“Jarracharra”, a word from the Burarra language, describes the powerful cold wind that arrives at the start of the dry season in the Northern Territory’s Arnhem Land. It’s a sign that the creeks will soon dry up and billabongs will emerge, and bush food will be available in abundance. It’s also a time to move about and visit family, when multiple clans, in what is one of the most linguistically diverse regions per capita in the world, come together for ceremonies. This is often how customs and languages are shared between Aboriginal peoples and passed down through generations; preserved through a very essential connection to Country and cultural practices.
For the female artists from Bábbarra Women’s Centre in Maningrida, a remote Aboriginal coastal community in West Arnhem, Jarracharra: dry season wind is both title and inspiration for their new exhibition at the Australian Embassy in Paris. Featuring 33 vibrant and intricate textile designs from 17 female artists, the show explores thousand-year-old themes around Country and djang (a term in the Kuninjku language for a site that’s a focus for ancestral creator beings) in striking, contemporary art forms. The exhibition was timed with the United Nations’ International Year of Indigenous Languages in 2019.
There are 13 languages spoken among the 28 artists producing work in the Bábbarra Women’s Centre today, and many of them don’t cross over. “Communication is all over the place: this whole trip, I speak in my language and they’ll respond in their languages,” admits Bábbarra assistant manager Jessica Phillips. “We work together in different languages, but we understand each other,” says Janet Marawarr, a senior Kuninjku woman and one of the five artists who made the long journey from Maningrida to the French capital for the opening, which coincided with the end of Paris Fashion Week.
Like her travel companions, Elizabeth Kala Kala, sisters Deborah and Jennifer Wurrkidj and emerging artist Jacinta Lamilami, this is Marawarr’s first time overseas. The group, accompanied by Phillips and Bábbarra Women’s Centre manager Ingrid Johanson, who were co-curators of the exhibition, arrived just a few days before their Vogue photo shoot in the ambassador’s residence in Paris.
The iconic Harry Seidler building, a concrete edifice from the 1970s, boasts a money-can’t-buy view of Eiffel Tower. “I was looking forward to seeing the tower,” Deborah Wurrkidj says, glancing up at the monument, “but I don’t want to climb it.”
A day earlier, the women enjoyed walking around the streets and taking a boat ride along the Seine. They like to people-watch, to take in what the locals are wearing, and, it being fashion week, were thrilled to stumble across a street-style shoot. Until now, Paris was something that existed only in the movies. “Action movies, mostly – Taken was one of them,” says Phillips with a grin.
“I am so excited to see this place: it’s so different,” says Marawarr, who has a nimbus of grey curls and covers her mouth when she laughs. She happily said goodbye to her family, including all nine grandchildren, only a few days ago, before they set off on the bumpy 12-hour drive west to Darwin. “They were all lined up and watched me get in the van, and waved me off,” she says, adding she is relieved the flight is over. “It was too long.”
The process of getting everyone here was, in fact, much more arduous than simply the distance travelled. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I could never have imagined how complex it was,” says Johanson, who had approached the embassy about doing the exhibition some 14 months prior. In addition to sourcing funding, the team faced a multitude of challenges, not the least of which was obtaining passports for the women, some of whom did not have birth certificates. “Plus, Maningrida doesn’t have street names, so it’s hard to prove your address,” she says. “You can see how the process is made with certain groups of people in mind, forgetting others.
Bábbarra Women’s Centre has a long history of bringing opportunity and empowerment to local women. Established as a women’s refuge in 1983, the centre diversified into etching, lithography and screen-printing practices in the 1990s, to provide economic autonomy for its artists. It still functions as a community centre, with an op shop, a laundromat and educational programs, in addition to operating as a successful artistic enterprise. The centre boasts a roster of significant talents such as the Wurrkidj sisters – Deborah Wurrkidj’s works have been shown in the US and Europe and are included in National Gallery of Australia collections in Canberra, while Jennifer Wurrkidj’s textile art is in the collection of the Art Gallery of South Australia.
The Wurrkidj sisters attribute their education to the artistic lineage in their family. Their uncle (who they call father) is John Mawurndjul, one of the prominent Indigenous artists invited to paint the ceilings of the nearby Musée du Quai Branly – Jacques Chirac. “My grandmother and my grandfather taught us how to draw, about our culture, and I’ve been drawing since I was young,” says Deborah, whose work Wak (Black Crow Dreaming), a four-colour print of her family’s ancestor being, was painted using the traditional rarrk (cross-hatched strokes) technique. In additional to textile art, Deborah and Jennifer also both do bark painting, a practice originally performed by men (women were tasked with weaving floor mats and dillybags). In the past two decades a new generation of women, like the Wurrkidj sisters, have taken it up.
At 31 years of age, Jacinta Lamilami, a slim, shy woman with a mega-watt smile, is the youngest of the group and someone they hope to mentor as a spokesperson. She is from the Kunibidji clan, the traditional owners of the land on which Bábbarra Women’s Centre lies, and her presence in Paris at the launch of this exhibition is hugely significant. She has developed her practice around hand-carved lino prints, one of which, her “mother’s dreaming”, of two Djomi female spirits (akin to the Western idea of a siren, with a fish-like tail), is featured in the exhibition. “My mother taught me this. It is a mother and daughter in the billabong,” she says gesturing to the framed print.
Some days there are up to three generations of women working side by side at the centre. It’s a hive of activity with a nine-metre-long screen-printing table, 10 lino-printing tables and a sewing team. Many of these women are now the breadwinners of their families. They sell their vibrant works of art, alive with colour and graphic or floral forms, on fabric by the meterage. For the Vogue shoot, the women wear their own creations on dresses of their own design, sewn by dressmakers at Darwin’s Raw Cloth, flattering shapes that convey a keen flair for fashion.
During their stay in Paris, the artists pay a visit to Australian designer Martin Grant. His atelier, in the well-heeled Marais district, is a picture of Parisian elegance with lofty double windows and herringbone floors. Along one side of the room hangs his spring/ summer ’20 collection, a riot of colour that the women take their time to admire. When one of Grant’s team pulls an eggshell-blue silk dress off the rack, a chorus of wows rises up. They take Grant through their own catalogues of fabric designs, and he looks visibly impressed by the colours and motifs. (He’s not the first international name to express interest. A designer from a major French brand recently ventured all the way out to Maningrida, but the brand in question insisted that non-disclosure agreements be signed.)
On opening night later that week, all five women showcase dresses in Marawarr’s three-colour print ‘Kunkurra’ (Spiral Wind), a detailed line-etched pattern printed on vibrant blue with metallic reds. The design has multilayered meanings, depicting the cyclones during the wet seasons and an ancestral dreaming story related to a sacred site from her husband’s clan estate. The room hums with well-dressed dignitaries and art and fashion folk. “I’m proud to talk and see a lot of men and women,” Marawarr says. “They haven’t seen Aboriginal people.”
To open the show, the women will perform a ceremonial dance. It’s a love story set to a dynamic soundtrack by artist Kevin Djimarr. “It’s a traditional dance; my grandfather showed me how to do it,” Marawarr said just before rehearsal earlier that day. “We are excited to do it all together. I am the leader: they’ll watch me.” She claps her hands with excitement. During rehearsal, they seem a little nervous and watch Janet closely for guidance. On the night, however, they appear transformed, confident, and seem to feed off the energy of the crowd. They dance in the centre of the room, surrounded by their designs that are hung about in vibrant, eye-catching swathes. They’ve travelled so far and shared so much. And when it’s over, they all huddle together and laugh with happiness and relief.