The revitalization of Bundjalung weaving

Bulaan Buruugaa Ngali is a touring exhibition curated by Kylie Caldwell, celebrating the tenacity of Bundjalung gaungan (heroine-women) through bgaaliiguu (weaving). A publication of the same title, Bulaan Buruugaa Ngali … we weave together, compiled by Rhoda Roberts AO and Kylie Caldwell, was the catalyst for this exhibition. It feels apt that this exhibition sprung from a book. Many of the exhibiting artist maragandaagen (matriarchs) have been integral in the revitalisation of Bundjalung language and basket weaving—two forms of numaan (knowledge) that are deeply interconnected. They have worked to repatriate culture and words—actions that have increased safety for Bundjalung families, sustained care for Country, and continued dialogue with ngathang garra (ancestors). Bulaan Buruugaa Ngali celebrates this legacy.

Bulaan Buruugaa Ngali Weaving Exhibition, Krystal Randal. Photograph Kate Holmes.

We cannot talk about bgaaliiguu (weaving) without talking about language—two practices that were outlawed through colonisation. As budgeram galii (oral stories) pass through tongue and wuba (plants) through fingers, Bundjalung culture stays alive. These baskets are active agents in decolonial practice. Bundjalung baskets have spread across the globe, housed in cultural institutions built by colonisers, far removed from the verdant landscapes they came from. Many of these old baskets were preserved by settler Mary Bundock, whose friendship with Bundjalung women led her to collect bgaaliiguu (weaving) and document processes. She gifted collections to institutions and her records have assisted in weaving revitalisation. The exhibition has seen nine of these ancestral objects returned to Country—a momentous homecoming. As Rhoda reflects, “to stand in front one of these dulloom (bags), I feel my family history. This culture relates to language, to plant material, to biodiversity, to seasonal behaviours.” These objects are exhibited alongside newly commissioned contemporary works by Bundjalung, Gumbaynggirr, and Kamilaroi elders and artists.

The revitalisation of Bundjalung bgaaliiguu (weaving) is a product of Casino Wake Up Time, a collective founded by a group of strong Bundjalung women, including the late Aunty Phyllis Torrens, Aunty Janelle Duncan, Aunty Theresa Bolt and Aunty Margaret Torrens. Casino Wake Up Time has provided a buraabang (gathering) place for Bundjalung women of the Northern Rivers for over a decade. Through weekly gatherings women share stories, worries and triumphs. The circle was initiated as a balm to the garaigan (trauma) of colonisation that has infiltrated Bundjalung life. As Roberts recalls, “Aunty Phyllis suggested weaving to the group… something that could connect them all.”

Bulaan Buruugaa Ngali Weaving Exhibition, Casino Wake Up Time, Australian native plants (buchie rush, bullrush, bracken fern, lomandra, eucalyptus, grass), weeds, terracotta clay, jute string, paper wire twist ties, secondhand denim. Images courtesy of Biennale of Sydney.

Echoing what Casino Wake Up Time is—a space of safety and empowerment for Bundjalung women—bgaaliiguu (weaving) is more than just craft. It is jimbelung (family); it is an antidote to garaigan (trauma); it is the call of ngathang garra (ancestors); it is a reflection of butheram (creation times); it is the spirit of the maragandaagen (matriarchs); it is the power of budgeram galii (oral stories); it is a buraabang (gathering) place; it is a wandaaraan galigen (teacher); it is for jarjum (children): it is everything.

As Rhoda notes, “weaving enables the rightful names of wuba (plants). We can now continue the call across the billabongs. It’s the unchanged words that would have been sung by our gamii (grandmothers’ grandmothers). We call the same phrases they used when harvesting the wudjang (grasses), jambaa (palms), jilii (rushes) and bandii (reeds).” With these actions, words are learnt and numaan (knowledge) for Country is embodied. Elder Aunty Irene Harrington carried a Message Stick into the NSW State Parliament House in September 2017, which led to the NSW Aboriginal Languages Act 2017—a historic step for a future where language would be safeguarded. Aunty Irene tells her grandchildren, “the knowledge is in the songlines.” Ngouay (language) communication is more than just listening. With each new basket created, lost words of the maragandaagen (matriarchs) are woven and spoken, anew.

Bulaan Buruugaa Ngali Weaving Exhibition, Lauren Jarrett. Photograph Kate Holmes.

A maragandaagen is a custodian. Custodianship is not about age. It’s about cultural knowledge, gaining cultural authority and passing on numaan (knowledge). Elders like Aunty Julia Paden are a link to pre-colonial times—holders of priceless ganngaan leern duu (memories). As mothers and grandmothers teach, with wuba (plants) passing through fingers, they embed their DNA into the fibres; making their presence live forever in the bans (bags). Rhoda reflects, “when you experience Theresa Bolt harvesting grasses, she is like an Amazonian warrior woman, gently wading through the lagoon, knowing exactly where to pick. It’s truly transformative.”

Emerging generations are developing their own cultural economy, meeting tradition with contemporary life. Several of the exhibiting artists presented work for rīvus: the 23rd Biennale of Sydney. Tanya Marlowe’s recent work relates to Bundjalung fishing techniques. Now a custodian, Tania’s teaching method is one of deep care. Rhoda notes, “under her instruction you know your weaving will reflect great reverence of Country. Now this is nurturing our mother.” Kyra Togo has woven a baby-carrier for her next child—a basket made with patience, buujaa (love) and the muruny (lomandra) leaves of Country. Rhoda acknowledges, “these young women are continuing ancient craft, but making it relevant. They are showing another side of aboriginality that is about connection and their lived experience. They are literally defying the odds.”

Bulaan Buruugaa Ngali
Tweed Regional Gallery & Margaret Olley Art Centre
On now—27 April

Feature Words by Josephine Mead