Friday Five: Inhabiting Change

At the Belconnen Art Gallery, I came across an exhibition, Inhabiting Change by Fiona Heard. Change Management is one of the things we hear about often at work. In corporate spaces, the theory of how to adapt and manage changes to our routine and processes is much touted. I thought I'd take a look at how that is represented in art and nature. 

According to the brochure, Fiona Heard is a multidisciplinary artist based in Lake Macqaurie who, inspired by the Australian landscape, uses mark making to explore the relationship between nature and time. Mark making is described as a deeply personal 'visual signature' of an artist, crating different lines, dots, patterns, textures and shapes in an artwork. 

Fiona Heard writes, "Inhabiting Change explores the nature of impermanence, framing the present not as a static destination, but as a dynamic threshold between what was and what will be. The images in this body of work originate in the landscape of South Western NSW: a reflection of both childhood memory and my evolving relationship with the region as an adult. My process mirrors this continuous state of becoming. I begin with the unpredictability of hand printing, embracing chance marks and reduced control to form an initial visual language.

"The final worls emerge through physical reconfiguration. By tearing, combining, and sewing these printed elements, I mimic the way memory and land are constantly reshaped. The resulting pieces move beyond literal representation to evoke an abstracted familiarity, reflecting the reality that change is never a finished state, but an ongoing transformative process."

The Guarded Ruin

Dawn Arrives and Colour Returns

The Deserted Hearth

Birdsong and Bullrushes

The Scorched Earth

The Sun's Benediction

What strikes me most about these images is the fluctuating light and shadows; hues change constantly with the intensity of the day, with our eyes deceiving us after dark - forms around us seemigly move and change, prompting us to question what is real and what is imagined? In some images the landscape is stripped back to its red ochre earth; in others trees stand as sentinels or skeletons. The shifting nature belies a restless earth that envelops the vegetation in its path, subsuming ruins of buildings and infrastructure, echoing absences and acknowledging ghosts.

The vibrating earth will continue thrumming with life. Birdsong breaks into quietude and, "The sun's energy unites the earth and the sky, the life cycle continues and still waters witness a world out of time." Everything has a place and co-exists; we cannot have the present without the past that informed it. Just as the canvas is composed of many layers and palimpsets, so is the country on which we live, work and play.

A Refusal to Die of White History: Modewarre

Modewarre by Patricia Sykes

Spinifex

Pp. 90

Modewarre is the indigenous word for musk duck, a creature at home on land, water and air. Through her poetry, Patricia Sykes explores various histories and the boundaries between them which blur and blend. She splits the poems into three sections: House of the Bird, House of Water, and House of Detention, examining words and their connotations, dwelling on reflections, refractions and altered perceptions.

Naming things robs them of their magic and power, as we use “language, so impossibly cumbersome/ for discovering the true weight of things/ the grandmother would have known”. The literary fragments are almost Sapphic with physical and sensual meaning: “as always the modewarre/ places faith in its eggs/ yolk and the sun/ breed each other”. The strong bonds of belonging and connection to land go beyond words, until the frustration is clear in a poem such as eponymous, “to the interrogator who keeps asking/ ‘so are you still suckling on myths of place?’/ I say try the enigma address/ the bird who keeps vanishing in water –”

The poems recall the land and the life before the colonists came, and also the sheer incomprehension of the invaders dealing with the loss. In eupathy (right feeling of the soul) she sees the land from above as though flying with the eagle. “to talk now/ of whether this is still so/ or if the eagles in free flight/ are an option/ to speak of/ options, land, again/ once more/ not as that which was taken/ is un-ownable/ contracting and crowded/ but as lava shift/ the heat of a river/ always underfoot/ in a molten indifference/ to politics”. There are layers of knowledge contained in a word, such as the poem, ‘brid’, eight darkness in which ‘brid’ is the name given by Nyangangu, a Yolgnu artist of Northeast Arnhem Land, to her bird carving. “there, where you are,/ bred of earth, breeding sky/ working the uplift, wingbeat/ as if sculpting a refusal/ to die of white history”.

The world is a palimpsest and so is the brain – our thoughts and memories are malleable. Birds connect people and places, and are often totems for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, helping to define kinship with people, their Country and nature, connecting to the roles and responsibilities of a mob, offering protection and foreshadowing danger and momentous events. This connection extends throughout the world as the birds migrate along their own songlines.

Means of expression are insufficient, with even mechanics of speech and typing unable to capture the richness of the language. “this keyboard’s/ tireless tap-tap mouth/ which cannot voice/ the interior ‘n’ in Nyangangu/ the one with the tail/ the sound of ‘ng’ in singer”. And yet the words can be damaging and belittling. “how the eyes like linguists are never satisfied/ how they’ll poke and pry into any lexicon”, wanting to preserve and capture, destroying the natural.

The poems in House of Water are concerned with childhood, disease, death, invasion, cattle, birds, and bunyips. Roads are built over traditional lands, only to crumble and fray at the edges demonstrating their impermanence in the liminal space. “what never was field/ become paddock become/ fences become livestock/ the cattle the sheep/ foraging for the hoofprints/ they lost the last time/ they departed a shore”.

In the House of Detention, the poems move on to highlight migrants trapped in refugee camps, prisoners in cells, wives in marriages, women in motherhood, caterpillars who will one day be butterflies, political constraints, and people wanting to be “at home in every world/ where exile does not exist”. In great-aunt narrative among the excised lands, Sykes leans upon the double meaning of refuse (verb and noun) as it relates to denial and pollution: “oh my Canberra…/ high city of presumptive cleanliness/ among the dirty waters exuding from the workplaces/ the smell of your refusal laws”. She uses a rare capital letter in this poem, which must surely be ironic as her punctuation is clean and almost entirely absent.

Modewarre is a great collection of powerful fragments, connecting words to the echoes of previous language both spoken and unspoken. It is a reminder that we are merely one of millions of moving parts that comprise our environment, expressing a concern for what will happen to the delicate balance once we form a pyramid and place ourselves at the apex.