It is with the greatest pleasure that I provide an article on Aboriginal Art for Australian Mallee Art’s website.

I have known the owner, Mojca Anzic now for many years and have grown to appreciate her integrity, sincerity and dedication, as well as her genuine concern for Aboriginal Australia at close range.

I grew up in Egypt where I completed my university degrees in cultural anthropology. Naturally, the study of Aboriginal Australia is intricately linked to the study of the history of anthropology. While in Egypt, Australia seemed so far away, and I thought that I had ‘studied’ Aboriginal Australians just by reading books. Aboriginal Australians were then confined to the textbooks, along with their beliefs and the way they perceive the world. That is, I looked at them from a cold intellectual perspective that thinks it knows and understands!

It never occurred to me, that one day I would be living in Australia. In our eighth year in Melbourne, we visited Uluru and Kings Canyon in Central Australia, as well as other parts of Australia, a journey of 16,000 miles, which our friends invited us to undertake with them in five weeks.

This was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. It was at Uluru (Ayers Rock), near a sacred waterhole, that I found myself quite literally connected to the Land. It spoke to me in no uncertain terms. I realised then that it was the Land that invited you to live on it, and that this invitation was a very special privilege.

There were many other wonderful magical experiences around Uluru and while there, I felt I did not want to leave it – ever. All of a sudden, what the Aborigines were saying about their connection and love for the land made sense – not from an intellectual point of view – but from an experiential one. There is a very big difference between understanding something through the mind and understanding something through the heart, and dare I say, through one’s entire body.

Ever since, I have converted to Aboriginal Affairs and have a great passion for the Aboriginal spiritual tradition and the people. Having read steadily about the history of the white man’s encounters with the First Nations (the indigenous populations of the Americas and Australia), I find it rather sad that the horrors committed against them are still lingering or echoing and that they have not been fully acknowledged nor addressed by the dominant white society. At the moment, except at grass-root level in Australia, there seems to be no political will to reconcile and heal the gaping wounds of the nation. It is by understanding where the Aborigines are coming from -their world-view – that one can contribute to the healing process. Aboriginal art is one such avenue one can embrace and explore to achieve this aim.

Aboriginal Australians and we Egyptians have much in common. We represent cultures that have spanned millennia and we share many beliefs about life, death and spirituality, which are not quite apparent without a deeper analysis of both cultures. However, while Egypt has suffered many invasions, which ultimately cut her off from her ancient language and religion, she managed nevertheless to ‘Egyptianize’ her invaders – who absorbed her culture and religion and made them their own.

Aboriginal Australia, on the other hand, is now threatened by annihilation in the name of assimilation, and the possibility that the dominant white culture may not recognise nor respect its wisdom. And wisdom, it certainly has to offer us, if only we are open enough to listen to it and to accept it.

The reader at this point may wonder what does the above introduction have to do with Aboriginal art?

To understand Aboriginal art one must understand that land, sacred sites, the dreaming or Dreamtime, Dreamtime Ancestors and the Aboriginal artist are inexorably interconnected. Aboriginal art depicts the relationship(s) of the particular artist with the land, and through the land with his Dreamtime or totemic ancestor and with everything and everyone else in his sphere of life.

Definition of Dreamtime 

The world-creating epoch is called the Dreaming, or the Dreamtime. The world was being “sung into existence”.[i] “The journeys of the Creative Ancestors are preserved in the stories, ceremonies, symbols and patterns of living that have been assiduously maintained by the Aborigines for millennia”, and every day is lived in remembrance of the day when a place and its creatures first came into being.[ii] Having said that, Dreaming or the Dreamtime is not limited to the time of Creation, but is another dimension of ‘being’ in the here and now.

It is important here to explain why the Aborigines settled on the word “Dreaming” or “Dreamtime”. It is basically to denote that the time in question is different – in quality – than what we consider to be our sense of time, which we divide into past, present and future. There is no such division in Dreamtime, where linear time does not exist, where past, present and future fuse into one another. Also the distinction between time and space vanishes. It is the realm beyond our physical senses, which can be accessed by certain means.

The Dreamtime Ancestors or mythical ancestors were responsible for the creation of every manifestation of life: insect, animal, plant, mineral, and human. They could change their “shape” as they pleased. Today, the concept of the totemic ancestors carries with it the identification with a particular animal, insect or plant life. The Aborigine is associated through the totemic ancestor with a particular manifestation in the other kingdoms. Totemism is therefore the spiritual link between a particular environment, plant, animal or mineral, and a human being. It is a kinship between humans and nature on physical and metaphysical levels.[iii]

“Place” or “country” plays a pivotal role in shaping the identity of an Aborigine, because it links him to his totemic ancestor. The Aborigines as a result of this identity are responsible for the welfare of their “place” or “country”. Their totemic association incurs the obligation of carrying out the sacred rituals to maintain that relationship with their Dreamtime ancestors to keep that “place” or “country” alive. They are custodians of the land. To own the land in the white man’s meaning of the term is totally alien to their way of life and their spiritual heritage.

It may seem paradoxical to the white man that “place” or “country” is so vital to the well-being of the Aborigine, who for millennia has opted for a nomadic and hunter-gatherer life-style – and yet, it defines him totally. Perhaps the reader can now understand why it is so vital for indigenous Australians to have access to their land. The land is the lynchpin of their total existence. This is a concept that is truly alien to immigrants to this country – who try to “own” a piece of land in a material sense, are happy to trade it for another anywhere else in the continent, particularly if it sold at a whopping profit!

Aboriginal Art

Before the white man’s interest in aboriginal art, the latter was part of the religious ritual that governs the entire life of Aboriginal Australia. It was through art, song and ritual that the relationship with the Dreamtime was maintained, renewed and reinforced. Art and religion were intertwined and interdependent. It is interesting to note that there are no words in the Aboriginal languages for “art” and “artist”.[iv]

One can divide Aboriginal art into two main categories: portable and non-portable art, private (sacred) and public (secular, including didactic or educational) art. Cave or rock art, such as the Wandjina paintings or the Bradshaw figures in the Kimberley (Northern Territory), and other large stone arrangements, represent the non-portable art. Bullroarers, tjurunga (made of wood, shell, stone or tubers), bark paintings and ritual objects such as thread crosses and wheels, lattice frames and masks, and musical instruments represent the portable art.[v]

Art for the indigenous Australian is not about aesthetic value, although its aesthetic appeal to the Western eye is undeniable. It has instead a functional and sacred value: by painting, the Aborigine recreates visually his “place” – which was conferred upon him through his totemic association from conception or birth, a place which is the embodiment of his spirit. The painting becomes a story-telling map of that piece of land in his custody.

In the following sections, I will concentrate on Central Desert and Arnhem Land art styles, as these are available in Mallee Root Artifacts Gallery.

Central Desert Art

In the central desert, the process of painting normally took place on vast grounds stretching for about a hectare. It was accompanied by singing the appropriate song cycles relating to the Dreamtime and was therefore sacred, secret and a potent activity, which imbued the painting with the very same power that emanates from the Dreaming.

In that sense, the importance of a painting laid more in the actual process of painting than in the end result. Once the ceremony was over, the painting was destroyed. (The importance of process versus end result holds true for other ancient cultures: the Tibetan kalachakra ceremony and certain other sand ceremonies found amongst some of the Native American traditions embody the importance of process versus end result).

The art reflects the Aborigine’s knowledge according to the degree of his initiation. Consequently, the signs and symbols used therein will carry different meanings depending on his level of initiation. With each level of initiation, more and more knowledge is imparted from the Dreaming through his elders. With that knowledge comes a deeper understanding of the unseen forces that drive the physical world.

The central Australian paintings reflect that knowledge in the sense that what is painted is seen from the energetic field, which is only accessible through the development of the second sight through “dreaming”, hence the many minute dots that fill the entire frame to denote the swirling patterns of energy.[vi]

What we now get to see in a painting is the public aspect. Unless explained by the artist himself, it would be difficult to understand the story behind the painting, as the symbols used therein are polyvalent or multi-referential.

For instance, Ernest Worms & Helmut Petrie in Australian Aboriginal Religions write the following about the abstract designs that are engraved on a tjurunga or sacred stone found in Central Australia:

“…concentric circles, spirals, bands of parallel lines, horseshoe forms, footprints of various living beings, which, like the coloured hatchings on the implements of the Arnhem Landers, are subject to different interpretations. Concentric circles and spirals, for example, may indicate campsites of spirits, mythical ancestors, or animals; they may signify body-painting, human breasts or kidneys, caves inhabited by animals, the sun, the phases of the moon or campfires. In horseshoe forms one might see windshields, recumbent persons or animals, or their body parts. Bands of parallel lines stand for paths, dancing grounds, trails followed by the hero-spirits, entrails of slaughtered animals, dragging marks, dunes or mountain ranges”(pp.82-83).

The paintings represent in general an abstraction of the topography of the landscape with its special features, such as waterholes, rock formations, sandhills, plants, animals, insects and the humans on it. The paintings are always done as if seen from above, as if flying over the landscape and having a bird’s eye view.

They therefore will reflect no perspective in the Western understanding of that word. In fact, introducing any perspective is merely to please the European eye, but is not in keeping with the traditional way.

Art in Arnhem Land

Paintings in Arnhem Land too are drawn from the artist’s own Ancestral story, or Dreaming, their totems and ceremonial designs that belong to either him or her through their personal association with a particular clan. The following draws heavily on an excellent study by Luke Taylor on art in Arnhem Land (see References section).

Unfortunately, for most of us “balandi” – or non-Aboriginals – as they call us, much of what is painted will remain a mystery – for what we will get is merely the extent of what the artists are willing to explain or to reveal to us.

Usually, this is only the tip of the iceberg, as they will not share what is secret – or sacred – with the uninitiated. It is also difficult for us to explain individual paintings in detail. All one can do is speak in general terms about them.

There is a significant stylistic difference in approach between the “dot’ paintings from Central Australia which are totally abstract and symbolic – and those of the Northern Territory paintings. The latter are both – figurative and abstract – at one and the same time.

The Northern Territory paintings reflect a figurative depiction of the realms of reality – the seen and the unseen.

The figures in their paintings symbolically represent and illustrate the natural species in the sense of a ‘photograph’, in their representation of plants, reptiles, animals, birds or fish and man.

Ancestral beings depicted on rock, in sacred sites, are also considered to be a true representation of these Creative beings. These Ancestral beings can be shown in a sitting posture – to symbolise their creative act, since sitting alludes to having made camp during their Ancestral creative journey.

The sites, where these beings are still “sitting” are considered sacred, or djang, and their presence is manifested in the features of the landscape at that site.

Spirits, that is, beings from the unseen world, and only visible to few men, are also represented in paintings. Mimih spirits, which taught man everything he knows about hunting and cutting up of game, as well as cooking it, are believed to reside in cracks in the rocks. Thus, they are represented as slender figures, otherwise they would not be able to slide in and out of these crags.

Malevolent spirits (Namorrorddo or ‘shooting-star’ figures), that hide in dark forested areas during the day and are on the lookout for human souls at night, are similar to mimih, with a humanlike body form – but they have claws for hands and feet – and a club, to stun their human victims.

Senior artists teach their apprentices how to draw the shape or body forms and the various proportions of the different species, and how to capture their living essence. Some species may even look quite similar to us, shape-wise, however a few small details will embody the defining factors.

For instance, the emu or bustard will be drawn with a short beak, protruding chest and three-toed feet. The brolga and jabiru stork would be drawn with a long beak, a smooth chest and four-toed feet! Apart from these features, however, they will appear to us to look pretty similar.

To distinguish an emu from a bustard or a brolga from a jabiru may be through what they eat, or some other element, such as their eggs, which will be drawn to identify them. It is often the association between the species – with its food, or the size of its eggs – which offers a vital clue as to the nature of the species.[vii]

Association is also used in a more esoteric way. For instance, the aggressive salt-water crocodile has been described “as a major Ancestral figure of the Mardayin ceremony and guardian of the sacred objects used in this ceremony”.[viii] Since crocodiles have the habit of swallowing stones to give them ballast, the Kunwinjko in western Arnhemland regard such stones as sacred objects – inherently because of their association with the crocodiles.

An extension of this natural association can be seen in the use of any stones found in the bodies of dead crocodiles to make sacred objects.

These sacred objects would be shown – inside the body of a crocodile – using what is now called the X-ray technique. On other occasions, the body organs of the crocodile, itself, will be painted like sacred objects, or even the eggs inside a female crocodile may be drawn as sacred objects, because they too are all considered to have a creative potential – much like sacred objects.[ix]

The association between one ancestral being and another, which is sometimes shown as a fantastic creature – like a serpent with a head of a crocodile and the tail of a fish – symbolises the idea that they are all different manifestations, or transformations, of the one being – the Rainbow Serpent, Ngalyod.

I should add this is similar to the ancient Egyptian representation of the Gods. The Goddess, Isis can, for example, be shown with the horns of the Cow Goddess Hathor – denoting aspects of Motherhood. To name a few other such stylistic combinations we have the Cat Goddess, Bastet, and the Lioness Sekhmet – capturing elements of the feline – or the triple nature of the Sun – Khepri, the Scarab Beetle, the Morning Sun – Ra, the Noon-Day Sun, and Atum – the Evening or Dying Sun.[x]

The theme of transformation is also a significant one in Kunwinjko art. “Any Ancestral being can potentially be represented transforming between animal and human forms, or from either of these forms into features of landscape, or into sacred objects”.[xi]

In this light then, why should it be seen as unusual that the ancient Egyptians represented their gods with the head of an animal, and the body of a human being, or a hybrid of different animals? Both of these very ancient cultures express superbly, in my view, through their respective art – a shared metaphysical reality – namely, that the ‘One and the Many’ – the Creative Spirit – manifests itself through transformations, into multiple different species.

It is important to note that themes in Aboriginal paintings customarily fall into two separate areas: elements in the public domain, or within the private domain.

The public domain encompasses subjects such as hunted game, and the Rainbow Serpent, Yingarna, or her son, Ngalyod, who is associated with the creation of all sacred sites in Kunwinjku clan lands.[xii] Another major creator figure called Lumaluma, as well as the mimih and other spirits, these are common to all Aborigines regardless of moieties and clans, and can, essentially, be painted by anyone.

However, subjects associated with a particular site will remain very private, in the sense that no one else can or may paint them, except the rightful person.

To complicate matters even further, the rightful person is often not an artist – from the moiety and its clans – who is the custodian or ‘owner’ of that subject or totem, but is actually the ‘manager’ of that particular land. In fact in their own community, hefty fines can be imposed on any artist painting a design to which he is not, by tradition, entitled to paint.[xiii]

The public and private domains intersect along the continuum between the secular and the sacred. At the secular end of the spectrum are paintings of edible animals (called mayh) or hunting scenes. Whereas at the sacred end are djang paintings, which deal with Ancestral beings and their power.

Djang is intimated, too, in the form of infill or rarrk made of parallel hatching or cross-hatching. This may be illustrated in one or multiple colours, by dots, circles or diamonds, and includes the geometric designs we see either around, or inside, the figures. Further, the brightness of the cross-hatching in the rarrk infill is, additionally, indicative of Ancestral potency.[xiv]

Rarrk, which was originally used in the Mardayin ceremony, as body paint, has been incorporated now into their bark, and eventually, paper paintings at the request of the balandi art advisers – who were looking for something “dazzling” in the paintings. What is quite interesting is that in their eyes – in Arnhem Land – an artist is considered a good one based upon his execution of rarrk. One needs to see this on a video about Kunwinjko art to really become more aware of how painstaking and exacting this is to accomplish!

Traditionally, each clan has its own rarrk which, in turn, will indicate a different topographical site associated with that clan. The designs will be distinctive to each clan. They are abstract, or geometric – not figurative – although they symbolise the ancestral being, clan lands or water wells found on these lands, even “watercourses or underground ‘tunnels’ between these waterholes”.[xv] Red ochre is associated with blood and yellow with the fat of the Ancestral being.[xvi]

There is an abundance of meaning expressed within the rarrk designs. Not only are they an aerial map of a particular landscape – much like in the “dot” paintings of Central Australia – they are also “abstract maps of the underlying Ancestral order of that landscape”. Furthermore, they indicate the body parts of the Ancestral being.[xvii] Hence, just as the land is imbued with the spirit of the creative ancestor Ngalyod, the Rainbow Serpent, a painting with rarrk in it also contains the power of the sacred.

The art from western Arnhemland is most complex and unique, because of its powerful use of X-ray portrayal. For example, figures of a kangaroo, an emu or a goanna will all be shown with some inside details such as the heart, stomach, liver, intestines and the spine, the prized fat bits, or even the eggs.

Western and central Arnhem Land share the way the geometrical infill or rarrk is placed inside the figure – and not around it – as is the case in north-eastern Arnhemland. In the latter, the entire surface of the painting is covered by the infill, or the painting will be subdivided into panels, and the figures will be left ’empty’. You may begin to understand what I said about being complicated!

Luke Taylor, the anthropologist – who spent some years in the early eighties with Kunwinjko artists from western Arnhem Land, studying the symbolism behind their paintings – can identify, not only the regional differences – in how the rarrk is applied in a painting – but also three distinct schools among the western Arnhemland artists, alone, as to their method of using the rarrk infill!

For instance, the Kunwinjku-Dangbon school, which developed at Oenpelli – and is represented by Peter Nabarlambarl – adhered, most closely, to the rock painting tradition.   They resisted the influence of balandi, or Western art advisers, who were seeking to have them switch to a style of multicoloured cross-hatching infill – just to make the painting more “dazzling” – instead of the simple red parallel hatching style found on the traditional rock art in their area.[xviii]

The other two schools use multicoloured cross-hatching – one in a neatly ordered – the other, in an apparently unordered sequence – with minimal X-ray motifs. That school also incorporates the use of both dotted and full-colour sections to break up the infill space.[xix] Mick Kubarkku (the Marrkolidjban – Mumeka school), represents the latter.

To sum up, we have a truly unique form of painting in Arnhem Land, which depicts (i) the outside, and (ii) the inside and (iii) from different angles – all, simultaneously.

Seeing both the outside form – and the inside – simultaneously bespeaks of a people who “see” beyond the external surface, and into the hidden, the higher or “inner” meaning of things.

In one painting, the artists can compact up to four different levels of interpretation, (1) the physical descriptive level, (2) the mythological level, (3) the social level of clan relationships and (4) the topographical level of the land surrounding them – as seen from an aerial view.

In their world, the relationship between the different, and interrelated parts of the same physical body, symbolises the relationship between the different clans, just as the different aspects in the landscape belong to the same body of their creator, the Rainbow Serpent.[xx]

I hope that by now the reader will feel able to share my strong objection to the word ‘primitive’ as used by some scholars, in reference to the Aborigines (or to the ancient Egyptians for that matter!).

One more aspect needs to be mentioned.

Despite the fact that Aboriginal paintings show the outside – and the inside – and at two or different angles simultaneously (i.e. from above and from below)- – these paintings are not meant to be three-dimensional.

This lack of perspective may seem to jar with the European sense of seeing from only one angle at a time which also commits this on canvass, whereby all else in the classical painting is to be relative to that angle, in order to give a spatial sense and three-dimensionality. The avoidance of such perspective in both Aboriginal and ancient Egyptian culture should not be taken as a lack of artistic or perceptive ability on the part of the painter.

Three-dimensionality infers a particular reference point in space, therefore also in time. The paintings in both cultures are not about our worldly time. Both these cultures portray the eternal – and not the ephemeral, or the transitory – which we see in our ordinary, everyday life. Both cultures use art as a mediator between the unseen and the seen worlds, and art as a transmitter of energy, from one reality into another. This may be quite a difficult concept for Western man to accept in this day and age.

After this description of the rich and complex symbolism inherent in Aboriginal paintings, and their reverent regard for nature – as a living, organic whole, animated by the same spirit that animates all of us – can we not share their anguish at the way that we vivisect, and continue to exploit the innards of ‘their’ homeland – for our short sighted material and economic gain – yet at the risk of our collective, long term loss?

That land is believed to be the body of the Great Ancestral being, Ngalyod, the Rainbow Serpent, an animate being which the Kunwinjko treat with utmost respect – in order not to upset him. As Luke Taylor puts it, Ngalyod “dwells inside the earth and in waterholes as a powerful essence that may strike transgressors”.[xxi]

Perhaps Ngalyod has not surfaced from the depths of the earth to strike in retaliation – well at least, not yet. But when he does, are we really safe anywhere in Australia, from experiencing the extent of his anger – directed at all of us – disrespectful balandi?

By demonstrating our respect for the Aborigines – and their ageless cultural and spiritual heritage – we may, at long last, finally begin to take the first steps to avert his wrath, with all of its dire consequences. Otherwise, we will only have ourselves to blame.

Conclusion

We are very privileged to be able to see Aboriginal art today adorning walls in many institutions, museums and art galleries, as well as to have the opportunity to hang it in our own homes. Our pride in owning an Aboriginal work of art, however, should extend beyond the limitation of possessing it.

Our desire to acquire a piece of a most unique style of art in the world should be equally accompanied by a desire to recognise the cultural and spiritual heritage of the Aborigines that spans many thousands of years and which is inseparable from that art.

Theirs is a heritage that hinges on the love of nature – of subsisting on it, without abusing it – of acknowledging one’s kinship with the animal, plant and mineral kingdoms – not their rulership. It is a heritage that affirms life, sexuality, the body and endeavours to experience the eternal in the here and now.

While we cannot turn the clocks back to cancel the crimes and brutality the invaders inflicted on the Aborigines for the last two hundred years, history is currently at a turning point, and we do have a chance to redress the balance – or what’s left of it.

It is not enough to admire Aboriginal art, while ignoring the underlying agony and screams of despair that are muffled by the deafening roar of current injustices, meted out on them in the name of economic rationalism.

There was a time when I thought it was possible to separate art from politics. Today, I truly believe that to accept the art, and to keep silent about the treatment of Aborigines, will be to our collective shame as we stride into the 21^st century.

[i] Lawlor, 1991:36

[ii] ibid:17

[iii] cf. Strehlow, 1978:15

[iv] no author, 1988:4

[v] cf. Caruna, 1996:24

[vi] cf. Lawlor, ibid:381

[vii] Taylor, 1996:168

[viii] ibid:172

[ix] ibid:172

[x] cf. Shaw et al 1995

[xi] Taylor, ibid:199

[xii] ibid:85

[xiii] cf. Taylor,ibid:93

[xiv] ibid:92

[xv] ibid:229

[xvi] ibid:120-21, 130

[xvii] ibid:231

[xviii] ibid:80

[xix] ibid:75-79

[xx] cf. Taylor, ibid:250

[xxi] ibid:250

References and Suggested Reading: