In a quiet gallery in Naarm is a formidable display of the strength of sisterhood and the collective resistance that empowers Aboriginal women to assert culture. In These Arms Hold at Incinerator Gallery, the very cultural practices that colonisation actively repressed are armed in defence of culture; delicate weaving, stitching, digging and mark making is shared from one sister, mother, aunty to the next in beautiful continuity from Ancestors to now.

When I asked Lardil curator Maya Hodge what inspired this powerful focus on sisterhood and resistance, she shared that “this project is a testament to the strength of south-eastern Aboriginal women and their cultural practices. To call these women my friends and sisters means the world to me, and their presence alone makes me feel strong.” The exhibition features newly commissioned works by Gabi Briggs (Anaiwan), Indianna Hunt (Wemba Wemba, Gunditjmara, Jardwadjali, Wergaia), Moorina Bonini (Yorta Yorta, Wurundjeri, Wiradjuri), and Tarryn Love (Gunditjmara Keerray Woorroong).

Entering the gallery, a bold red panel demands unwavering attention. A collective piece, it represents all the conversations undertaken by Hodge and the artists over the five months leading to the exhibition. Asserting their position as a collective, the piece reminds viewers they’re entering what Hodge describes as a “sacred and sovereign space created by Aboriginal women, aimed at empowering our community”. Their sovereign declaration sets the show’s tone.

The first work, Bonini’s WAYIRRA, meaning “to dig”, presents perfectly placed mounds of soil directly from the Incinerator Gallery grounds, in an act of Country reclaiming the gallery floor, enveloped by a transportive and cathartic soil digging soundscape. This is complemented by deep red outlines of digging sticks (women’s tools) along the back wall, which for me manifested Bonini’s matrilineal lines, highlighting the presence of the continued protection of culture and resistance generation after generation.

“…The very cultural practices that colonisation actively repressed are armed in defence of culture.”

Bonini herself says, “We carry the strength and embodied memories of our matriarchs through practices that manifest into protection. I use the practice of wayirra (to dig) understanding that this cultural practice enables plant production and knowledge production to happen.” By poetically encapsulating Country and memory through digging sticks, and acknowledging these as physical and metaphorical forms of weaponry by Aboriginal women, Bonini unearths generational defiance through cultural land management practices.

Centred on a round pastel pink pedestal, Love’s work, paleeteekort – to carry on my shoulders, pieces together possum skin pelts in a unique circular patterned cloak, something the curator shares she’s never seen before. Just like the stitches that bind the pelts together, Ancestral knowledge of possum skin cloak making was passed from Love’s Aunty, Vicki Couzens, to Love and her Mother—and the resulting cloak is an expression of the unwavering refusal to give up on culture.

As Love has said, “In the making and wearing of my kooramookyan, I honour all the women in my family and honour the cloaks not just as a survival tool but as a symbol of our resistance.” The title of the work reminds us that the cloak allows Love to literally carry Ancestral knowledge, culture and her connection to Country on her shoulders—while its mere existence disrupts the colonial eradication of First Nations practices and knowledge.

Matriarchal inheritance as a tool of colonial opposition continues in Briggs’s art. With GEDYURA (meaning woman in Anaiwan), Briggs rewrites the past by transforming colonial violence into kinship survivance. Hanging delicately from the ceiling is a rifle woven from narrow Lomandra leaves, imparting a story of a double narrative: colonial violence and historical Aboriginal resistance.

practice, Briggs links the history of an armed Aboriginal gedyura resistance fighter with weaving to disrupt the erasure of Aboriginal women’s resistance. “The video doesn’t simply retell the gedyura’s story, but rather engages with it in a non-linear dialogue, subverting the colonial gaze to offer intimacy and authenticity that colonial accounts lack,” describes Briggs.

Meanwhile Feather Flowers by Hunt is a particularly strong south-eastern expression of culture, but again returns to themes of matriarchal bonds and collective resistance. Paying homage to six generations of storytelling from her Nanna’s side, the delicate flowers constructed from Coralla, Galah, Rainbow Lorrikeet and Major Mitchell cockatoo feathers are a familiar art found in Victorian Aboriginal homes. As Hunt notes, “It serves as a tangible link to heritage and a symbol of the enduring bonds that hold families together. The challenges of sourcing fresh feathers serve as a poignant reminder of the impact of colonisation and displacement on traditional practices.”

With their collective art existing in the colonial space of Incinerator Gallery, Hodge and the staunch artist collective have asserted their Blak sisterhood, armed with art and culture, fighting for collective solidarity in a space (and nation) not designed for them. As a First Nations woman myself, their unapologetic reclaiming of this space makes me proud and hopeful for the future of art. Bring on the “Blak Cube”. More cultural pride. More femme empowerment. More colonial resistance!

These Arms Hold
Incinerator Gallery
On now—8 September

This article was originally published in the September/October 2024 print edition of Art Guide Australia.