crafted

objects in the world. In particular, the fine art category is deemed “exclusive” and defined, as

pointed out by Morphy (2008), in opposition to art that is viewed as less valuable, less artistic,

and more repetitive, which is defined rather as craft or functional art. In the words of Clifford,

“treatment of artifacts as fine art is currently one of the most effective ways to communicate

cross-culturally a sense of quality, meaning, and importance”(1997: 121). Such an accolade is

also related to economic value, as works defined and exhibited as fine art will receive the

highest prices. However, what is important here, which is also noted by Svašek (2007), is that

the “fine art” category is actually a social attribution. Assigning an art object a certain status is

not necessarily due to an inherent quality in the object. When defined as either “fine” or “low”

art, the status and value of the art is transformed culturally, economically, and socially, judged

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according to the tastes and ideologies of larger economies (Graburn 1976; Appadurai 1986).

Thus, when Aboriginal art, or Ngan’gi art, is subjected to classification within these art

categories, and subsequently either included or excluded from representation in certain art

world contexts, this has a direct consequence for their status. Nevertheless, curators cannot

force customers to accept what they claim is artistic talent. In the words of Simpson, “they

(art dealers) propose and the market disposes” (1981: 32). Thus, customers also have a certain

authority when choosing what to view and purchase, decisions often structured by their own

particular and personal motivations for approaching and purchasing art, their interests and

expectations, and their former experiences with art appreciation. Furthermore, the acceptance

of Aboriginal bark and ochre paintings as art is also a testimony to the artists’ agency and

contribution in transforming the aesthetic standards of art judgment.

To provide an ethnographic example of how curators categorise Aboriginal artists and their

art, I present a conversation I had with a curator in Alice Springs employed at the fine art

Gallery Gondwana:

(04.07.08) Look I’ll give you some inside information! I operate with four levels of artists, each

level increases the price. The first is “dead in the water” this is something I will never say in front

of customers of course. These are the very poorly made designs, often repeated and rigid looking

by young artists that are not going anywhere. Just right above this one is “tourist art”, which is

what the least knowledgeable customers want because it sort of epitomizes their idea of Aboriginal

art: simple, little square canvases with rigid “traditional looking” dot paintings. These are good, but

not outstanding. Then there is quite a leap to the next category which is “emerging artists.” These

are the ones that stand out and show talent, innovation, and have the potential to develop into a top

artist. The last category is “the collectables” the artists that are of top quality and that have

received art market recognition, and can sell in a price class of their own.

This curator organises Aboriginal art according to his own four standardised categories, where

he judges the experience and talent of the artist, aesthetic quality of the work, and how and

where it should be exhibited. During my fieldwork I visited numerous art exchanging

contexts. The art world representatives with whom I spoke all had their “sorting mechanisms”

based on what they claimed to be mutually shared conventions. Bourdieu (1984) also pointed

out that curators claim to follow agreed codes of taste and connoisseurship when deciding

how certain works are recognised as having particular styles. This is done to justify the

inclusion of certain works in certain categories or schools of art, and to maintain the

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exclusivity of the category of fine art. However, the categories of this curator illustrate how

such judgments are also partly subjective, not bound and unchanging, making the boundaries

for each category blurry. The categorisations of the Gallery Gondwana curator also include

the assumption that certain forms of art are believed to appeal to different types of customers.

Plattner (1996), in his analysis of art worlds, points out how high, fine art is believed to

appeal to social elites, and affordable “low art” to the masses. Thus, not only are art markets

stratified, but also are the types of audience the various exhibitions target, because their

appreciation of art differs.

The physical movements and abstract changes in value and meaning are what also give

objects their own biography or “social life” (Appadurai 1986). Steiner (1994) applied the term

transit to describe the processes of change when African objects were moved into the

commercial spaces of art exchange, and went through specific transitions as the objects

became defined and valued as art. Svašek (2007) also attempts to capture how objects change

status and how artists are stimulated in their creativity by the globalising forces that

reconceptualise their work, by applying the terms transit, transition, and transformation:

Transit refers to the physical movement of objects, people, and images in time and across

social and geographical boundaries of various art world contexts. Transition refers to an

analysis of how the meaning, value, and status of art objects, and how people appreciate them

change as part of the movement process. Transformation is concerned with how people in

transit relate to changing social and material environments, as they find themselves in

different places and historical periods (Svašek 2010). In Maningrida, an employee at the local

art centre described the local art production practices to me in a manner that illustrates how

art objects change status and meaning facilitated through contextual movement:

(28.08.07). It is so funny when we get the paintings in from the outback they are sometimes really

dirty, they got everything on them sand, dirt, and food scraps. And they are wrapped up in old,

dirty blankets with dog piss on. Sometimes we have to touch up the white parts of a painting to

cover up a kid’s hand smudge or a dog’s footprints. Then when the galleries in the city get these

paintings, they wrap them up so carefully. I just find that really funny!

The paintings make a move from the community, where the artists sit on the grown and paint

surrounded by family (and apparently dogs), to an almost sterile exhibition space. In the

galleries, paintings are handled by art coordinators wearing protective gloves, while storing

the artworks or hanging them on well-lit walls, in carefully-planned and spacious

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arrangements. The objects are evaluated according to a “new regime of value” (Appadurai

1986), and there has occurred a transition in status (Svašek 2007).

For the artists, the value is in the sharing of story, and the sacred nature of the design they

paint remains unchanged regardless of stains on the painting. In contrast, for the curators, it is

important to preserve the fragile ochre-painted canvases or barks. Paintings are priced

commodities that are to be exhibited for the visual appreciation of paying customers. When

artworks are re-touched before exhibition, it is an act that goes beyond mere restoration; it is

an elevation of the object to the transcendental status of fine art. Within art world contexts,

there exist a multitude of preferences; while some prefer a clean design from which stains and

obvious mistakes are removed, others would resist such “touch ups” as meddling, and might

perceive the painting as less authentic if they knew that the non-Aboriginal manager had been

adding to the artists’ touch. Myers (2004a) argues that such practices are believed to “purify”

the art object, judged according to an aesthetic order that detaches it from its properties,

deemed irrelevant to this judgment. Restoration that removes stains and artistic “mistakes” is,

in my opinion, a form of denial of the actual processual becoming in which the art partakes,

through activities of production, movement, and gradual value transformations.

From my observation of art world contexts, it was apparent that the status of certain art

objects is transformed, not only by showing practices, but also according to accessibility. Art

world participants can occasionally and gradually agree to open up art categories, elevating

certain art styles to the status of fine art, or they can narrow them by confining former fine art

styles to the inferior souvenir category. Graburn (1976) and Clifford (1988) have illustrated

how art that was formerly considered “tourist art” can become “fine art” and vice versa.130

The lowering of art’s status is often a consequence of increased production of certain styles or

media, based on the assumption that mass-production and its subsequent commercialisation is

devaluating. Aboriginal artists producing low-quality paintings for quick cash, for example,

contribute to concerns about the cultural integrity of their work. Susan Daily commented on

the matter: “The art of W… has become quick, whack it up, and go to the pub, and get a slab

a beer before the paint dries! There is an awful lot of art like that around; we call that pub art.”

This form of art production is also referred to as “dots for dollars.” Because of the commercial

success achieved by Papunya Tula dot paintings from the Western Desert, many Aboriginal

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See Clifford’s analysis of the “modern art-culture system” where he uses a “semiotic square” to illustrate how

cultural objects and works of art are classified in various categories and assigned value according to negotiations

concerning their authenticity. He also illustrates how objects can move between the categories (1988: 224).

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artists are using the dot style in their art. Therein lies the contradiction: when certain

Aboriginal art styles are labelled fine art, the production and commercial demand for these

styles increases. Hence, mass production is a possibility and increased accessibility inverts the

high status and novelty of what used to be “new” and rare art styles. Graburn (1976) describes

these market mechanisms as “success breeds failure” or “familiarity breeds contempt.”

The Aboriginal art movement has, however, developed certain mechanisms to avoid such

devaluation. Artists who are selling their work unrepresented are labelled as “carpet beggars,”

a practice frowned upon by critics, collectors, art coordinators, and other Aboriginal artists

who are organised as members of local art centres. They all encourage Aboriginal artists to

sell their work through the art centres in their communities, which ensures economic return to

the artists, while also helping to maintain the standards of the art by assisting in art training,

providing quality equipment, and selling the art with authenticating certificates.

In the following section I will give descriptions of how the status of Ngan’gi artists and their

art, is transformed through art exchanges, practices of showing, and art categorisations

constituted by representations, or misrepresentations, made by various art world participants

in many stratified art world contexts.

“My art is really fine, high art now, and people are seeing me!”

After years of selling and showing their art at the local gallery in Merrepen Arts, at

exhibitions in urban fine art galleries external of Nauiyu, and at the annual Merrepen Arts

Festival, Ngan’gi artists have gradually become more aware of customer preferences and have

made adjustments in their art production and presentations accordingly. The quote of this

section heading was provided by Marita Sambono in an interview. She claims that both she

herself and customers now judge her work of art as worthy of the status “fine art.” However,

for her, this was a gradual achievement that followed her artistic innovation of renouncing her

former figurative style by developing abstract-styled designs. Ngan’gi art was, and still is, as

described in previous chapters, characterized by figurative, decorative, and colourful designs.

The artists sell and exhibit paintings, prints, fibre works, and printed fabrics with a wide range

of prices together in the gallery. Because of the local Ngan’gi art styles, types of diversified

art medium the Ngan’gi artists produced, and due to the way they exhibit their artworks, a

majority of art world representatives judge and categorise Ngan’gi art as tourist art. An

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Australian artist I interviewed stated, “I wouldn’t say their art is on a higher level, it is not

conceived in the market place as fine art at all, it is conceived as tourist art.”

An Ngan’gi artist also told me how he had experienced harsh aesthetic judgments and

exclusion of Ngan’gi artworks by a fine art curator. He was accompanying a former art

coordinator on a tour of fine art galleries in Darwin, asking them to display the works of

selected and elite Ngan’gi artists. Upon showing the curators their paintings, he dismissed

them and characterised them as “rubbish.” The Ngan’gi artist who witnessed this judgment

told me he experienced it as extremely offensive. The Ngan’gi would never make such a

negative evaluation of other artists, as doing so would imply that you are “rubbishing the

artists” or “making them wrong,” breaching Ngan’gi codes of social interaction based on

relatedness. Furthermore, this curator showed little appreciation for the sacred subject-matter

in Ngan’gi designs and the Ngan’gi artists’ intention of sharing stories valuable to them.

Such judgments lower the status and price of Ngan’gi art. However, through customer

interaction and curator critique, a group of Ngan’gi artists, including Sambono, consciously

familiarised themselves with the demands of the art market, and made their increased

recognition a personal goal. As mentioned, notions in the art market of what constitutes

Aboriginal art is still dominated by imagery from the Central and Arnhem Land regions of

Australia (Gibson 2013). Hence, some Ngan’gi artists made a move from figurative to

abstract art, which, probably due to their aesthetic quality and similarity with Western Desert

art, gave these works a firmly established fine art status in the art market, with the consequent

increased recognition and higher prices. The high-quality and limited-edition etchings and

screen printed material that Ngan’gi artists produce also seem to resonate with the aesthetic

judgments of the art market, defined by many as “fine art.”

It is a deliberate choice of the Ngan’gi artists and art coordinators to sell both souvenirs and

collectibles at the same gallery. As described in Chapter 4 this wide array of products allows

Ngan’gi artists to cater to all of the different kinds of customers they entertain at Merrepen

Arts. In an interview, the local manager described to me their commercial strategy:

(18.09.07). For the Ngan’gi art Festival we get all sorts of people, and the art lovers who are often

elder people liking fine food, music, and fine art together. That is why we arrange concerts at the

river, with food baskets from Chef Steve, so we can cater for them. We call them “arti farti

people,” collectors and buyers that come every year. We have the top artists such as Kumbi,

Marita, Patricia, and Philip’s stuff for them up there (in the gallery). But, you gotta have a market

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for tourists and one for the festival. After the festival it is tourist season and you gotta have things

that are appealing to tourists. Like cards, shirts; the nitty gritty stuff too.

I participated in the Merrepen Arts Festival in 2008 and observed firsthand how they

combined art sales with music and fine dining, with great commercial success. That year, the

Festival was opened by a classical concert on the banks of the Daly River. The classical Ad

Hoc String Collective from Melbourne performed together with the Aboriginal artist Geoffrey

Gurrumul Yunupingu. The concert participants could also enjoy a serving of a bush tucker

prepared in gourmet fashion by the Australian Chef Steve Sunk. These events drew a crowd

of festival participants interested in a total experience, where a visit to the community and art

exchanges are combined with fine dining and classical music in an outdoor setting. The

festival participants also tend to be wealthier than the regular Merrepen Arts visitors, with a

serious interest in collectible art as investments. Thus, they purchase larger, expensive

paintings made by the “top artists” exhibited in the Merrepen Arts gallery. Throughout the

year Merrepen Arts caters to tourists, who constitute the majority of the visitors. They often

seek affordable and handmade souvenirs, that are of smaller size than major artworks, but still

of high quality, such as batik t-shirts, hand painted silk scarves and cards with printed designs;

such items always readily available in the Merrepen Arts gallery.

Merrepen Arts employees often receive commissions from customers for particular designs by

certain artists, based on their older work, which can be viewed in the art centre’s collection of

old acquisitions. I once observed how a customer made a commission in which his

preferences and limited knowledge of how Aboriginal art styles are geographically localised,

subjected an Ngan’gi artist to the demand of making major changes to his personal and local

art styles. I am sharing the particularities surrounding this commission because it illustrates

concretely how particular art world actors can, in some ways, have greater influence on

aesthetic production than the artist himself (Steiner 1999). The customer in question was a

friend of the Merrepen Arts bookkeeper and coordinated his commission of the Ngan’gi

painting through her. Upon his request, the bookkeeper suggested the Ngan’gi artist Philip

Wilson, as he is one of the art centre’s most prolific and up-and-coming artists. Further, she

suggested the barramundi design, which is an iconic Ngan’gi design. The customer agreed

with these suggestions; however, he requested that the design must be painted in “Arnhem

Land style.” Not being aware of the geographical specificity of Aboriginal art styles and the

copyright issues of painting designs from other areas, the bookkeeper accepted. Later, when I

spoke with Wilson, he had grave concerns about the commission:

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“I was working on this painting till three in the morning. I don’t know why he (the customer)

wanted it to be Arnhem Land style, but he is offering up to five grand for it, so I want to try to do

it. But I have never painted like that, and it makes me worry if this is what he wanted. Can you

have a look at it?” I enter his house and look at the half finished painting. He adds “I did the

background with an almost dry brush just with a little paint, and then fluffed up the brush, and

dabbed it on to make it look like that white clay them Arnhem mob uses. And I used chalk when

lining up that fish, cause (sic) I have heard that Arnhem Land artists don’t use pencils.”

Wilson made many stylistic transformations inspired by a visual style and method of painting

from a different geographical area, without directly copying a design, which would be a

breach of Aboriginal copyright. His barramundi outline is similar to his former work; yet he

has used the acrylic colours red and yellow in an attempt to resemble the ochre used by

Arnhem Land artists. He also painted the backwash in greyish colours, instead of his usual

rainbow-coloured backgrounds. Inside the fish he has painted stripes with a visual similarity

to cross-hatch or Rarrk.

Plate 7.1 “Barramundi” painted in “Arnhem land style” by Philip Wilson in October 2007.

Simpson (1981) argues that the stratified characteristics of an art market renders an ideology

of unrestricted artistic creativity unfeasible, as artists are dependent on the art buyer’s

aesthetic preferences, an experienced curator, and an established artistic reputation. The

demands of this customer were founded on his misconception that Arnhem Land art appears

to be fine art and provides indications of artistic authenticity, more than Wilson’s own

regional and personal style. Wilson’s success in satisfying the particular desires of this

customer could translate into economic remuneration. In this customer’s quest for authentic

Aboriginal art grounded in local culture, he obliged Wilson to utilise and find inspiration in an

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aesthetic style that ironically not originated locally. Considering to the customer’s demand,

Wilson created a painting that is neither one nor the other. This form of customer interference

can only be seen as an unfortunate limitation of Ngan’gi artistic creativity and freedom.

During the Government Emergency Response, previously described, various government

representatives visited Merrepen Arts, providing advice intended to “mainstream” the art

centre. I choose to present my account of one such meeting, because the conversation

concerns how a gallery space or “way of showing” can transform the status of art. The

Merrepen Arts gallery space could, according to the advice given to the manager by these

Intervention representatives, with a few “easy” steps be converted to a “fine art” context:

(09.11.07). Well I can admit that I maybe don’t know that much about art, but I do know business,

and for this business to sell more everyone must focus one hundred percent on producing good art.

At the moment you are only producing for this galley and for the festival once a year, which is not

good enough! You cannot sustain the business on the Greyhound travellers; they are too greedy to

even buy an ice cream at the shop. I see you price your work. You know in fine art galleries they

do not even price their work until they have a buyer. Maybe that’s what you should do here? If you

take away the price tags in the gallery, that will encourage curiosity among your customers. So then

when one is interested you just talk to them until you find a suitable price.

The manager later told me that he had perceived this conversation as an uncomfortable

experience. Further, the statements of these Intervention representatives reveal, I claim, that

they had limited experience with the workings of a locally-run art centre. It is true that the

Greyhound travellers, or the “poor old pensioners,” which the artists call them, are not the

wealthiest customers. They are mostly motivated by travelling, where Merrepen Arts merely

adds some visual excitement to the total experience of visiting an Aboriginal community.

Among this particular group of customers, Ngan’gi paintings are viewed more than

purchased; as such, customers are concerned with affordability rather than collectible pieces,

and they are typically satisfied with post cards and t-shirts, rather than high-priced paintings.

However, they constitute the majority of the customers hosted by Merrepen Arts.

In my experience, visiting tourists appear annoyed on occasionally finding un-priced art

objects, when they are calculating how much they can afford to spend. Pricing, as described in

Chapter 3, is also considered by the local manager and employees as a difficult process in

which they have to judge the value of works produced by artists who are also relatives. As

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discussed above, many local employees also find the experience of customer interaction as

problematic and uncomfortable, often avoided or strictly limited to the sale and the

occasionally shared design stories. For them, to negotiate prices on the spot would also be

difficult, as price negotiations demand an experienced salesperson. Additionally, according to

Ngan’gi concepts of relatedness, sharing and reciprocity that is requested is expected and

rarely declined. Consequently, saying “no” directly to a person’s face during an interaction is

considered rude. Thus, on the rare occasion that customers would suggest a price, even if it

may have been lower than what the artists wished for, they would simply not answer, which

customers often interpret as agreement. Thus, the suggestion of a pricetag-free gallery would

not, in my opinion, bring the gallery more income by making it resemble a fine art context,

and accordingly would not increase the status of Ngan’gi art. Rather, I believe that a pricetag-

free gallery could result in confusion and the Merrepen Arts employees possibly settling for

lower prices in customer negotiations.

As curators define art as high or low, and choose to include or exclude works in their

exhibitions accordingly, this process transforms the status and value of art. Since the

Aboriginal art market, in particular, has been littered with claims for primitive authentic art,

many of the changes in Aboriginal art, and experimentation with media, were not initially

welcomed in every art market context. For instance, when Western media were used, such as

pottery and batik, these Aboriginal art objects were initially viewed by many as tourist kitsch.

However, as exemplified in the previous chapter, fibre work was a medium that changed its

status from craft to fine art, through the artists’ move to create sculptures instead of baskets.

Aboriginal artists and their art, with its particular attributes, have undoubtedly contributed to

stretching and redefining art world categories and ways of showing. Nevertheless, the

Ngan’gi artists often expressed to me that the elusiveness and unpredictability of the fine art

category was difficult to grasp. In comparing themselves to established Western Desert artists,

they could not understand why the Western Desert artists’ painting was considered financially

superior, worth so much more than their own. “I paint stories from the Homeland and my

Dreaming, how come I don’t get big money for my painting?” For them, the sacred nature of

their art and the stories they share should be valued, regardless of whether or not the artist had

received the recognition needed to be included in a fine art context. The exclusion and low

prices that followed the tourist art status of some Ngan’gi artists were experienced by them as

unfair and incomprehensible. Ironically, though, once the status of fine art is achieved, the

autonomy of the artists may decrease, as the art may be exhibited without their stories to fit

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the minimalistic art spaces of the fine art galleries. In the following section, I discuss whether

or not Aboriginal art should be displayed with cultural referencing in the form of design

stories; this remains an ongoing art world debate.

“I Paint my Stories!” Representing Aboriginal Art with Story or Not?

Aboriginal artists, such as the Ngan’gi, have undoubtedly, through their art world presence

made a contribution to the changing representations surrounding Aboriginal art. One point of

great concern to most Aboriginal artists is, as mentioned previously, a continuing struggle for

an acceptance of their wish to sell and present their art with its story. Ever since entering the

spheres of the art worlds, Aboriginal artists have tried to persuade the public of the sacred and

complex nature of their designs; they present a conceptual subject-matter that they chose to

communicate not only visually, but also through stories. I suggest that opinions concerning

how to represent Aboriginal art, with our without story, are founded on diverging ways of

interpreting and defining Aboriginal material objects. As pointed out by Morphy (2008), art is

a constructed category both challenged and reinforced by artists and institutional structures

according to temporary and historical art narratives. Thus, before elaborating on the

discussion of story, I will initially provide a historical contextualisation by presenting a

general exploration of the changing representations surrounding Aboriginal art, since it

entered Western institutions for art exchange and exhibition. I will not describe the entire

detailed history of the manners in which Aboriginal art has been appreciated and represented.

Nonetheless, I believe that a short historical review is important to grasp how the complexities

of this post-colonial history have influenced contemporary art world representation of

Aboriginal art, including Ngan’gi art.

The representative disagreement concerning whether or not Aboriginal art should be exhibited

with its adherent story originated at the beginning of the Aboriginal art movement, when the

status of Aboriginal art was still questioned. While fine art from Western artists co-evolved

with Western art history and institutions, non-Western and Aboriginal objects were, in

contrast, appropriated from a different cultural context, and pigeonholed into curatorial boxes

as craft, curiosities, or, at best “primitive art.” Aboriginal art was clearly distinguished from

non-Aboriginal art (Errington 1994; Caruana 2006; Morphy 2008). Thus, Aboriginal material

and visual objects were, during the 19th

century, seen as exotic artefacts gathered by the odd

collector. Then, in the early 1930s, Australian museums began building their ethnographic

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collections of Aboriginal material objects, which were represented in natural history

dioramas. Subsequently, from the 1960s onward, modern and postmodern curators gradually

began selling and exhibiting Aboriginal material objects. However, when non-Western

objects from Africa, America, and Oceania made this gradual move from ethnographic

museums to art galleries, these works were initially considered distinctly different, authentic,

and “pure,” as described in Chapter 4. Through historical development, the status of

Aboriginal material objects were, in this manner, only gradually transformed and re-classified

from ethnographic artefacts to objects of art, which caused the development of a variety of

Aboriginal art “styles” and “genres” (Lavine et al. 1991; Marcus et al. 1995). However, the

gradual change introduced a longstanding interpretive disagreement131

between the modern

avant-garde and the anthropologists, concerning how to view and represent non-Western art in

the Western art markets.

Through the history of art world inclusion, the avant-garde and certain art curators

approached Aboriginal art with much interest, as representing new ways of seeing with

alternative styles that challenged existing visual conventions in the modern art world. They

wanted to use “primitive art” to break down dominant and rigid boundaries concerning which

objects qualified as art, or not. Consequently, they argued for including non-Western art into

the same categories as Western art. Furthermore, they sought universal interpretations in

which Aboriginal art should “speaks for itself,” without culturally-specific interpretations.

Anthropologists, on the other hand, and Aboriginal artists themselves, argued for the necessity

of including an Aboriginal interpretative context that considered cultural heterogeneities in

the art’s attributes and origin. Hence, art curators and avant-garde art world representatives

disfavoured the design story, insisting that anthropological approaches to art had too strong a

focus on the “mythological” and narrative character of Aboriginal designs. They claimed that

this contributed to notions of primitivism; “creates its otherness and separate it from Western

artworks” (Morphy 2001: 38). In contrast, many anthropologists held that classifying and

interpreting Aboriginal art as just another form of universal art imposes Western art

categorisations such as minimalist, expressionist, or abstract, labels that gain value from a

specifically European art history. Fry and Willis argued that such comparison “naively maps

modernist self-expression onto the cultural practices of non-Western artists” (1989: 113).

Although Aboriginal art applies abstract symbols in representational designs, these artworks

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… which Myers labels “art world battles” (1995: 75).

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are not abstract in the manner that meaning may be open to individual interpretations made by

the spectators. As described in previous chapters artistic symbolism in Aboriginal art refers to

a specific meaning that often also provides a visual manifestation of cultural knowledge of the

Dreaming and Ancestral connections. Thus, Aboriginal art cannot easily fit into such formal

categories that could deny their differentiated value as culturally-specific objects with

multiple, sometimes religious, connotations.

This representative disagreement is gradually moving towards a resolution as Aboriginal

artists are making their intentions known, concerning how they want the world to represent

and understand their art. Aborigines are part of the Australian society, and the artists with

whom I have spoken say that they want to be able to interact and display in the same setting

as non-Aboriginal artists. Furthermore, they want to be seen as creative, contemporary artists

in their own right, and they want their works to be interpreted as art, or fine art for that matter,

not ethnographic artefacts or examples of material culture. Understandably, “Aboriginal

activists, too, preferred their cultures to be exhibited in the same venues as those of European

artists - not among the flora and fauna of Australia” (Myers 2002:199). Yet, they also seek

recognition for their claim that Aboriginal art expresses a slightly different form of artistic

creativity, giving, perhaps a dissimilar visual experience. As mentioned, Ngan’gi artists

appreciate the opportunity that stories provide for the communication and sharing of

particular meanings behind their art, as it is founded on culturally and kinship-based painting

conventions with Ancestral precedence. They are proposing, not just to exhibit art, but to

communicate through arts and story, points of great concern to them concerning their culture,

which was relatively unknown before the Aboriginal art movement. To interpret Aboriginal

art as exactly the same as other works of fine art that can be approached without a story,

expresses an acceptance of Aboriginal art as part of a universalistic art category. However,

losing the narrative contextualisation might also diminish the communication of the art’s

cultural complexity. By rather insisting that Aboriginal art must be presented with a story

indicates that this is something else, work that deserves the characterisation as art, yet begs

further explanation. Thus, Aboriginal artists themselves have intentionally created a middle

ground between these two positions, defining their works as art, though with additional layers

of meaning communicated in the narrated stories that always accompany their visual art.

The significance of story has gradually been accepted by a majority of art world

representatives. Currently, in most art centres and galleries, including Merrepen Arts,

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Aboriginal paintings are sold with the story printed on certificates of authenticity; translating

the culturally specific symbolism and meaning in the designs.132

The certificate acts as proof

of authenticity for the buyer because it provides identification of the artist and the art centre,

in addition to providing design story documentation. It also ensures copyright and economic

return to the artist. The Aboriginal artists’ insistence on sharing the design story has now been

incorporated into the definition of Aboriginal art, so most customers currently demand a story

when purchasing Aboriginal art. Thus, the Aboriginal artists respond by writing even more

elaborate stories to satisfy their customers. This is a circular cause and effect created by

mutually influential dialogues between artists and customers when exchanging art.

The story has become an accepted and expected companion to commercial Aboriginal art.

Regardless, upon visiting many urban art galleries in Australia during my fieldwork in 2007-

2008, I observed a new trend in the showing of Aboriginal art. There was a tendency in

certain art world contexts to display and sell Aboriginal art without its story. Some urban

curators are consciously moving away from their former positions of embracing the story in

Aboriginal art showing and marketing. They are displaying Aboriginal art on clean, white

walls, visually uncluttered by signs, and without the design story certificates; this is justified

by the avant-garde argument that the story may limit interpretive freedom. The curators insist

that this type of representation focus the customer’s gaze on the visual qualities of the

painting, not the narrated content. In their opinion, this way of showing would contribute to

elevating the painting’s status to that of fine art. Moreover, it would create equality between

Aboriginal art and that of non-Aboriginal artists.

An example is the exhibition PAINT I attended at Raft Art Space in Darwin in 2008, which

had a strong focus on visual aesthetics and paint as a medium, rather than the stories of the

Aboriginal artists. The exhibition included two Aboriginal artists (from Papunya Tula in

Central Australia) and two non-Aboriginal artists (from Sydney). The artworks were hung

together, labelled only with their edition number. The edition list provided the names of the

artists, titles of the works, medium, size, and price of each painting (ranging from 10, 000 to

45, 000 AUD). The works would be sold with the artists’ CVs. The curator with whom I

spoke explained how the focus of the exhibition was to disregard the differences in the artists’

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Such certificates of authenticity usually hold the full design story as it has been narrated by the artists, in

addition to the artist’s name, date of birth, language, the size of the painting, date of completion, medium,

catalogue number, the painting's title, the art centre’s logo, and other details.

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backgrounds and rather to focus on their shared “commitment to the medium paint.” She

claimed that these artists “share a common conviction, a need to paint, and a sense of

humanity.” However, in spite of her claimed interest in equating the artists, the curator reveals

her interest in the “exotic flavour” of the Aboriginal artists when she describes a conversation

she had with one of them: “I had no idea what she was saying as she was speaking in her

language, but the rhythm and her undulating tone was completely seductive.” As for the

shared sense of conviction and motivation, the artists’ own statements written on their CVs, in

my opinion, seemed slightly divergent: The non-Aboriginal artists described how they, in

their abstract works seek to communicate “the feeling of energy by layering forms and

creating shading with colours,” while the Aboriginal artists stated that they were painting their

geographically-specific and kinship-owned Homelands. Hence, in spite of the curator’s

conscious attempt to exclude the design story with cultural referencing to kinship, land and

cosmology, the Aboriginal artists managed to find a way to include it after all, on their CVs.

Plate 7.2 Exhibition PAINT at Raft Art Space in Darwin in 2008.

It is interesting to focus on what Aboriginal and Western artists share visually and in their use

of media. However, regardless of the similarities, I believe that some divergence between

what motivates a Warlpiri artist and a Sydney artist remains.

With an interest in capturing the opinions of knowledgeable art world representatives

concerning the matter of story representation in Aboriginal art displays, I will present excerpts

of interviews I conducted with such people, starting with Margie West, a curator of MAGNT:

(23.01.08). Australian collectors and critics are very knowledgeable and quite advanced now in

being ethical, understanding the story, the cultural value of art, and the money side of it. They

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always get certificates, which most of the public now is “trained” to ask for. They are interested in

the story of the artists, the process of production, and the social context the art is produced in. They

(the design stories) are important to capture what the artists want to communicate, and it is

important because it makes the art understandable. The abstract nature of desert paintings resonated

in particular with modern painting movements; and moved beyond contact towards inspiration.

There is now a formalist movement by art galleries not wanting to display the art with the stories

and language groups. For instance in South Australia there was an exhibition of Clifford Possum by

Vivian Johnson, where the stories were excluded. She wanted people to appreciate the art visually

like other art. But I disagree with this approach, it is important to include the story should the artists

want it … When we collect and display the stories we hope they reflect what the artists want to say.

It often happens that I get a different story from the same artists of the same design. They vary over

time ... The stories are always changing, and what you can tell at one point is decided to be kept a

secret on another point in time. But, I believe that for Aboriginal artists the battle of the story has

been won. People respect and understand the importance of it now.

A curator I spoke to at Papunya Tula Artists in Alice Springs shares Margie’s opinion: “It is

important to have the story with the art; after all it shows the level of cultural knowledge and

connectedness of the painting to cultural patterns and the people who have painted it.”

Another important point is how different types of customers are more or less knowledgeable

about Aboriginal art and therefore appreciate the art differently. This is how an employee at

Gallery Mbantua, which represents artists from Utopia, explained the issue:

The story and cultural knowledge is an important part of the artworks. I have gotten ignorant

comments such as “my two year old can paint this” from customer commenting Emily

Kngwarreye’s designs or complaining on the price. But after informing the customer of the artist’s

history, the story behind the conceptual designs, most of them change their minds and appreciate

the artworks more for what they are and stand for beyond what you can see in the paintings.

As the Aboriginal artists have argued story helps the unknowledgeable customer in

recognising the significant and sacred meanings embedded in Aboriginal art.

The Australian artist Fiona Syvier alternates in her opinion on the design story:

In one sense it (the art) does not need the story, I often think that the art should stand alone, but

because the art buyer is not an Aboriginal person, and definitely not from that Aboriginal language

group the story gives a certain amount of explanation and access to the depths of the work and the

possible layers of meaning. I think that surely it can be a way for the artist to convey the cultural

significance of it, and then again their identity through the story. Maybe, if people understand.

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Syvier is pointing out how the story contributes to increasing cross-cultural communication,

while some curators I spoke with argued against the importance of story. There is a

disagreement between those accepting Aboriginal art as constitutive different and culturally-

constituted aesthetics or as a universal and objective form of art.

At Gallery Gondwana in Alice Springs, one employee stated, “I am very much over the whole

ethnographic referencing and story thing. It is about time we start hanging the paintings next

to Western art,” to which another employee replied, “But it is more than dots on canvases,”

without explaining his statement further. Thus, also among the employees of the same gallery,

the longstanding discussion concerning the presentation of Aboriginal art in a universal

manner or with specific ethnographic referencing continues. However, because the meaning

of a symbolic circle used in an Aboriginal painting can vary, the artist’s design story assists in

“translating” the design. An employee with whom I spoke at Outstation Gallery in Darwin

sold Western Desert art, in which the meaning of visual symbols is also not immediately

apparent to the uninitiated spectator; yet he argued against including the story:

There is too much interest in the story! For many the cultural information is still very important,

but I would like to exhibit works without them now. Let me tell you of one example when the story

was an absolute drawback to the sale. I have a big painting at home with large black circles. Most

people like it visually, but when I tell them the story they are appalled, cause the painting is

actually of dead camp dogs. So I think the focus on story is limiting because the customer only

appreciated it when it is the kind of story they want to hear. Most of the Desert designs are of

landscape and very often the same story is repeated endlessly by the artists.

Anyone who has visited the Central Desert will be familiar with the packs of feral dogs

roaming about. These sometimes die, and the artist had painted such an event. At Merrepen

Arts, the employees often received a similar negative reaction to an etching made by Benigna

Ngulfundi titled “Mic Mic.” The Mic Mic is an Ancestral Being from a Dreamtime story.

Customers would look at the etching and say “how lovely, is that a little wallaby,” first

wanting to buy it, only to change their minds upon being told that a Micmic is a water rat.

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Plate 7.3 “Mic Mic” etching made by Benigna Ngulfundi in 2007.

In spite of such reactions, what is important, in my opinion, is the artists’ continuing

insistence on sharing stories, regardless of the content being unattractive to some customers.

Although certain curators are moving away from story representation, a majority of customers

still value Aboriginal art particularly because of its narrative character. At Merrepen Arts, I

often observed how a design story could persuade an indecisive customer to make a purchase.

The realisation that many customers not only appreciate a good story, but often demand it,

and value the design as more culturally authentic if the painting has a story, is well known

among the Ngan’gi artists. Philip Wilson stated: “If it’s a good painting and a good story I

get a good price!” The manager also highlights in an interview the importance of story:

I think that after you talk to them (customers), they understand it (the art) more. Like they

understand that you can do a traditional story but interpret it in a different way. At times they look

at it saying “it is so colourful, this is not Aboriginal art,” but then the story is a traditional story

from the Dreamtime. So then they appreciate it more and want to buy it because you have shared

the story for that painting on paper. But if the artist comes up (to the gallery) and explains their

version of what they have made and share the story with the customer themselves; saying this circle

is this and this, or this bird represents something else, that makes it more special for them (the

customers). They have met the artist, the artists have told the story, and we have made a sale.

The sharing of a “traditional” design story is appreciated by the customer and increases the

chances of the sale of what the customer may have initially judged as a painting that was too

“contemporary looking.” However, the artists’ insistence on telling their stories preceded the

customers’ demand for it, which in itself is evidence of how Aboriginal art has influenced the

language and preferences of the art world participants. All of the Aboriginal artists with

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whom I have spoken argue for the importance of selling art with a design story. Wilson

explains his view in an interview: “It’s like looking at a book; you can read and imagine that

book story. Well there you go it’s just the same with the painting! I always say I like to have a

story with it because we need to think of the white fella and making them understand our

thing!” From these statements, one can argue that the Ngan’gi artists want to sell their art with

the story, because it assists the customer in understanding the meaning of their art.

Aboriginal art does have visual qualities that can be appreciated without a story or a deeper

understanding of the art’s meaning. Nevertheless, as Morphy (2000, 2007, 2008) argues, if

left to contemplate the work based on one’s own awareness, one must realise that one is

appreciating the work through the lenses of his or her own culturally-specific aesthetics. Thus,

some of the conceptual and specific meaning included in the design by the artists might be

lost, which can impoverish the art interpretation. It is therefore of particular importance as a

viewer of Aboriginal art to make an effort to access the meaning of this art, even if this entails

stepping beyond cultural boundaries of art appreciation. Following Taylor (1988), I insist that

exhibiting and selling Aboriginal art can and should be an occasion for the viewers to expand

their understanding of the artists’ lives; beyond their works of art. The story can be the

medium needed to achieve such insight, along with providing the full meaning of the design,

as intended by the artists, who are “performing Aboriginality” through their art and stories.

Summary

No object achieves the status of fine art accidentally. Art comes into existence through

practices of seeing and showing, and in every art exchange, aesthetic judgments and various

art representations transform the art’s value, status and meaning, making circulation an

important part of the becoming of Ngan’gi art (Myers 2002; Morphy 2006, 2008). In this

chapter, I have shed light on what happens when Aboriginal artists and customers meet. I

claim that when their intentions and desires are entangled shifts are made in art world

boundaries, and changes are made in the ways that Aboriginal artists visualise their stories.

Ngan’gi artists are active participants in the Australian Aboriginal art movement, circulating

their paintings and design-story texts with an intention of achieving an intercultural discourse

through the sharing of stories. Their art have a mediating role, as it moves between culturally-

based contexts and convey certain meanings. In so doing, art communicates cultural

differences between artists and customers.

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Aboriginal art has, with its mere presence, made an impact on art world discourses and

challenged the existing definition of art. For example, the fine art category has gradually

come to include bark painting, hollow logs, and fibre works, now appreciated for their visual

and artistic qualities, as well as their cultural significance. I believe that there has been a

change in the way that many art world representatives define art more generally. Moreover,

due to the Aboriginal artists’ insistence on communicating something beyond the visual

imagery has ensured a gradual appreciation in the art market of the conceptual nature of

Aboriginal art, represented in the story. Thus, a change in art showing practices has also been

achieved as Aboriginal art is exhibited or sold with a design story. Paintings have provided an

entrance into Aboriginal cosmology, knowledge-systems, and kinship practices for those

customers interested in gazing beyond the “pretty pictures” by reading and appreciating the

stories of the artists. Furthermore, the important role that Aboriginal art currently occupies in

the art market provides much-needed income for the artists.

I also found that, in spite of these achievements, Ngan’gi artists are confronted by particular

limitations concerning how and where their art is represented, which could also indirectly

inhibit their artistic freedom and autonomy. All artists, whether Aboriginal or not, are

subjected to aesthetic judgments based on hierarchical values that evaluate the status, quality,

and economic value of their work, which is consequently categorised as fine art or souvenirs.

However, particular to Aboriginal artists are the claims for supposed primitivism due to the

artists’ adherence to culturally-based painting conventions. Furthermore, the status of fine art

is not equally achieved among all forms of Aboriginal art. The figurative, colourful Ngan’gi

art is still occasionally interpreted as too “innovative” and less “authentic,” thus being

categorised as tourist art. Also illustrated above is how Ngan’gi artists have consequently

modified their art styles and how they visualise their stories when considering customer

preferences. Struggling to convince critical customers that their art is “authentic” when

employing innovative styles, some of the artists developed abstract styles, similar to

Aboriginal art styles that had achieved art world esteem as fine art. Artists are developing

their painting practices when using personal creativity to change their regional and local

painting styles in adapting to customer art inclinations. Thus, art world representations must

be addressed as dynamic and ongoing relationships between intimate actors who interact in

contexts coloured by social, familial, cultural and economic dynamics.

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In this chapter, I also describe how art exchanging contexts can be experienced by some

Aboriginal artists as foreign environments, because the institutions themselves and the

conventional codes for social interaction are developed and founded in a “white” culture.

Many of the Ngan’gi artists struggle with customer interaction, labelling it as a “shame job.” I

found that both the direct and demanding behaviour of customers and the public attention

given to individual artists are breaching kinship-based rules of relatedness. The Ngan’gi found

a creative solution, founded on relatedness, by interacting with customers with greater ease

and confidence when in groups. There also remains a disjunction in art appreciation and

creative practices because Aboriginal artists share painted stories that are sacred to them, yet

they are sold and appreciated in contexts that focus on their visual, economic, and commercial

value (Appadurai 1986; Morphy 1991; Michaels 1994; Myers 1995; 2001; 2002, 2006b).

Until a time comes when all customers appreciate that this art is sacred to its producers, a

certain ambivalence that may limit the intended cross-cultural communication will linger.

However, I believe that some of these challenges are gradually diminishing through the

ongoing communication mediated through exhibited and circulated art. For Ngan’gi artists,

their stories will continue to have significance in other contexts, which will remain even if

they cease to produce art for sale. Ngan’gi artists are persistently converting the customers

they meet and talk to, establishing a growing appreciation for their insistence that Ngan’gi art

embraces both visual and cultural significance, tradition and creativity, past and present

painting practices, continuity and change.

In the next chapter, cases of the “showing” of Ngan’gi and other Aboriginal art in various

public art world contexts are presented and analysed. I question how visual displays and the

social practices of art representation grant curators a defining authority that influences

Aboriginal art production, as well as the public’s understanding of Aboriginal art.

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8

FINE ART GALLERIES, MUSEUMS AND A FESTIVAL:

THE SOCIAL PRACTICE OF SHOWING ABORIGINAL ART

Who controls, I question, the public modes of visual representation in Aboriginal art, the

institutional curators, the wealthy collectors, the curious tourists, or the creating artists? This

chapter continues a more detailed exploration of the social practice of showing Aboriginal art

by comparing how four public art institutions – commercial art galleries, a national art

gallery, a museum, and a community-based Aboriginal art centre, Merrepen Arts – chose to

represent Aboriginal art on a local and national scale in their displays and exhibitions. This

comparison exposes, I argue, the authority that institutions and their curators have in shaping

public understandings of Aboriginal art and in influencing Aboriginal art production.

Furthermore, I will also reveal how the artists’ intention, the art objects themselves, and the

public’s art appreciation together are factors that also influence practices of art showing.

Each art exhibition involves many tasks and people. Thus, Becker (1982), Myers (2002,

2006a) and Ericson (1988) insist, and I concur, that all artistic performances are social events

as well as sites for cultural production. In the words of Myers, “exhibitions are real-life

organisations of resources, imagination, and power – in short, social practices” (2002: 234).

Cross-cultural art exchanges crucially depend on curators who bring the art from the artists to

its audience (Ericson 1988), which is why Simpson describes them as the “gatekeepers of the

art world” (1981: 31), and Wolf (1956) uses the term “middlemen.” They link art with

collectors and customers, and they mediate, as such, the gap between art production and art

consumption. Curators have certain methods of collecting, purchasing, promoting, exhibiting,

and selling art, which, as pointed out by Steiner (1994), gives them a certain authority

concerning how they mediate, and perhaps modify, the information they provide when

displaying art in public art institutions. Movements created by such art showing are part of,

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using a term by Appadurai (1986), the gradually unfolding social life of the art objects. My

focus will therefore be on exploring how these processes of curatorial selection, inclusion and

exclusion, and re-contextualisation also transform the status and meaning of the objects.

Artists want people to see their works. Hence, their art is entangled within networks of

curators and customers, circulated, sold, and incorporated in particular, not neutral, visual

displays in stratified exhibition contexts (Clifford 1988; Vogel 1989; Karp et al. 1991; Steiner

1994; Plattner 1996; Svašek 2007). Building on my previously presented argument, I define

art exhibitions as intercultural and influential meeting places and complex social fields of

performance, where the dynamic processes of showing and seeing art contribute to the

becoming of Ngan’gi art (Bourdieu 1993; Marcus et al. 1995; Myers 1995, 2002, 2004a).

Four selected public art institutions – commercial art galleries, a national art gallery, a

museum, and the local Aboriginal art centre Merrepen Arts – will be presented in this chapter

through dated field work notes based on my observations and participation, with a

comparative interest in illustrating their differences and similarities in their displays. My

explorations of the social practices involved in the showing of Aboriginal art will focus on

three main objectives. Firstly, I shall attempt to locate the ideologically-based motivations,

visions, and perspectives behind the representation practices of various curators. These

representation practices will also reflect, I believe, who speaks on behalf of the artists, what

they want to communicate in their exhibitions, how they interpret Aboriginal art, and how

they interact with the other art world representatives to whom it is their aim to cater.133

Secondly, I will give a detailed presentation of all of the practical tasks performed in the

phases of planning and groundwork execution of a Merrepen Arts exhibition and festival.

These activities are usually accomplished behind the scenes; the audience only experiences

the end result of a display. However, my descriptions will illustrate the many practical aspects

involved in the showing and seeing of art, and how the representation of art is fundamentally

a social practice. Thirdly, in line with my thesis research question, I explore throughout how

different types of art exhibition contexts both enable and limit cross-cultural communication.

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In the Appendix, on pages 463-66, an introductory presentation of the main geographical regions producing

art in Australia is provided, to improve the readers understanding of the comparative presentations of Aboriginal

art exhibitions presented below, which includes significant regional and stylistic differentiation.

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Commercial Art Galleries Showing Aboriginal Art: Exhibitions for Sale

Aboriginal material objects move, as described, from the hands of Aborigines to collectors,

museums, and art galleries. In the earliest historical exchanges, urban art galleries dealing

exclusively with Aboriginal art were federally funded. Anderson (1990) describes how such

funds were gradually relocated and commercial or profit-based galleries eventually took over

the representation of these works through sale exhibitions of Aboriginal artists from several

localities in Australia. Commercial galleries selling Aboriginal art have proliferated in the last

20 years, and located in cities across Australia, they are becoming a main attraction to

international and national visitors (Scott-Mundine 1990). The burgeoning interest in

Aboriginal art and performance is big business for the Australian economy, allowing

customers and spectators to marvel at the cultural spectacles and purchase everything from

commoditised paintings to t-shirts and didgeridoos in a global marketplace (Neuenfeldt et al.

2005). Wild (1990) argues that, as early as 1990, a government report estimated that half of

all international visitors to Australia are interested in learning about Aboriginal art and

culture, and as many as 30 % of them would purchase Aboriginal art.134

I will illustrate in the

following section how commercial galleries create their displays with an aim of tapping into

the market created by these international and national travellers; these exhibitions are founded

on an ideology of profit and art saleability.

As the number of galleries is growing, the Aboriginal art market is becoming increasingly

competitive. The number of art outlets, as well as the prices of works by certain Aboriginal

artists, has increased. In July 2007, a single painting by a renowned Aboriginal artist sold for

2.4 million AUD at a Sotheby’s auction in Melbourne, about which the art market analyst

Michael Reid commented, “the market for Aboriginal art is an art market on steroids” (cited

in Genocchio 2008: 13). Such high prices, however, are not granted to all Aboriginal artists.

As mentioned, the fine art category is based on exclusion. I claim that an artist’s status

depends on the artist’s reputation as much as on his or her talent, in addition to the curators’

and art critics’ changing definitions of which art styles deserve the fine art label. Altman and

Taylor claim (2000), as I also observed during my fieldwork, that the broader Australian art

world still has a continuing difficulty in coming to terms with the variety of Aboriginal art

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Simons (2000) claims that in 1986-87 more than 860,000 tourists visited the Northern Territory, and between

40-80 % of them came with the intention of interacting with Aboriginal culture. Wright (1999) and Janke (1997)

argue that the demand for Aboriginal art products is increasing, and shows no sign of diminishing. Genocchio

(2008) claims that though Aboriginal Australians constitute only about 2.5 % of the nation’s population, they

account for as much as 70 % of the nation’s total art sales.

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styles, where certain styles are aesthetically judged as more “authentic” than others. In my

visits to numerous commercial galleries in Australia, I have observed the displays and talked

to curators, revealing certain trends in the urban art market and the preferences of curators

when representing Aboriginal art. I have selected two commercial galleries to analyse, with

the aim of illustrating what characterises their exhibition ideologies.

“Aboriginal Fine Art Gallery”

The “Aboriginal Fine Art Gallery” is one of many Aboriginal art outlets located in central

Darwin. Presented are field notes pertaining to my observations of their displays:

(21.01.08). The sale exhibition covers two floors: The ground floor is bursting with an extensive

collection of didgeridoos; each labelled with the artist’s photo, name, language group, geographical

area, and price. A majority of the carved works are by artists from Arnhem Land and the Desert

region. Though located in Darwin, few local and Fitzmaurice region artists are represented. A set of

narrow stairs lead to three upstairs rooms filled with paintings, exhibited closely on crowded walls.

One room represents artists from Arnhem Land, the Darwin region, and Kimberly. Two rooms are

dedicated to Western Desert works (Warlpiri, Pintupi, and Utopia). These works are exhibited with

labels giving the artist’s name, language group, and price. Next to the works of certain artists their

profiles have been hung in plastic folders with their biography and lists of exhibits.

This exhibition illustrates the owner’s intention to provide diversity in price, art styles, and

media, by including fine art and a line of souvenirs. All of the artists represented in this, and

most, commercial galleries, have written profiles provided to the customer at a sale. However,

in the Aboriginal fine art gallery, the occasional profile is exhibited as part of the display,

indicating to which artists the curator wants the customers to pay particular attention. The

labels are informative, yet an art label, edition list, profile, or catalogue can never, I argue,

completely represent every complexity of an art object. Furthermore, direct correspondence

between what is being distributed and what is received is unobtainable. Rather, labels indicate

what the curator thinks about the object and what they want the customer to focus on. Most

importantly, what is written on the labels indicates what the curator believes the customer

appreciates as interesting. In the words of Baxandall, labels are “not just a piece of card,” they

create “an intellectual space” between the object, the viewer, and the curator (1991: 37). The

curator has chosen to share certain information with the viewer that activates a connection

between the art and the spectator, which also provides a frame for object interpretation. From

my perspective objects become art through such movements of showing and seeing.

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The Aboriginal fine art gallery exhibition space includes extensive labelling, much variation

in prices and media, and crowded displays. These are contextual features that place this

gallery in the middle of a stratified art market, catering both to tourists and to fine art

collectors. However, the owner of “the Aboriginal Fine Art Gallery” draws, in the naming of

his gallery, on the authority of the phrase “fine art” in an attempt to convert the status of a

middle-market styled display, to that of a high art context.

The first person I met when entering the gallery was an Aboriginal assistant manager, who

greeted me with “all didj’s are on ten percent sale!” Hence, I initiated a conversation with him

concerning the market for didgeridoos:

“Five years ago you could give them away; there was not a large market for them. Then it boomed

and suddenly everybody wanted them, especially people from overseas. But just recently the prices

have gone down from 260 to 150 AUS.” (Øien) “Why?” “The quality has gone down a bit and they

are more and more sort of mass produced … Originally they came from the tropical areas, where

there was plenty of the right kind of wood, stringy bark or eucalyptus.135

Especially at Yirrkala they

have been used for a long time in ceremonies, and they make designs that are more complex than

on the didjs from other areas. But they are easy to make, now you can find people playing them on

the streets of Sydney. Once I saw a white fella in Sydney saying he had made the didj himself in

Arnhem, but I just said “don’t lie to me!” You see it is easy to tell the fakes. They are made of

bamboo and are too light with traces of the bamboo rings, and the dots are often too small. I have

met people who said they paid 800 dollars for what they were told was an authentic didj in Sydney,

but it was actually made in Indonesia out of polished down bamboo!”

The assistant manager describes how accessibility can transform the status of a certain art

medium. As pointed out by Plattner (1996), what dictates price or demand is the belief that a

product is elite, rare, and not accessible to the masses. In response to the sudden increase in

demand, mass-production of low-quality didgeridoos began. Consequently, didgeridoos,

initially considered, to be rare, became mainstream and this accessibility lowered their market

value. The comment of this curator illustrates the dynamic in art representation practices in

which art production and art market demands are mutually influential of art’s value.

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The origin of the didgeridoo has been much debated, as it was observed in various shapes in early

anthropological research in northern and central parts of Australia. It is currently produced all over Australia,

including the south and west, and it has increasingly becoming a symbol of “collective” Aboriginal identity.

Having many names in various Aboriginal languages, the name didgeridoo was supposedly given by

anthropologists as a description of the instrument’s sound. It is, and was, used in rituals to accompany singing.

Now, it is increasingly popular as a tourist souvenir, in modern “ethnic” music, and in new age healing cults.

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On the second floor, I was introduced to their head curator and gallery owner who, in our

conversation, described the ideology behind his art showing practices. He confirms how this

gallery, like most commercial galleries, deals directly with the artists they have chosen to

represent, meeting them in their communities and providing them with art production

equipment. It is important, he claims, to provide the artists with the media they prefer, “the

Arnhem mob prefers the hard archer paper we provide ... They like the stiffness of the paper

because it reminds them of the bark they used to paint on.” Other commercial art curators I

met expressed the same concern with providing for the artists their media preferences.

However, providing quality media is not merely motivated by the wish to satisfy the artists’

preferences. A curator with whom I spoke in Agathon gallery in Sydney also stated: “It is

both in the artists and our interests that we provide materials of high quality, Belgian linen

and really good paint, so we will get artworks of high quality!” For commercial gallery

curators, a design produced with quality art media will increase the likelihood of a higher-

priced sale. Thus, the practical task of providing media illustrates how the curators attempt to

satisfy both the customer’s concern with high-quality fine art, and the artists’ need for their

preferences in art production. As such, the curators are, in the words of Myers, “people who

straddle the communication between the bush and the metropole” (2002: 147).

In my continuing conversation with the Aboriginal Fine Art Gallery curator I made queries

into his opinion of customer preferences by asking him, “What do customers ask for?” He

responded:

The most popular art is the Desert art, having a head start they are still the leaders of the pack! We

sell absolutely more of their designs, and it is also what people ask for and are mostly interested in.

I want to represent more Top End art and art from Darwin, but it is just not what people are

familiar with. And the local art centres here see us as the competition so to speak. Also the story is

very important, people always ask for works with a story. It is expected and people want it to

explain the cultural significance of the work, which is a different approach to how people see

Western abstract art. So each work is sold with the story and profiles of the artists.

This curator has a stated interest in art from the Northern Territory. Nevertheless, he is

obliging to the demands of the market by creating a display in which a majority of the art is

Western Desert dot-paintings. As mentioned, many customers associate dot-paintings with

Aboriginal art, which stems from its early art market circulation. Several other commercial art

curators with whom I spoke confirmed this market trend. At Agathon gallery in Sydney the

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curator stated: “Usually we sell a lot of the large Western Desert dot paintings for the highest

prices. The high market of collectors and investors are mostly interested in them.”

The Aboriginal Fine Art curator claims that they do not make art deals with the locally

managed art centres, as they view the commercial galleries as “the competition.” The most

marked difference in sales practices between a commercial gallery and a local and

governmental-funded Aboriginal art centre is, I suggest, their respective motivations. As

urban gallery curators are largely focused on satisfying art market preferences, they are often

more likely to direct the art production of the artists they represent by commissioning certain

popular styles. In contrast, the local art centre managers with whom I spoke were more

concerned with protecting the artists’ creative freedom, as their main goal is to encourage

local art production. It is up to each artist to choose whether he or she wants to paint for their

local art centres or deal directly with art dealers from urban commercial galleries. However,

the latter might be more profitable. Having higher proceeds, commercial galleries might offer

their artists a higher income, hence, introducing the acclaimed element of competition.

The Aboriginal Fine Art Gallery curator further confirms the customers’ interest in design

stories; consequently, he always provides them. This interest in stories indicates, as I have

previously suggested, that the Aboriginal artists’ insistence on the importance of story has

become incorporated into the art market. Currently, a good story increases the status and

assumed authenticity of a painting. The story is supposed to communicate an interpretation of

the art from the artists themselves. Interestingly, this particular showing practice may limit the

curator’s representational authority, by also giving the Aboriginal artists the opportunity to

communicate in their own words what their art is about. Simultaneously, exclusion and

inclusion, recognition and the lack thereof, is still unequally distributed among Aboriginal

artists according to their geographically-based art styles. It is a constant contest concerning

who holds more authority when it comes to the showing of art. The demands and preferences

of curators, artists, and customers in the practice of art exchange contribute mutually in

transforming the status of certain Aboriginal artists and their works.

“Papunya Tula Artists”

In Alice Springs I visited the “Papunya Tula Artists” commercial gallery, considered the main

representative for artists from Papunya Tula. Their display is described in my field notes:

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(04.07.2008). Their gallery space has a stylish and modern look with uncluttered, well lit, white

walls, wooden floors and large open rooms. The exhibition exclusively holds large acrylic

paintings by artists from Papunya Tula, each painting lit with spot lights. The mostly large and high

priced canvases are spaciously exhibited, with a small label providing the name of the artist, title,

and art medium. The designs are abstract dot paintings that are symbolic depictions of country,

where the only figurative element is the occasional snake shape illustrating the Rainbow Serpent

(Ancestral Being). In the centre of the exhibition two books are placed on a square table narrating

the history of the art movement (Perkins et al. 2000; Bardon et al. 2006).

Analysing specifically the space of the “Papunya Tula Artists” gallery, the curators appear to

favour a display focused on the visual qualities of their collection of mostly large and

expensive acrylic paintings. They feature a well-lit and open gallery space, where the

paintings are hung in spacious arrangements. In the middle of the room, a large and padded

table provides detailed editions lists, published books, elaborate certificates with artists’

stories, and catalogues with stylish designs providing artists’ details and high-quality

photographs of their artworks. As described in the previous chapter, an uncluttered, open

display such as this is believed to create a context that contributes to the classification of the

exhibited art as “fine art” and “high quality.” The curators hold much authority in terms of

manipulating their art showing, and careful preparations are made before prospective buyers

can view the art (Steiner 1994), which is believed to enhance the authenticity and value of the

artwork, legitimise the price, and tip the odds in favour of a sale.

The curators of the” Papunya Tula Artists” gallery have chosen to present historical books as

part of their exhibition. I have also observed this practice at other commercial galleries.

“Gallery Mbantua” in Alice Springs represents artists from Utopia. In addition to their sale

display “Gallery Mbantua” included a large collection of books concerning Aboriginal art,

and an upstairs museum-style display providing historical information on the Aboriginal art

movements from different regions of Australia, presented with photographs, objects, and large

text posters. The most prolific and renowned artists from Utopia, such as Emily Kngwarreye,

were presented in much detail. Museums are considered by the general public as institutions

with significant authority, due to the knowledge they hold and their commitment to research

and enlightenment. Presenting the history of the Utopian art movement and the merits of the

Utopian artists in such a methodical manner might legitimise the authenticity of the artworks

in a different manner than an isolated art exhibition would employ. These curators combine

the authority of a museum-style exhibition and use books produced by academics together

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with sale displays focused on showing off the visual qualities of the art objects. It is my

argument that both strategies, though applying different means, are intended for the same goal

of increasing the value and authenticity of the art.

I asked the curator of Papunya Tula Artists to describe Western Desert art in our conversation:

“Most Papunya Tula artists remain with the typical desert iconography using circles and lines, but

the composition, their use of dots, colours, and movement changes all the time. The paintings are

very conceptual depicting depth of cultural knowledge! They paint waterholes, places in the

country, and movement through country. Most artists paint their own sacred sites, repeated

endlessly, only with slight variations.” “How do customers react to the art?” “Most people are very

positive! People who are not familiar with the art feel often completely blown away by it. Some are

so stunned, and feel it is so different ... People also have very different expectations. Some say “I

want something that goes with my red walls!” Others are more interested in the cultural story and

will say things like “I am pregnant and want a design with a story that can relate to pregnancy!” I

encourage people to buy what they like and what appeals to them, at the end of the day you have to

like what you plan to hang in your home. The artists use strong acrylic colours and I do get the odd

couple asking for ochre colours or a more traditional style. I just explain that this is authentic art

because the artists combine the timeless circle, which can be found in very old designs, with the

use of colours that are contemporary. What people most often do not understand is that the abstract

depiction of landscape is in bird perspective. They say “but if this is a landscape why can’t we see

the mountains or sand dunes going up and down,” expecting a Western landscape painting.”

For the Papunya Tula Artists curator, the authenticity in these works is maintained as long as

the artists combine modern, vibrant colours with “conventional” circular designs. Their

colourfulness, though, can cause some customers to judge them as “not traditional enough.”

Thus, even the most established Aboriginal art style can experience prejudice from

conservative customers. However, the comments of this curator also illustrate how Aboriginal

artists have succeeded in educating most customers to appreciate and accept the conceptual

and symbolic nature of their art. Furthermore, the role of the audience is not that of a passive

receiver. This curator reveals how customers have different motivations for purchasing art;

from a concern with the purely visual, to an interest in the art’s symbolic meaning that creates

both metaphoric and tangible visual parallels to personal experiences in their own lives.

For gallery curators, it is of great importance to sell artworks, and therefore it is necessary to

be sensitive to art market demands. Satov (1997) argues that art becomes a commodity only

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once it is exchanged: “All the players in the network earn their livelihoods by satiating the

Western appetite for “other” cultures” (Satov 1997: 237). According to my observations of

the social interactions in commercial galleries, such as this, I noticed that in spite of the

importance of sales, the curators often appeared to down-play or underemphasised their and

the artists’ interest in the customers’ money. With a supposed passive attitude towards the

commodity exchange itself, the curators rather encouraged the customers to focus on the art’s

formal and visual qualities, the merits of the artists, the importance of the cultural value of the

“authentic” art, the value the art holds for the artist, and how any purchase should be based on

how the customer feels about the painting. Plattner (1996) describes this way of art showing

as sustaining a paradox, because art is evaluated according to two contradictory appraisal

systems. The curator encourages a focus on art as significant, meaningful, and high-quality,

while simultaneously being a marketable commodity. I also repeatedly observed how curators

directed the customer’s gaze towards aesthetic value, not price, particularly when the

customer was considering purchasing an expensive art piece. Contrary to such under-

communication of an interest in financial value when talking to customers, curators are

evidently interested in a sale, and I believe that all of their planning and manipulation when

creating their displays are aimed at the ultimate goal of a achieving a sale.

Plattner (1998) describes further how artists themselves also tend to underemphasised the

importance of money and insist that they do not primarily work for a monetary profit. Rather,

their work is assumed to have a more noble cause of personal expression of identity, similar to

a religious calling. In my many conversations with Aboriginal artists, they express similar

attitudes, claiming their main reason for painting is in sharing their kinship-owned stories of

their Dreaming, not money making. A Papunya Tula artist quoted in a MAGNT exhibition

said, “We are not turning culture into cash. We want the world to know our story. These

designs we have always used. The style has changed, but not the message.” For the artists,

though their artistic message undoubtedly is of great importance to them, they also negotiate

with their curators to receive a good price “big money” on their paintings and depend on the

income from their works of art, as would any other member of a capitalistic society. I follow

Steiner (1994) and Myers (2001) when pinpointing how such silencing of an interest in

money is a result of the dominant discourse concerning art in the West, being founded on a

definition of art as transcending simple utility. Consequently, a focus on the economic

dimension of art exchanges might interfere with a seemingly more elevated aesthetic response

to art and a true sense of artistic enjoyment.

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The only occasion in which money is made an explicit issue is when the customers are

interested in purchasing art as a financial investment. I spoke to an art coordinator employed

at a local art centre in the Western Desert, who commented on how she was angered by

customers’ constant demand for collectable, investment-grade works: “Customers often come

to the gallery, pick up a little canvas for 100 dollars and ask “is this a collectable work?”

What do people expect? It is ridiculous, you cannot sell it again, and it does not always rise in

value. And you get what you pay for! You can put something nice on your wall and that is it!

People are so dumb and greedy, but it is good that they are greedy, that is what we need. I

often shock people by saying I take it very seriously to sell as much bad art as I can!”

Plattner (1998) also describes the irony of the actual value of art being mostly unknown to a

large majority of art customers. Usually, there is no correspondence between production cost

and price of an art piece; rather, the price is determined by aesthetic status. Bluntly phrased in

the words of Plattner, “A bad work by a great artist is worth much more than a great work by

a bad artist” (1996: 21). In a similar manner defining the value of art as an investment is a bit

mysterious, un-standardised, and constructed through the social practice of art showing and

seeing. High-status people of the art world make aesthetic judgments founded on hierarchical

values by considering the artists’ status, socio-historical contexts, and personal taste. Maybe

the reason that curators avoid the focus on money is precisely, I suggest, because the value of

art is so fickle. The space of commercial art galleries is a battlefield; curators are aiming to

sell, customers are searching for a gut-feeling response to a painting justifying the use of their

savings, while Aboriginal artists are expressing the cultural significance of their works.

Michaels (1994) argues how neo-Kantianism has ended the determined consensus in aesthetic

tastes and evaluations. Aboriginal art is valued more for being rare, different, and of an almost

obscure value, rather than being “beautiful.” Though, in spite of these contradictions, there is

common ground because customers now judge the value of Aboriginal art according to the

associated story and cultural conventions, as well as aesthetic qualities. Below, a national art

gallery, where artworks are presented to be viewed, not purchased, is explored.

A National Art Gallery Showing Aboriginal Art: Exhibitions for Viewing

The National Gallery of Australia (NGA) is located in Canberra. Its art objects are collected

and bought by curators, becoming acquisitions of their collection, and exhibited in viewing

displays, rather than displays, including much textual information and extensive catalogues.

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An analysis of this particular showing context will illustrate the curatorial ideology of

accentuating the visual and contextual qualities of Aboriginal art, which is motivated by the

opportunity of increasing public knowledge of Aboriginal art and artists. The NGA’s 25th

anniversary coincided with the 40th

anniversary of the 1967 Referendum, when Aborigines

were included in the national census (Clark et al. 2007). The Gallery chose to mark these

historical events by presenting the exhibition “Culture Warriors” as an Art Triennial, which

would be their first exhibition exclusively featuring Aboriginal Australian artists.

“Culture Warriors”

The intention of the National Gallery, as stated in their catalogue, was to invite different

curators for each Triennial. Brenda L. Croft (Senior Curator of Indigenous art at NGA) was

the curator for the Cultural Warriors exhibition. She had selected 30 artists represented by

four works each, produced over the previous three years. Her claimed vision was to illustrate

the broad diversity existing in Aboriginal art by representing a “cross-section” of

contemporary indigenous cultural practices (Clark et al. 2007). My field note-based

presentation of this exhibition will not include descriptions of the works of all of the artists;

rather, I focus on the ways in which the artworks are exhibited.136

I will also question whether

or not, in my opinion, the curator’s motivation of presenting stylistic and medium diversity,

and aim of communicating the artists’ political and cultural messages, was achieved. This is

an excerpt from my field notes describing the display and space:

(28.01.08). All the works are spaciously exhibited, well lit, and with labels giving the artist’s

name, language group, date of birth (and death), title of their work, year of production, medium,

and purchase date. For selected works the design stories are provided on laminated cards in a wall-

box. The exhibition extends over several large and spacious rooms. The first, with a high ceiling

and white walls, hold computers with earphones at the entrance presenting documentary films

showing artists painting and performing rituals in Arnhem Land in 1962. The following rooms all

differ in size and wall colours range from off-white to beige, light blue, dark blue, and yellow.

Similar to a fine art gallery, this exhibition space is aimed at representing the works in a

manner that favours unrestricted visual appreciation. However, the unified, white-walled

“fine art” look is enhanced by a more vivid display, achieved by the multi-coloured exhibition

walls. For an artist, it a great honour to be chosen and displayed at a National gallery.

Moreover, it provides publicity for the artist. Thomas (1999) argues that the elevated status of

136

See the Appendix, pages 466-67, for a more detailed description of the pieces represented in this exhibition.

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art as “high culture” is reinforced when it is exhibited in privileged, prestigious spaces such as

a National art gallery. An extensive and published catalogue presented the artists’ credentials,

providing the artists with an opportunity to promote their work, using Anderson’s (1990)

term, in a more “many-faceted voice,” than in a commercial gallery display. A catalogue also

provides the audience with a broader interpretative framework for the art.

The 30 chosen Aboriginal artists in “Cultural Warriors” came from different states and

regions in Australia, and employ a variety of art media ranging from paintings on canvas,

paper, or bark, to carvings, sculptures, weavings, etchings, textiles, photo-media, video, and,

installations. Such a range of works plainly visualises the curator’s ambition to present the

geographical and artistic diversity existing among contemporary Aboriginal artists, and her

attempt to educate the spectators about this diversity by applying a broad definition of what

constitutes Aboriginal art (Clark et al. 2007). Nevertheless, I observed how artistic styles were

visibly regionally founded. Australian artists that have been labelled “urban Aboriginal

artists” are those living from birth, or relocated from their original birthplace, to the rural or

semi-rural areas of Australia in the south or along the coastline, which has been the region

most affected by white settlement. In this exhibition the represented urban artists were from

several of the cities in Queensland and Tasmania. Observing their works they tended to make

personal interpretations of their Aboriginal heritage, with innovative art styles, using diverse

and mixed media, often in large art installations.

The artists from rural Australian areas, such as the Western Desert, Tiwi, and the Arnhem

Land region, are extensively represented by acrylic paintings on canvas or bark in regional

styles. In large, often ochre-coloured designs, their dot-painting or cross-hatch styles illustrate

particular kinship-owned stories that often are a visualisation of Ancestral power. The curator

seemed to have a goal of overcoming this regionally-based belonging, and justify the

juxtaposition of the works in this exhibition, by presenting statements written on posters

throughout the exhibition. For instance, a lengthy text describes the existing variation in

Aboriginal artworks, yet concludes that “they are all creating work in and off the here and

now!” Another poster states that “this room shows the modern development in old traditions.”

With these statements, and the broad definition of Aboriginal art, including rural and urban

artists, and also a combination of contemporary works with old works from the gallery

collection in the display, the curator is challenging issues of authenticity and the unequal

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acceptance of various Aboriginal art styles in certain art markets. She is also acknowledging

that, in spite of much change, there are elements of continuity in Aboriginal art.

The gallery director and the head curator expressed in the catalogue that they were also

motivated by the goal of illustrating how Aboriginal people deal with the “issues” of the 21st

century through art (Clark et al. 2007). The representations of Aboriginal art are not

straightforward, and the exhibition entitled “Cultural Warrior” reflects precisely on the many

debates in which Aboriginal artists are entangled: questions concerning authenticity, artistic

identity, the importance of cultural affirmation through art, and issues of Australian history,

colonisation, and cultural dispossessions. Through art, Aboriginal voices are increasingly

becoming prominent in the politicisation of performance and cultural forms (Neuenfeldt et al.

2005). What became apparent to me, though, when seeing the displays and reading the

catalogue, was how the so-called “urban artists” provided the strongest political messages,

critically commenting on Australian contemporary society and history, their identity, and the

relationship between white and black Australians. So-called “urban Aboriginal artists” are

known for being accusatory in their art, commenting on issues of displacement and

experienced loss of culture, racial stereotypes, racism, and land rights conflicts. Observing the

urban Aboriginal artists in “Cultural Warriors,” they commented critically on colonisation, the

surveillance of Aborigines in community and Mission life, the past evolutionist museum

practice of displaying Aborigines among Australian flora and fauna, on the devastating effects

of alcohol abuse in Aboriginal communities, and dismissal of romantic notions of “the birth of

Australia.” The critique of the urban artists contrasted strongly with the messages of the rural

artists, who stated in their often much shorter catalogue texts, how they paint their Country,

Dreamings, the Law, or their own Rarrk (crosshatchings), visualizing and manifesting

Ancestral power, or personally-owned body painting designs.

Pekarik137

argued in a New York newspaper in 1990 that “people wanted a safe way to

incorporate Aboriginality and would not be interested in urban art. There is too much pain,

they don’t like accusatory art. People want something they can feel more positive about”

(cited in Myers 2002: 242). Pekarik claims that the critical voice so often applied by “urban

Aboriginal artists” is partly the reason why many of them have struggled to reach the same

137

Pekarik is an art historian and former director of the Asia Society Galleries in New York.

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recognition as so-called “traditional Aboriginal artists.”138

Benjamin (1990) also describes

how urban artists, who lack tribal references in their work, claim to experience active

discrimination from curators and have consequently received less recognition than rural

Aboriginal artists. Yet, this exhibition makes a counter claim to such a proposed attitude by

presenting “urban” and “traditional” artists together, with apparently equal esteem.

The artist Richard Bell from Brisbane, Queensland states, for instance, in the catalogue that

since he is from the east coast, he is not allowed to paint what is popularly called “Aboriginal

art.” Bell claims to resent being placed in the category “urban artist,” suggesting the term

“liberation art” describing the creative freedom he has, as he is able to learn from other

Aboriginal artists and appropriate the work of Western artists in his art (Clark et al. 2007: 59).

The exhibition’s final piece is a film by Richard Bell featuring a boxing match between him

and an “angry white boy.” Playing with racial stereotypes, he states in the film “all I want is

to have my land back!” Apparently Bell does not believe, in contrast to the exhibition

curators, that Aboriginal and white artists are equally represented, as he fittingly ends the

exhibition in the boxing ring. Bell indicates that the “war” is ongoing and that Aboriginal

artists may have to continue as “cultural warriors” to achieve respect and understanding for

their many art media, styles, and art production motivations.

Whether or not the curators succeeded in widening audiences’ views on Aboriginal art is not

for me to answer. However, some of the spectators with whom I spoke admitted to me that

they were left confused by the exhibit, as many of these artworks did not fit their definitions

of Aboriginal art. Even with this brave attempt, there seems to be some way to go before

every person in a diversified audience liberates his or her conservative view of what

constitutes Aboriginal art. On their way out the spectators walk through the last room of the

exhibition, which is a shop with art, souvenirs, and books displayed for sale. Thus, the

spectator is also, in this art viewing context, eventually converted into a potential customer.

138

Broun (1995) argues that many urban Aboriginal artists experience the need to affirm their identity as

descendants of original inhabitants. Eckermann comments, “But they aren’t real aborigines” ... is a frequently

heard comment about Aboriginal people living in urban environments in south of Australia” (1988: 31). Colley

argues the same point, that “Aboriginality is often defined by criteria which are racist, - only “traditional”

aborigines are “real’” others are not “real” aborigines” (2000: 28). Though such stereotypical views are waning,

they are still present in the Australian public. Thomas argues that Aboriginal artists trying to turn away from

“canonized ancestral styles” and who “reject the restrictive affirmation of tradition” often end up concerned with

questions of identity and tend to reproduce colonial images in their attempt to reframe representations of

Aboriginal people (1999: 197).

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Museums Showing Aboriginal Art: Exhibitions with Contextualisation

Museums are non-profit institutions that, through their public displays of material culture,

hold an important and authoritarian role in the production of cultures, in the manner that they

can change and affect peoples’ concepts of the past, cultures, and material heritage. Museums

have historically had a problem with agency in their displays particularly that of minoritised

subjects often represented in the museum spaces of cultural displays. It has been a long

struggle for indigenous people to represent themselves in the field of museum practices

(Myers 2006a). Thus, Morphy claims that following their insistence, “one of the main

changes in museums over the last thirty years has been greatly increased involvement of

indigenous people”(2006: 473). In the following I would like to question to what extent

contemporary museum exhibition practices are incorporating the voices, intentions and

motivations of the Aboriginal artists they represent, with reference to one exhibition of

Aboriginal art at the National Australian Museum in Canberra.

Initially, I will explore the ideologies behind the showing of art in museums. Morphy (2006),

Myers (2006a) and Mairesse and Desvallées (2010) all describe museums as complex and

dynamic institutions with multiple functions. Their main concerned is founded on an ideology

to educate and inform, as well as provide enjoyment to the wider public. Their second concern

is to collect, acquire, perform research on and study, conserve or preserve, store and safeguard

material objects. Museums finally take communicative action by exhibiting and interpreting

their collections of material objects in a manner that includes and transmits wider social and

cultural contextualisation of the objects. Though also creating visualised displays intended for

sensorial appreciation, museums are, in comparison with the presented art sale and gallery

displays, characterised by an ideology of looking beyond, or adding to, the “visible” qualities

of objects. Thus, when representing, for instance, Aboriginal art, they include the “invisible”

qualities of paintings by also presenting broad ethnographic referencing on posters,

catalogues, and in academic publications (Vogel 1989; Taylor 1990; Alpers 1991; Kahn

1995). Museums are, due to both their collections and displays, in the words of Morphy,

“repositories of cultural knowledge in the form of objects” (2010: 149).

In creating a museum exhibition, the curators tend to categorise and combine a variety of

objects together, creating contextualised displays or dioramas that communicate their

understanding of the original contexts, cultures, or periods the objects have been removed

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from. Morphy (2006) defines these museum practices of making and preserving collections,

and the displays produced though interpretation of those collections, as “value creation

processes,” (2006: 471) because such framing of objects renders them with a certain value.

While so doing, museums with their large audiences become authoritative cultural institutions

holding the power to reconstitute the meaning and value of objects, according to how they

choose to represent them. Consequently, museums also change peoples’ understanding of the

cultures they represent (Crew et al. 1991; Morphy 2006; Myers 2006a).

Museums have been criticised extensively because of their defining authority and the apparent

lack of indigenous agency. Furthermore, there is always an inherent possibility for creating

misrepresentations and displays that could appear static, or as existing outside the dynamics

of history. I will explore briefly some of the critiques of museum displays in the following. In

the words of Clifford, “museums – create the illusion of adequate representation of a world by

first cutting objects out of specific contexts and separating them as such from lived

experiences ... and then making them “stand for” abstract wholes” (1988: 220). In a similar

manner Kahn (1995) has also criticised the tendency of museums to project what he describes

as an “imposed order” onto human life, history, and the functioning of the world. Taussig

(2004), inspired by Benjamin (1970), further describes the actual museum context as dead and

hostile places because of their ideology to create a seemingly artificial order out of the actual

chaos, flux, and flow of reality in their practical theme arrangements that lose the objects’

temporality, making the preserved objects appear timeless.

I suggest that making a museum exhibition of collected objects is unavoidably, and obviously,

a representation of real life; thus, some reduction of material complexity is inevitable.

However, rather than just preserving, representing, re-establishing, or re-contextualising the

meanings objects have in their original locations, museums are actually establishing original

relations and producing something new through their display of objects. Museum exhibitions

should be seen, I argue, as embracing more than simple repetitions or a final endpoint,

because they are, in reality, building re-creations of object potential through their creative and

social display practices. It is because of this ability that Myers (2006a) chooses to regard

museums as sites of cultural production in a globalising cultural economy. Furthermore,

objects are usually collected and displayed because the curator seeks to tell a story. Museum

curators are consciously attempting, I believe, to reduce this supposed distance so widely

criticised in their displays, to be able to say something of interest about what exists outside of

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the museum walls. Although, museums may have had a general tendency to be conservative

institutions, I observed how current museum exhibitions strive for new and innovative ways

to present the more complex nature of material reality, by avoiding the rigid and evolutionistic

classifications of early museum exhibitions. The separations that may exist between the

museum exhibition and the world it represents, I argue, is not complete, because the objects,

artists, curators, and viewers are influencing each other in the constantly changing and

dynamic social practices that are made visible in exhibitions.

The boundaries between sales and viewing displays are also fluid, and I have observed a

recent trend in which these two representational practices are exchanged. As described above,

some galleries imitate museum-like displays; this is believed to increase the value of

Aboriginal art. Museums are representing objects from Aboriginal material culture not just as

ethnographic artifacts, but as art, displayed with an emphasis also on their aesthetic qualities.

Such changes in historical art showing practices are, I argue, a reflection of how the

recognition of Aboriginal art is changing due to social, historical, and political changes in

society. Facilitating such changes are the developing opinions among artists, the public, art

critics, and museum and gallery curators, who all influenced each other concerning how to

exhibit and appreciate Aboriginal art. An increased focus on presenting both the visual and

ethnographic attributes of art objects, and their dynamic and processual development, in

museum exhibitions is plainly exemplified in “Papunya Paintings out of the Desert.”

“Papunya Paintings out of the Desert”

The exhibition “Papunya Paintings out of the Desert” was exhibited at the National Australian

Museum in Canberra in 2007. The curator’s motivation for the exhibition, as stated in the

catalogue, was to “bring together, for the first time in a major public exhibition, some of the

early masterpieces of the renowned Western Desert art movement” (Pickering 2007: V). The

curator also wanted to exhibit the paintings in a manner that appreciated their history,

aesthetics, and cultural meaning, achieved by contextualising them and focusing on how they

reveal the artists’ lived experiences. When observing this exhibition, I had a particular focus

on whether or not the display reflected the artists’ lives and artistic development, as well as

including their voices. This is an excerpt from my field notes describing the display:

(28.01.08). At the entrance a box with red sand is placed under a large poster with “Papunya

Painting. Out of the Desert” written in white letters on a rusty-red background. In the foyer a second

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sand box and a life size picture of painting artists are placed next to this introductory text: “During

the 1970-80’s Central and Western Desert artists created a body of work that transformed the

understanding of Aboriginal art. The canvases used are large or suitcase sized and the artists

experiment with colour and styles to tell the story of their Dreaming and Country. This exhibition

wants to highlight the collection of the National Museum.” Entering the exhibition a certain

atmosphere is created as the room is half-lit with black walls. Only the paintings, artefacts, and texts

are illuminated with spot lights. Sounds of low singing and artists talking in language fill the air. All

the paintings are stretched canvases mostly of large sizes, in square and rectangular shapes, flanked

by labels divided in four sections: The first gives painting title, name of artist(s), and year of

production, design story, and medium. The second gives a line drawn copy of the particular painting

with symbolic interpretations of all the different abstract design elements. For instance a circle can

represent a waterhole or fire place, a v shape is a track of animal or human, a u shape is a woman or

a man sitting down. The third square gives a bibliography of the artist concerning life events, living

place, employment, family relations, and details from their artistic career. The remaining square is

purely decorative where images such as the shade of grass are printed on white or beige

backgrounds. Most of the designs stories narrate Dreamtime stories, stories of kinship owned

Dream sites on the land, descriptions of ceremonies and rituals.

The colours used in the Papunya Paintings out of the Desert exhibition on the walls, posters,

and labels were making a visual parallel, I suggest, to the colours of the Western Desert

landscape and the art styles of Western Desert artists, who mostly use a palette of yellow,

brown, and red shades. The particular lighting directed one’s gaze to the art, creating sensorial

responses similar to what one could experience in an art gallery. Rogan (2008) critiqued an

exhibition at the Branly Museum in Paris that also used light as an effect. He describes how

half-darkness was intended to create an exoticising association to a jungle landscape at dusk.

Rogan argues that this half-darkness was an unsuccessful use of lighting that resulted in the

spectator experiencing the exhibition as confusing and disorienting, and it made the texts

difficult to read. In contrast, I think that the curator’s use of half-darkness with illuminated

objects in the Papunya Tula exhibition was beneficial. It created a comfortable atmosphere

and focused the spectator’s gaze on the visual attributes of the paintings.

When observing the Papunya Tula exhibition, I overheard some of the comments made by

visiting spectators. Most of them seemingly enjoying the paintings and read the posters in

contemplatory silence. A woman commented upon reading how sacred messages are partly

hidden in some designs, “This is so interesting, isn’t it? It really makes a difference reading it

like this, to understand what it all means!” Her partner replied, “Yes, but I like to look at the

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picture myself first to see what I make of it, and then read the signs!” The conflicting

preferences of these spectators refer to a previously mentioned representative disagreement,

concerning whether to view Aboriginal artworks in aesthetic isolation, allowing them to speak

for themselves, or with the ethnographic contextual explanations. The curator attempted to

combining the two by creating an opportunity for the spectator to enjoy the paintings as art,

hung spaciously and well-lit, and with the option of reading the ethnographic referencing and

contextualising historical and cultural information hung next to them. Johnson the curator

argues that the classic 1970 Papunya paintings are “layered like the skins of an onion,” clearly

illustrated by the exhibited drawings mapping the symbols used in each painting (2007: 29).

In addition to the label biographies, the display included posters with quotes from the artists,

to communicate their life experiences and artistic intentions. One poster quoted: “This is the

country where I was born, it is my country, and it belongs to me. I want to pass on my culture

to the children and to the world. Do you understand that this is my country?”

Throughout the exhibition, there were also many posters providing socio-historical, cultural

and geographic contextualisation. The spectators were informed that the inhabitants who

settled in Papunya were from the Anmatyerre, Warlpiri, Pintupi, Kukatja, and Luritja

language groups. Papunya was one of the last communities established in the Northern

Territory in 1960. At the end of the 1970s art had become a major income source for many in

the Papunya community, sustaining 57 painters and 36 carvers. One poster also related the art

movement developments to changes in society initiated by governmental policies:

This time was a period of transition. The government policy of self-determination was finally being

felt also here. The last superintendent left. Local Aboriginal people understood the Aboriginal Land

Act as getting access to your land. This change developed numerous outstations where most of the

large canvases of this area were painted.

The Self Determination Act enabled for many Aborigines to return to and settle on their

kinship-owned Homelands. Thus, as reflected in the exhibition title, a majority of the Western

Desert canvas paintings that would transform the urban art world were perpetually produced

in the desert. However, this art movement could not have been established without the art

market interest and accessibility described on a poster:

Aborigines have been exchanging artefacts for European goods in the desert areas from as early as

1870. The Australian railway built in 1915 transformed the market for Aboriginal art by bringing

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travellers and tourists interested in the objects. Then when the link from Adelaide to Alice Springs

was built in 1929 the exchange increased even more. To begin with mostly wood carvings were

made and exchanged … After the start of the art movement in Papunya and with influence from the

Hermannsburg School a transformation from wood carvings to painting gradually took over the

market. The dotted background of many of these early works became the Hallmark of Papunya art.

This exhibition illustrated how Papunya Tula art is created in a processual development

influenced by both the art market and also art curators. The curators of Papunya Tula lived

periodically in the community, assisting the development of the art movement, and they were

presented early on in the exhibition: Peter Fannin (1972-75); Janet Wilson and Dick Kimber

(1975-77); John Kean (1977-79); and Andrew Crocker (1989-81). They were presented as

being motivated by a wish to reveal the cultural integrity of these artworks.

Quotes from each of them are given to capturing their ideologies and strategies in terms of

promoting and developing their art. For instance, John Kean said “Big canvases really focus

the energy of the artists in his work and it allows him to try different things and map out the

whole of his country.” His comment is interesting, as I have observed that in the art worlds

there seems to be a recurring interest in large canvases, particularly for Aboriginal art. Not

only Western Desert artists, but also artists from other areas have been producing increasingly

larger canvases, which are seemingly favoured by art collectors. I spoke with many curators

who confirmed this trend. The curator of Papunya Tula Artists stated: “People who are asking

for investments often go for the larger pieces. It is hard to know why, maybe it is human

nature. Once I saw a customer who was looking at another man buying a painting saying “yes

it looks great, but my piece is bigger!” On the other hand it is a bit strange you would

certainly never evaluate a Monet by its size!” A curator with whom I spoke in Gallery

Gondwana in Alice Springs claims that collectors are under the impression that a larger

canvas makes a more valuable investment because of the high price and more visual details.

The curator at Fine Aboriginal Art gallery informed me how he encouraged artists to paint on

larger canvases, “Collectors and investors buy them even if I double the price!” Keen, the

early Papunya art coordinator, with his preference for large works, may have initiated the

tendency for Western Desert artists to produce large canvases, a trend still encouraged by

curators and collectors in the art market for all Aboriginal artists.

In my opinion, the Papunya Paintings out of the Desert exhibition at the National Australian

Museum did not appear as a timeless collection of objects. Rather, the visual display and

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posters reflected a gradual socio-historical development of an art movement, where the

Papunya Tula artists produced art in a cross-section of their own communities, the national

Australian society, and the art market. For these artists, this museum exhibition enhances their

status and respectability as artists, because museums are seen as knowledgeable institutions

with a judgment authority respected by the public (Ericson 1988). According to the catalogue,

this exhibition was the result of collaboration between the head curator, anthropologists,

former Papunya Tula curators, and living Papunya Tula artists. Taussig has suggested to “start

with smashing of vitrines” (2004: 315) to avoid the distance often experienced in museums

between the spectator and the represented objects. In my opinion, this curator’s

communication with the Papunya Tula artists has reduced the distance between the artists

themselves and the museum’s attempt at representing them, which may perhaps also reduce

the supposed distance between the artists and the museum spectators. Such closeness is also a

goal for Ngan’gi artists when creating urban exhibitions of their own art in the combined roles

of art centre employees, curators, and artists, as described in the following.

Art Centres Showing Aboriginal Art: Exhibitions of Local Art Production

Aboriginal art is also marketed through community-based intermediary organisations (Altman

1990). In contrast to commercial galleries local art centres, such as Merrepen Arts, are

commonly government-funded, non-profit organisations, managed by an Arts Board

comprised of local artists, with the main ambition of motivating local art production. Though

occupying a small corner of the art world, I want to explore in the following how Merrepen

Arts still holds the basic attributes of larger and more established commercial galleries and

museums, sustaining producers, distributers, and consumers (Becker 1982; Ericson 1988).

When customers or spectators enter art galleries and museums, I argue, following Vogel

(1989), that most of them are blissfully unaware or unreflective of the degree of which their

experience is conditioned by how the curators have arranged an exhibition. Faced with the

end result of an exhibition, the planning and execution involved in the practice of art showing,

remains invisible to them. However, as mentioned, I was not merely a spectator at Merrepen

Arts. In the following sections, it will be revealed how my close participation in the

administrative work of Merrepen Arts as an unpaid employee provided me with an insider’s

perspective of every stage, including the many practical, ideological, and aesthetic

considerations that are part of their art showing practices. I will analyse and describe one art

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exhibition and one of the annual Merrepen Arts festivals by including descriptions of the

practical management of employee work, planning, and preparations. These ethnographic

details will illustrate how art, in its state of becoming, is dependent on many agents and is a

part of complex social practices. These details will shed light on the artists’ motivations for

exhibition performances and the customers’ preferences in art exchanges.

Introducing the exhibition practices of Merrepen Arts, a short historical overview is provided.

Their first exhibition was held in Darwin in 1987, titled “Paintings by the Women of Nauiyu,”

arranged by their first art coordinator, who described the event from memory in an interview:

At the end of 87 I went away for the bush holiday period and when I came back I found that they

were painting. They hadn’t been painting in the first six months, only drawing. Miriam-Rose had

gone to town and bought them some boards to paint on, because they had nothing to do. They were

all story paintings with quality and diversity and they were so well painted. I was just amazed! … I

got in contact with Margie West (curator at MAGNT)… She gave me advice and I approached the

Museum in all ignorance with some paintings that I took with me. They could fit us in for a week

and a half. Then came the question of how we were going to mount them, because they were not on

canvas only these little art boards. They were mounted on another board covered in hessian and

with a small black frame for the exhibition … The museum provided us with labels and we

exhibited the stories next to the paintings, and we also had dilly bags. We almost sold out!

This narration illuminates some main differences between early and contemporary Merrepen

Arts exhibitions. According to the coordinator, the first Merrepen Arts exhibition, although

featuring un-established artists and with little promotion, sold a majority of its paintings.

Historically, the Aboriginal art movement proliferated from the early 1970s and onwards

through the establishment of funded Aboriginal art centres within communities, with their

own Boards and employed art advisors. The demand for Aboriginal art was growing and

competition was limited in these initial phases. Anderson argues that “if there were art there,

it sold” (1990: 19). Currently, in a much more competitive Aboriginal art market, selling out

an art exhibition, as the Ngan’gi artists did in 1987, is, according to my observations,

extremely rare. A successful contemporary Ngan’gi exhibition would typically sell one third

of the displayed artworks, inspite of thorough marketing.

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Studying historical archive materials, I was able to document some of the main changes in the

art showing practices of Merrepen Arts.139

For instance, there has been a substantial change in

pricing practices since the earliest exhibitions. Fibre works were categorised as craft and

priced at around 70 AUD. In contemporary Ngan’gi art exhibitions fibre works have achieved

a higher status, appreciated for their handmade quality, which is reflected in higher prices

ranging up to 500 AUD. Paintings were, according to the edition-list, sold at prices ranging

from 500 up to 3500 AUD, which, even at present would be considered high prices.

Apparently, contemporary established artists sell their paintings for less than un-established

artists did almost 20 years ago, which may be a result of the increased competition in the

Aboriginal art market. Exhibitions given by Ngan’gi artists and Merrepen Arts employees in

cities do not, according to the local manager and former art coordinators I have spoken with,

provide much profit, nor do they cover the costs of these exhibitions. They are still justified as

providing important exposure for Ngan’gi art and for providing the artists with valuable

exhibition experience.140

“Since the early 1980’s, exhibitions have played a major role in

raising the profile of Aboriginal Art and introducing it to the world” (McCulloch 1999: 45).

It was common in the first years of the Ngan’gi art movement to create art displays holding a

mix of art media, as described above by the former art coordinator. Paintings were displayed

together with painted silk scarves, dilly bags, and fishnets. However, in contemporary urban

exhibitions of Ngan’gi art outside of Nauiyu, the various media are displayed in isolation,

featuring each medium exclusively. This manner of showing is employed to fit the art market

category of “fine art,” believed to increase the customers’ perceived value of the art. In the

early exhibition, paintings were exhibited with their associated design stories. Again, due to

the importance of having a “fine art-like” clean, uncluttered exhibition space, Ngan’gi

paintings and prints are currently exhibited with a small label referring to the number on an

edition list, with the story recorded on an authenticating certificate provided upon sale.

The names of Ngan’gi art exhibitions have changed over the years, which I interpret as

reflecting the art coordinators’ attempts to cater to the customers’ changing attitudes towards

Aboriginal art. The earliest exhibition was simply named “Paintings by the Women of

Nauiyu.” Another early exhibition was named “Out of the Chrysalis.” The first art coordinator

139

The archive materials I studied included photos of artworks and catalogues from early exhibitions, which I

was generously provided by the first Merrepen Arts art coordinator. I also found material on former Merrepen

Arts exhibitions at Peters Spillet Library at MAGNT in Darwin and in Merrepen Arts archives. 140

In the Appendix, page 467, a list of individual and group exhibitions conducted by Merrepen Arts is provided.

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of Merrepen Arts explained to me in an interview that the motivation behind this name came

from the women embracing their identity as artists: “Chrysalis is when the dragonfly spends

its first stage as a pupa under water clinging to leaves, and we just thought that was a nice

name since they were coming out as artists with that Sydney exhibition.” The subsequent

exhibition names, such as “Green River Dreams,” “Old people’s stories: Our stories,” and

“Heart of the Land,” may have been a response to the increasing appreciation of the cultural

references in Aboriginal art to country, stories, and the Dreaming. This growing appreciation

of how Aboriginal art production is a form of “performing Aboriginality” was also

communicated by including language in the exhibition names, such as “Miyi I Kagu Nayin”

arranged in 2005.141

The exhibition name Endirrlup was first in 2001. It means “meeting

place” in MalakMalak, the language of Nauiyu’s Traditional Owners, focusing on how the

exhibition brings artists and customers together in the sharing of culture and art.

“Endirrlup” Merrepen Arts Etching and Mini-Painting Exhibition

The Endirrlup exhibition exclusively featured Ngan’gi prints and mini paintings, and was

shown annually in December at Darwin’s Entertainment Centre from 2001 through 2005 by

the Ngan’gi artists and their former art coordinator. When she ended her employment this

exhibition was temporarily discontinued. During my fieldwork the current local manager and

I decided to take up this pre-Christmas exhibition tradition, and in close cooperation between

the manager, the employees, and myself, we laid the groundwork for the exhibition together.

According to my own observations and participation, I will describe in the following many of

the practical tasks performed and involved when artists and employees from a local

community-based art centre venture to create a fine art exhibition in an urban gallery.

When the Ngan’gi artists and employees prepared for the Endirrlup sale exhibition on the 7th

of December 2007, their paintings and prints were transformed, giving them a status that

made them worthy of entering the commercial art world. As described previously, these

processes of transformation involved first, referring to Svašek (2007), a transit or movement

in time and space across social and geographical boundaries, as the Ngan’gi prints and mini

paintings were transported from Nauiyu to the exhibition room in Darwin. Once displayed, a

transition or a change in the value and status of these artworks also occurs, which may alter

141

Translated as “vegetable foods and meat is everyone” this reflects on both the uniting Dreamtime ideology in

which all are considered one, and on the subject matter of the Merrepen paintings being bush tucker.

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how the customers appreciate them. A colourful etching that could be conceived as tourist art

when represented in the mixed-medium displays at Merrepen Arts in Nauiyu may be elevated

to the status of “fine art” when displayed on the white walls of an urban gallery space. The

exhibition groundwork and preparations by Merrepen Arts employees contributed to creating

a manipulated status transition. Steiner (1994) argues that the curators’ roles are important, as

they mediate between artists and consumers, an activity not done mindlessly. I will describe

how the Ngan’gi artists make conscious decisions according to their particular showing

practice. Their main motivation when facilitating these processes of transformation is to

present their art in a manner that capitalises and brings forward the cultural value of their

artworks, as well as creating a display that appeals to the desires of the consumers.

The first practical step of creating Endirrlup was to select the etchings and screen prints to be

included in the exhibition. The manager judged each work according to aesthetic quality,

artistic reputation, customer recognition, and year of production, creating a selection that he

believed to represent the best of contemporary Ngan’gi prints with highest saleability. Then, if

the selected editions were only half-printed, (for instance 10 out of 20), the edition was

completed by their printmaker in Darwin, according to former proofs. The full edition was

returned to Nauiyu for the artists to sign. All printed media is authenticated as art, and only

saleable, once the artist has signed and as such identified his or her work.

Plate 8.1 Photograph of Molly Yawalminy signing her “Bush Tucker” etching.

Signing can be a time-consuming activity, especially with the older artists, who are only able

to write their own name. The manger said, “We have to sit with them old ladies and watch

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them sign every single one; otherwise they might do it wrong, put their name in the wrong

place, or leave out a letter. When it comes to writing my makali (mother’s mother) is like a

child.” Then, one signed etching from each print-edition was packed and sent to the frame

maker, residing in Darwin, to be framed. Errington (1994) argues that the framing assists in

converting objects into aesthetically valued art, as the frame creates a physical boundary

between the object, the audience and their everyday life; the frame accentuates the exclusive

and elevated status of art.

As mentioned, authenticating certificates have become an important part of Aboriginal art

showing practices, involving many practical tasks. Merrepen Arts employees begin with the

photographing of each print, providing a visual image for the certificate. Then, the design

story is taken from the artist and recorded with additional information about the etching’s

size, date of printing, and the artist’s biography. Subsequently, one certificate has to be

printed for each available edition, with matching edition numbers.

Marketing an exhibition is also of great importance because the Aboriginal art market is, as

already mentioned, increasingly competitive due to a growing number of Aboriginal art

outlets and artists. On the edition list and the exhibit invitation, the manager and I decided to

use a section of Aaron McTaggart’s “Crocodile Skin” design, which has proved particularity

popular among Merrepen Arts customers. We were then assisted by Top End Art in Darwin

with the printing and distribution of the invitation as posters and cards.142

The final preparations involved packing all of the equipment necessary to create an

exhibition, and these tasks were performed by the Merrepen Arts employees in Nauiyu on the

evening before the exhibition opening. Labels, pens, scissors, staplers, tape, silk paper for

wrapping, red stickers for the sold frames, items for cleaning, and tablecloths were all put in

plastic containers. The framed prints were cleaned with mentholated spirits, removing dust

and finger prints, making them presentable for viewing, and finally packed in transportation

boxes. All of the unframed prints were packed in two large folders, with one plastic sleeve for

each edition of a print design.

142

Top End Arts is a non-profit organisation working with artists, arts organisations, and creative businesses in

the Northern Territory to assist them in bringing their products and services to local, national, and international

audiences and markets. They have worked with Merrepen Arts, repeatedly assisting with practical arrangements,

marketing, and funding applications for the many exhibitions such as this and the Merrepen Arts Festivals.

The Endirrlup invitation is provided in the Appendix on page 468.

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The physical act of setting up the Endirrlup exhibition commenced early in the morning of the

day of the opening night, and involved the coordinated cooperation of several employees, the

manager, the bookkeeper and her husband, my husband and myself; all of us performed many

practical tasks in a short amount of time. The framed and signed prints now underwent a final

step in their transition into works of art that would communicate design stories and aesthetic

value to potential customers. We began by unpacking and cleaning the frames, and then lined

them up against the wall, organising them according to how they would be hung. The artists

are focused on communicating the thematic subject-matter of each design and decided to

exhibit them in thematic groups of designs featuring plants, birds, and fish. Based on my

experience of hanging gallery exhibitions in other art world contexts, I included aesthetic

concerns focused on how a visually appealing exhibition can contribute to provide the

customers positive sensorial experiences. Therefore, I also suggested taking the colour and

size of the frames into consideration when hanging the framed etchings.

As we were all discussing, and at times even arguing, about how to display the works, we

noticed to our surprise that some of the prints picked up from the frame maker that morning

had been framed twice, and two were framed unsigned. The creation of a successful

exhibition of art is acutely dependent on the cooperation of a network of art world

participants, which is only as strong as its weakest link. An artist going through a pile of

prints had missed one when signing them. An employee had failed to notice the unsigned

print when delivering them to the frame maker. The frame maker failed to check the signature

and framed it unsigned. Regardless of where the error occurred, the end result was that we

were forced to exclude these prints from the exhibition. As we continued to build up the

display we ran out of wall space. Thus, we have to exclude prints again, and for each re-

selection, we had to update the edition list accordingly. Consequently, the physical building of

an exhibition space also directly influences how an exhibition will unfold.

Each print was displayed on the well-lit white walls with a numbered label next to its right

corner, referring to the work’s number in the edition list. The final touches were made by

placing blue tablecloths on a table in the centre of the room in which all the mini paintings

were exhibited, with cut plastic sheets on top and handwritten labels. The packing and sales

tables were covered in red tablecloths. The wooden boxes used to transport the frames were

converted into a table for the folders with the unframed prints. All of these activities

contributed in changing the status of the Ngan’gi prints and mini paintings, preparing them

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for showing in a fine art gallery display, where consumers and artists are brought together in

fleeting moments of economic exchanges (Steiner 1994).

Opening Night of Endirrlup

On opening night the Merrepen Arts employees arrived, dressed up for the occasion, to do

their assigned jobs: The bookkeeper and one employee managed the catering of finger food,

fruit, cheese, and nuts. The bookkeeper was also managing the sales, together with the

manager and the assistant manager. Four employees were assigned to collect the sold

unframed prints with their certificates and to wrap them in silk paper for the customers. Pre-

opening nerves created a tense atmosphere, as the employees expressed a fear of the necessary

“shame job” of customer interaction and the anticipated judgment of their art. Thus, in

avoidance, they assigned to me the task of handing out the edition lists at the gallery entrance

and answering customer questions, or “guest begging,” as the employees called it. Excerpts

from my field notes describe the Endirrlup opening:

(07.12.2007). At 18.00 o’clock customers and spectators start arriving. At the door the Darwin

Entertainment Centre has provided a tended bar serving red and white wine, beer, and Champaign

free of charge to the visitors. Employees take their positions, initially appearing a bit intimidated

behind the tables. The room is slowly filling, people wandering around, sipping their drinks and

talking, while looking at prints and then at the edition list checking the title, artists, and prices.

Some of them approach me and ask questions, mostly concerning design stories. Customers are

already picking out the mini paintings they want to purchase, even though the sales do not

commence until after the official opening.

At 18.30 pm there are approximately 40 people present and it is time for the official opening.

Sylvia Klienert, invited by the manager, is ready to give the opening speech.143

The manager is

reluctant to raise his voice and asks me to get the crowd’s attention. I tap a glass while calling for

attention, and the loud murmur of voices immediately ceases. All eyes are on us. The manager

stands there a bit frozen instead of giving the planned welcoming. I intervene by introducing him

and then discretely whisper him a hint like a prompter. He hesitantly says “hello everyone!

Welcome to our exhibition this year of prints and mini paintings” … He then thanks the National

Australian Bank for sponsoring the exhibition and introduces Klienert. She initiates a long speech

first thanking for the honour of being invited, then giving a general description of the Aboriginal

art movement history, the importance of art sales, prints in particular, for Aboriginal communities.

143

Dr. Sylvia Klienert is, as mentioned, an Associate Professor at the Centre for Cross-Cultural Research at the

National Australian University in Canberra. Major parts of her speech are provided in the Appendix on page 468.

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Lastly, she presents Ngan’gi art by introducing the most common design themes, and stating how

Ngan’gi art is very contemporary, vibrant, and different from other Aboriginal art styles. She ends

with an appeal; “I will encourage you all to purchase these prints to support the community, the

artists and the indigenous art movement, as well as getting a beautiful indigenous art print.”

Directly after the opening speech the sales are initiated and customers rush forward to buy.

The scene was set for art viewing and exchanges. Klienert holds a certain authority as a

professor of Aboriginal art, and her speech contributed to “talking up the art” (Plattner 1996),

which may have contributed to increased art sales. During the opening the gallery had

approximately 60 visitors. Thus, attendance and interest in the art was a success. According to

my observations of and conversations with customers, their aesthetic judgments of the

Ngan’gi artworks were mixed. Many expressed great admiration for the art, which was

evident also from the numerous art sales, while others left without buying with a critical

dismissal. I received many questions concerning stories and what the circles in certain designs

symbolised. I provided explanations and design stories repeatedly to curious spectators.

A majority of the art sales were conducted during the first hour. The first sold framed etching

was McTaggart’s “Crocodile Skin” followed by Wawul’s “Lily Pods,” and Sambono’s

“Barramundi” designs. The mini paintings were popular, and all of the mini paintings created

by Gracie Kumbi are sold out first. One man purchasing several of Kumbi’s pieces reported

that he was building a collection of her work. There were many factors that influenced these

art exchanges, such as the advanced marketing, Klienert’s speech, the style of hanging, the

aesthetic quality and subject-matter of the works, the artists’ reputation, and customer

preferences. Of all of the etchings, in this exhibition McTaggart’s “Crocodile Skin” was the

first to sell all of the 30 etchings in the edition, which I suggest was not accidental. Though

the quality of the etchings and the artist’s talent were important factors, this was also the

design that has been featured on the edition list and invitation. Therefore, many customers

asked for “the croc skin print” upon arrival, having seen it advertised, illustrating how

advertisement contributes to increasing the market value and popularity of an artwork.

Another point is how the mini paintings of the artist Gracie Kumbi were the first to sell out,

regardless of the fact that her paintings had the highest prices. Kumbi is a talented and

established artist, which makes her work desirable, but there are also other factors that might

influence an artist’s reputation. Plattner (1996, 1998) argues that art is the only commodity

more likely to sell if the curator increases the price. Customers usually appreciate low and

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reduced prices, except when it comes to art. In the absence of clear and shared rules for

judging the quality of paintings, customers mistrust their own judgment, but appreciate a high

price as a sign of high quality and excellence.

Philip Wilson, in a 2007 interview, described art exhibitions as a meeting place, stating that

he saw it as a privilege for the customers to be able to talk to artists and look at their work: “It

is like I’m learning their way by standing in front of them and talking to them, and they are

learning from me!” I could observe throughout the Endirrlup opening how the customers

greatly appreciated the opportunity to talk with the artists, described in my field notes:

The artists appear increasingly relaxed as the exhibition proceeds smoothly. Half-way through the

event there is gradually more talking as the sales start slowing down. I encourage the employees to

talk to the customers that are still floating around in the room, sipping their drinks and viewing the

art. Two of the artists hesitantly enter the crowds, and after a few moments of standing there they

are approached by customers and engage in conversation. They want to know why they chose to

make certain designs and what the stories mean. Some customers request a photo with them and the

artists in front of their work that they have purchased.

Plate 8.3 and 8.4 Catherine Ariuu and Marita Sambono posing with customers at Endirrlup.

Meeting the artists face-to-face and hearing them share their design stories gives customers a

multifaceted experience, this contributes to increasing the value of the art and the likelihood

for a sale. Consequently, the artists who were present at the exhibition sold more than the

artists who had not been present. The Merrepen Arts employees expressed to me before the

event how they were excited, yet dreaded the judgment of their art and difficult questions

from insensitive and pushy customers. Afterwards they expressed great relief, satisfaction

with the sales, and pride in the recognition the customers gave their art. When the last

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customers had left the room, the artists let loose in spontaneous joy and, encouraged by great

cheers, one of the older women got up and started dancing. Endirrlup became a meeting place

where the seeing and showing of art created a dynamic play between prints and paintings,

artists, and customers that resulted in inter-cultural communication and art exchanges.

The 21st Merrepen Arts Festival

One morning, I was sitting under the mango tree in front of the gallery with one of the older

artists, when she said, “I remember before we had that art centre building, long time ago, we

had to hang our paintings and dilly bags under this mango tree for festival time.” The first

Merrepen Arts Festival, with sales and a formal art auction, was arranged in 1987 in Nauiyu,

with the aim of bringing the distant art market to the community. The festival has since

become an annual event arranged over the first weekend of June, providing the highest art

sales of the year. The performance of the Merrepen Arts Festival of 2008, which I will

describe in the following, was the festival’s 21st anniversary. A festival provides a particular

form of art showing that creates what Coleman and Crang (2002) define as a “public forum.”

This is because culturally founded performances and art displays are temporally created in the

moment at a festival. Furthermore, a festival involves the opportunities for direct contact

between customers, art centre employees, and artists (Coleman et al. 2002). It is my aim is to

illustrate through my analysis of the Merrepen Arts festival how this form of art exchange

creates particular challenges to the authority of the Ngan’gi, while simultaneously giving

them stronger agency when acting as both artists and as curators.

The Merrepen Arts employees and artists are, in the festival setting, directly in charge of how

their art is represented when preparing their own festival, motivated by the opportunity for art

sales, publicity, artistic recognition, and the sharing of stories with their audience. The tables

are turned, upon the arrival of customers. The customers hold much authority when choosing

to purchase art or not, based on their personal preferences. Furthermore, when participating in

a festival, customers arrive with an intention of having a total experience that include not only

the seeing and judging of art, but also wanting to meet the artists and see the site of art

production. A festival scene also includes more than spectators or customers viewing art; it

encompasses art centre employees, community members, and volunteers, as well as the

Ngan’gi artists. During a festival, the location of the event is not a fixed entity; rather, it is

fluid because the whole community is changed by the performed art exchanges, displays, and

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the many visitors arriving. According to my observations and concluded from conversations I

had with festival participants, customers and spectators experienced a particular form of

closeness to the art and artists during the festival event. The closeness created through the

sharing of the temporal and spatial context gives a Festival exhibition a “live factor”

(Coleman et al. 2002: 456). This closeness stands in opposition to the distance often

experienced by the spectators viewing a gallery or museum display, where the objects are

motionless and isolated from the artists and original site of production (Karp 1991).

Arranging an art festival is a large-scale endeavour, involving the hosting of up to 2,000

people. In addition to the sales and art auction at Merrepen Arts, there were a variety of

activities such as sports tournaments, art sales at the local school, an outdoor concert, and sale

of local food. These events were arranged by a number of people from within and outside of

Nauiyu: Merrepen Arts, school employees, council members, local and outside volunteers,

sponsors, and representatives of agencies such as Top End Arts, who all co-ordinated their

efforts and practical preparation through a number of official meetings.144

In the months prior to the festival, the dynamics of Merrepen Art’s daily rhythm change as all

of the practical work centres around festival preparations from early March until the last

hectic days in June. For the artists and employees, these long-term preparations transform the

gallery and community space into a festival setting. They also transform the media they work

with, fabric, fibre, paper, and canvases, into works of art ready to be judged, presented, and

sold. Finally, they transform their status from art centre employees and community members

to artists representing their own art and stories. They accelerate art production, making

hundreds of metres of screen-printed material lengths, piles of printed t-towels, and large

numbers of batik t-shirts that are painted with wax and coloured. The production of stretched

canvases is prolific, given to the artists who deliver finished paintings in bulk to the art centre

prior to the festival. The dedicated artists produce paintings all year around, while the less

productive paint only for the festival, motivated by the increased sale opportunities.

Occasionally, artists would finish their paintings through the night, delivering them to

Merrepen Arts in the morning of the sale saying, “Now all I have to do is see if they sell!”

144

The Merrepen Arts Festival could not be realised without extensive funding. Donations are made from

government departments to support local arts and cultural activities, private beneficiaries such as the owner of

Tipperary Station which is a local farm, businesses such as the Pipe Line Trust, banks or Telstra, and from the

Indigenous Coordinator Centre (I.C.C.) in Darwin, together with Top End Marketing.

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All works, including paintings, prints, batik shirts, printed material, silk scarves, fibre works,

and papier mâché bowls were given a label stating the price, artist name, and/or title of the

artwork, which was necessary to transform them into sellable Aboriginal art commodities.

These labels inform the customer, enable the exchange of art for money, and ensure that

financial return and artistic recognition are given to each artist. The paintings and prints have

to be photographed and their associated design story recorded for their certificate of

authenticity. With hundreds of works to be featured, this is a major enterprise, usually

finished in the last hours before the art festival opens for sales.

Plate 8.5 Maria Øien hanging paintings by Gracie Kumbi in the Merrepen Arts display.

To create a display accessible to a large number of festival visitors a majority of the paintings

were taken from the gallery down to the open space between the Merrepen Arts buildings,

where large walls were erected and paintings hung on both sides, creating an outdoor display.

Works by the most established Ngan’gi artists were selected by the manager and hung in the

gallery in a temporal display created especially for the festival. Finally, the whole Merrepen

Arts space must be presentable and appealing to customers. Hence, the employees cleaned the

gallery windows, floors, and porches, tidied the outside area, and varnished all of the wooden

furniture. The Merrepen Arts employees, pressured by all of these tasks, would work full

days. As CDEP only covered four hours of daily labour, the art centre paid their additional

wages. Merrepen Arts also provided much-enjoyed shared meals for late-working staff, who

received not only an increased income, but also the experience of comradeship when working

together for the shared goal of presenting and selling their art to a large and varied audience.

These descriptions illustrate the magnitude of activities required to arrange an art festival.

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The second day of the festival commenced art viewing at Merrepen Arts. The art centre

caters to the art viewing customers scouting for an art scoop, by arranging a temporary local

café, set in the area under the gallery. This café sold tea, coffee, soft drinks, muffins, and

biscuits and smoothies made from frozen local mangos. I describe the scene in my field notes:

(31.05.2008). The first tourists start trickling into the square early in the morning while we are still

hanging the last paintings for the outside exhibition. Many of the spectators ask if they can

purchase art now. We have to insist repeatedly that nothing is for sale until tomorrow after the 10

o’clock official opening. Some of the tourists are more eager than others, one woman started taking

down the painting she wants regardless of our decline. I have to physically take the painting from

her and explain again that she has to wait until the sale starts tomorrow. She leaves with an

offended look. One of the employees enters into a long discussion with a man from the North Force

army who insisted on buying one of Kumbi’s paintings as he was leaving that day. But he is

declined and has to leave without the painting as the rules cannot be changed for anyone.

The showing of art the day before the sale is officially opened has been a tradition since the

first festival. This practice is well established, advertised in festival marketing, communicated

to customers orally by the employees, and with signs in the exhibition area. Regardless, as

this description illustrates, festival participants can be insistent and attempt to breach the first

day sale prohibition. I believe that their behaviour results from the diversity among the

festival audience, which ranges from serious art collectors to curious tourists who might

include those unfamiliar with proper conduct in art world settings. The particular exhibition

space of the festival, where most of the artworks were exhibited outside, lacks the borders of a

gallery exhibition. This form of display and the diversity of media may have contributed to

giving customers reference to a jumble sale or craft market, rather than an art fair. Thus, the

customers could have been acting according to the exchange practices of such settings, which

may explain why I observed so many of them being assertive and often likely to haggle.

The Merrepen Arts Festival Art Sale

At ten o’clock in the morning on the last day of the festival, the art sales at Merrepen Arts

began. From early morning, the employees performed the final hectic preparations: hanging

the last paintings, opening the café, and starting up sausages to sizzle. The official opening

was marked by formal speeches given by people of prominence and of relevance to the

development of the Merrepen Arts movement. The speeches were given in front of a large

crowd of festival participants sitting and standing on the grass in the shade of large canopies

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imported for the occasion. I am presenting selected parts of some of these speeches according

to my field notes. Introduced by the auctioneer Tony Pickering, the first art coordinator of

Merrepen Arts, Eileen Farrelly gave a speech about the earliest 1978 festival. She is followed

by Miriam-Rose Bauman Ungunmerr; introduced as a founding member of Merrepen Arts,

and she narrated her personal artistic journey and the becoming of the art centre:

(01.06.2008)... This is a good and exciting day for us marking the 21st arts festival. I am retired

now Tony and I only know what that means? People just can’t get enough of me! … 21 years ago

we got a bright spark in our heads and said “why not have our own festival?” to have exposure to

our art … I started painting and realized “my goodness, I can paint and draw!” As I am sure you

know painting comes natural to Aborigines… We thought let’s make them (the old women) paint

instead of them sitting around waiting to die. Why not make them more part of the community and

try and bring some dignity into their lives by art sales. It made them feel really good and exited

when they sold art ... So I hope you will all have a good day. And yes we do want your money!!”

Patricia Marrfurra followed Ungunmerr reading her welcome on behalf of the MalakMalak,

the Traditional Owners of Nauiyu. Then she introduced the main speaker, his honour Tom

Pauling, the Northern Territory Administrator, who had been invited to open the Merrepen

Arts Festival by the art centre manager:

(01.06.2008)... Welcome everybody to the 21st Merrepen Arts festival. I was down here five weeks

ago with my wife … I purchased one of Patricia’s “Crocodile Skin” designs. I see one is there for

the auction so you better get on it; there truly are some marvellous pieces there. The one I bought is

hanging in the government house as we speak! As the administrator of Northern Territory it gives

me great pleasure to officially open the Merrepen Arts festival and its famous art sales and auction.

I have already been warned by Tony Pickering to watch my wallet while the auction is going on.

The Merrepen art festival has evolved to become one of the most anticipated and enjoyed arts and

crafts occasion. Its beginning was humble, which is a testimony to Aboriginal women and their

strength in preserving and developing spirituality and culture … The art here epitomizes the

territory’s rich history and vibrancy and uniqueness ... I applaud the inhabitants of Daly River for

tapping into their talents and creating opportunity for sustainable economic growth. The Merrepen

arts festival is now firmly established on the top end’s dry season calendar and will continue to

grow ... On your behalf I declare it and the sales open. Now you can tear the tags of the paintings

you want. But keep some money in your pocket for the 12 o’clock auction of these fine pieces.

Pauling is a lawyer who was assigned his political post in October 2007. In November 2007,

the federal elections for Parliament replaced the liberal/national coalition of John Howard

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with Kevin Rudd’s labour party government. With this change in government followed

policies with an increased focused on reconciliation. Pauling may have had a political agenda,

when accepting the invitation, of communicating his support of the government’s

encouragement of art production in Aboriginal communities. All of these speeches

contributed to “talking up the art” (Plattner 1996). Thematically focused on welcoming the

visitors, praising the efforts of Merrepen Arts employees, and presenting the art festival

history, the speeches contributed to increase the value and prove the “authenticity” of the art,

and thus, encouraged art purchases.

The art sales began and festival visitors in great numbers walked around viewing, judging,

choosing, or dismissing the art in the exhibition area and the gallery. A majority of them were

from the nearby cities such as Darwin and Catherine, with the occasional traveller coming

from Tiwi, Melbourne, or Sydney. Having already contributed heavily to the festival

preparations, I previously established an agreement with the manager that I was not to work

during the art sales, only observe and talk to customers. However, I became “a floater,”

getting caught up in various problems in need of immediate resolution, where my assistance

was expected by both the employees and customers. I observed how practical problems

concerning the exchange of art for money were magnified by the large number of festival

participants. The employees and inexperienced volunteers were outnumbered and could not

keep up with the large number of customers. I observed how long lines quickly formed in

front of the sales tables and packing room in the back of the gallery. Art exchanges were

halted as some of the sale stalls ran out of printed postcards and coins, and the packing area

ran out of bubble wrap. The employees appeared defeated when faced with impatient

customers who demanded to have their purchased artwork wrapped before the trip out of

Nauiyu. I suggested using piles of cardboard instead, and I encouraged the customers to help

with the packing to get the lines moving. However, some of the employees, in avoidance of

the “shame job” of facing customers alone sought safety in numbers, and a whole group of

them gathered at the fibre works stall, where there was less stress, shorter lines, and no critical

comments on the aesthetic quality of the paintings. From the very start of the art sales, I

observed a tendency for festival visitors to have a pushy demeanour and their aesthetic

appreciation of the artworks were, as usual, mixed. Described in my field notes:

(01.06.2008). The art sales are open and the customers view the paintings, first from afar, then up

close, as they are walking slowly along the display. Their seeing is accompanied by loud comments

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concerning how interesting and beautiful the art is. Often followed by complaints concerning high

prices and many paintings are abandoned by head shaking spectators. People constantly grab hold

of me asking for design stories and wanting me to point out the local artists for them ...Right before

the opening Merrepen Arts received several unframed canvases by an artist who recently moved to

Nauiyu, which are displayed in a flat pile on a table. They receive much attention. However, the

price tags and certificates are connected to the paintings with paper clippers and fall off when the

customers are shuffling through them. I get hold of a stapler to staple the price tags and certificates

to the edge of the canvases. But my efforts are delayed by pushy customers that continue flicking

through and pulling out the unscratched canvases from the pile, while looking straight through me,

only one elderly woman offers to assists me.

Plate 8.6 Customers at Merrepen Art Festival in 2008.

This event, as it is captured in the photograph, shows customers who seem to be in a state of

apparent “shopping frenzy,” acting as if they are at a jumble sale and paying little attention to

the artists’ sacred Dreamtime stories that are printed on the authenticating certificates. The

Ngan’gi artists have a certain authority as artists justified by their talent, their strong intention

of sharing of kinship-owned stories from their sacred Dreaming, and the visual art displays

they have created for the festival. The authority of the festival participants’ lies in their

preferences. They are eager to see and meet the artists who have created the paintings, which

for them provides a “live factor” that contributes to increasing the value of the art (Coleman et

al. 2002). They are also motivated by the search for an affordable bargain and a “pretty

picture” that could give them some form of aesthetic pleasure. I claim that most customers do

value the story, apparent from the many story requests I received. However, this photograph

gives witness to the divergence and contradictions existing between artistic intention and

customer preferences in such moments of art exchanges (Michaels 1994). It also reveals the

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“unsettling business” (Myers 2005) where objects of significant sacred value to their

producers are valued as a commodities by customers. The customers’ apparently covetous

behaviour, as described above, makes Marrie’s (1985) claim that many Aborigines perceive

money to be the white man’s Dreaming, more credible. In a dynamic festival setting, the

disjunctions between the value systems and social practices of the local community-based art

enterprises versus the global art market are accentuated, embodied in the diverging intentions

of customers and artists (Myers 1995). Still, these art world meetings do result in art

exchanges, as well as more or less successful forms of cross-cultural communication.

Merrepen Arts Festival Art Auction

An auction is a particular form of art sale in which the audiences are directly involved in the

performance, because they participate in bidding on works of art based on their momentary

aesthetic judgments. To encourage bidding the manner in which the art is shown has the

important function of convincing the customer that the art have the qualities and uniqueness

they are interested in. At noon, the auctioneer Tony Picketing initiated the Merrepen Arts

Festival art auction, assisted by a spotter and a secretary who recorded the prices and the final

bid. The Merrepen Arts Manager introduced the paintings. Merrepen Arts management had

encouraged the Ngan’gi artists who had pieces in the auction to stand nearby during the event,

and to make their presence known at the auctioning of their pieces. Artistic presence was

believed to encourage bidding; however, only a few of the represented artists obliged as most

avoided the “shame job” of facing a crowd of potential customers judging their work.

Plate 8.7 Photograph of art auction Merrepen Art Festival in 2008.

The auction is described in selected parts of my observation-based field notes:

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The auctioneer says; “if you don’t put your hands up I will come and do it for you. From now on if

you blink, twitch, move, or turn to look at your friend next to you I will take that as a bid! That’s

fair enough isn’t it? … Let me remind you that these are famous artists and we do have reserved

prices ... We have some very fine pieces here today, indeed!”...

The auctioneer asks the manager; “are you gonna give me a story or what?” The local manager

reads a bit hesitantly the design story of the certificate with his back to the audience. The bidding

on the first piece by Benign Ngulfundi picks up after encouragement and jokes from the auctioneer;

“we can give you lay by’s” ... “I can lend you ten dollars?”

The auctioneer had a humorous way of speaking, aimed at creating a relaxed atmosphere to

encourage enthusiastic bidding from the crowd. He also established his authority as the

auctioneer, being much more experienced in this setting than the young and local manager.

The second piece is introduced by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr as the artist is her niece Olivia

Ungunmerr, with an elaborate story: “This painting is called my family. The two large circles are

Olivia’s parents. The five little circles are her siblings; she has two sisters and three brothers. They

come from the Homeland Lafugannyi, which is Fish River and her mother comes from Moil River,

which is rocky country that she has painted here. They both speak Ngen’giwumirri. And also she is

my niece.” The bidding starts and accelerates fast with many bidders.

This painting was made by a young, un-established artist, yet achieved a high price above its

reserve. This was achieved, I expect, due to a combination of two factors. Aboriginal art is

particularly valued for its story and Ungunmerr, who is experienced with the auction setting,

provided an elaborate story that increased the value of the piece. The status of the artist was

also amplified when the kinship relation to the renowned artist Ungunmerr was revealed.

The manager introduces a painting by Mercia Wawul: “This is done by Mercia, this old lady (she is

led to the front by an employee and placed on a chair where she sits down silently and serious

hiding her face in her hands). She mainly paints pigeons or owollulu as we call them in our

language. This is the last piece for the rest of her life.” The auctioneer repeats this: “This is as he

said the last successful piece she has completed.” Many participate in the bidding and the price

rises quickly from $300 to 975. The auctioneer jokes “a $1,000 sounds just perfect!”... It is sold for

$1,475, while the losing bidder loudly expresses his frustrations.

Presenting this painting, it is accentuated that the artist is no longer producing, giving her

work a rare and valued uniqueness. Seeing the 83-years-old artist also contributed in

increasing the economic value of the work. Apparently, Wawul attempted to avoid the “shame

job” of facing the crowd alone by physically covering her face. Receiving praise as artists

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makes the individual stand out from their kinship group, which is in conflict with Aboriginal

values of relatedness, where the kinship group is above the individual (Myers 1986).

The fourth piece is Patricia Marrfurra’s brown “Crocodile Skin,” and the artist walks up to the

manager, now facing the audience, saying “Patricia is the one standing here with the little boy on

her arm. Here she has painted the crocodile. And it is said that when the salt water crocodile looks

at you he will hypnotize you. Here she has painted the skin of his back and the way water ripples

on it.” The bidding starts. Half-way through the slow bidding the artist leaves the auction area. At

$1,200 the bidding stops, with a reserve at $2,500 they the auctioneer declares the painting passed

in. … Marrfurra’s second piece with the same design in green on a larger canvas is auctioned later

with the same story. This design receives many bids. When it passes $3,000 the auctioneer makes

jokes; “watch that hand sir, that croc nearly got you, didn’t it!” It is sold for $3,100 AUD.

Marrfurra’s two “Crocodile Skin” paintings received diverging prices, illustrating that the

aesthetic preferences of customers also play a vital role; the light green diffused design

apparently was more appealing that the dark brown design with thicker black lines.

The last piece is Gracie Kumbi’s silver Barramundi. I hear people commenting as it is presented, “I

would like a Kumbi one!” Kumbi enters the stage and the auctioneer says, “This is the last piece of

the auction and what a magnificent one it is! Ladies and gentlemen give Kumbi applause for this

piece! This is the silver barra of our top artist!” The bidding ends on $3,700 AUD.

The auctioneer presented the last piece, describing it as “magnificent” and when demanding

applause, he assisted in elevating the status of the painting and establishing the artist as the

most renowned Ngan’gi artist. It is common that both auctioneer and the curators of

commercial galleries use such adjectives as; “magnificent,” “important,” “large,” “superb,”

“rare,” or “splendid.” Such praise is intended to focus the attention of the customer on the

particular formal qualities of the work and the artists’ merits, labelled by Satov (1997) as

embellishment, believed to contribute to more bidding and higher prices. Plattner (1996, 1998)

argues that the use of this type of language is due to the art dealer’s attempt to constantly

affirm the visual and cultural value of art. Persuading customers that art is a form of cultural

capital that gives life meaning and beauty, is necessary to justify high art prices and hype

peoples’ interest in art. Steiner (1994) describes how customers when buying from qualified

curators expected to be guided by the curators’ good taste and knowledgeable judgment, and

the objects they chose to represent were transformed from raw material to masterpieces.

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The festival was concluded with concerts by local bands and traditional dance performances

by local and Pulampa dancers, augmenting the total experience of the festival participants,

who eagerly applauded and photographed this live performance. Ngan’gi artists showed their

art in a manner that promoted its artistic quality and story-based subject-matter, to increase its

commercial value. Such art sales generate important income for the art centre, the artists, and

the community as a whole. The Ngan’gi hold a certain authority as artists and curators when

creating their own displays. Yet they are faced with practical difficulties and the aesthetic

preferences and judgments of customers, who hold authority when choosing to buy or not.

When the tourists depart the artists express gratitude for the sales and a great relief for the end

of a strenuous endeavour. I argue that due to the dynamic play involved in the social practices

of art exchanges, the outcome of an art festival always remains unpredictable.

Summary

Art is a social medium, created through the joint efforts of numerous people and the status of

an art object is transformed by where and how it is exhibited (Becker 1982). In the showing of

art, each person plays a role; artists produce objects that are defined as art once they enter into

art world circulation, where how it is presented is partially influenced by the artists, but

mostly left up to the curators. The curators present the work with a certain authority and set of

motivations, but how the work is appreciated is ultimately left up to the viewer. I hold that

this four-way relationship between the art object, artist, curator, and customer constitutes the

becoming of art. As demonstrated in this chapter, the art showing practices of each exhibition

context create particular forms of cross-cultural communication, contributes to creating new

interest in objects, and shape various public understandings of what constitutes Aboriginal art.

In commercial art galleries, the curators deliberately choose to strip away contextual

information, wanting the customer to focus without distractions on the aesthetic, formal

qualities of the art. This showing is believed to give the customers an appealing sensorial

reaction that justifies the requested price (Plattner 1996). For Aboriginal artists, commercial

galleries provide them with income-generating sales and artistic recognition. However,

Aboriginal artists are at the mercy of the curator, who chooses which artists to include or

exclude from the gallery. Moreover, in conflict with the Aboriginal artists’ insistence on the

sharing of stories, fine art galleries tend to create displays without the story, which is only

communicated on certificates provided at the moment of sale not in the display.

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The National Art Gallery exemplifies an art showing practice where Aboriginal works are

presented as universalistic and visually accessible art. However, they also communicate the

cultural foundation particular to Aboriginal art, through detailed ethnographic referencing in a

published catalogue and on artist profiles and certificates of authenticity provided upon sale.

In this setting, art is represented in accordance with the intention of Aboriginal artists, yet the

curators remain authoritarian when selecting which artists to include in their displays.

The National Museum exhibition provides the opportunity for a much wider cultural and

ethnographic contextualisation of the represented artists. The museum curator values

informative displays where the spectator can learn something about the cultures they

introduce and the lives of the artists, as these institutions are founded on an ideology of a

cross-cultural education. Currently, museum curators are challenged by Aboriginal artists who

want to contribute by making their own self-representations, an intent complicated further by

the multiplicity of views existing among the Aborigines (Morphy 2010).

The people of Nauiyu act as both art producers and art curators when arranging their own

urban Endirrlup exhibitions and local Merrepen Arts festivals. These arenas provide

opportunities for “performing Aboriginality,” as well as gaining income, artistic recognition

and art exhibiting experience. Simultaneously, they struggle with the practical concerns of

executing art exchanges, and they are challenged by demanding customers.

In the terrain of the Australian art worlds, there exists many complex and ambivalent

relationships of interchanging authority between Aboriginal artists, audiences, and curators.

There is no single or uniquely “correct” way to exhibit art, although some are more instructive

and illuminating than others. The act of exhibiting has originated in, and is therefore deeply

embedded in, the “Western” culture. In the words of Alpers, when analysing the practices of

museums, “Our way of seeing can open itself to different things, but it remains inescapably

ours” (1991: 30). Therefore, Lavine argues that if curators seeks to achieve accurate and

“true” representations of a complex and pluralistic society they need to cooperate more

closely with their audience, moving from “monologue to conversation” (1992: 142). I argue

that such communication is equally important also between curators and artists. To me the

showing of Aboriginal art with its story is a concrete example of Lavine’s “conversation,” the

curators have listened to the Aboriginal artists’ wish to sell their art with a story, and the

customers also follow through by desiring to purchase the art with the story (Myers 2002).

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EPILOGUE

This thesis has aimed at providing detailed ethnographic accounts of the artistic practices and

transforming art of Ngan’gi artists from the rural Aboriginal community, in Nauiyu, Australia.

I begin this epilogue by demonstrating through an ethnographic account the complexity of the

life-world of Nauiyu inhabitants, who balance the enactment of Ancestral connections

through calm bush ventures and painting in silent contemplation, with the hustle and bustle of

art exchanges in the eventful and hectic art worlds. The Ngan’gi reconnect with their

omnipresent Ancestors, Gagu, not only through painting, but also in everyday life.

Community members contact their Ancestors for assistance in practical matters, as I observed

during a shark fishing trip at Browns Creek. One of my Aboriginal “mothers” was

encouraging her children to call out every time they threw their line in the water. A member

of her kinship group had passed away in this region, and they were calling out to his spirit to

help them catch sharks. Their spiritual connection is not so sacred as to prevent their usual

kinship-based joking relations, ngen’gi wilewile, a form of humorous teasing between

relatives (Reid et al. 2008). After a period of unsuccessful fishing, she threw out her line

while calling loudly “ahyye giv’et me that gagu (meat) now,” while adding laughingly, “I am

mad at that old man now ... ” (Øien 2005). The following day, I was with the same person at

Merrepen Arts, assisting her in blending the acrylic colours she was using to paint a likeness

of the shark we caught earlier, in a bush tucker design. Then, in a few days’ time, she bravely

faces a crowd of customers at an Endirrlup etching exhibition in Darwin. The artist who

dreads the “shame job” of personal attention is approached by seemingly “star struck”

customers craving her attention and showering her with compliments. She is also obliged to

deal with the critical customers, who reject her mini paintings and printed etchings with a

single glance and a grin of disapproval.

Ngan’gi artists say “our art comes from our Dreaming.” Imagine, for a moment, the

fundamental depth of this statement. Due to the multi-sited lives of Ngan’gi artists, their art is

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on a continuing journey involving complex interrelations between local art production

practices and circulation in contemporary art world contexts. Though producing saleable and

commercialised art, Ngan’gi artists nevertheless insist that their art is a visualisation of their

sacred Dreamings, shared heritage, memories, and traditions. Thus, there are certain dilemmas

concerning how to facilitate this symbolic transformation, and I have taken a critical look

throughout the various chapters at the paradoxes inherent in the art world exchanges of

Ngan’gi art. Thus, I asked in the Introduction, is Ngan’gi art affected in its process of

becoming by its state of entanglement with interconnected art world contexts?

How do the art circulation and exchanges of Ngan’gi art simultaneously enable and limit

Ngan’gi art production, artistic intentions, and cross-cultural communication?

My approach was to answer these questions by grasping the totality of Ngan’gi art, achieved

by describing the art’s origin, production, and the circulation it emerges from; paying

attention to all of the practices that constitute and bring the art into being. Revisiting my

theoretical perspective, a major inspiration for this broad perspective on art was my

interpretation of the analytical term “the becoming of art” as it has been introduced by

Morphy (2008). I have used this theoretical perspective to illustrate and address throughout

how Ngan’gi art is a material part of social life, deeply embedded with many kinds of social

relations, ambivalent dialogues, and differentiated contexts, which together facilitate changes

in the art and its value. In the following sections, I provide a brief outline of the concrete

findings revealed in this thesis through my ethnographic data.

In the thesis Introduction, I attempted to show how commercialised Ngan’gi acrylic paintings

give the local women of Nauiyu a public voice. These women initiated a thriving art

movement through The Magellan Woman Centre, initially intended to provide adult education

and provide people of the community with a place to congregate and find joy in shared social

activities such as storytelling and painting. Only gradually, the women realised the potential

of art production to generate income, and to facilitate artistic recognition and dignity. In a few

years, Merrepen Arts was established. Throughout the thesis, I have aimed at illustrating how

all art exchanging institutions, including local art centres such as Merrepen Arts, are

intercultural, influential meeting places and complex social fields of performance; they

contribute to constituting art and negotiating its value by bringing together many actors,

perspectives, and objects (Bourdieu 1993; Marcus et al. 1995; Myers 1995, 2002, 2004a,

2006a). The Ngan’gi artists deliberately, and with great integrity, took advantage of the

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opportunities such public meeting places provided in creating visibility, and carefully

negotiated the extension of their artistic practice into saleable art. More importantly, art also

became an active medium for sharing their worldview. Painting gave them a means to educate

their predominately white audience by telling stories of their culture through art, and by so

doing, increasing inter-culturality (Myers 2002) and cross-cultural communication. Marrfurra

describes the significance of local art production in Nauiyu in an interview in 2008:

A lot of good things have come from the art centre and I suppose you can say because people were

feeling sort of lost and despaired cause of “grog” (alcohol) and money and that sort of thing. The

art centre helped bringing the dignity back to the people. Selling artworks to tourists made them

feel that “wow, I am really important now.”

And in an interview in 2003:

I used to be shy when I grew up. It was like I was living in a shell before. I think from painting I

changed and people became interested. I just wanted to share my culture. I’m like telling a story,

you know... I am telling a story about a certain Dreaming or other things like a plant or an animal.

Also I like to paint. Like people from the outside should learn about painting. We are teaching our

kids about painting, and they are learning about their culture, and then also the outside ones, we can

teach them too! Show them that we got a strong culture, you know. Teach them! (Øien 2005: 111).

Art moves between cultures and each Ngan’gi painting sustains a tangible, visual

manifestation of Ngan’gi reality. The sacred cultural knowledge that Ngan’gi artists choose to

share with their audience conveys certain meanings and cultural differences. In so doing, the

art expresses who the artists are, where they come from, and what is of importance to them.

Most Aboriginal artists, including the Ngan’gi, are motivated by the opportunity to share their

cultural background with Australia and the world, particularly because Aborigines have

tended to be silenced in Australian national discourse and have often been subjected to

external governance. Following artistic recognition, Aboriginal art has established new

historical constructions of “Aboriginality,” redefined the artists’ rights, and given them access

to public spheres outside of their community where they can attempt to escape their former

positioning in the Australian society. As commented by Myers (1995), the “difference” in

Aboriginal culture from other cultures made this art a recognisable, characteristic, distinctive

and valuable symbol for an Australian national identity, marketed and consumed by a

growing tourist industry as the “true heart” of Australia.

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Currently, by providing an arena for art production and sales, Merrepen Arts has also made a

significant contribution to the economic vitality of Nauiyu, being one of the few organisations

through which locals can engage in income-generating activities. The artists are proud and

excited when recounting to me how a sold painting had allowed them to purchase a new

couch, a dress for their daughter, or even a TV set. Although the material gain enabled though

art sales is undoubtedly an appreciated and significant incentive, an interest in money was

rarely expressed explicitly by the artists, and even avoided when I asked the Ngan’gi artists

what motivated their art production. When I occasionally observed artists arguing that the

prices set on their paintings should be higher, “big money,” their claim was justified not by an

interest in money, but that the sacred nature of their art should be mirrored by a high financial

value. I believe that Ngan’gi artists may be underemphasising an interest in money because

they want to highlight that the importance of sharing story exceeds material gain, in

motivating their art production.

In grasping the paradoxes inherent in Ngan’gi art production and circulation, the historical

contextualisation provided in Chapter 2 was an absolute necessity. It illustrated how the

Dreaming and particular kinship structures frame their world, and how a mixed heritage

grounds the artists’ identities and life experiences. The Ngan’gi place great emphasis on

“relatedness,” a kinship-based notion establishing an obligation for sharing one’s resources

with members of one’s kinship group that binds people together in enduring relationships of

balanced exchange (Myers 1986; Duelke 2005; Reid et al. 2008). Building on my descriptions

of kinship-based ways of interacting in Chapter 2, my main finding in Chapter 3 was that the

prominence the Ngan’gi place on “relatedness” was vital in explaining and grasping the

challenges in local management of Merrepen Arts.

My detailed descriptions of Merrepen Arts management in Chapter 3 revealed how local art

centre administration is significantly controlled by formal external organisational systems in

the form of corporate law, position structures, and governmental policies. Ngan’gi languages,

Ancestral Law, and kinship-based structures also remain strong in Nauiyu, and as such,

coexist with the formal governance structures in Merrepen Arts administration. Thus, I

observed an apparent mismatch in national discourses when Aborigines were simultaneously

celebrated as national icons and subjected to external governance and resource inequality. The

culturally-based identity and background of an Aboriginal artist is viewed as an important

resource in art production. However, in art centre management, culturally-based concepts of

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sharing, relatedness, and collective rights to designs, challenged the official accountability of

Ngan’gi artists when acting in the roles of employees or managers. Consequences included

financial difficulties and the development of a particular form of authority based on local

concepts of relatedness, in which strict criticism was avoided. The Ngan’gi artists continually

strive to retain their artistic freedom and to autonomously manage their own art centre, by

balancing out these sometimes contradictory internal and external structures. Nevertheless, I

concluded that the closeness developed in organisations in which the employees are family

members creates strong networks, fruitful cooperation and solidarity, rather than supposed

clan domination and exclusion. I further agree with Maddison (2009) when arguing that it is

important for future stability and the development of Aboriginal organisations, such as

Merrepen Arts, that the Australian government attempts to cooperate with and engage

community members when developing viable policies for art centre management.

As noted in Chapter 4 when the women of Nauiyu began painting for sale, they created works

of art with great complexity, continually adopting new forms in contexts of rapid change. I

observed how skills of art production are acquired through a form of “situated learning”

(Ingold 2000) in which each person learns to paint designs, founded on either shared or

kinship-owned stories, by watching, listening to and imitating senior members of their

immediate kinship and resident group in “apprenticeship networks” (Taylor 2007). These

particularities do not, I argue, exclude the possibility for artistic creativity and innovation in

techniques (Kolig 1981; Connerton 1989; Myers 2002; Ingold et al. 2007; Taylor 2007).

However, particularly the audience that was unfamiliar with Aboriginal art production

practices saw “authentic” Aboriginal art as the product of “untutored minds.” In their view,

the paintings should maintain a certain traditionalism to remain recognisable as “Aboriginal”

art. This request was complicated by the fact that “Aboriginality” is a transforming

construction (Beckett 1988; Merlan 2001). I concluded, from my analysis of the materiality of

Ngan’gi art, that in spite of such external claims for “authenticating traditionalism” in

Aboriginal art, the ways in which Ngan’gi artists appropriate new and external art media and

techniques into their conventional art producing practices is actually extraordinarily creative.

Ngan’gi paintings are contemporary commodities. Yet, the designs communicate multiple

layers of particular narrative meaning founded on traditional visual forms durrmu. Therefore,

it is my conviction that it is necessary to perform a symbolic analysis of Ngan’gi art to be able

to grasp the underlying subject-matter of each design. However, in line with recent

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postmodernist theory of social analysis, and according to the particular attributes of Ngan’gi

art, the symbolic framework I have used throughout this thesis in my analysis of Ngan’gi art

builds on a broad form of signification. Ngan’gi artists view their paintings as manifestations

of the creative acts of the Ancestors, reaching from, and connecting, the past to the present

(Morphy 1991, 1998), in a manner that blurs the boundaries between art and life.

Consequently, the painted symbols used in an Ngan’gi design are also a manifestation of the

meaning they communicate. Thus, to be able to perform a symbolic analysis of Ngan’gi

design, I follow Taylor (2007), Bakhtin (Todorov 1984; 1990, 2004), and Myers (2001), in

suggesting that one must attempt to go beyond the reading of symbols by addressing how the

social practice of creating and trading art, the materiality of the designs themselves, and

individual artistic interpretations, are critical in the construction of meaning. In Chapter 5 and

6, I described how Ngan’gi artists, in both abstract and figurative designs, always visualise

design stories, use multi-vocal symbols with a particular meaning that change with the design,

and express identity on several levels through their use of style. Ngan’gi designs share

regional features and forms of subject-matter particular to the Ngan’gi artists, who also

express individual artistic uniqueness in their styles. The artists could be identified as

belonging to a “school” of artists sharing local stylistic features, because they have been

taught to paint by the same kinship group (Layton 1991; Morphy 1994; Taylor 2007). These

findings were determined through my symbolic analysis of the representative and visual

attributes and types of subject-matter of the designs used in Ngan’gi acrylic paintings.

Furthermore, a main finding illustrated most interestingly a surprising difference in the artistic

practices of the Ngan’gi when compared with Aboriginal artists from other regions in

Australia, concerning how the Ngan’gi incorporate and define change in their Dreamtime

designs. Contrary to the Yolngus’ denial of change, as described by Morphy (1991), the

Ngan’gi artists expressed openly to me how they embraced change in their art designs. My

material revealed a strong focus on individual and artistic creativity, education and

development in designs, styles, and media. Yet, the sacred and cultural reference to their

Dreaming remains. I suggest that their significant capacity to address and accept change in

their designs is a result of the original construction of their art. Ngan’gi art was, through

historical negotiations, founded only on outside public and shared design stories, not inside

and sacred designs. The art has also been gradually developed in compliance with art

coordinators and former Catholic teachers. Perhaps because of this particular history, the style

restrictions are less explicit, making the relationship between change and continuity more

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straightforward for Ngan’gi artists. Thus, when analysing Ngan’gi designs, I found much

individual variation in techniques of painting, even in designs illustrating collectively-shared

Dreamtime stories. Similarly to the Yolngu, Ngan’gi artists do acknowledge constraints

concerning how kinship-based design ownership determines which designs stories one is

permitted to paint.

Through my analysis of the artworks of a group of Ngan’gi artists in Chapter 6, I argued for

personalising artistic development. I made it visible how personal events in each artist’s life,

their character, experiences, inventiveness, and their motivations for painting, influence the

choices they make in their artistic paths. Accordingly, their own life trajectories directly affect

their art production. Concluding from all of my art descriptions in Chapters 4, 5 and 6, I have

clearly illustrated how the gradual becoming of Ngan’gi art incorporates both continuity and

change, as it is located at the intersection between shared and kinship-based cultural painting

conventions and individual artistic creativity.

The becoming of Ngan’gi art has been a main concern of this thesis as a whole and Chapter 7

and 8 described how art world circulation is an important component of the art’s emergence.

The art worlds embrace continuing dialogues between the art, artists, customers, and curators

that directly constitute and change the value, meaning and status of Ngan’gi works of art, as

they move from local sites of production to different displays in public art institutions

(Appadurai 1986; Steiner 1994; Svašek 2007). In galleries, museums, shops or art centres,

visitors and customers enter with the intent of “seeing” what the art the curators are

“showing.” I used the concepts of “seeing” and “showing” art as analytical terms, to

investigate the direct consequences of the incorporation of Ngan’gi art into these exchange

practices of art appreciation and art representation.

All art traded in a stratified art market is subjected to particular aesthetic judgments and forms

of art representations. These are made by authoritative art world representatives in various

public art institutions, which consequently creates a categorisation of each work of art as “fine

art” or “tourist art,” good or bad, high or low. Although such terms are merely symbolic and

temporal constructions that change according to art market trends, they do render objects with

a particular symbolic capital value. Art is a commodity that people do not actually need to

live, but they purchase art because it makes them feel good, it looks good in their homes, or to

represents a financial value. Such appreciation of aesthetic, economic, and commercial value

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of an artwork stands in striking contrast to the Ngan’gi artists’ desire to share painted stories

that, for them, are a manifestation of a sacred Dreaming.

With the aim of visualising how such particular contradictions that are incorporated in the art

worlds influence Ngan’gi art production, and the status and value of Ngan’gi art, I explored in

detail the disjunctions (Myers 2005), or forms of “othervoiceness” (Bakhtin 2004), existing

between artists and customers concerning the motivates underlying art exchanges.

Confronting how notions of creativity are also entangled with power, I critiqued how

authoritative curators generate fluctuating boundaries concerning what is considered fine art,

or not, through their selective practices of art showing. This critique is based in my

ethnographic data revealing how the classification of “fine art” is not equally shared among

all forms of Aboriginal art.

In spite of the increased cross-cultural communication facilitated through art exchanges,

remaining challenges included the repeated acts of exclusion that Ngan’gi artists were

subjected to by authoritative curators and the particular forms of judgment from customers

critical of their art. Through my descriptions and observations of many encounters between

Ngan’gi artists or Merrepen Arts employees and customers or curators, I found that Ngan’gi

art is haunted by quite conservative expectations. The innovative, figurative, and colourful

Ngan’gi paintings were repeatedly deemed and interpreted both by curators and customers as

less “authentic,” not “Aboriginal,” and even categorised as “tourist art.” In contrast I found

that their etchings on paper, and later also their prints on fabric, did receive inclusion in

certain fine art gallery contexts, embracing more sombre, abstract and minimalistic visual

styles. To Ngan’gi artists, it initially remained somewhat of a mystery how works of art made

from the same materials, in the same community, illustrating the same stories, bush

knowledge, traditional rituals or Dreamings, could receive such differentiated recognition in

art exchanging contexts depending on styles, media and use of colours. They faced such

prejudice with persistence and they refused to allow it to limit their uninhibited creativity.

Rather, I watched the Ngan’gi artists explain repeatedly to opinionated customers how their

art always maintains a sacred reference to the Dreaming, regardless of the Ngan’gi artists’

innovative use of figurative styles with strong colours. In this manner, the Ngan’gi artists

were attempting to subvert ideas and ideals of the dominant culture by encouraging their art

audience to broaden their view on Aboriginal art.

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However, I also observed how the artists gradually and intentionally were able to pinpoint the

preferences of the art market and began to transform their styles accordingly. The artistic

practices in Nauiyu have undergone rapid change. Observing their art over several years I

noted a marked stylistic move among the most prolific artists, from painting figuratively to

exploring abstract interpretations of plants, animals or the land. Capturing not just how but

why the artists chose to develop in this manner, I suggest that their artistic innovation is a

direct consequence of the limited and differentiated artistic recognition the figurative Ngan’gi

art styles initially received in some segments of the art market. An abstract stylistic move, I

argue, is an attempt by Ngan’gi artists to create new art styles illustrating their own stories,

yet also to bear a visual resemblance to Western Desert dot painting, which has been granted

the status of “fine art.” Nevertheless, through continuing exposure, knowledge grows in the

art market of the existing regional diversity in Aboriginal art. As pointed out by Altman and

Taylor (2000), museums and galleries in Australia have played, and still play, a critical role in

achieving recognition for stylistic diversity through responsible promotion of Aboriginal art.

When Ngan’gi artists participate in the practices of seeing and showing their art, I identified

another challenge to Ngan’gi autonomy, in that the public art exchanging institutions

themselves are developed and founded in “white” socio-historical culture. As also pointed out

by Cowlishaw (2004), the expression of Aboriginality creates divided loyalties because the

spaces for performing are so limited and contested, and on both the national and local stages

Aboriginal artists are obliged to perform for a white audience. It is also an interesting paradox

that Aboriginal art, though being so enmeshed with Aboriginal culture, is, to my knowledge,

exclusively purchased by non-Aboriginal people. Furthermore, in my queries concerning

Ngan’gi art world participation, I found that for many Ngan’gi artists, the art exchanging

settings with their particular codes of social interaction were experienced as foreign. I also

repeatedly heard customer interaction labelled as a “shame job.” I found that both the direct

and demanding demeanour of customers and the public attention given to individual artists

were disliked because these factors breached important and kinship-based rules of relatedness,

where attention and obligations towards the group are more important than a focus on the

individual. Yet, in the construction of “Aboriginality,” the Aborigines are not merely acted

upon; they have agency in defining themselves as well as being defined (Morphy 2006). Thus,

the Ngan’gi artists gradually increased their knowledge of the art worlds, and they have found

ways around their discomfort by interacting with customers in groups, building self-

confidence while also adhering to kinship-based rules for proper conduct. Through each artist-

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customer encounter, the Ngan’gi continue to educate the audience about what their art

addresses and who they are, shaping public understandings of what constitutes Ngan’gi art.

The Ngan’gi artists have become part of the art worlds, having intentionally appropriated their

roles as artists, and they have created their own category of art that is commercial and

conveys sacred cultural references simultaneously. The performance of art production

mediates relations between producers and consumers. The value of art is, as such, maintained,

constituted and changed by these social relations that exist between actors involved in the art

worlds, through the processes of production and circulation.

In spite of these forms of appropriation of art world practices, I observed a final and

interesting paradox. Even with their acclaimed identity as performing artists, the Ngan’gi

expressed a very limited, or even nonexistent, interest in “white” art produced by “white”

artists. A visiting artist giving a painting workshop confirmed this tendency. I observed how

she encouraged her artistic prodigies to visit art galleries or study art magazines to improve

their painting techniques by observing how other artists use the acrylic medium. In response

the Ngan’gi artists directly declined her advice, ignored or even ridiculed her request. I argue

that their attitude originates from their strong insistence on art production autonomy. Though

wanting to learn and adopt a medium, their interest is limited to the practical painting

techniques. For them, their art is different than Western art because it is founded on their

Dreaming and produced according to Ancestral and kinship-based painting practices. The

knowledge and the design stories they learn from their elders is what the Ngan’gi artists desire

and value in creating their particular form of art.

Concluding with a painting by Patricia Marrfurra titled “Shattered Man,” I want to illustrate

how the Ngan’gi artists both express and, to a certain extent, resolve the contradictions they

experience in contemporary life through their art. Marrfurra’s painting incorporates her subtle

reflections on what she often describes as “living between two worlds.” Her life and her art

are embedded in the artists’ community of Nauiyu, where the social structures, values, and

cultural background of the Ngan’gi people and that of the larger Australian national state

coexist. Marrfurra’s design story captures her concerns in her own words:

The man has blocked out everything - his traditions, language and culture. He is more involved in

alcohol and other distractions around him. This is shown by the hands which are pulling him down.

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He is the dark within himself. At the top of the painting, everything is bright. This is where we

should be, living the life of his Ancestors.

Plate 9.1 “Shattered Man” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in 1991.

The man is sitting crossed legged and with his head hung low on a black background covered

in wavy brown lines. Marrfurra explained to me how these colours represent the dark state of

his mind when alcoholism poisons his life, whereas the lighter part of the painting represents

the Ancestors, with whom the black man needs to remain in close connection to enable his

survival in a complicated world. The hands that are pulling him down and in every direction

are white, illustrating the difficulties of reconciling cultural contradictions. Marrfurra’s

painting and story is an expression of her experiences of loss and estrangement created by

rapid change. Yet, her emancipation and resolution is to treasure an important source of

continuity, her Aboriginal identity founded in language, Ancestral connections, and her

relation to her Homeland. Her identity is re-enacted through painting, which helps her, and the

other Ngan’gi artists, to create meaningful ways of being in an inter-cultural world.

My perspective allows for emphasis on continuity, a continuum between past and present

perspectives, while simultaneously illuminating the dramatic historical periods of rupture in

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Nauiyu society. Instead of only providing a straightforward description of Ngan’gi art, I have

strived for an approach that acknowledges the dynamics I found to be inherent in Ngan’gi art

production and circulation. I see art as alive and always in a state of emerging creation and

development, due to its inter-relational dimensions. Though taking the art as a starting point, I

did not want to erase the subjects of the Ngan’gi art movement. The intentions and

personalities of the Ngan’gi artists had to be part of my Ngan’gi art story, as well as capturing

the challenges they face with respect to the art worlds.

Ngan’gi art is epitomised in the aspirations of a group of artists producing at Merrepen Arts.

They attempt to redefine themselves publicly through art by participating in the emerging

dialogues of the art worlds. Even though these dialogues remain so contested, Ngan’gi artists

continue to participate in them, because the alternative is to remain in silence – which is not

an option to the Ngan’gi. For this group, their achievements in art production have proved a

mixed blessing. Consequently, Ngan’gi artists have persisted and achieved some recognition

and renewed appreciation for the value embedded in Aboriginal cultural forms. They have

created their own niche in the art worlds, and made their version of Aboriginality known to

many viewers. As claimed by Morphy (2008), Aboriginal artists have, through such

aspirations, changed the language of the art worlds in perpetuity. The art market audience has

come a long way in recognising and appreciating how Aboriginal art is more than a “pretty

picture” because these paintings are deeply immersed with the artists’ lives, traditions, and

rich cosmology.

The challenge for Aboriginal artists is to embrace how art exchanges offer both failures and

successes. The possibilities for future triumphs are inevitably also accompanied by emerging

tensions, contradictions, and potential risks. With continuing art production and circulation,

the Ngan’gi artists will hopefully become increasingly empowered in the years to come,

continue to contribute to current discourses of art, and I believe that their art will not simply

survive, but flourish. This is where we will end our journey through the world of the Ngan’gi

artists, although, from my perspective the becoming of Ngan’gi art is only just beginning.

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APPENDIX

Artist Biographies

Catherine Bamulying Ariuu

Date of birth: 01 July, 1949

Language group: Ngan’gi kurunggurr

Homeland: Ngambu Ngambu

Dreamings: Water Snake

Mary Kanngi

Date of birth: 1925




Aaron Kingangu McTaggart

Date of birth: 22 June, 1981

Language group: Ngen’ giwumirri

Homeland: Malfiyin

Dreamings: Pelican, Sand Frog, Black Bream, King Brown, Yellow Snake, Eagle, and Water

Kieren Karritypul McTaggart

Date of birth: 07 April, 1994


Homeland: Malfiyin

Dreamings: Pelican, Sand Frog, Black Bream, King Brown, Yellow Snake, Eagle, and Water

Brian Miller

Date of birth: 1963

Language group: Kurringu

Homeland: Oenpelli

Dreamings: Not Available

Kenneth Minggun

Date of birth: 10 October, 1984



Dreamings: Wather Python

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Ann Carmel Newi Mulvien

Date of birth: 01 February, 1967

Language group: Ngan’gi kurunggurr.

Homeland: Merrepen.

Dreamings: Leech, Sand Palm Merrepen

Philomena Mirennyi Mulvien

Date of birth: 22 May, 1968


Homeland: Merrepen

Dreamings: Sand Palm, Leech

Benigna Tinkem Ngulfundi

Date of birth: 06 August, 1964


Homeland: Malfiyin

Dreamings: King Brown Snake, Black Bream, Pelican, Sand Frog, and Rain

Susan Nurra


Language group: Marringarr

Homeland: Ferriderr

Dreamings: Little People

Philippine Parling

Date of birth: 22 March, 1968


Homeland: Lafugannyi

Dreamings: Good Eye Bad Eye

Dorothy Sambono

Date of birth: 05 January, 1963


Homeland: Ferriderr

Dreamings: Emu

Helen McCarthy Tyalmuty

Date of birth: 05 November, 1972.

Language group: Bulgul

Homeland: Batyamal

Bernadette Tyilngilin

Date of birth: 25 September, 1972

Language group: Matngala

Homeland: Dilk

Dreamings: Mermaid, Barramundi, Chicken Hawk

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Geraldine Ungunmerr

Date of birth: 14 August, 1972


Homeland: Lafugannyi

Dreamings: Dingo

Maureen Warrumburr

Date of birth: 1946


Homeland: Ferriderr

Dreamings: Little People

Mercia Wawul



Homeland: Ferriderr

Dreamings: Little People, Emu

Melissa Wungung

Date of birth: 16 March, 1984


Homeland: Ferriderr

Dreamings: Emu

Molly Yawalminy





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A Kinship-Related Occurrence at a Public Meeting in 2003

Described from my field notes:

(17.10.03.) In a public meeting in Nauiyu, representatives from the Northern Land Council

(NLC), meet with the Traditional Owners of the community to consult with them concerning

the placement of a gas pipeline. In a formal public meeting, there exists a certain ranking

between brothers and sisters that is illustrated by the events unfolding. The main speakers,

Keith Taylor a representative from the NLC, and Anna Nola a Social Anthropologist, and an

indigenous logistics officer, take their time getting organised, leaving people restlessly

waiting under the hot sun. Suddenly, one of the men gets up and leaves the meeting. I am

attending the meeting together with a group of women, and they are all his sisters. When he

leaves, they all get up to leave s well. I ask “Eva” why she wants to leave. She explains “I

cannot say yes or no to what they are saying without the approval of my brother.” I suggest

that she can stay to listen, while another man goes after her brother, asking him to return. The

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meeting begins. The meeting representatives want to retrieve gas from a source 110 km out in

the ocean. Taylor emphasises that they need to talk to all of the Traditional Owners first …

Then, the anthropologist names all of the different Traditional Owner groups with whom she

will work. This initiated some heated discussion among the Elders from the different kinship

groups. Now the brother has returned. In his presence, the eldest sister is now permitted to

talk and enters the discussion, speaking on behalf of her brother. She says in a loud voice,

“Our brother him sebbe (knows) all them Dreaming sites because our Ngatta (father) told him

and showed him. So we have no worries there, I remember when we were camping out there

and our father showed him. But I help him speak out. We sit at our mother’s place and tell

stories and work together to keep that knowledge. I talk for him because he is a silent one.”

According to the proper codes of conduct, the brother is above the sisters in authority and

therefore, when he is present, they are permitted to express their opinions in public. “Eva”

cannot offer her opinion until her brother has returned, and upon talking, she dedicates her

words on his behalf, in recognition of his higher status. Any different approach from her

would have caused him public shame.

An Example of Avoidance Relation at Voting in 2007

An incident in which the custom of sibling avoidance was difficult to uphold occurred on the

Election Day, described in a field note entry:

(19.11.07). Today is Election Day and after two o’clock the staff head up to the Council Office to

cast their votes. When I spoke to Marrfurra after her voting, she was not happy. She complained

that the room was too small and narrow making it very difficult for her to uphold the avoidance

relationships. “Kumbi and I came up to vote, but we had to give way to four men we call brother,

because up in that little room we were too close.”

Because of the close relatedness between a man and a woman classified as siblings, contact in

public would be breaching the proper codes of conduct, and would bring shame on both

siblings. Thus, these women had to leave the voting area, only to return at a later point in time

to be able to cast their votes. The government representatives had failed to take such kinship-

structured behaviour into consideration when setting up the voting room. They should have

organised the voting area spatially in the same manner as the local clinic, in which there is

one room for women and one for men. Such an arrangement could have prevented a situation

such as this, where two women were forced to leave the room four times, to avoid the close

proximity of men classified as their brothers.

Child Spirit Stories

Child Spirit Story of “Mary.”

“Yes I have one. That rainbow. I was told by my father when I was little that I was the

rainbow. Because I tipped him over in that Red Lily Billabong. So that’s that Child Spirit

now. Yes, my father was out fishing in that billabong there, and he was in a canoe, and then a

big storm came, like wind and rain came when he was in the middle of that billabong. And

then like swirls came in the water and the wind tipped his canoe. He fell in and lost

everything, like his guns and the canoe, knives, his spear, fishing gear, even his clothes. After

when he crawled out of the water there was a rainbow there. And when he came home asking

my mum for a new pair of pants, his mother, my grandmother, knew right away that my mum,

was gonna have a baby.”

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Child Spirit Story of “Diva.”

“My Child Spirit Dreaming is the Rainbow Serpent. Do you know when people are hunting

and get lucky, or they meet animals that do not harm them, that is that baby now. My dad he

mistook the Rainbow serpent for a death adder, when he saw it curled up in the mud. He hit it

across the side of the head. And you see here on my check, people think this is a mole but it is

not, it is the mark from that time my dad hit that snake.”

Child Spirit Story of “Dylan.”

“My Child Spirit is that crocodile. I was told by my mum. Before I was born, remember

Sandy Creek, that dip we went to? They went fishing there, and a big croc came up to my

dad’s foot, and he shot it in the head. And when I was born I had a big hole in my head. You

know that soft bit here on babies, normally they are small, I had big one. And then they

remembered that croc.”

Child Spirit Story of “Ekaterina.”

“I did not know that I had that little girl inside me. But then I and my husband caught twelve

pig-nose turtles when we were out hunting. After that when I found out I was pregnant, I

thought about that trip and those turtles. When my daughter was born she would always get

really excited and laugh when she looked at running water. And when she was very little,

lying to sleep she would always hold her hands on her back, looking like a turtle swimming.

So she was that turtle.”

Changes in Nauiyu Community Caused by the Governmental Emergency Response The Government Emergency Response, also referred to as the Intervention, was initiated in

June 2007, and below I describe some of the changes that I observed facilitated in the Nauiyu

community following this governmental legislation.

Income Management

A major change was that welfare would be quarantined by a policy labelled Income

Management. This policy affected everyone who receives welfare, such as old age pensions,

disability payments, study or youth allowances, Work for the Dole, and new start payments.

The withholding of money was justified by a concern that people living in the communities

spent much of their benefits on drugs, alcohol, and gambling, to the disadvantage of their

families. The government intended that Income Management ensure that centre link payments

were used to help the family with essentials such as food, clothes, electricity and rent. Centre

link would manage, or hold back, 50 % of peoples’ benefits. Then government representatives

would build contract relations with certain shops, such as the local shop, Kmart, and

Woolworth, which would have accounts for each person into which 50 % of their benefits

would be transferred. Each person could, by applying coupons or vouchers, purchase food,

clothes, medicine, rent, electricity cards, fuel or medicine, but not alcohol, drugs, or

pornography. The shops were given the responsibility of monitoring what people purchase

and how much money they had in their accounts. The second half of one’s benefits would be

received as normal, called discretion payments, which could be placed in an account,

transferred to a key card, or could be spent, at the recipient’s discretion.

The local shop in Nauiyu struggled with all of the additional administration requirements,

especially in the early phases of Income Management. The shopkeeper told me how he was

obliged to administrate the income management by tracing how much money each person

had, register what they bought, and prevent them from making illegal purchases. The

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responsibility of Income management was given to the shop management without providing

any extra positions or increasing pay.

Many community members reacted strongly to these demands. They felt degraded by the use

of food coupons, especially the older individuals, because it reminded them of how it used to

be when they worked at outstations and farms and received their payment in food coupons for

tea, sugar, flour, and tobacco. Thus, the policy of Income Management seemed like a return to

the past, when Aborigines were strictly managed and lived with limited independence.

Alcohol and Pornography Legislation

The Intervention policies also introduced a ban on alcohol in all Northern Territory

communities in prescribed areas. It became illegal to drink, possess, supply, or transport

alcohol on all Aboriginal land. For a first offence, the penalty was a $1,100 AUD fine, and

$2,200 for a second offence. The maximum penalty for selling or distributing alcohol was a

$74, 800 AUD fine, or 18 months in jail. The government argued that there is a strong link

between drinking, violence, and child abuse, thus claiming that such strict legislation was

necessary to protect children and make them safer. Concerning pornography, the new

legislation banned three categories of pornographic material as illegal, and people possessing

such materials were encouraged to hand it in to the police for destruction. The penalty for

possession of X-rated material was a $5,500 AUD fine. The police were given the authority to

search a person and/ or a person’s house on suspicion of illegal possession of alcohol or

pornographic material. A secondary action, also necessary to enforce this legislation, was a

doubling of the number of police in the rural Northern Territory communities.

An indirect consequence of this legislation was that alcoholics ended up selling their food

vouchers for half their price to support their addiction, creating even a greater divide between

troubled families and the families that would purchase these coupons from them. Further,

many alcoholics began streaming into neighbouring cities outside the target area of the

Intervention, to avoid the alcohol ban. This established drinking fields and other social

problems in these areas.

Public Health Checks and House Inspections

To increase the general state of health, and to detect physical and sexual abuse, every

Aboriginal child was offered a general health check. The reason for many of the health issues

among Aborigines may be due to the low number of doctors and health personnel in the

communities. Thus, following the health checks, the government promised to increase

community health personnel within the next four to five years. The government would also

fund nutritional school lunch and breakfast programs, as part of bettering child health.

As part of the governmental goal of mapping out and improving community housing and

living standards, house inspections were offered to all Aboriginal families. At a public

meeting on the 1st of April 2008, a government representative stated: “We are asking for you

permission to enter your houses, and check if everything is working. This is a chance for you

to make things better. If you have something broken let us know, and show us and we will

help you get it fixed.” Many locals saw the health checks and house inspections as one of the

few benefits with the Intervention, while others were enraged. They saw these policies as yet

another breach of people’s privacy, and one informant said to me, “If they try coming into my

private home I will call them every name under the stars!”

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Figure 3.1 Merrepen Arts Organisational Structure (2008)

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Plate 5.9 “A Child is Born” painted by Gracie Kumbi in 1989.

The “A Child is Born” design story was illustrated by Kumbi with a line drawing. The drawing

was reproduced on a postcard, previously sold at Merrepen Arts.

“Mother and father sit quietly by the fire, gazing at their new-born child lying peacefully in

his paper bark cradle. At birth, a baby is held in the smoke from a fire to protect him from

evil spirits and give him strength for the future. Gracie Kumbi is an Aboriginal artist who

lives at Daly River.”

Plate 5.12 “The Brolga and the Storm Wind” painted by Benigna Ngulfundi in 1996.

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Plate 5.13 “The Brolga and the Storm Wind” painted by Philip Wilson in February 2008.

When Wilson painted “The Brolga and the Storm Wind” in February 2008, he told me that he

was inspired by the publicly shared Dreamtime story with the same name. Yet, he wanted to

paint the shared Dreaming in a style that was differentiated from the style that he had been

taught by his relatives. In a small square painting, he represented the Storm Wind with a red

and black swirling and concentric circle, lined with white dots, and placed in the centre of the

canvas behind the Brolga. The visual display of the wind’s movement is similar to Kumbi’s

designs; Kumbi also depicts the Storm Wind by using a grey swirling circle. The Brolga is

also painted by Wilson in conventional pose with the wings spread and lifted towards the sky

as if she is dancing, in a similar manner to the paintings made by Kumbi and Ngulfundi.

However, Wilson chose to depict the Pelican with his head floating next to the Brolga. The

background of the painting has thick red and black rays radiating towards the edges, focusing

the eye on the figures. The style is inspired by the designs of his mothers, but Wilson’s

painting is simultaneously different, due to his personal method of depicting the Pelican and

his use of decorative elements. Wilson was a bit unsure, he told me, when bringing the design

to Merrepen Arts, not completely convinced that it was a good idea to depict the Pelican in

this manner. However, his innovation proved successful, as the painting was sold quickly.

“Poor Porcupine and the Turtle” Dreamtime Story Narrated by Brian Miller

“It happened in the Dreamtime a long time ago. The Turtle and the Porcupine were living

together near the hill country and not too far from the river. They had many children together.

They were happy and liked to live and hunt together. One day the Porcupine went to the river

to get water in a paper bark tray because she was thirsty. When she left she said to Turtle “I

am going to get some water for my thirst, you make sure to look after the kids while I am

gone.” But while she was away the Turtle got really hungry and ate all the kids. When

Porcupine returned and said “What has happened, where are the kids?” The Turtle said “I

became hungry so I ate them.” The last kid was still in his mouth, so he spit that one out. But

still today when you open the turtle’s mouth you always find a bone in his mouth from him

eating these kids. Then the Porcupine got really wild over what Turtle had done and she

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gathered some rocks that she threw on Turtle. Turtle then gathered some spears and they had a

big fight. Porcupine hit Turtle with the rocks on his back, which made the round marks that he

has today, and Turtle hit Porcupine with the spears giving her the spikes on her back that she

has today. After the fight they both felt shamed and decided to leave each other. The Turtle

went to live in the river and creeks while the Porcupine went up in the hills. They never

became friends again and even today if you put them together they will move away from each

other because they are ashamed of that fight.”

Plate 5.16 “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle” painted by Marita Sambono in May 1999.

Plate 5.17 “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle” painted by Marita Sambono in 2002.

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Plate 5.18 “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle” painted by Marita Sambono in April 2003.

Plate 5.19 “Poor Porcupine and Her Friend Turtle” painted by Marita Sambono in August

2005.

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Dreamtime Designs

Plate 5.35 “A Mermaid is Born” painted by Maureen Warrumburr in 1988.

In “A Mermaid is Born,” Warrumburr has illustrated a Mermaid with long hair, which is an

unconventional depiction when compared with other Ngan’gi Mermaid depictions. The

Mermaid is still connected to the baby Mermaid she just gave birth to through the umbilical

cord. She has a fighting stick in her hands decorated with white dots to protect the baby. A

second Mermaid is pushing the paper bark raft up the river where the newborn Mermaid is

lying. Around the figures an abundance of Leeches are painted to illustrate that the event is

taking place at Merrepen outstation, the Homeland for Leeches.

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Plate 5.38 “Pelican Dreaming” painted by Gracie Kumbi August 2003.

Plate 5.39 “Pelican Dreaming” painted by Gracie Kumbi September 2004.

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Plate 5.40 “Pelican Dreaming” painted by Gracie Kumbi June 2007.

Plate 5.45 “The Mic Mic and the Bottle Tree” painted by Benigna Ngulfundi in 1999.

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Bush Tucker Hunting and Gathering Activities Conducted in Nauiyu

These hunting and gathering activities are described according to my observations and

participation. Fishing engelin is a year-round activity, although the abundance of different

kinds of fish is seasonal. The Nauiyu locals fish for brim awin, cat fish dayi, and the

Barramundi (big/male barra adityi, little/female barra atyalmerr) using hand lines with hooks

and bait (cut pieces of meat, worms, or little prawns), or fishing rods. In the past fishing was

performed with a fishnet looped with a treed made of sand palm merrepen fibres. Large

fishing nets would be lowered to the bottom of the shallow river creeks, then a group of

people would walk downstream towards the net, ploughing the water with their hands to push

the fish into the net. When lifted, it would contain little fish and prawns. Another old

technique was the fish spear tyundityi. A trained hand and eye could catch an identified fish

by throwing a spear from the side of the river. The barramundi is the most sought-after fish

caught in abundance immediately following the wet season. It is a seasonal sign when

dragonflies ayiwisi fill the air, indicating that the water is going down after the flood, and the

barras will be captured easily in little creeks. Fishing for bull shark adany is another activity

initiated by a seasonal sign. When the bark of the white gum tree yerrwirimbi starts flaking

off, approximately in the middle of flood season, it is considered a seasonal signal indicating

that the shark is fat. The sharks are caught with hand lines or fishing rods, with kangaroo meat

used as bait on large metal hooks.

All types of turtles are also highly sought-after bush tucker. Long neck malarrgu, short neck

atyindirrity, and pig nose yirrng turtles, would be captured and cooked on the fire using

different techniques according to season. All year round turtles could be caught by fishing

with a hand line from the side of the river. During the wet season, when the billabongs are

flooded, people would wade into the waist-high water, scouting for turtles. Following a tiny

trail of bubbles, tyentytyirri, revealing a swimming turtle, the local hunters would jump into

the muddy water and catch the turtle by hand, a technique demanding a trained eye and quick

movements. During the dry season, the turtle would be found under the mud as the billabongs

dried out. Walking from one side to the other of a dried-out billabong while poking the

ground with digging sticks, looking for telltale piles of mud, the turtles are located by hearing

the hollow sound of the stick hitting the turtle’s shell angari. Then the turtles are dug out by

hand and collected in bags.

On land, a variety of goannas efeyi and snakes efenguu species (especially rock pythons

pandutyi / anganfepinimbi and water snake amire), and the echidna anganifinyi are hunted.

They are caught by hand, using sticks and stones, or by dragging them out from under rocks

with a steel wire with a hook on the tip. Men most commonly hunt with shotguns for

kangaroo amatyi and wallabies wamangal all year round and for geese anganni in September.

The local women of Nauiyu do a lot of gathering in addition to their fishing and hunting. All

sorts of roots, seeds, and fruits are gathered when in season. After the wet season red lotus lily

seeds miwulngini are collected, as well as water lily seeds minimindi, gathered by wading out

into billabongs, knee-deep in muddy water to break off the ripe pods. In previous times people

would use grinding stones and grind the nuts to make flour. Adding water, small flat cakes

were formed and cooked on hot rocks from a fire. The stem mipalpiltyerr and the tuber

mingari of the water lily are also eaten. Yams mimuy are dug out of the ground using digging

sticks kiniyewir. Bush tomatoes mimukun, bush cucumber mundupan, bush carrots mifalga,

bush potato misyawuni, and blue plum mimeli are all picked by hand.

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The Daly River is inundated with crocodiles, both salt and freshwater. Molly Yawalminy

would often talk about the days when her husband would shoot crocodiles and she would

carefully cut off the skins and roll them up to be sold in Darwin. The crocodile is now a

protected species and cannot be hunted, because excessive hunting to provide for the

crocodile skin market threatened to make them extinct in the wild. However, Aborigines have

been given permission to collect the eggs. The freshwater crocodile buries her eggs on the

sand banks of the river and leaves them. Long, thin sticks are poked in the sand until they

come out damp, which signals the presence of eggs. The eggs are carefully dug out by hand

and collected in plastic bags.

Hunting and Gathering Stories

During my two fieldworks, I would often participate in hunting and gathering activities

together with groups of local women, their children, and occasionally their husbands. I

walked with them in the burning hot bush or waded out into muddy billabongs, while they

would share their knowledge with me of how to perform the bush tucker gathering and

hunting, where to look, and also share with me the names of trees and birds we passed on our

way. Repeatedly, my eyesight proved incapable of detecting the telltale signs of a potential

prey they had spotted, or the little vine revealing where to dig for yams. Every bush

experience left me amazed at the knowledge the Ngan’gi people possess about the bush, and

how relentlessly they continued their hunting, always until sundown.

My oldest informants often talked of how the seasonal variations in the past times were

experienced directly and physically. There was a time of abundance after the wet season, as

well as before the wet season, but during the wet season, food was scarce and they could, at

times, experience hunger. Molly Yawalminy narrates, “In the olden days we could not cook

when it was wet. No lighter only fire stick and grinded up Wallaby droppings to make fire

with. No sugar and no flour we had. In the wet season we went hungry.”

In the following sections, I am sharing a few selected hunting and gathering stories from my

field notes. These detailed descriptions of the social and practical activities of hunting and

gathering reveal insights into Ngan’gi everyday life and the subject-matter of bush tucker,

which are now manifested in their bush tucker and custom art designs.

Collecting Crocodile Eggs

(21.09.07). Stian and I follow a group of locals out bush to collect crocodile eggs amurri. We

drive over the crossing and as we pull up at the right billabong one of the women tells us how

this was a place where the tribes used to gather for corroboree; camping there for days in the

past. We start by poking in the soil with long sticks, where it comes out damp we dig. We find

about ten nests in close proximity to each other buried at the bank of the creek, each nest

holding from five to eighteen eggs. All the eggs are collected and carefully placed in two

plastic bags. On the drive back the older women are pointing to different locations telling us

where they used to hunt and walk. After the gathering we drive back into Nauiyu and make a

fire outside Marrfurra’s house, clean the eggs, and boil them in a big pan for about fifteen

minutes. The stories about olden days continue as we wait for the tucker. “My ngatta (father)

was a respected man and a good hunter who died too young. When we were cold we would

stand around the fire, my sisters, my brother, and I trying to keep warm. And our ngatta he

said; “spit into the fire,” so we did. And when we asked why we should be spitting in the fire,

he said. “Your spit will take the cold wind and bring it into the fire and there it will be burned

away and it will be warmer.” Once our ngatta thought there were too many flies around. So he

would take a piece of bees wax and make little holes in it and then tell us to kill some flies.

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We would then take the flies and put them in the holes that he closed up with more wax, take

the lump to his mouth and whisper go to Port Keats, or somewhere else, there are plenty of

people there. Then he threw it away really hard. And the flies would go away then.” As soon

as the crocodile eggs are finished they are eaten out of the shell with a spoon and a little salt.

The white is transparent and jelly like, the yolk is white, with a powdery texture, and the taste

though similar to a hen’s egg also has a fishy undertone.

Goose Shooting

(16.09.07). It is goose shooting season and Stian and I have planned a bush trip with Kumbi’s

family. It is a hot day and while we wait for them to finish the last minute packing of the car

Stian and I jump into their lawn water sprinkler to cool off. Casey laughingly calling us

“crazy white people.” We head off in the art centre car accompanied by the usual loud country

and western tunes on the car stereo. Stian is in the front, Yawalminy, Wawul, Karritypul,

Kumbi, Tineka, baby Andrew, the dog and I in the back. Marrfurra, Andy McTaggart and

Britta are also travelling out bush in another car. Casey is driving at a blazing speed on the

straight, gravel road covered with pot holes and red dust starts filling the air. In the back of

the van we are thrown around like potatoes. Yawalminy is yelling at the driver on the

roughest bumps; our heads almost hitting the ceiling. Though, the atmosphere is happy and

we are filled with anticipation for the up and coming bush experience.

We drive for almost two hours and stop at Leitchfield outstation. Casey has a brief talk to the

owners exchanging news. We drive through huge cattle herds, Stian having to open and close

the gates as we go along. Then we arrive at a large billabong called Moon Billabong.

Marrfurra explains that during the wet when the water is up it is round like the moon and

during the dry it looks like a half moon, hence the name. When the road ends we drive off

road following the edge of the billabong. McTaggart and Casey exchange hunting strategies

through their car windows. We drive up to the only small tree in the near vicinity, whose low

branches provide some shade in a dry landscape filled with cows and low bush vegetation.

We all get out, the women spreading plastic tarps on the ground sitting down in the shade to

wait, the men preparing their guns dressing up in camouflaged long trousers, skirts, and shoes.

While the men go off to chase the huge flocks of geese, we rest on the ground, talking and

playing with the kids.

Kumbi talks about her recent art production, the designs she has painted and the prices she

sold it for. She just made a painting with the Pelican Dreaming from her Home Country. The

same day as she brought it up to the art centre a Chinese tourist visited. She says he fell in

love with that painting and immediately wanted to buy it for $7000 AUS … Kumbi further

tells me that she was really sick at the last Merrepen Arts festival. She had an infection in her

breast from breast feeding, giving her fever and pains. “They wanted to send me to Darwin

but I said, no you fix me up here, I got a festival to go to!” The art auction on Sunday is the

highlight of the Merrepen Arts festival and the biggest art sale of the year, where Kumbi’s

paintings are among the most sought after pieces. Kumbi is thoughtful as she asks me if I

reckon people overseas really would be interested in Aboriginal art, to-which I confirm. She

asked me if I showed my family pictures of them and told them about their art. I say yes, and

explained how on Christmas Eve, when I returned from my last fieldwork in Australia, I had

given everyone in my family mini paintings and printed t-skirts, and told them the design

Dreamtime stories. She smiles satisfied to know of the over-seas interest in Ngan’gi art.

After talking and resting for a few hours, Marrfurra and I take a little stroll down to the water

with Britta and Tineka. There are no water lily nuts there, nor turtles. We talk about the area

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while staring at the horizon trying to spot our geese shooting men. Marrfurra spots Stian long

before I can see him and concludes that he is carrying birds. He arrives in camp a few minutes

later carrying six geese over his shoulder, heads tied together. A few minutes and many gun

shots pass, then McTaggart and Casey arrive in camp. All together they shot seventeen geese.

Yawalminy is thrilled calling them good hunters. We pack up and drive off again for about

half an hour to find a good camping area. Another stop is made on the way where five more

geese are shot. We arrive at a billabong with high trees around providing shade and lots of

firewood. Seemingly on an invisible signal activities are initiated, the preparation of the geese

begins, everyone knowing what to do. Some are gathering fire wood, the rest are plucking the

feathers of the geese. It is back breaking work; I begin preparing a goose by ripping out the

feathers all over and on half of the wing. The last bit of the wing is cut off to be used as a fan

for flies, to wipe the floors, and help starting a fire. Stian and I start on another goose each.

The lice from the birds crawl up our arms, but Casey tells us that they will die soon because

our skin is too cold for them. We talk during the plucking, Kumbi telling us of former

happenings in this area. “When Karritypul was just a baby we stayed here for four weeks

camping. At night we would sometimes see a big light going through the air. We do not know

what it was, most likely Spirits. It was very scary. And sometimes when you drive from here

at night you can see that light following the motorcar again.”

After plucking off all the feathers the head of the goose is pitted at the end stick with a V-

shaped tip, used to swing the body of the bird across the flames of a fire to sear off the fine,

soft layer of grey under feathers. Then the goose is taken aside and rubbed with paper bark,

brushing off the burned feathers. The searing and rubbing is repeated until all the feathers are

gone. Then the birds are cut open and the gut is taken out. Most of the birds are wrapped in

paper bark to be frozen when we return home. Yawalminy also gathers the feet, heads and

hearts to be cooked later. She also gathers all the “feather fans” in a bag. In the middle of our

preparations we spot a little legless lizard, Karritypul spots it first screaming snake, petrified.

Also little Tineka is scared to tears by the sight of the little snake. However, Marrfurra and

Casey calm them saying it is not a snake and not venomous. I comment on how it is

camouflaged so well with the same pale beige colour as the leaves on the ground. Marrfurra

tells me that they call it moon snake. She said “I don’t know if it’s true, but the old people say

that when the moon is full that snake rolls up in a circle and stares at the moon. That is why it

got the same colour as the moon and such a pointy face.” After preparing all the geese they

start preparing today’s meal. Three geese are chosen to be cooked. These are cut open and

folded out to be laid flat on the grey coals of the burnt down fire. They also cook Billy tea in a

big can and a casserole of rice. At about six o’clock in the evening we sit down to share the

bush tucker meal. Yawalminy cuts up and distributes the meat. The meat is salted and eaten

off the bones. Every last bit is consumed with much enjoyment. Meat covered in a layer of

yellow fat is considered the best. Directly after the meal is finished we pack up to go home.

Everything is gathered carefully, the leftovers kept in a bag to be eaten later. The prepared

geese are put in thick bags or paper bark so as not to drip blood in the car.

We head back in the same insane speed. The air saturated with red dust and the smell of the

burnt geese. The sun is setting colouring the horizon bright read. I rest my eyes on the sunset,

laughing with the others as every bump sending us flying into the air, and I feel lucky to have

shared a bush experience with them and observe their bush knowledge.

Turtle Hunting

(24.11.07). Stian and I are picked up at around two by Benigna, Wilson, Walf, Karritypul,

Daniel, Dylan, and Monty for a bush trip. We drive for an hour and a half to Elisabeth Downs

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out Station. We arrive at the first shallow billabong and all head out with sticks poking for

turtles, but catch nothing. As we drive on we meet up with Yawalminy and Warrumburr who

have gone out to the bush with Louise Pandella. They are cooking bush tucker under a tree.

They come over to the car and soon hand over food sharing it with us. They give us three

turtles and two plucked geese. We also pass Ungunmerr and her husband who are fishing in a

large billabong with fish nets from a small boat. We drive on to find firewood and a shady

area to cook lunch. The turtles are cooked, a kettle of rice, and a tin of Billy tea. Every little

scrap we were given is consumed, except for one goose they say is too bony, preferring them

fat, so they leave it to be cooked as a stew at home. The kids pick little blue berries on the

ground fallen from the tree we are sitting under. Two of the teenagers are up to mischief.

They are laughing inside the car. We finally realise that they have been smoking pot. Benigna

tell them off, but they just laugh. On our way to the next billabong we see another group of

people. We stop the car, first at a distance, making sure they are known to us before

approaching them. It turns out to be a group of people from the neighbouring community

Peppimenarti. One of them is one of Benigna’s sons. Her son has been banned from Nauiyu

after a violent conflict. We drive over to greet each other. Benigna’s son is happy to see us

saying he wants to come back to Nauiyu. We all go out and join in the hunt for turtle. This

billabong is wider so we wade out up to our thighs in mud and water, bubbles are followed

and we dive in to catch the turtles with our hands. They are really trained in spotting the

turtles and quick hunters, while I can’t see the turtles at all, no matter how hard I try, let alone

catch them by hand. I talk to a man who is Head of the local council in Peppimenarti. He said

he was so happy that he cried and shouted of joy after the election win. (Kevin Rudd had just

won the National election). He is drinking beer and offers a box to Stian, who declines. One

of the women from Peppimenarti is an excellent hunter and catches a lot of turtles. She is very

eager and shouts to the kids, which way to go as we are all working together to catch the

turtles. Benigna and Wilson also catch a few. We have no bag and the back of the car is filing

up with crawling turtles. The short neck type of turtle, with a red shell, is thought of as

cheeky, and I am warned to keep my feet well away from them to avoid being bitten. One of

the Peppi women lends us a large bag that all the turtles are gathered in. She also shares with

us some of her turtles leaving us with as many as twelve turtles. This form of kinship

structured reciprocity is based on the expected obligation to share your game with relatives,

along with those living in a neighbouring community, according to the important notion of

relatedness and looking after family. We say our goodbyes and drive back to Nauiyu, covered

in mud and happy for the good hunt and the meeting of relatives and friends from

Peppimenarti. The turtles are shared among kin when we arrive in Nauiyu.

Ngan’gi Seasonal Names In the Ngan’gi languages, there are a variety of terms describing seasons, each indicating a

certain type of bush food collection. Below is a collection of Ngan’gi season names as they

were narrated to me by Patricia Marrfurra, presented with additional information from the

Ngan’gi dictionary (Reid et al. 2008: 244).

Ge pup dingin describes how a person who holds the knowledge of a season can sense

intuitively when each season commences and certain bush tucker will be available.

Kidin wukumer is the word for a whole year.

Diwin wukume is the word for a month, the first word literally meaning moon.

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Ngunguwe is the seasonal name for the “build up,” which is the time immediately before the

first rain of the wet season starts. During this time there is extremely high humidity, and heat

shimmer is visible during the hottest part of the day.

The next season is the Lirrimem, which is also in the humid period during the build-up before

the thunder begins.

Kidin is the collective term for the whole of the wet season stretching from November until

March; however, it can also be a word for “season.”

Dinyunggul is the time of the wet season when the heavy rain creates rising floodwater.

Kudede describes a wet season with lots of rain and high levels of flooding.

Disyen syiwirr is the seasonal name describing the movement of the river water, to be exact; it

is that time when the floodwaters are starting to go down at the end of the wet season, when

rain falls only occasionally.

Wupung garriwaty is the season name describing the period following the rainy season when

the flood water is withdrawing so that the creeks start drying up enough to be crossable.

Syiwurr is the spring season, directly following the wet season.

Memenyirr is the season name for that time of the year when pig-nose turtles yirrng incubate

their eggs in the hot sand.

There are a collection of seasonal names based on references to the cycle of the spear grass

wurrmuy, to which my informants often refer. This tall grass illustrates as many as seven

stages of growth stretching over large segments of the year, from the early birth of the plant,

until it stands tall, growing in abundance, at the end of the plant’s life:

Wirirr marrgu is that time early in the dry season when grass has been burnt off by bushfires

leaving much of the country black, before new grass shoots start to appear everywhere.

Wurr bengin tyerrfal is that time of year when the spear grass seeds begin to shoot and grow

higher.

Wurr wirribem dudutyamu is the time near the end of the wet season when the spear grass

seed heads are swollen and hanging heavily on top of the tall grown straws.

Wurr wirribem filgarri is in the mid-dry season when the lower part of the spear grass stalks

turn from green to yellow and then to a dark reddish colour.

Wurr bengim miyerr is the time when fully-grown spear grass seeds turn brown in colour and

begin to fall from the spear heads.

Wurr bengin derripal is the time when all of the spear grass seeds have fallen from the spear

grass seed heads to the ground.

Wurr tisyari is approximately around May to early June, when the spear grass has dried out

and died off; the words literally mean “dry grass.” Then, towards the end of the dry season,

the big storms initiating the rain are called “knock’ em downs,” as they leave the dead spear

grass flat.

Marrfurra described the spear grass, wurrmuy, cycle to me, which she also illustrated in a

bush tucker painting in February 2008:

Plants have always played an important part in the lives of my people. We have always lived and

worked closely with Mother Nature following the life cycle of plants during the different seasons.

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Our relationship with the land and the life cycles of plants and animals still continues to this day.

The spear grass is a seasonal plant because its cycle tells us when seasons start. When the first

sound of thunder is heard and the first raindrops fall this awakens the seeds of the spear grass from

its sleep. After a while new growth can be seen everywhere, reaching for the sky. This signals for

us the start of the wet season. Then the fruit trees are in bloom telling us that the edible tubers are

ready to be dug up and eaten. Slowly the stems of the spear grass are starting to turn reddish colour,

and then the seeds are all dropping to the ground. This happens right through the wet season until

the last “knock em down” rain comes. They are called that because these rains lay the spear grass

flat. This signals the end of the wet season. After all this the spear grass is all dried out and falls

down. We know that it is now time for us to burn the grass. The lifecycle of the spear grass has

come to an end. Then through the build up to the wet the spear grass will repeat its life cycle again

and again.

When going out bush, a mere glance at the wurrmuy will mark the precise seasonal time to the

Ngan’gi, signalling what kinds of plants and animals are in season. This is a knowledge that

grows with experience, by being in nature, and observing what can be caught and gathered at

the different stages.

Bush Tucker Designs

Plate 5.48 “Miwelffirrmuy” painted by Mary Kanngi in May 1999.

Mary Kanngi is a deceased artist renowned for her vibrant bush tucker paintings. This

painting shows her abstract interpretation of a particular bush food, and her design story

manifests her knowledge of how to collect and prepare yams:

“This yam starts growing in the wet season and is ready to be collected in the early dry. We look

for the heart shaped leaves that climb over shrubs, rocks and up trees. The tuber is dug up, cooked

lightly on the hot coals and eaten.”

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Plate 5.50 “Every Storm” painted by Philippine Parling in November 2007.

Parling shares this design story: “This painting is titled “Every Storm.” It shows the heavy

rain and thick blue clouds that we have all through the rainy season. The centre of the painting

shows what we call the eye of the storm, which is calm, while strong wind and heavy rain is

all around it.” The “Every Storm” painting is an abstract design in which Parling has used

blue swirls at the top of the canvas to represent rain and clouds, while the white and yellow

dots represent winds. A blue circle painted in the middle represents of the eye of the storm.

The painting is a manifestation of the artist’s seasonal knowledge.

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Christian Designs and Stories

Plate 5.54 “Welcome to Country Ceremony” silk painting by Philip Wilson June 2008.

Wilson shared with me this design story while he was creating this silk painting:

“This painting shows a Christian baptism and our Welcome to Country Ceremony. This bottom

circle represents the Ancestors who are in the land. The little circles around it are all the relatives

watching the ceremony. The line in the centre is the water that the elders spray on the people in a

Welcome to Country Ceremony. The circle at the other end is the person being initiated and the

blue in the last part is the water that flows through the country making that person known. But it is

also a religious painting showing what Johannes the baptizer did. That top circle is him, and

underneath it is a cross. The little circles are all the disciples, and last the person being baptized.”

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Plate 5.55 “The Miracle of the Loaves and the Fishes” painted by Marita Sambono in 1992.

“The Miracle of the Loaves and the Fishes” is a Christian design, and Sambono’s design

story reveals how she is interpreting this Biblical event:

At the Centre is Christ. In black and white around Him are people listening to His words. The

yams, which for Aboriginal people take the place of bread, form the next circle. Then I have

put in the fish. Going back to the centre around Jesus are the twelve baskets of food left after the

feast. The rays reaching out to the edge represent the news, which was carried away by those

who had witnessed the miracle. Perhaps the real miracle was that people shared the food they

had with them just as we Aboriginal people do with our families and friends (Farrelly 2003:33).

Sambono has in this abstract design used circles to represent Jesus and his followers. The

drawing of yams Mimuy instead of bread visualises how she relates this Biblical event to her

own life-world.145

Sambono has created a parallel between Jesus feeding and distributing food

to the crowds and Ngan’gi kinship-based reciprocity, in which food and money are shared

between relatives based on the concept of relatedness and the social importance of looking

after relatives.

145

Mimoy is a root tuber or yam dug from the ground almost all year round and cooked on the fire.

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Plate 5.56 “The Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary” painted by Marita Sambono in 1997.

The Rosary holds important prayers for Catholics, divided into three areas of contemplation

that concentrate on different aspects of Christ’s life on Earth: the joyful mysteries; the

sorrowful mysteries; and the glorious mysteries. These are again divided into five sections

called decades. The Rosary holds ten beads for each of these five decades, separated by a

single larger bead. The small beads correspond to Hail Marys and the large beads to the

Lord’s Prayer. When praying, the fingers grip each bead while contemplating the five

mysteries in Christ’s life, a form of worship that is similar to meditation (Derrington 2000).

Sambono’s design story provides a detailed dissemination of this meditative form of praying:

A clockwise study of the symbols clearly defines the decades of the Rosary. Circles represent

people: 1. Annunciation: Beginning at the lower left, the Angel announces to Mary that she is to

become the Mother of God. The inner circle is the child in her womb. 2. Visitation: Following the

beads clockwise, Mary visits her cousin Elisabeth. Both are pregnant. 3. Birth of Jesus: At the top;

Jesus is born to Mary and Joseph. 4. Presentation in the Temple: The child is presented in the

temple and meets Simon. 5. Jesus is found in the Temple: At twelve years old, Jesus is found

talking and listening to the elders in the temple (Farrelly 2003:35).

This story’s elaborate Biblical referencing may be the result of Father O’Leary’s assistance,

as he was a co-author of the Dadirri with Eileen Farrelly, the book in which the painting and

story are included. Sambono’s design, on the other hand, is her own visual interpretation of

the Catholic Rosary prayers, as she has been taught them by the nuns at the former Catholic

boarding school in Nauiyu. She uses circles to represent the people present in the story.

Everyone present is encircled by the Rosary chain, with a small appendage cross. The Biblical

narrative is placed in Sambono’s life-world, as the background of the painting is decorated

with Sambono’s signature bush tucker design of red lotus lily leaves miwulngini.

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Plate 5.57 “The Sacred Heart of Jesus” painted by Susan Nurra in August 2004.

Plate 5.58 “Our Lady of the Sacred Heart” painted by Susan Nurra in August 2004.

Susan Nurra is a Marringarr artist who painted these two Christian designs on a commission

made by Stephen Hacket from the Catholic Mission Headquarters in Darwin.

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The first, titled “The Sacred Heart of Jesus,” illustrates her design story as follows: “This

painting is about the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Emanating from the Christ figure is a halo

denoting the Light of the world, showing love for all the people; as Jesus gives Gods love a

human form. He is holding the bread and wine and everybody have gathered around. The

bread at the bottom of the painting represents the Eucharist.”

The second design, titled “Our Lady of the Sacred Heart,” is described in this following

design story given by Nurra, “In my painting I have painted Our Lady of the Sacred Heart of

Jesus. The central female figure has the Light of the world emanating from the head as a halo.

She is holding the baby Jesus in her arms.” In this design, Nurra has painted Mary’s heart at

the centre of the canvas. The halo represents the love radiating from her head, yet it is drawn

smaller than in the first design. The artist told me that this is because Mary’s love is more

mediated, while it flows more directly from God through Jesus.

Both paintings are abstract, as she uses circles and decorative lines in a manifestation of the

Christian message. This is quite different from the shared local Ngan’gi art styles; in

particular, the second design is s conventionally-painted figurative representation of Mary

with a finger pointing to the heart of the baby Jesus in her arms. (See the silk painting by

Benigna Ngulfundi and photograph of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart ceramic figure from the

Nauiyu St Frances Xavier Church, presented immediately below.) I spoke with Stephen

Hacket, the commissioner of these two paintings, who insists that the paintings and design

stories were entirely Nurra’s own interpretation of Jesus’ love for people.

Plate 5.59 “Our Lady of the Sacred Heart” silk painting made by Benigna Ngulfundi in May

2008.

A more conventional depiction of the Lady of our Sacred Heart, according to shared local

Ngan’gi art styles, was made by Benigna Ngulfundi at the 2008 silk painting workshop. She

illustrated Mary figuratively, inspired by a Catholic religious picture.

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Plate 5.60 Photograph of a ceramics statue of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart in the St. Frances

Xavier Church in Nauiyu.

Decorative Designs

Plate 5.62 Part of a decorative silk painting made by Philip Wilson in May 2008.

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Plates 5.63-5 Parts of decorative silk paintings produced in May 2008, artists unknown.

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Paintings by Marita Ann Sambono Diyini

Plate 6.3 “A Girl Must be Humble” painted by Marita Sambono in late 1998.

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Plate 6.4 “A Girl Must be Humble” painted by Marita Sambono in 2000.

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This version of Sambono’s “A Girl Must be Humble” was reproduced on a postcard that is still sold at

Merrepen Arts.

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Plate 6.7 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in October 2004.

6.8 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in January 2005.

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Plate 6.9 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in March 2005.

Plate 6.10 “Fog Dreaming” painted by Marita Sambono in early 2006.

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Plate 6.13 “Smoking Ceremony for a Dead Person” painted by Sambono in August 2004.

Plate 6.14 “Willy-Willy” painted by Marita Sambono in September 2004.

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This is Sambono’s design story for a “Smoking Ceremony for a Dead Person”:

When somebody dies we get ready for the ceremony by collecting bush tucker. This painting shows

the people dancing and singing with everyone painted for ceremony. There is a lot of smoke that all

people are walking through in a circle. The smoking ceremony cleans up the spirit of the dead

person. After much singing and dancing and when the smoke ceremony is finished the spirit is free.

Sambono has illustrated the ceremony for releasing the dead person’s spirit with smoke, by

using a decorated line circling from the centre and outwards towards the edges of the painting,

akin to a snail house.

The second design painted by Sambono in September 2004 is titled “Willy-Willy.”147

A

Willy-Willy is usually a weak whirlwind a few meters high, created by warm rising air that

sweeps through the landscape, picking up leaves, sand, dust, and little sticks in a circular

upward motion. They can appear and disappear suddenly. Sambono narrated this design story:

“Wherever we see the Willy-Willy the old people tell us that it is looking for water when it

sweeps over the land. It is very thirsty for water.” The design has a marked brown circle in the

middle representing the Willy-Willy, surrounded by concentric grey circles filled with little

dotted triangles.

As far as I know, Sambono never depicted these two designs again. Rather, she decided to

focus on reproducing the “Fog Dreaming,” perhaps because this design received more

recognition among Merrepen Arts customers.

Plate 6.17 “Dragonflies” in black and white painted by Christine Yambeing in October 2003.

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The correct meteorological term is a “dust devil” or a disambiguation.

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Plate 6.18 “The Old Man and the Mermaids” painted by Gracie Kumbi in June 2001.

Paintings by Philip Joseph Merrdi Wilson

Plate 6.19 “Red Lotus lilies Miwulngini” painted by Philip Wilson in June 2008.

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Plate 6.20 “Red Lotus lilies Miwulngini” painted by Philip Wilson in August 2008.

Plate 6.23 “Mermaids” painted by Marita Sambono in 2001.

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Plate 6.26 “Yerrwirimbi” painted by Philip Wilson in March 2008.

Plate 6.30 “Crocodile” painted by Marita Sambono in November 1998.

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Plate 6.31 “Crocodile” painted by Marita Sambono in August 2007.

Paintings by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart

Plate 6.32 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in March 2004.

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Plate 6.33 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in September 2004.

Plate 6.34 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in August 2004.

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Plate 6.35 and Plate 6.36 “Crocodile Skins Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in August

and September 2004.

Plate 6.37 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in February 2005.

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Plate 6.38 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in April 2008.

Plate 6.39 “Crocodile Skin Agarrfiri” painted by Patricia Marrfurra in May 2008.

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Plate 6.41 “Crocodile Skin” painted by Helen McCarthy Tyalmuty in July 2004.

Plate 6.42 “Crocodile Skin” painted by Helen McCarthy Tyalmuty in October 2004.

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Helen McCarthy Tyalmuty is of the Bulgul language group and her Homeland is Batyamal.

She has based her “Crocodile Skin” paintings on illustrations of a Dreamtime story

belonging to her language group, describing the origin of the crocodile’s appearance:

A long time ago, before crocodiles existed, a few different tribes lived peacefully on the banks of a

creek on the Daly River. The men hunted for food to feed their families and also hunted for

ceremonial purposes. One of the great hunters was named Liman. He provided food for his family

and even shared his food with the members of their tribes. All the women praised him for being

such a good hunter so that their husbands became jealous and furious. One day they devised a plan

to kill Liman, All the men told Liman to go hunting with them to trap fish down at the creek. When

they got to the creek they tied Liman up on his own fish net and threw him into the river. The river

threw splashes of water everywhere. Big bubbles rose out of the river. Liman’s wife, Tyalmuty

heard what had happened. She loved him so much that she ran down to the creek mouth, she tied

herself in her own fish net and threw herself into the river. Splashes of water flew everywhere; big

bubbles once again rose up very high out of the water. The fish net had cut deep into Liman’s and

Tyalmaty’s skin leaving them with crocodile like features. The rolling around in the water stretched

their bodies, leaving a long, sharp strong tail. That’s how the crocodiles were created in the Top

End. The crocodiles travelled into the salt water and reproduced. They are very territorial creatures.

Tyalmuty’s first painting illustrates the structure of the crocodile skin using abstract wavy

lines, and bands created by little horizontal circles and stripes. The second painting has a more

figurative style illustrating the crocodile skin naturalistically with thin, neatly-drawn lines,

blended brush strokes, and circles that are extended in the centre of the painting, in an

accurate depiction of the crocodile skin pattern.

Plate 6.43 “Coolamon” painted by Kieren Karitpul McTaggart in November 2007.

At 13 years of age, Karritypul, Marrfurra’s youngest son, is an accomplished artist who has

been painting for years. He also, similarly to many other Ngan’gi artists at the time, created an

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abstract design he says is inspired by the structure of the paper bark coolamon in 2007.

Karritypul wrote his own design story:

This painting depicts a coolamon made from the bark of the paper bark tree. In the olden days

people used to cut pieces of this bark with a stone axe, then shape it into a tray. This paper bark

tray would be used to gather collected plants and game. The artist’s design was inspired by the

structure of the flaky, stringy paper bark of the coolamon.

On a red background, he has lined up in black and unevenly checked grid, with white dots

inside each square. He has reproduced this design in several versions, slightly varying the

pattern and use of colours. Karritypul also made a silk painting of this Coolamon design.

Plate 6.44 “Coolamon” silk painting produced by Kieren McTaggart in 2008.

Plate 6.45 “Paperbark” painted by Kieren Karitpul McTaggart in March 2008.

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The painting, titled “Paperbark,” is a seasonal design that Karritypul says represents the

structure of the paperbark tree. He narrated this design story for it:

This painting is inspired by the structure of the bark from the paper bark tree. In olden days and

still today people use this bark for many things such as food preparation and building of shelter.

The paper bark humpy was a rounded structure that gave shelter for the rain during the wet season.

The paper bark could be moulded into a tray and used to carry water, food and young babies. When

you cook in a ground oven with rocks heated in the fire, the meat would be carefully wrapped in

paper bark and leaves before being buried in sand. Paper bark could also be moulded into a little

raft. Lastly they would use the bark as clothes when this was required.

In the same manner as his mother Marrfurra, Karritypul appreciates a detailed story and

includes all the manners in which paper bark is, and has been, utilised in his design story.

The painting has an inventive and erratic pattern of wavy lines, dots, circles, and stripes in

yellow and white on a black background. He is clearly inspired by his mother and his

classificatory brother Philip Wilson, as he was taught to paint in an art production

apprenticeship by observing them.

Plate 6.48 “Crocodile Eye” etching on paper made by Patricia Marrfurra in 2007.

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Paintings by Gracie Kumbi

Plate 6.54 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in October 2001.

Plate 6.55 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in June 2003.

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Plate 6.56 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in November 2004.

Plate 6.57 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in February 2008.

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Plate 6.58 “Barramundi” painted by Gracie Kumbi in May 2008.

Plate 6.59 “Barramundi” painted by Philip Wilson in January 2008.

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Philip’s barra design story:

“This painting is about the barramundi. When the river is up, we don’t fish for barra because

we know we can’t catch anything. So we wait until the river goes down. Then we know

there’s a lot of fish in the creeks that run into the river. During nights when the moon is full it

is also a good time to catch barramundi because it holds up the tide. Along the edges of the

river bank the barramundi are feasting on the prawns in the shallow water, making it easy for

us to see it and make a good catch. We cook the barras on the hot coals.”

Plate 6.60 “Barramundi” painted by Christina Yambeing in March 2008.

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Paintings by Christina Rebecca Yambeing

Plate 6.68 “Bushfire” painted by Christina Yambeing in May 1999.

Plate 6.69 “Bushfire” painted by Christina Yambeing in June 2003.

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Plate 6.70 A bushfire photographed by Stian Thoresen at night in October 2007.

Plate 6.74 Banyan trees photographed by Maria Øien outside of Nauiyu in 2003.

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Plate 6.75 “Traditional Birth” painted by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart in 1998.

Marrfurra was born out in the open and her father performed a final element of their

transitional birth ceremony, which Yambeing did not include in her painting and design story.

Marrfurra’s design story to her “Traditional Birth” painting communicates the ritual elements

that she wants to highlight visually:

When a baby was born it would be put through smoke from a fire of ironwood leaves and branches

to welcome it into the world and into the clan and family. When this was done also the spiritual

Ancestors would know that a new baby has been born. And the mother would spray the baby with

water from her mouth. Then they would gently tap the baby on the head and talk to it at the same

time saying that it must always think clear and good thoughts. Then they tapped it on the ears

saying that it must not listen to bad things. Then they tapped it on the mouth and said that it must

not say bad things. He or she must only think, speak and listen to good things.

Her painting illustrates a person holding a child through the smoke of a fire and spraying it

with water. In the transitional birth ceremony, water and smoke are believed to strengthen the

baby and to chase away evil spirits. Marrfurra tells me that because most children are born in

hospital today, the initial part of the birth ceremony as described by Yambeing is not

performed in its entirety. However, they always perform the final part of whispering to the

newborn child.

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Plate 6.76 “Traditional Birth” painted by Catherine Ariuu in October 2002.

“Traditional Birth” design story narrated by Ariuu:

The blue circle in the centre of the painting represents the womb. From the womb comes a baby.

The baby is put in the Pufunnyi cradle. Above the babe is a woman’s breast which the baby gets

nourishment from. The orange wavy circle with the small blue circle embedded means Aboriginal

people sit in circle around the campfire telling stories or a family preparing a meal. Aboriginal

people from the area use sign language to talk as well. Drawing a circle on your chest with your

right hand means a woman. Circling the palm of your hand means money. Drawing a circle on the

ground with your right hand means water or rain. In the past if you walked along trading trails in

the bush you would come across circles engraved on rocks or trunks of trees. These represented

water holes nearby. These circles are represented in the painting.

In Ariuu’s painting, she has used a large circle around the centred Aboriginal paper bark

coolamon representing the womb, and smaller circles around the large circle represent the

people of the community and the child’s kinship group, which will help to “grow up” the

child. A breast painted above the baby is providing chi mother’s milk, but is also a

representation of the mother’s care and nurturance for her child.

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Paintings by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr Bauman

Plate 6.77 “The Light of the World” drawn by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr in 1987.

This ink pen drawing was reproduced on a Chrismas postcard sold at Merrepen Arts, which

also included Yngunmerr’s design story:

Mary holds the Child in a wasari a paper bark cradle. She has a dilly bag in its customary position

hanging from her head. Joseph is holding spears, indicating his role as protector; He is wearing an

adawayirr headband around his head, signifying a special occasion and ceremony. The Star is the

Nativity Star. It conveys several meanings – Jesus is the Light of the World. Light is radiating from

him through the eight points of the Star, representing the essence of his later living and teaching in

the eight Beatitudes. The star also stands for Mary – “Look up to the Star. Call upon Mary.”

In this black and red ink drawing, Ungunmerr is depicting the subject-matter of the Naivity by

illustrating Mary and Joseph with his ceremonial hair band and spears, and the baby in front

of the star. Ungunmerr’s design story comments on how Mary carries the dillybag.

Traditionally, the women would hang the string dilly bag handles across their foreheads with

the bag on the back, so that the hands would be free to gather food when they were out in the

bush. Ungunmerr is making a Biblical reference in her design story to the eight Beatitudes,

which are the solemn blessings marking the opening of the Sermon on the Mount. The last

sentence of her design story is a quotation from Saint Bernard.

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Plate 6.78 Photograph of the traditional way of carrying a string dilly bag, as demonstrated by

Molly Yawalminy, while collecting Water lilies in a billabong.

The Poem by the Queensland poet Bruce Dawe

The star is the tall star of the Nativity

When in the night God’s brightness was unfurled,

The star is that which shone into our darkness

a promise of new light unto the world.

The star is also the Beatitudes

—eight-pointed blessedness and present joy For those who take up their discipleship

and own a Kingdom no king can destroy.

The star is also for that special Mary

on whom St Bernard once urged us to call;

she had few worldly goods and yet was richer

than any empurpled Herod in his hall ...

This Mary bears a dillybag made of grasses

with food for the family later to be fed.

Joseph is holding spears, thus signifying

His role as the protector. On his head

he wears an adawayirr as a symbol

of the momentousness of what they face.

The Child is cradled in a bark wasari,

and they’re all together in that holy space ...

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Plate 6.79 “Faith Healer” painted by Patricia Marrfurra McTaggart in May 1993.

Marrfurra described to me the Ngan’gi rituals that were performed by a “Faith Healer” when a

person believed themselves to be “sung.” “Being sung to death” is a description of what

happens if an angered person performs a ritual to cast sickness or death on a person. With

such ill deeds directed towards you, the only one that could help you was the “Faith Healer.”

The design story for Marrfurra’s “Faith Healer” painting describes the process:

When people get sick in our community there are times when they don’t want to go to our

Rural Health Centre. That’s only because they know that whatever they will be given as

treatment won’t help them. The sickness I’m talking about here is if they are told that they are

going to be sung to death, poisoned, or have a bone pointed at them. The story of this painting

is about Bone Pointing. The sick person has asked a Faith Healer to come and cure him,

because he’s heard that an enemy has pointed a bone at him. One side of him is in pain and

he’s feverish all over. He lies down and the Faith Healer prepares himself for the session to

begin. He gets two branches with leaves of ironwood and a paper bark dish and sits down

cross-legged beside the sick man. First he rubs his scent over the area where the man is in pain

and fans him with the ironwood leaves. Then he does a big whipping motion with the branches

above the sick man. That’s the sign used to say the man will be well again and the bone is out

and in its paper bark container. The sick man has to believe in the Faith Healer otherwise he

can will himself to die.

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Plate 6.84 An inscribed mother of pearl shell from the Daly River region, the photograph is

courtesy of Eileen Farrelly.

Aboriginal Art Producing Regions

Given in the following is an introductory, brief, and generalised presentation of some of the

art producing geographical regions of Australia. This is provided to ease the reader’s

following of the comparative presentations of Aboriginal art exhibitions presented in Chapter

7, which include great regional and stylistic differentiation. The descriptions are sourced from

my master’s thesis (Øien 2005: 153-156), Caruana (2003), and McCullock (1999).

The Central and Western Desert

The vast region of the Central and Western Desert includes much of the Northern Territory,

South, and Western Australia. It is mostly covered in desert, with large mountain ranges and

rock formations. Desert designs, painted with acrylic on canvas, originate from designs

painted on decorated weapons, sacred incised boards and stones - often called tjuringa - rock

engravings, ceremonial body paintings and sand drawings. In addition to canvas paintings,

desert artists also produce prints, batik, weavings, and wooden carvings. A relatively small

number of visual elements are widely used in Desert art, being associated with multiple

interpretations depending on what design story is illustrated and how the elements are placed

in combination with each other in each design. Usually, the symbols refer to geographical

places, paths, and movements, clan affiliations, Ancestral Dreamings, the elements and bush

tucker. Desert artists seldom apply figurative representations; rather, they are known for their

use of abstract designs covered in dots. In ritual painting dots are used to outline design

elements. In paintings, they can indicate differences in topography and vegetation, to mask

sacred designs, or create a visually stimulating effect that illustrates the presence of a

supernatural power in the land. The Desert region can be separated into several main sub-

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groups. One of the areas, Papunya Tula, is, as mentioned, considered the natal place of the

Aboriginal art movement, and although earlier art production in this region began at the

Lutheran Mission Hermannsburg, west of Alice Springs. They painted Western-style

watercolours, led by Albert Namatjira. Papunya includes a number of groups that all share a

ritual connection to the honey ant Dreaming: Arrente, Anmatyerre, Luritja, Warlpiri, and

Pintupi. Art movements also developed at Yuendumu, Haast Bluff, Ernabella, and Lajamanu,

with artists from the Warlpiri language group. In Utopia, a women’s batik group was

established using designs from women’s ceremonies, formerly applied to arms, breasts and

legs, in their batiks (McCulloch 1999; Caruana 2003).

Arnhem Land

Arnhem Land lies in the tropical part of Northern Australia and is one of the richest art

producing regions in Australia. There are several different language groups and clans, yet they

are connected through similar Ancestral Dreamings. They produce bark paintings, funeral

posts, weaving in natural fibres, and sculptures using red and yellow ochre, black from

charcoal, and white from pipe-clay. Caruana (2003) separates out three main stylistic regions

in Arnhem Land, in addition to several regions located nearby.

West Arnhem Land

This region is located from the East Alligator River bordering on Kakadu National Park up to

the Liverpool and Mann Rivers. The main language groups are Kunwinjku spoken in

Gunbalanya (Oenpelli), and Kuninjku, spoken in Maningrida. Generally speaking, the most

common designs used on bark paintings originated in their rock art. Figurative designs

predominate, often set against a monochrome background, usually red or yellow, more

recently also including white and black. The interiors of the images are divided into sections

and decorated with Rarrk or cross-hatching, patterns that are owned by the artist’s clan and

believed to endow the design power of the Ancestral beings. The Ancestor Being Mimih is

often depicted; it is a spirit thought to have taught the predecessors of humans the art of

painting, usually portrayed in naturalistic, monochrome images of animals and humans in

animated postures with tall thin bodies (Mountford 1961; Caruana 2003). What has been

labelled “x-ray-style” is also common; in such paintings, the backbones and the internal

organs such as the skeleton, lungs, and heart of the animal are clearly visible.

Central Arnhem Land

This region stretches from Maningrida towards Ramingining, Milingimbi, and the adjacent

islands. The language groups are Rembarrnga and Yolngu. The stylistic division between

west and central Arnhem Land is not complete; they both feature a combination of figurative

images set against complex compositions of clan designs and geometric patterns. Often

depicted in the art are Narrangem and Naldaluk, lightning spirits, painted with a stone axe at

their waist to make thunder. The Yolngu paint designs are generally perceived to be

associated with moiety affiliation. The most important designs are those of Wititj, the Great

Python, and the Wagilag sisters (Caruana 2003).

North East Arnhem Land

This region stretches from the Island of Galiwin’ku to Yirrkala and south along the coast. The

Yolngu also produce art in this area, and there is an art centre in Yirrkala represented by the

Rirratjingu clan, among others. In this region, the bark paintings include rigidly-structured

compositions relying heavily on clan patterns. The underlying compositional structure in the

paintings identifies each clan and functions as a conceptual map of the clan’s land. The

painters in north east Arnhem Land are concerned with making their art bright, achieved

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through the visual density of the cross-hatched clan design, the build-up of layers of colours

and white cross-hatching. The most depicted Dreaming design is the Djang’kawu Ancestor,

often painted naturalistically and in various forms, showing episodes from Dreamtime stories

(Caruana 2003).

The Environ of Arnhem Land

Groote Eylandt is located on the boarder of north east Arnhem Land in the Gulf of

Carpentaria. Their designs have originated from rock art designs depicting Ancestral beings or

spirits in human or animal form, the constellations, flora and fauna, historical events, the three

main winds, and ceremonies.

Ngukurr is located around the south eastern part of Arnhem Land including Groote Eylandt.

Artists associated with this region produce colourful acrylic paintings on canvas. Their

imagery is largely figurative, and applies the styles of cross-hatching and “x-ray-style.” They

have also become renowned for decorated wooden sculptures.

The communities of Nauiyu, Wadeye or Port Keats, and Peppimenarti are located in the

Fitzmaurice region, directly below Arnhem Land. The Wadeye artists produce acrylic

paintings and decorated wooden boards and stones, and their designs apply visual elements

similar to Desert art, using concentric circles to represent places and Ancestral paths (Caruana

2003). Nauiyu and Peppimenarti artists have their own figurative and colourful style produced

on acrylic canvas paintings, in addition to works on paper, fabric, and fibre weavings.

Fitzmaurice also include artists from the cities of Darwin and Katherine.

Tiwi

Tiwi includes two islands, Bathurst and Melville Island, that are located at the point furthest

north in the Northern Territory, above Darwin. The Tiwi people practice two important ritual

ceremonies, the Kulama initiation ritual and the mortuary rites of Pukamani. Many of their

designs originated from these ceremonies. They also practice matrilineal inheritance, which

has allowed women to play an important role in art production (Caruana 2003). The designs

are characteristically geometric and abstract. They produce acrylic or ochre paintings on

canvas, works on paper and fabric, and ironwood carved Pukamani poles and spears.

Kimberly The Kimberly region is situated in the north western corner of the Australian continent on the

Indian Ocean coast. Language groups include Pintupi, Wangkajunga and Walmajarri. Two

communities, Kunnunnurra and Balgo Hills, both with prolific art production, are situated

here (McCulloch 1999). The artists in this region incorporate a variety of art styles that have

spread according to traditional patterns of exchange. However, they mainly produce acrylics

paintings on canvas. Stylistically, the best known design from this region is that of Wandjina

Ancestors, believed to have come out of the clouds and the sea, bringing rain and controlling

fertility. They were formerly known as Gwion Gwion figures, or Bradshaw figures, named

after the first European who recorded them, and have originated from rock art designs. They

are usually depicted as monochrome, small, animated human figures, with white faces and

round black eyes having radiating lashes and no mouth. A halo may surround the head,

thought to represent the clouds these Ancestors came from (Caruana 2003).

North Queensland and the Torres Strait Islands

The region of North Queensland includes the Cape York Peninsula, Mornington Island, and

the Torres Strait Islands. The Islanders may be partly influenced in their art production by

their affiliations with Papua New Guinea. Some of the artists living here have remained on

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their traditional lands, while others are so-called “urban artists” living in rural and urban areas

outside their traditional lands. The artistic diversity has resulted in the region featuring

innumerable art traditions, media, and styles (Caruana 2003) .

South Australia, New South Wales, and Victoria

Artists from these states are usually described as so-called “urban artists,” living and working

in many of the major cities including Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane. They use

all types of media, including the latest technology. Their images are often concerned with

notions of identity, political issues concerning their right to country, Aboriginal perspectives

on Australian history, and issues of dispossession, broken families and racism (Caruana

2003).

Description of Selected Works from the National Gallery Exhibition “Cultural

Warriors”

The exhibition features an installation “The Contrivance of Vintage Wonderland” by Danie

Mellor from Mackay Queensland. On a white platform birds, kangaroos and wallabies with

stuffed ears and hands are mounted on cement built bodies, covered with a layered mosaic of

broken white and blue porcelain chips. The Torres Strait Islander Dennis Nona made

installations with centre pieces of large bronze figures, featuring a life-sized crocodile with a

warrior on its back and a dugong in between spears. Large drawings with texts are made by

Vernon Ah Kee, stating among other messages, “not an animal or a plant.” The Queensland

artist Arthur Koo’ekka Pambegan Jr. from Cape York Peninsula produced the installation

“Flying Fox” from wood poles hanging in stings, painted with horizontal stripes of brown,

white, and black, illustrating his Dreaming. Treahna Hamm from Melbourne used possum-

skin cloaks, worn in the past in the south-eastern part of Australia, as a canvas for her designs

and stories, displayed in large glass vitrines, together with a coiled lobster of pandanus fibres

titled “Yabby.” Rich Maynard has taken black and white photographs of people and

landscapes, from his home in Tasmanian.

Large ochre-coloured acrylic canvases painted by Jean Baptise Apudatimi from Tiwi

illustrate, among other subjects, Jilamara (a body painting design). Three colourful and large

rectangular dot paintings by Maringka Baker, a senior Pitjantjatjara artist from Kanpi, north

west in South Australia, illustrate the landscape of her country and a creation story. Jan

Billycan (Djan Nanundie), from Ilyarra Country in the Desert of Western Australia, also

depicts her country in large chromatic brush strokes on black backgrounds. Doreen Reid

Nakamarra, a Papunya Tula artist from Western Australia, has painted her Dreamings in thin

beige and brown lines and dots on a black canvas. Cross-hatched designs on paper and

canvas, and a few hollow logs are produced by Philip Gudthaykudthay from Ramingining.

Several bark paintings produced by Lofty Bardayal Nadjamerrek Ao from Gunbalanya

(Oenpelli), are presented. One of them illustrates a black wallaroo in his country after a fire,

speared by the hunter in his typical cross-hatched and “x-ray-style.” Barks and painted hollow

logs produced by John Mawurndjul from Maningrida are illustrations of the Ancestral power residing in his land, explored in his own creative version of the conventional clan Rarrk

(cross-hatching). Gulumbu Yunupingu, from Yirrkala north east Arnhem Land, is equally

creative in her detailed designs on bark and hollow logs, titled “the universe” and “stars.”

Large wood carvings, and a woven Yawkyawk water creature (mermaid), using pandanus

fibres are made by Anniebell Marrngamarrnga from Maningrida Arnhem Land.

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H. J. Wedge depicts Aborigines killing white people in his figurative, strong-coloured

painting “Taking back the land,” commenting on the Australian history by questioning what

would have happened if the Aborigines had killed the first arriving white people who landed

in Australia and claimed the land as their own. His painting “No more drinking” and Gordon

Hookey’s painting titled “The grog got’em” make political comments on the devastating

effects of alcohol abuse in Aboriginal communities. Further, Daniel Boyd from Cairns

questions the romantic notions of “the birth of Australia” in his large, historic painting of a

“classic colonial” depiction of Captain Cook’s taking the land with the heads of Aboriginal

people in glass jars (Clark et al. 2007: 71). A film features the artist Christine Christophersen

in which she explains her use of colour, and circles and triangles, to represent women, men,

kinship, and time in her paintings. A glass display holds prints made of old government

documents concerning dealings with Aborigines reprinted on red and beige decorated paper.

In one mixed-medium installation, “Colour Blinded” by Destiny Deacon and Virginia Fraser,

a film shows a man writing on a blackboard asking “what are you looking at?” and a girl

playing with dolls asking “why are you here?” Large photos of the dolls and the artists cover

the walls, and two glass vitrines are filled with rag dolls and beads of polystyrene in a room

coloured by yellow light. The installation’s use of yellow light is the artists’ comment on the

fact that how you see things literally effects what you see (Clark et al. 2007: 89). Judy Watson

from Queensland tells her personal story through paintings and etchings using her

grandmother’s official permit to marry a white person, as a statement on colonisation. Elaine

Russell has painted “Inspection of our houses” to critically comment on the surveillance of

Aborigines in community and mission life. Richard Bell from Brisbane, Queensland

challenges both the narrow categorisation of Aboriginal art and the domination of the modern

Western art tradition in Australia, by appropriating a Western art style when painting a Roy

Lichtenstein parody in his “Big Brush Strokes.”

A Collection of Individual and/or Group Exhibitions of Merrepen Arts

Exhibition Name: Venue: City/Country: Date:

“Endirrlup -Meeting Place” Darwin ENT. Centre Darwin 2001-2007148

Telstra Aboriginal Art Award. MAGNT Darwin 2005

“Miyi I Kagu Nayin” Alison Kelly Gallery Melbourne March 2005

“Heart of the Land” Macquarie Bank Sydney Nov 2004

“Daly River Artists” Indigenart Perth Oct 2004

“Old People’s Stories: Our stories” Indigenart Perth Oct 2004

“Merrepen Artists: Prints and Glass” June Tapp Room Katherine Sep 2004

“Merrepen Artists: Prints and Glass” CDU Gallery Darwin Aug 2004

“Mi Nayin Kinda” C.C.C Batchelor 2002

“Merrepen Artists: Recent Glass & Prints” Territory Craft Katherine Sept 2004

“Merrepen Artists: Recent Glass & Prints” CDU Gallery Darwin Aug 2004

“Indigenous art” Japan Japan Feb 2002

“National Indigenous Heritage Award” Old Parliament House Canberra April 1998

“Paintings from the Daly River” Raintree Gallery Darwin Mar 1996

“Twelfth National Aboriginal Art Award” MAGNT Darwin Sept 1995

“Eleventh National Aboriginal Art Award MAGNT Darwin Sept 1994

“Out of the Chrysalis” Blaxland Gallery Sydney April 1994

148

This etching exhibition has been arranged five times between 2001 and 2007.

468

“Green River Dreams” Birrkumarri Gallery Perth April 1992

“Eighth National Aboriginal Art Award” MAGNT Darwin Sept 1991

“Seventh National Aboriginal Art Award” MAGNT Darwin Sept 1990

“Sixth National Aboriginal Art Award” MAGNT Darwin Sept 1989

“Songs from the River” Birrkumarri Gallery Perth Oct 1989

“Fifth National Aboriginal Art Award” MAGNT Darwin Sept 1988

“Paintings by the Women of Nauiyu” MAGNT Darwin Nov 1987

Plate 8.2 The Endirrlup Exhibition invitation

Parts of Endirrlup Exhibition Opening Speech Made by Sylvia Klienert

“Thank you very much for inviting me, and Thanks to Maria Øien who is a researcher from

Norway who is doing her Doctorate on the art of Merrepen Arts. Thank you very much for

inviting me to open this exhibition; it is a big honour to be invited, and I do thank you. I came

to this exhibition this morning and I walked around and I thought what a wonderful

exhibition it was, it really exemplifies I think the dynamism and the excitement and diversity

of contemporary Aboriginal art. A whole new contemporary Aboriginal art expression came

and arose in Australia in the nineteen sixties and seventies and ninety eighties. It came out of

the struggle for land rights and policies of self-determination. And as most of you would

know it really began with an art teacher called Geoffrey Bardon at a town in the central desert

called Papunya, that was in nineteen seventy nineteen seventy one, and from there it spread

like wild fire right across all the remote communities, rural communities of Australia, and to

the cities. And now, as you probably know, it really has national and international

469

recognition. Perhaps it is important to really reinforce for you how important it is for

indigenous communities to be involved with the production of art. When we talk to

indigenous people like Aaron, who is the manager of Merrepen Arts, they keep saying all the

time how important this art is for them. It does lots of things. In one way involvement in

producing art like this just reaffirms the spiritual connection with the Dreaming, but it is also

a way of transmitting cultural knowledge to the children, to the next generation. It is a way of

actually reaffirming and renewing cultural heritage. It’s also a very, very important way that

indigenous people can achieve some form of economic independence. There is not a great

deal of other work out there that has managed to do that over many years. And finally it is a

way of actually communicating with the wider society, and that is what is happening here

tonight. In this exhibition you’ve got a mixture of print and mini paintings. Now interestingly

print making actually emerged even before Geoffrey Bardon encouraged Warlpiri artists at

Papunya to begin using acrylic paint on canvas and on boards … I supposed you can say in a

sense aboriginal people have always been involved in print making. Think of the stencil

hands in rock art galleries and all the layers of images in the rock art out in Arnhem Land,

think of the carved artefacts or carved Boab nuts produced over at the Kimberley. But

contemporary print making emerged first among the Tiwi in Melville and Bathurst Islands to

the north of Darwin, and also among the Yirrkala in north east Arnhem Land. But it also

fulfils a particularly important role in aboriginal communities because print making actually

reaches a much wider audience. Most of us cannot afford the large acrylic dot paintings

produced in the Central Desert and the many thousands of dollars they bring in on the market

place. But we can all afford these wonderful prints and so they widen out the art marked to

reach all of us, so we can all show our appreciation and love for indigenous art by purchasing

the prints. And also for older people, older artists who perhaps aren’t that well, they can

produce a single print and through the editions of that print they can continue to get income

from their art over many years. And children love to be introduced to the making of art

through print making … It also helps culture through edition of these prints (sic). These prints

have been produced with a Northern edition in Darwin and Basil Hall editions, which is also

in Darwin. I am very proud to say that both of those homes can trace their origin back to

Charles Darwin University. They began in the print making department at Charles Darwin

University, and we are very proud of that connection to indigenous print making for that

reason. In addition to the print making around the wall we actually got a group of mini

paintings … We can also talk about this exhibition in terms of it being a distinctively

Merrepen arts exhibition. It is not like the dot paintings from the centre that you are used to

seeing, or the cross hatch from Arnhem Land. They have their own distinctive decorative and

colourful Merrepen arts style ... Women are often concerned with designs of bush tucker,

seasonal signs, basket making and such … They all show how exciting it is to see the prints

of Merrepen arts. I will encourage you to purchase these prints to support the community, the

artists and the indigenous art movement, as well as getting a beautiful indigenous art print.”

470

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