We're revisiting some articles from this year's Art Collector DAAF 2021 Special Edition.
Wally Wilfred’s dynamic paintings and sculptures hold traditional stories up to critical re-interpretation in a political present.
Words by Claire G.Coleman
Non-Indigenous people in Australia might suppose there is some imaginary line between Aboriginal people in the city – those considered to be modern, disconnected from traditional culture and overtly political – and those in the bush, who are imagined as spiritual, distant and pretty much apolitical.
The stories I know disprove this again and again. In reality, countless Indigenous political movements have started in the bush, spearheaded and led by people from remote communities. Over the last few years in particular, I have watched a change occurring, with artists of classical Aboriginal styles adding stories of colonial violence and modern life to their artistic repertoires.
Image above: Wally Wilfred, Circumcision Ceremony. Acrylic on 630g Archers paper, 56 x 76cm.
Banner: Wally Wilfred, After the Rescue, Arylic paint on found wooden objects, 300 x 180 x 160cm.
Image courtesy: The Artist and Ngukurr Arts.
People from places like Ngukurr, a small Aboriginal community situated on the banks of the Roper River in southern Arnhem Land, keep oral histories from colonial days and before. They tell their stories of the Black War, of police brutality, massacres, and resistance by our people. Remembering leads to a strong political will, and a desire to share the stories through art, so that nobody can forget, or ignore, what has happened.
Wägilak man and Ngukurr Arts artist Wally Wilfred explores this nexus between traditional and present-day culture, history and storytelling. Continuing in the footsteps of his grandfather Djambu (Sambo) Barra Barra, his works stand as an important reflection of our history and culture. As he said to me (translated from Roper Kriol by Greg Dickson of Yugul Mangi Aboriginal Corporation):
“It’s very important to us. Whatever painting or carving I do, it has meaning and history, songlines and represents family, spirits and us as well. It’s still very important to us.”
For years, Wilfred has painted the Mokuy, a devil from the Roper River region and an important part of local funeral ceremonies.
“He is a fighting man with blades on his knees and legs. He has blades on his arms, they can rip you wide open,” says the artist.
“He has all his weapons with him; dharak (spear) and baṉdak (woomera), djamaḻak (clapping sticks) and yidaki (didjeridu). He can hear and see everything in the bush.”
Image above: Wally Wilfred, Mokuy, 2020. Acrylic on clear acrylic board, 44 x 61cm.
Image courtesy: The Artist and Ngukurr Arts.
Wilfred’s Mokuy paintings are stylishly graphical and remind me of European modernism, demonstrating the common observation that Indigenous artists have, in the last 50 or so years, independently invented modern art.
“I follow the old people,” notes Wilfred, “using the traditional rarrk painting style. But I use my own bright colours, new way. I’m using the old with the new.”
Wilfred’s Mokuy sits among scattered bones, broken into bones himself, armed with his weapons. He’s scary, this fella, but somehow loveable. Dangerous, yet comforting.
“I paint that Mokuy again and again, but he never changes … he stays the same ... he’s been with us here for thousands of years.”
More recently, Wilfred has added intricately detailed, powerfully designed figurative sculptures and paintings to his oeuvre. These new works speak to the modern colonial story of the Roper River region, telling of the devastating impacts the munanga (white fella) has had on people and Country here.
Image above: Wally Wilfred, Dhakiyarr vs The King. Acrylic on paper, 56 x 76cm.
Image courtesy: The Artist and Ngukurr Arts.
In one story, Wilfred speaks of Aiyaga, a man from the Roper River region who jumped into the river, hands shackled, to rescue the white policeman who had arrested him. Ayaiga’s courage saw him awarded with the British Empire’s highest award for bravery by King George V himself, but even after he received the venerated award, Nothern Territory officials didn’t allow him to keep the medal.
This conclusion is not surprising when you consider the colonial dispossession and degradation that was lived reality for First Nations Peoples of the region at the time. Between 1885 and 1910, during a period of rapid pastoral settlement in Gulf Country, more than 600 Aboriginal people were killed and hundreds more displaced.
Those who remained, like Ayaiga, were subject to intrusive and paternalistic laws.
Wilfred’s paintings hold traditional stories up to critical re-interpretation in the present, reminding us of an ongoing responsibility for all Australians to be educated about, to never forget, and to learn from our shared past, especially when such a past is easier to ignore. As Wilfred says: “It’s still continuing, never ending.” Much like his dynamic paintings, we must fuse the old with the new.
See more from Wally Wilfred and Ngukurr Art Centre HERE
This article originally appeared in the Art Collector 2021 Darwin Aboriginal Art Fair Special Edition, head here to read more.
Cover Art by Madeline Purdie, Boabs After the Fire. Natural earth pigments and synthetic fixative on canvas, 60 x 60cm. Courtesy of the artist and Warmun Arts.
Contributor Claire G. Coleman is a Noongar woman who writes while travelling around the continent in a ragged caravan towed by an ancient troopy.
