24 December 2024
Emily on Christmas Eve
I only only really discovered Aboriginal Art after coming to live in Australia. Of course, like many, I had seen various things in museums and in countless books but I had never spent time looking at it. Now after being in this country for a while I would say the inverse; that I had only looked at Aboriginal work but I had never seen it. What changed? How had I opened up to it?
I think it was when I saw the work of Emily Kame Kngwarreye 1910 - 1996. I liked it immediately because it led me into her world through a painterly association with which I could easily identify. I understood enough of her sensuous vocabulary to be able to navigate the painting. It appeared Expressionist and full of harmonious colours, and like the elder she was, her ancestry held my small hand to lead me through the mysterious Australian Bush. Bit by bit I further ventured into the multitude of varied styles and mediums which are represented by so many different tribes. What’s truly extrordinary is that she didn’t begin painting until well into her 70’s so she was a veritable amateur who discovered her calling.
One would need a lifetime to explore this territory, and to be honest, I still know almost nothing about it. I spent much of my life in Europe after all, so consequently my knowledge of most indigenous cultures around the world is limited even if I am superficially familiar to so many of them. If only one had a hundred lifetimes to explore even a fraction our diverse cultures around the globe! Alas, I arrived at the door of creativity through a European culture, so thus I’m a child of this community for better or worse. And because I came through this portal I see Painting through the lens of European history which is maybe a treasure but it could be a curse too. As our dear old friend Marcel Proust said in the The Prisoner, from the fifth volume of Remembrance of Things Past, “The real voyage of discovery consists not in new landscapes but in having new eyes”. And as my Irish aunt Madelaine used to say.“We arrive where we arrive”.
So generally, in the flat world of painting, I appreciate all styles in all cultures where treasures will open me to an unbiased but clear and fresh vision. But I do bring along my critical eye too which can present problems. When I look at the pictures of Emily for instance, I see the images through my own Western sensibility. How could I not? This might indeed be the curse. But in fact, in all indigenous work from every far flung corner of the world, I’ll always look for light even in the darkest of images. If there is just the slightest skeleton of luminosity holding the darkness in one organic perceivable form I’ll catch it. In her work I find both light and colour.
But naturally, like in all cultural movements, there are degrees of quality that go from really inventive and authentic vision to the well-worn imitations that mark a decline. When looking at the diverse array of Aboriginal Painting, there too, are great and inferior works all mixed together. It is, after all, the same for Western Art. But again, I judge this work like I would do for any painting around the world through Western eyes so it’s possible that I’m blind in this domain. I admit it. Because of so much variety on this Australian continent it can be hard to sift through the diversity of styles that make up a family portrait so full of such disparities.
But the real kicker in this discourse is that, ‘a priori’, Aboriginal Painting is about a spiritual connection to the Land. As abstract and as Non-Figurative as the Western person will see it, it will always speak of the Land and to the creator’s relationship to it and it’s people. This presents a major conundrum for how the West understands ‘Non-Figuration’ and what we call ‘Abstract’ Expressionism. But this is too long a conversation for this small page.
This painting from several evenings ago was the second of three. I like it for its extreme sobriety. It evokes a particularly delicate moment before the sky unleashes its more muscular personality. Of course, I love that it’s flat. On this day, the late afternoon had been shimmering in a hazy glow, and the sea, at the very peak of the Summer Solstice was glowing in a sheet of lemon-lime while the sky was on the very cusp of being carved up by the looming dusk. Despite facing this obvious splendour, as I painted it, I wasn’t feeling anything, I was just working until I stopped. Then I quickly moved on to the next image that hurried me along like an ambulance behind me in traffic. Looking at it now I really, really like it. It’s one of those images that comes along once in a blue moon that reveals to the painter a glimpse of what he or she really wants to do. Of course, it's flat, so what’s also not to like, I ask myself?
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