Piece for 'Never In My Wildest Dreams...' group exhibition

This was taken of me at the Never in My Wildest Dreams... group exhibition. It’s a painting I did when I was a teenager. These past few months have been stressful living with depression and anxiety in a colonial state. The week of the exhibition was particularly stressful. I had a complete meltdown. Was in tears for four days straight. Finally, I went to my Dad’s place, sat where Mum used to sit and cried. Then I went out to the back shed looking for something to hurt myself with. What I found was this painting mounted to the wall in Dad’s shed. And it snapped me out of my haze of pain. I took it down and started to patch it up. I tried to remember 16 year old Sian. I told myself that I wouldn’t have hurt 16 year old Sian and she still lives inside of me, so I wouldn’t hurt myself now. Art saves lives, no two ways about it. I am proud of the work Stacy and all of the artists did for the NIMWD show. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d be sharing this story with you all. Thank you for listening 🖤

Photo by Marice Byers

Sian Harris, Another Day in the Colony, 2020

Sian Harris, Another Day in the Colony, 2020

Some people only have love for Aboriginal culture and people in the most shallow way. And there are degrees to this superficiality, too. 

Like, they get all warm and fuzzy with us when it comes to nature and being one with the Land because they have this view of our coexistence with the Land as being primitive and unsophisticated etc. and they can feel good about their ideal of  the Noble Savage. Yet, when we assert our sovereignty, we’re seen as troublemakers who don’t have a connection with Country anymore. Troublemakers who are asked to prove our connection. Troublemakers who want to take their family farm.

When it comes to the political side of being Aboriginal, that love some people have falls to the wayside. Like with our art, it’s all nice and pretty and abstract; it makes nice gifts; it looks good on merchandise. But when we add a political lens to it, we’re being too political (because art isn’t political, yeah?). It isn’t marketable. It’s not what audiences want to see. It’s not ‘sanitised’ to be palatable to those who love our art, but only superficially.

Some people love us until we open our mouths and speak about the ways we want to dismantle oppressive systems. When we point out that the colonial state has ravaged the Land, and how those who are non-Aboriginal actually benefit from colonialism. When we say these things, suddenly that love that some people have for us dwindles.

Some people love Aboriginal culture and people when they get to feel comfortable and nice about us; when they get to give themselves a pat on the back for ‘loving’ and ‘supporting’ us because it is so radical, right? 

Well, truth be told, I am not interested in making some people feel comfortable and I damn sure don’t need their love. 

Late last year, I took part in a project called FACING OUT which was a portrait exhibition highlighting the strength, resilience, and diversity of LGBTQIA+ people, community, and experiences in the Sunraysia region. Those taking part were photographed with the intent of presenting a diverse view of queer people in Sunraysia. There was the opportunity for people to decorate masks to wear if they weren’t able to appear in their portraits. Being creatively minded, I decided that I would still decorate a mask, even though I didn’t need to wear it.

The thing about me is that where ever I go, I bring my Ancestors with me; I carry my community with me. This project was no different. I don’t like to be the focus of attention, but a conduit through which the voices of those who aren’t able to speak are heard. My mask represented those queer Blak people who have come before me, but aren’t with us anymore. Our affirmation of Always Was, Always Will Be extends to our queer identities as First Nations people, too; we have always been here. I wanted to pay homage to those whose footsteps I follow.

The whiteness of the mask represents the funerary paint which was worn as a sign of mourning in traditional Aboriginal society. The symbols represent journeys and connection to Country. The fact the the piece is a mask signifies the extreme degrees of existence and duality: Life and Death. I celebrate the lives of the queer Blak people who have paved the way for me and so many others; I mourn their loss; I acknowledge their perpetual power.

It never even occurred to me to show the mask as a separate piece to the portrait. When it was suggested to me that it would be good to display it as part of an upcoming exhibition of my work, I decided that I would. Here is the piece mounted, and a picture of my nieces with my portrait at the opening:

Funeral Mask.jpg
Photographer Kate Baker captured my idea perfectly

Photographer Kate Baker captured my idea perfectly