I first came upon some of the artists legacy quite unknowingly. I was sitting in the foyer area of the Somerville Community Services administration building when I spotted a painting by an Aboriginal artist on the wall. This didn't surprise me much, after all, the NT is well known for the Indigenous art that is produced there, so I didn't pay it much heed at the time. That would change over the next twelve months.
It was on my tour of the facilities that I would be working in that I first met The Artist. Of course at the time I didn't know that the skinny man with the grey hair sitting in his wheelchair watching TV was an artist. At that stage he was one of the new residents of the house I would have to get to know, just like the other five people living there at the time. It wasn't until my third day on the job that I found out who he was prior to coming to Somerville.
It was the official opening day of the sparkling new facilities that the Somerville admin staff were enjoying and I was told that The Artist was to attend. I was happy with this, after all we were a disability service, why shouldn't he attend? It was on the way there that I was told the reason he was to go. The painting I had been admiring was actually one of his paintings. Someone from Somerville had found it in one of the local indigenous art galleries and decided to buy it upon hearing who the artist was. The painting would have been a metre high, on bark, and depicted Ngalyod the rainbow serpent and some Mimi Spirits, which are mentioned often in the Dreamtime stories of Arnhem Land. The detail was painstakingly intricate, done in the traditional line style of Western Arnhem Land that must have taken months to produce. Each individual line seemed to tell it's own story, about the subject, about the artist, about his and his people's history and culture. After the formalities (including a meet and greet and photo with NT chief minister Paul Henderson) were done, I decided that I had to learn more about this man, his art and his culture.
The Artist, unlike the majority of residents in Somerville's houses, wasn't born with a disability. Once upon a time he had been a respected member of the community of Oenpelli (also known as Gunbalanya). Oenpelli is a permit only community, about 300 kms east of Darwin in Western Arnhem Land. Oenpelli is known for it's spectacular scenery (being just outside Kakadu National Park) and it's artwork and artists. It holds the largest single collection of rock art in the world in the region surrounding it. It is also home to the Injalak art's centre. The main population of Oenpelli are the Kunwinjku people (pronounced Gun-win-gu for more). Kunwinjku is also the main language spoken in this area (click here for more info). The artist was prominent in his community, learning his trade at the feet of his uncle, also a renown artist. In addition to his art, The Artist was apparently a pretty good footballer back in his day and also used to coach the local kids in the finer points of Australian Football. Due to his people's custom, he never married as he had never been promised a wife and as such had no children. All this got me to thinking about how such a talented, respected, intelligent man end up here and not touring galleries in Europe with his work?
After such a long time in the disability field, not much shocks or saddens me. I have learned not to feel sad or sorry for disabled people. They are not objects of pity, they're human beings who when given the right opportunities have as much chance of making a success of themselves as anyone. But I couldn't help but feel somewhat sad for The Artist, even though I know he wouldn't want my pity. Here was a man with a wonderful gift that had been struck down by a plague on society but a particular curse on Aboriginal society, alcohol. The Artist had had an alcohol induced stroke so severe it left him permanently brain damaged and wheelchair bound. Gone were the fine motor skills that allowed him to produce such beautiful pieces of art such as the one displayed in the Somerville foyer, gone also was the capacity to verbally communicate his thoughts, hopes, desires and dreams to people. But probably worst of all for this proud Kunwinjku man, gone was his independence. He was now totally reliant on others to do the things in life most of us take for granted such as feeding himself, washing himself, dressing himself. Gone was the option to go wherever he liked whenever he liked, replaced by a reliance on others to take him places that they thought he might like to go. Also gone was his attachment to his community, no longer living at Oenpelli with his people and his traditional culture and ways of living, but into the stagnant world of twenty four hour group home care. An intensely private man now not just living with strangers, but having strangers have to complete the most basic of tasks for him.
It took a little while for me to get to know The Artist. He was a naturally wary and reserved person around strangers especially balanda (whitefellas) from down south. We shared a common interest however, football, and at first that was our major discussion point. The Artist was still able to indicate yes or no by nodding or shaking his head, had a very expressive face and a wicked sense of humor. So at first we talked footy, I found out he was an Essendon supporter (but I didn't hold that against him!) and we spoke about the Bombers, my team the Swans and about some of the past and present champions of the AFL, in particular Aboriginal players such as Michael Long and Adam Goodes. The Artist also loved to read books, especially ones that were on familiar topics such as Aboriginal art and the top end, his beloved Oenpelli and bush tucker (we would sometimes compare notes on the different bush tucker we had eaten). He also loved the Footrot Flats comics, just like I did when I used to read them on my auntie and uncles farm growing up. Plus we were both country people (albeit, Ararat and Oenpelli are VASTLY different!) so we could talk about the bush, about goanna's chasing us around camping sites and going swimming in dams and waterholes (no chance of kinga (crocodiles) eating me in Victoria though!
The Artist loved nothing more than getting out and about, seeing people he knew from the past and observing those he didn't know. He enjoyed going to the footy, seeing the NT Thunder and the AFL games, going to the pub for a quiet beer and going to cafes for a delicious mango smoothie. The more I was around him, the more I came to appreciate this man and what he could and did teach me. The Artist also found my attempts to speak Kunwinjku somewhat amusing, but nodded knowingly when i finally managed to get the words correct. He had to deal with disappointments during my time there, such as seeing his trips back to Oenpelli cancelled for varying reasons out of everyones control, but he took it in his stride. After a while, I saw The Artist less as a tragic figure and more as an individual who could teach me so much about his culture and life.
By the end of my time in Darwin, I was proud to call the Artist my mate. Even he said I wasn't too bad for a balanda. When the time came for me to resign, he was the first person I told. He seemed sad that I was going, but he understood. Just as he liked to be with his mob at his home, so did I. Saying bobo (see you again) to The Artist was the hardest of all, but he gave me a smile and a nod as if to say thanks. He's a person who shows all to clearly the dangers of excess alcohol consumption, yet despite everything else remains a rightly proud and dignified person. The Artist is one person I'll never forget and I look forward to seeing him again someday and saying kamak (hello) to him one more time.
*For an explination of skin names in Western Arnhem culture
Title Song: The Artist In The Ambulance by Thrice, from the album The Artist In The Ambulance.
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