Woven

Loke Britz

To begin … 

How do you engage with art? I’ll be honest; I find it difficult to appreciate contemporary works of art, like those in galleries or museums. Too often, the symbolism is purely speculative, too ambiguous for me to feel like it’s worth my time deciphering. However, there are occasions when I feel all the parts are integral to success. When I look at this artwork, I feel a profound sense of completeness. I hope to offer an in-depth explanation as to why it is that Kim Ah Sam’s 2024 work, ‘Our journey is our story’, resonates so deeply with me. I want to show you the sense of emotional and critical satisfaction that has inspired this analysis. 

Like her other installations—for example, last year’s ‘Woven Identity: it’s not only me’ exhibition—the method of expression is weaving. Her practice makes use of the ability to weave into the canvas miscellaneous items, typically thought of as non-valuable. Looking closely at the installation, I could see various pieces of twine and raffia. While the bulk of it is string representing arteries and veins, according to Ah Sam’s artist statement, one detail that I immediately observed was the emu feather. In the context of the artwork, I found it fascinating. The strong—but very deliberate—contrast between the two textures, rough and smooth, organic and inorganic, was clever. When viewed from a distance, the intricate layering creates the illusion of softness, even of a kind of rippling movement. But it wasn’t easy to spot this distinction, owing to its unique composite shape. A viewer’s eye is naturally drawn to the circular patterns and the looping, rising clumps. 

They are intended to reference structures on a map. This shape is more thoroughly embedded, almost growing from the piece and sprouting outwards. This is a map of life.

The sensory aspect is worth talking about. Installation art, unlike a static portraiture for example, requires an embodied perspective, a sense of individualism, to become a meaningful experience. There is a three-dimensionality to Sam’s expression that emphasises the artwork’s gradual creation, which is made to be seen by an active audience. Moreover, the lack of any barrier places faith in participants to respect the space as part of the showing. It also implies that the act of standing there—simply wanting to be near it and touch it, as I really wanted to but couldn’t—is a crucial part of the process. Going back to the ideas of resonance and completeness, we can observe that alongside intellectual curiosity is the other half of the experience—aesthetic, surface-level pleasure. It is this second component which transitions the creation from a statement on belonging to an artistic accomplishment that can stand on its own merits. As well as being visually interesting, the fact that the materials included were so commonplace implies that the audience is not expected to have specialised knowledge in developing an opinion or connection to the piece. 

ACCA and the surroundings

So far, I have described the artwork as a tangible fixture. What rules or conventions were making a combined effort to make the experience psychologically satisfying?

ACCA made a dull first impression, with the blacks, greys and whites of the lobby. Moving into the exhibition, ‘Our journey is our story' immediately stood out with its colourful, somewhat daring handmade feel. It brought to mind the homely feel of my own room, though my room is far more cluttered than here. This clearly came from a personal place. The walls were bare apart from the artworks, and the black walls forced me to adapt to the piece’s intense colour palette. I felt the desire to look and to read with a newfound curiosity. 

Remarkably, as bright as it was, it was never so bright as to be overwhelming. After all, there was as much there as wasn't there. The massive holes within the piece provide space to breathe, revealing that it uses shape as a motif for an underlying theme. The holes, instead of being afterthoughts, are the missing links, so to speak. They communicate that we are still not quite fully aware of the First Nations perspective. This artwork, like the Indigenous traditions that have inspired it, serves as a guideline for the promotion of First Nations dialogues in a very respectful way.

Now that I’ve discussed the theory, let’s delve into symbolism. I’d like to reintroduce the emu feather, because it’s more than nice imagery. I interpret it as a message. According to a talk given by Shelly McSpedden, Senior Curator at ACCA on 7th August 2024, Ah Sam was not very familiar with her Kuku Yalanji and Kalkadoon heritage growing up, and ‘Our journey is our story’ is an effort to reconnect with her native link to Country. Perhaps in her efforts to reconcile her cultural heritage, she is extending First Nations significance beyond herself and to the flora and fauna. Referring the artist statement again, in connecting the present to the ancient past, in using a topographical format, perhaps she is also presenting Country as a nurturing ‘body’ built on harmonious coexistence. Unlike the West and its often exploitative agricultural practices, in pre-colonial Indigenous Country, there was hunting and gathering and a sustainable give and take.

Another important detail that I mentioned earlier was the weave work as a map. To me, this is significant for two reasons. First, the shape represents Ah Sam’s understanding of Indigenous territories and the Peoples that claimed them as their own, before colonisation and the overwriting of history. Further It’s a correction, a division of land and a division of ownership between the First Nations Peoples. Second, is the idea of embedding oneself into the environment. This is Ah Sam’s ‘constellation of life’, a commentary on her upbringing and all her interlacing influences, but also an acknowledgement that despite her previous unawareness, her lateness to the conversation, there is very little distinction between Her and Country.

Therefore, this map might also be a homage to the songlines, the metaphysical paths travelled by ancestral beings during the Dreamtime. Ah Sam seems to be incorporating philosophy, intertwining it with reality. It is almost like she is using the past to inform a modern-day Dreamtime story, one where she is the divine being with all the power of expression.

My history

Growing up, my understanding of Indigenous Australia was not where it should have been. I always enjoyed my humanities classes in primary and secondary school and because they allowed for critical thinking and exploration, pulling on multiple, sometimes contradictory, threads. This I did enthusiastically, for years and as the marks came in, I began to really treasure the feeling of correctness I got from my teacher’s praise. It was a boost to my ego, certainly, but once the euphoric rush subsided, I realised that the actual value was the realisation that I knew what I was talking about. I gained some amount of confidence. That epiphany allowed me to transition away from the surface-level ‘who is doing better than me and who is lagging behind’ gossiping that I would sometimes engage in, and towards thoughtful consideration of the implications and the ripple effects of these historical events. How might they affect my own life, even as far away as communist China and then-imperial Russia? Why is there so much emphasis on things that happened a hundred years ago?

It bothered me that I would only ever learn about Indigenous peoples in the context of violence and cultural atrocities. These were extremely important events that needed recognition—I’m not disputing that in any way. It frustrated me on an ethical level that the constant desire to teach us that the past should not be repeated reduced Indigenous peoples to a cautionary tale. ‘Our journey is our story’ has helped me to comprehend this reality without the pitfall that is putting people in boxes. It is a living map, not a list to be filed away in a cabinet at the back of the room.  

But we do absolutely need to keep the past in the back of our collective minds. I’d like to comparatively examine my own culture. I’m Danish, so my family is deeply involved in Scandinavian history and traditions, both modern day and all the way back to mediaeval Vikingr times. My relatives consistently inform me about the correct pronunciations of confusing words, the correct way to eat the correct food, and childhood memories. I was fairly attuned with my history and felt I had a fairly comprehensive understanding. Much like ‘Our journey is our story’, the gaps were anticipated. But the fact that my family could retain my culture through the generations is hardly unique. To demonstrate:

One of my most recent historical adventures was to Kalø Castle, a seven-hundred-year-old ruined castle primarily used to suppress and destroy emergent domestic enemies. During periods of peace, it was used as a prison. This visit gave me a good idea of the implementation of military outposts and helped me understand the ubiquitous nature of expanding political powers, especially because this structure was built by order of King Erik Menved in response to a peasant-let revolt. In another historical encounter at Moesgaard, a museum in Denmark, I participated in Vikingr roleplay, including the preparation of food, the forging of small tools and weaponry and the opportunity to move around in a small, faithfully recreated settlement. More than immersive fun reminding me of playing pretend in the backyard all those years ago, it helped me empathise with an unfamiliar way of life.

Indeed, the Nordic cultures and all those which are adjacent to it—Greek, even Chinese—are kept very well intact. They are thoroughly researched and therefore readily accessible. Factor in these myths and legends as a part of popular culture—TV, stage and film adaptations, republishing of literature such as The Odyssey, and games—and you get stories that filter through many aspects of society. It is undeniable that Greece and China share oral tradition, however, there is also a rich culture of visual storytelling, including but not limited to pottery work, costume design and philosophic scripture. What I want to draw attention to is the transformation of culture from a respected practice to basic entertainment. Certainly there is historical value and scholarly criticism, but it is equally important to recognise that because of the West’s own practice of assimilation, any culture ‘taken in’ becomes diluted or simplified. Consider Marvel, for instance, and its repurposing of Mjölnir, a tool responsible for the destruction of the world serpent and for thunder and blessings of rain, as a world-saving weapon that can only be wielded by the purehearted. These philosophies become mere fantasies, novelties and, in some cases, commodities. Such is the Western perspective, very broadly speaking.

By contrast, First Nations communities consider their obligations to be far more serious. Why? Because of the belief that—like I highlighted with the songlines, which can be communicated through literal songs—stories constitute reality itself. If the histories are forgotten or neglected, then so will Country. Elders act as guardians, teachers and maintainers of pre-colonial Australia. Morgan also discusses the learning as a rite of passage, so there is a ceremonial aspect. There was also intra-cultural trading of stories.

So far, we’ve discussed these different perspectives on storytelling and how they stands out from many other cultures recognised in the modern post-colonial canon. Going back to the idea of community, I want to end my examination of this artwork by commenting on the insular nature of this sort of art. Owing to the fact that the art is rooted in being present, it has an undeniable familial component. Grandparents pass the traditions to their kids, they to theirs, in a cycle. I conclude that culture is a combination of historical artefacts and the essence of people.

To end …

By now, you should understand my deep resonance with Kim Ah Sam’s ‘Our journey is our story’. Not only is it an impressive work on the material level and a pleasure to look at, but it also presents an often overlooked, nuanced perspective on the inequalities suffered by First Nations peoples. Essentially, it has helped me examine the biases I bring in from my own cultural perspective, and how they inform my reading of this piece.