The Australian Aboriginal

Chapter XXVIII Aboriginal Art

Psycho-analysis of the conception of art—Oldest records appear as rock carvings—Descriptions from several localities—Evidences of great antiquity—Tree carvings—Carved grave-posts of Melville Islanders—Carvings on wooden weapons—Engraved boabab nuts—Carved pearl-shell—Bone not carved to any considerable extent—Charcoal, kaolin, and ochre drawings—Cave drawings—Ochre mines and legends—Barter with ochre—Preparation and application of pigment—Hand and foot marks—General picture of cave drawings—Ochre drawings on sheets of bark—Ochre body decorations—Coloured down and ground designs—Study of designs in detail—Subsidiary sketches of determinative character—All features of model shown on one plane—Keen observers—Natural features of rock surface embodied in design—Celestial phenomena artistically explained—The emu—Perspective—Action—Animation—Composition—“Totem” designs—Sacred designs—Remarkable drawings from the Glenelg River—Conventional drawings and patterns—Tracks of man, animal, and bird—Images in the sky—Fish—Flying fox—Fleeing kangaroo—A fight—Time symbols—Circle-within-circle and U-within-U designs—Kangaroo, caterpillar, and native pear-tjuringa drawings—Anthropomorphous designs.

No truer insight could be obtained into the mind of a primitive man than by means of a psycho-analysis of his artistic productions and predilections. Like most other peoples, past or present, the Australian aboriginal has developed his talents to an astonishing degree. Just as is true of his dances and musical performances, the real value of a production can only be appreciated by one who can throw himself, heart and soul, into the responsive, reciprocative, and assimilative mood and atmosphere the artist endeavours to create. The psychological factor is the more important; an aboriginal’s design may be crude, but his imagination is, nevertheless, wonderful; we see the line, but he sees the life; we behold the image, he the form. In the absence of such a psychological reciprocation, however, the effect and quality of any artistic production may fall flat. Indeed, we ask, what is contained in a mere line? With due deference to the Euclidian definition, a line, from a primitive point of view, might represent almost anything, provided the necessary imagination is there; and it is just this imagination which is particularly cultivated by the primitive man. The question arises: “Who is the better artist: the man who can satisfy himself or the man who can satisfy others?” The former is unquestionably the more primitive idea of satisfaction. Simplicity of design is by no means indicative of a deficiency in talent, provided the inventor has evolved the necessary imagination which permits him to behold in a design before him the reality of the original. This instinct is common to all mankind; we have only to observe our own children to appreciate the excellence of their creative talent and imagination when they are at play among themselves. Modern adult man is too realistic, perhaps too unnatural; he cries for something tangible, something concrete to appease his tastes. Just as one often sees youngsters, European as well as aboriginal, playing at their favourite game of “father and mother,” assuming certain inanimate objects, like sticks, to represent their children, so the aboriginal artist’s imaginative mind can actually see the real living picture contained in the crude diagram before him; he conveys his thoughts to his fellows by means of a lengthy verbal explanation, and, when they have caught the idea, they can wax as enthusiastic over the thing as the artist himself. This sentiment we have sacrificed to a certain extent. It is difficult to say exactly who is an artist and who is not. By nature we are all artists, and most of us can satisfy our individual needs in a more or less conventional way. But to pose as a modern artist, it is required of us to be able to take the inspiration from Nature and reproduce it in such a way that others are able to grasp the significance or beauty of the design without more explanation than a mere title. Yet the conception of “art” is a variable and relative measure, and we know well there have been different tendencies and schools, some of which are so highly specialized that the untrained mind cannot grasp, or even admire, the quality of the reproduction, because it cannot see with the same eye as the artist specialist. Here, then, we have a reversion to the primitive instinct, combined with all the perfections and skill which culture and training have evolved during the long space of time lying between a primitive foundation and the high standard of modern excellence.

The oldest records of primitive art in Australia are preserved in the form of carvings upon rock surfaces, akin to those found in parts of Europe, South Africa, and Egypt. The technique of these carvings is twofold. At Port Jackson, and elsewhere along the coast of New South Wales, and to a small extent at Port Hedland in Western Australia, a great variety of representations of fish, animals, and men have been cut and scraped in outline into the surface of the rock; in the Mann Ranges also, certain nondescript designs were found lightly scratched upon the surface of some diorite outcrops with a fragment of rock. At different points in the northern Flinders Ranges, at Yunta, at Eureowie in New South Wales, on the Flinders and Burnett Rivers in Queensland, and also at Port Hedland in Western Australia, an extensive series of designs occurs which has been chipped into the rocks with the aid of pointed stone chisels. The carvings at Port Hedland and those in the Flinders Ranges are very old indeed. In fact, they are so old that none of the tribes now living remember anything about them, and refer to them as being the handicraft of the Evil Spirit.

The most striking feature about the Port Jackson carvings is the large size of individual designs, some of the fish measuring nearly thirty feet in length, and some of the kangaroo over ten feet in height. That the carvings have been made for generations past is evident from the fact that in places a practically obliterated design has been covered, and re-covered, with new designs.

At Port Hedland there are many acres of a low limestone plateau literally covered with carvings, many of which are badly weather-beaten; several of the carvings are of the scraped type found at Port Jackson. The accompanying illustrations depict a chosen number of the Port Hedland designs drawn to scale.

Among them we observe: Two turtles (Figs. 1 and 2), the one of which (Fig. 1) being shown in a dorsal aspect, the other (Fig. 2) apparently in a ventral; two large fish (Figs. 3 and 4) resembling the Port Jackson type; a lizard track (Fig. 5), showing the trail of the tail in the centre; a human foot-print (Fig. 7), with an emu track above it; a large stingray (Fig. 8), with protruding eyes and long tail standing erect; a shark’s liver (Fig. 9), at any rate, it was described as such by a native; a stingray’s liver (Fig. 10); an emu track (Fig. 11); a lizard (Fig. 12); shields (Figs. 16, 18, 19, 21, 30), variously decorated; boomerangs (Figs. 14, 15, 20, 27, 28, 32), variously decorated; spear-throwers (Figs. 22 and 31); a corrobboree plume (Fig. 33), such as is worn in the hair or stuck in the armlets during many of the ceremonial dances; pubic tassels (Figs. 34, 35, 36), used as a covering, suspended from a hair belt; a “circle-within-circle” design (Fig. 39), often figuring conspicuously among emblematic and ceremonial patterns; a human foot-print (Fig. 37); a dog track (Fig. 38); a lizard (Fig. 41); a group of figures (Fig. 40), consisting of a spiral, of similar significance as Fig. 39, a chain of turkey tracks on the right, and three paired tracks of a bounding wallaby on the left. One or two of the remaining smaller figures are of doubtful meaning, the most remarkable being Fig. 25, which for an aboriginal ideograph is extraordinarily complex and symmetrical.

We shall next consider a number of figures in this series which have to do with the human form. In some cases the attempts at representing the human body have been very crude (Figs. 17, 45, 46), and it would be difficult to recognize the results if it were not for the association of these figures with others in which the human form is more evident. In Fig. 13 we behold a man whose attitude suggests that he is either walking or dancing; in all probability the former, because his body is not in any way decorated to suggest a ceremony. But when we look at Fig. 42, our attention is drawn to the fact that the man there represented is wearing a pubic tassel hanging from his belt, carrying a tall head-gear, and has tribal markings or scars upon his chest; moreover, in this case the eyes and mouth are shown, but not the nose. In Figs. 6, 43, and 44, pubic appendages are shown, which in all probability are intended to represent a hair tassel in the first instance, and pearl shell in the others; head-gears are also indicated. All the figures have the arms extended as if a dancing attitude were attempted by the artist. It is most unusual to find all the facial features, including the chin, represented as in Fig. 44. There is no neck shown in any of the last-mentioned figures, although in other cases (Fig. 13) it is clearly indicated. It will be observed that in several of the figures (Figs. 6, 42, 44), the feet are represented by their tracks. The only remaining figure is that of a dancing gin (Fig. 29), the characteristic position of whose arms suggests the dance during which they hold a skein of hair or fibre-string between their hands to jerk it to and fro.

A real illustration of the Port Hedland type of carving is presented in Plate XL, 1, but owing to the carving occurring upon a horizontal plane, the tilting of the camera, which was necessary, has rather seriously distorted the design. A correct copy is, however, included among the designs reproduced on page 300 (Fig. 10, 6).

Turning now to the pre-historic carvings of the Flinders Ranges and other localities cited, it would be impossible to discuss the enormous number of designs in anything like detail, without unduly burdening the dimensions of this volume. At certain places, like Deception Creek and Yunta, the carvings are so numerous that it is difficult to find a space entirely devoid of any; the places are deserving of being ranked as primitive art galleries, and every endeavour should be made to preserve them as such. Considerable care must have been taken in the execution of these carvings, since either the outline or the entire area of every design has been diligently chipped away. And the work of hours must have run into the labour of years, yea, of generations, because at one or two spots like Yunta one design has been carved over the top of another, time after time, until eventually the ground appeared as though it were covered with an elaborate carpet. A few illustrations only will be selected to serve as types of the handiwork to be found in such great profusion.

In the first picture (Plate XL, 2), a design will be observed near the centre consisting of seven parallel vertical lines lying beneath a horizontal band. From what we have learned above, we shall have no difficulty in recognizing the shape of a pubic tassel or apron, so commonly used throughout Australia. Immediately to the left of this is the image of a long lizard clearly and wholly intagliated into the rock; whilst just above the tassel, and a little to the right of it, stands the form of a creature with two legs, a plump body, two large eyes (appearing like circles at the top), and an elevated beak between them—this is the representation of an owl! About midway between owl and lizard is a small mark resembling an inverted broad arrow which stands for the track of a bustard, commonly called wild turkey.

The next illustration (Plate XLI, 1) may, for convenience of discussion, be divided into two halves by the joint-fissure which is seen running vertically down the middle of the picture. In the centre of the left-hand half, the dark, and deeply pitted, shape of a human foot-print, with the toes pointing upwards, will be apparent. Upon the brightly illuminated surface above it, the vertical strands of a pubic tassel are indistinctly visible; whilst on the left of the foot-print a small wallaby track has been cut, in which the long median toes, as well as the lateral, have been truly imitated. Beneath the latter, upon the elevated portion of rock, is a single corrobboree circle. But the most interesting figure is near the centre of the right-hand half of the picture; the creature it most resembles is the duck-billed platypus. The “duck-bill” is very conspicuous, whilst the head, the plump body, and the stumpy tail all agree with the appearance of the platypus, even to the claws, which are clearly seen on the right hind leg. It is, of course, possible that the carving was intended to stand for a native “hedge-hog” or Echidna, but the former explanation would seem more true to Nature. The remaining carvings are principally representations of the paired spoors of wallaby and kangaroo.

The following two photographs (Plate XLI, 2, and Plate XLII, 1) present similar subjects, the carvings consisting of an array of corrobboree circles, human foot-prints, and tracks of wallaby, kangaroo, and turkey. A new feature is contained in the upper illustration in the shape of the claws of kangaroo or possibly of the human hand; these are seen in the top right-hand quarter.

It will be admitted that these primitive carvings or petroglyphs of the northern Flinders Ranges have more than a passing resemblance to the ancient graffiti of Egypt. It will be noticed, too, that the last illustration includes a slab of rock upon which some of the designs only occur in part. This is because the slab has fallen from its original position, since the carvings were made upon it; and so, at several points, portion of a design can be seen upon a rock lying in the valley, whilst the piece belonging to it might be detected, still in situ, up in a cliff. This in itself seems to suggest that the work of ages has been going on since the ancient artists put their talents to a test.

It is astounding to what height above the level of the ground the natives must have climbed to decorate the rock faces with their carvings; in many instances atmospheric denudation has so altered the shape of the cliffs that it would be impossible at the present day to reach some of the designs, to say nothing of finding a footing to undertake the carving.

But more, several cases were observed where a design was bisected by a gaping fissure; all the evidence was in favour of the separated portions of the design having originally been contiguous, but subsequent earth movement had forced them asunder. In addition to the actual cleft existing between the two portions of a design, cases were noted where a slight faulting had occurred along the fissure, through which one side of the disrupted design stood at a measurably higher level than the other.

The strongest geological evidence in support of the great antiquity of these carvings, however, is in the presence of a dark rust-coloured patina or glossy surface film which everywhere covers the exposures of the rock and carvings as well. These protective films are characteristic of all desert and arid regions. In Egypt, it has been ascertained that the presence of the patina is a ready means of distinguishing primitive carvings from those made within historic reckoning. Professor G. Schweinfurth, the famous Egyptologist, has pointed out that whereas the prehistoric carvings are covered by the patina, the incised hieroglyphics of even the fifth and sixth Dynasty at El Kab are as fresh-looking as though they had been carved yesterday. In some of the Australian examples there is no appreciable difference between the thickness of the film on the rock and that covering the design; in others the designs look quite fresh, or, if they show anything at all, it is but a rudimentary glaze. The conclusion is that some of the Australian designs must, upon this evidence alone, be regarded as extremely old.

But there is further evidence. If we could definitely claim the platypus design as authentic, it would mean that the ancient artist was familiar with the form of an animal which at the present time is quite unknown in central Australia. But geology tells us that in times gone by, in the Pliocene period, perhaps even later, all the great lake systems of the Australian interior were not salt, as they are now, but fresh water. Under those conditions, it is quite feasible that the duck-billed monotreme might easily have lived in that region; if so, it might have supplied prehistoric man in Australia with a model he perpetuated in the rocks.

The platypus design is by no means unique. Among the carvings at Yunta there are several depicting the spoor of a very large animal, which are rounded at one end like a heel and have four or five serrations resembling toe-marks at the other. The picture is not unlike that of a wombat track, but the dimensions are far too great. The Yunta “tracks” measure nearly ten inches in length and are practically the same in width. There is no animal living in Australia at the present time whose track would be anything like as large; the nearest known animal which might answer the form of the carving would perhaps be that of a hippopotamus. This animal is, of course, not indigenous to Australia, but we know that an extinct animal, probably not unlike a hippopotamus, used to roam the fertile plains of central Australia in Pliocene times; that was the Diprotodon. In the accompanying sketch I have placed a tracing of the Yunta carving beside one of the reconstructed manus of the Diprotodon, and one must admit that there is a plausible agreement between the two. Vide Fig. 13.

An aboriginal never exaggerates the dimensions of a track when drawing from Nature. Upon this point, indeed, he is most exacting, because upon an accurate knowledge of and familiarity with such things his very livelihood depends, and the acquisition of accuracy represents part of the recognized standard of his educational system. He would never, for instance, draw the track of a wallaby larger than it is in reality, because confusion would immediately arise as to whether it might not be that of a kangaroo or euro; and if he drew it smaller than it actually is, doubt would be raised as to whether it might not represent the track of a kangaroo-rat, or even of a marsupial mouse. So, too, when he wishes to draw a turkey track, he has to be careful, because if he makes it bigger than it should be, it might be mistaken for that of an emu; and if he makes it smaller, people who see the track might take it to be that of a curlew, or even of a plover.

For the above reason alone, a native would never draw the track of a wombat on the elaborate scale of the Yunta carving. Furthermore, there are some exceptionally large bird tracks carved into the rocks at Balparana, in the Flinders Ranges, which seem too big to be intended for those of an emu; the question might reasonably be asked whether they could not have been made by a primitive hunter at a time when the now extinct “moa” or Genyornis still lived in Australia.

A type of decorative art quite similar to the ancient rock carvings, though on a much smaller scale, is to be found on the stone-tjuringas of the Arunndta, Tjingali, and other central Australian tribes. The designs, like those on the wooden objects, consist largely of engraved circles, straight and sinuous lines, and tracks of totemic significance. The intaglios are usually tinted with red ochre.

Leaving the discussion of carved rocks and stones for the time being, and directing our attention to the subject of carved trees, we find that this interesting cult flourished principally in the tribal territories which are now included in the State of New South Wales and the extreme southern portion of Queensland, the haunts of tribes now practically extinct.

The design or decoration was either carved straight into the bark, or the latter was previously removed and the cutting done in the sapwood or heartwood. Great variety was displayed in the choice of designs. Some were crude and unshapely, others neatly and cleanly cut and of intricate pattern; among them were perfect geometrical designs, consisting of groups of circles and quadrilateral figures, usually concentric and often combined with parallel, wavy, zig-zag, or spiral lines; yet another class of design would consist of some animal or human form, more or less grotesquely modified.

The object of this elaborate tree-carving was of a twofold nature. Firstly a certain number of trees would be so treated, within the immediate surroundings of the grave of a notable tribesman, to permanently mark the place of sepulchre; and, secondly, the butt of a tree commanding the ground of an initiation ceremony might have been so distinguished, if the importance of the occasion warranted it.

Along the north-west coast of Australia, where the boabab tree flourishes, the tribes often carve animalistic and other designs into the bark, which, on account of its softness, lends itself admirably for the purpose. The carvings are usually to be found near a camp or at the site of an ordinary corroboree ground. The designs, once they have been cut into the bark, remain there during the life of the tree. The accompanying illustration (Plate XLII, 2) depicts an emu, which stands three feet high, carved into a boabab off King Sound, Western Australia. The whole of the bark within the area occupied by the design has been removed. The feet, it will be observed, are portrayed in a perfectly free way in order to leave no doubt in the mind of an observer as to the track the bird actually makes. Two other figures stood beside the emu, cut in a similar way into the bark of the same tree; one was a snake, a shade over five feet in length, the other an emu track.

In place of the carved trees, the Melville and Bathurst Islanders erect carved and painted posts around the graves of their people—men, women, and children alike. These pillars, which are of hard and heavy wood, are from four to six feet high, circular in section, and have the top carved into a “head” of one or other of the patterns drawn in the accompanying figure. The top of the pillar is either flat, rounded, or pointed, the “head” being formed by cutting one or more circumferential grooves of chosen width, and at chosen distances, below the top. At times an oblong hole is cut transversely through the post five or six inches from the top, leaving only two narrow strips of timber, one on either side, to support the “head” thus formed. Vide Fig. 14.

Designs and patterns quite similar to, but on a smaller scale than those cut on trees, are found carved upon weapons of some of the tribes. Shields and spear-throwers are those most commonly found decorated with incised patterns. Some of the hardwood shields of the River Murray tribes are richly incised with parallel, zig-zag, and geniculate lines, and with squares standing point to point in a longitudinal line, all the spaces between the squares being filled in with parallel “elbows.” The Worora tribe at Port George IV, on the other hand, decorate their shields with fantastic representations of snakes, emus, and tracks of various animals. The light-wood shields of central Australia are destitute of any ornamentation except wide and shallow longitudinal grooves, which are also characteristic of the bark food-carriers in use all over the continent of Australia.

So far as spear-throwers are concerned, the handsomely carved specimens produced by the natives of the Warburton and Gascoyne Rivers, and of the King Leopold Ranges in Western Australia, deserve special mention. The favourite pattern in that region appears to be longitudinal geniculate bands, alternately incised lengthwise and crosswise, together giving the effect of a false herring-bone motive. A new element is introduced in wood-carving in the ceremonial spear-throwers of central Australian tribes by the inclusion of the concentric circles pattern already referred to; the Arunndta in particular produce some very showy specimens on gala occasions. The decoration is very finely graved upon the inner flat surface. The old Victorian types occasionally had pictures of animals, birds, and men carved upon them.

Boomerangs are often decorated with incised patterns, but more frequently the decoration is only lightly graved into the wood with the point of a stone-knife or with the sharp cutting edge of a shell, tooth, or bone. From an art point of view, the finest productions come from the north of Western Australia. The King Leopold Ranges natives cover one whole side of their boomerangs with an incised pattern, consisting usually of parallel geniculate lines, false herring-bone, or concentric rhomboids posed along a median line. Some of the most attractive specimens, however, come from the Pidunga tribe at Broome. These natives covered both surfaces of the missile with a wonderful variety of designs, which included excellent representations of emu, kangaroo, snakes, crocodiles, turtle, tracks of every description, dancing men, corrobboree circles, and many decorative designs. Other articles, such as adze-handles, tjuringas, and message sticks, are carved after much the same fashion.

There is yet another class of incised decorative art to record which is found in the far north of Western Australia. The King Sound and other natives of the northern Kimberley district have developed a cult quite peculiar to themselves, in that they carve ornate designs upon the brown surface of the large nuts of the boabab. The method they have adopted is to hold the nut firmly in the left hand and work the designs into the dark, outer layer of the shell with the sharp point of a bone, or, as is the case nowadays, with the point of a piece of iron wire or of a pocket knife. The instrument is held in the right hand, with the four fingers against the palm, while the thumb is laid straight along it on top. The nut is steadied against the body whilst the point of the instrument is applied from the distant side. By applying semi-rotary movements with the hand, the point is made to plough forwards, and by so doing the thin, brown surface-skin is broken and falls away, leaving a white, and slightly jagged, line upon a dark background. Many are the designs which cover the surface of a boabab nut; and it must be admitted the artists exercise considerable judgment in the grouping of the subjects displayed. Among the more important figures are included animals, birds, reptiles, fish, and human beings, besides many of a more complicated and less apparent nature. Vide Plate XLIII, 1.

The north-western tribes, from Broome to Wyndham, and to a lesser extent those of the Northern Territory, artistically decorate the pearl-shell coverings they wear suspended from the belt by cutting designs into the smooth surface of the inner shell of the oyster. By rubbing powdered red ochre into the portions thus roughened, the carvings stand out in bold contrast against the nacreous background. The designs are largely conventional and often embody the human form; a few tracks of animals or of birds are also occasionally added.

Unlike his racial relative, who used to live in Europe during the Stone Age, the Australian aboriginal does not pay much attention to the carving of bone. The little he does, in fact, is more utilitarian than artistic. We have had occasion to note that the old Murray River tribes used to make the points of their spear-throwers of bone. In central Australia a wing bone of the pelican is cut at both ends and worn through the septum of the nose; occasionally one end is plugged with triodia resin whilst the hollow in the opposite end carries a plume. Not infrequently the slender ulna of a kangaroo serves a similar purpose; the shaft is cut about six inches from one end and sharpened by scraping it with a stone fragment; the condyles are left intact to represent the head of the pin. Two types of bone fish-hooks have already been referred to.

The central tribes make a useful gouge out of a strong hollow bone of the kangaroo or dingo by splitting it longitudinally and grinding down its ends on the slope. The implement thus fashioned has a sharp, bevelled, semi-cylindrical cutting edge at either one or both ends.

We now come to the consideration of another big and important branch of primitive art, which comprises the charcoal, kaolin, and ochre drawings of the aboriginal of Australia. As did his palæolithic relative in the Old World, the aboriginal during the rainy season spends much of his time under the cover of overhanging rock shelters, well within the cheerful influence of his never-failing fire. Moreover, in mid-summer months, when the heat of the sun becomes intense, he often finds his way to the same haunts to have the full benefit of the shade the solid walls of rock produce. Congregated under these conditions, there are always some who spend their time in decorating the surrounding walls of the cave. This may be done for purely æsthetic reasons, or as the result of a discussion, or, indeed, to sanctify the abode and so to make it impregnable to the Evil Spirit. Whatever the reason may be, the mere act of drawing a figure upon the wall by a recognized artist always solicits the patronage of many, who will follow the different manipulations of the entertainer with considerable interest. There are usually a few men in every tribe who have established a reputation as artists; and their work is prized by the heads and protected by tribal law from the hands of vandals who would at a frivolous moment deface or disfigure a work of art which the tribe is proud to look upon as their own. It is gratifying to observe that there is very little tendency on the part of the aboriginal, humble as he is, to destroy wantonly or deliberately a work designed to create an environment for him during his leisure or to protect his body and kin against aggression by evil during the darkness of night.

Usually the interior of rock shelters and caves has, in consequence of long ages of weathering and mineral precipitation, become deeply stained and dark in colour. In addition, the continued burning of fires within has helped to smut the stony roof. This condition makes an admirable background for the application of colour. Where the wall is black, charcoal naturally finds no favour, and the pigments available are reduced to white, yellow, and red.

Pipe-clay and ochres are always stocked in quantity; not a tribe in the whole of Australia has ever been known to be without them. Where the tribal ground is not in possession of natural deposits, supplies are obtained from a neighbouring tribe, it may be from considerable distance, by barter or by an actual expedition to the ochre mine.

In quite the same sense as modern peoples refer to red ochre as blood-stone, the natives of Australia connect the formation of the natural, red pigment with blood mythologically.

There is a fine deposit of red ochre in the Flinders Ranges, near Parachilna, which for ages past has supplied more than one tribe with pigment; the mine was known as Yarrakinna. The ochre was regarded as the blood of a sacred emu which was there killed by a horde of wild dogs. From time immemorial the “Salt-water Tribe” used to send a number of its men across from Queensland to obtain a large supply of the precious stone at the spot and return with it to their native ground.

The expedition would be under the leadership of an old man, and his party would consist of young men who had recently been initiated. The journey was a long and arduous undertaking, and young fellows were selected in order that their strength and powers of endurance might be put to the test. When they reached to within a certain stage of the mine, the old man ordered everybody to discard any belongings he might be carrying, and, upon a given signal, the party, led by the old man, began to run towards a big hill which stood before them. Many a hurdle was in their way, but it was imperative that they kept running. Then they took the sloping ground, and presently a large boulder lay in front of them; this the young men were informed was the petrified dog which had killed the emu. Each in his turn was asked to throw a stone at it as he skipped by. Next, they came upon a group of stones which they were told represented the cursed remains of the female dog and pups. As the names of these were mentioned, each of the men again threw stones.

Suddenly the party was ordered to halt. Just ahead of them was the platform of rock upon which the sacred emu had expired. The men were requested to remain where they stood and to keep silent whilst the old fellow made for a chasm below the platform. He returned not long after, with his hands full of rich red ochre, which he rubbed over the bodies of his young attendants. Thereupon all present cut off their beards, which they had been wearing long purposely for the occasion, and walked in a body to the chasm. “The great Emu wants feathers,” they exclaimed, “we offer her the token of our manhood”; and, as they spoke, they threw the beards into the chasm below. Then each man was allowed to fill his bag with red ochre, and, placing it upon his head, he ran down the hill to the place at which he left his belongings. Nobody was allowed to look back; and should, by accident, a bag of ochre be dropped on the way, it had to be left just where it fell, and under no circumstances picked up again.

According to the Kukata, there was once an old man who had several wild dogs, which were ferocious in habit, generally, but obeyed their master. One day, when he was out hunting, he saw the track of a kangaroo which he made up his mind to follow. He had his little daughter with him, and, not thinking it advisable to take her with him into the scrub, he decided to leave her to play on a clay-pan while he followed his prey into the hills. He captured the kangaroo and returned to the clay-pan, but imagine his disgust when he found that his dogs had, during his absence, killed his child and devoured her flesh.

In his wrath, the old man chased the dogs into the hills at the point of his spears, until eventually he drove them into a cave, the entrance of which he closed with a number of large stones. The wounded dogs in their plight attacked one another and tore themselves to pieces. In consequence, their blood poured freely into the cave and soaked deeply into the rocks. Ever since, the tribe have gone to that cave to collect supplies of the “blood-stained” rock—the red ochre—which they require for their ceremonies and corrobborees.

Ochre and pipe-clay, which form an article for inter-tribal barter, are carried from one tribe to another in oblong parcels contained in bark wraps, which are folded at the ends and kept together with fibre-string. Small quantities are always carried by the men in their chignons and dilly bags, and, when larger supplies are required for special occasions, they are consigned to the care of the women.

When ochre is required for decorative purposes, it is necessary to reduce it to a fine powder. This is done by placing a measured amount upon a level surface of rock and grinding it with the aid of a medium-sized pebble. Hand-mills of this description are to be found at any sites which natives have been in the habit of embellishing with their drawings; they may be recognized as small, shallow depressions scooped into the surface by the continued abrasion of the hand-piece. Where there is no flat, natural surface available, the grinding is done upon portable slabs the women carry around from one camp to another.

The ochre (or pipe-clay), having been finely ground, it is collected upon a piece of bark, or in a bark food-carrier, and mixed with sufficient water to make a thick paste; and it is ready for application. The Bathurst Islanders use the large, concave shells of Cyrena in much the same way as European artists formerly used the valves of fresh-water mussels (Unio pictorum) for mixing their pigments in.

The native spreads the paint with his fingers, where larger surfaces are concerned, and with a short stick where finer lines or details are to be added. The Bathurst Islanders cut short pieces off the green shoots of the lawyer-cane (Calamus) and chew one or both ends of the sticks until all the fibres have been separated; these then fulfil the same purpose as the paint brushes of a modern artist.

A favourite practice, and one which is met with all over the continent, is to obtain a “negative” shape of a person’s hand. This is done in the following way: The person puts a small handful of ochre or pipe-clay into his mouth and crunches it to a pulp; then he fills his mouth with water and thoroughly mixes the contents. He holds the hand he wishes to stencil against a flat surface, spacing the fingers at equal distances, and spurts the contents of his mouth all about it. A short while after, the hand is withdrawn. The area which it covered remains in its natural condition, whilst the space surrounding it has adopted the colour of the ochre or clay. Very often the “hand” is subsequently painted over with a colour different from that of the surrounding area. The Arunndta refer to the hand-marks as “ilja imbadja.” Vide Plate XLIV.

A native attaches considerable importance to his identity being thus recorded and preserved in some of the caves, believing the brand to stand for his individuality with as much certitude as, say, the European who leaves his card or carves his name in stone or wood. It is compulsory for members of a certain rank in the Worora tribe to have their “hand-shadows” perpetuated upon the walls of caves in which the bones of their ancestors are reposed, because the spirits of the dead are thus supposed to be apprised of any visits which have been made to their last earthly resting places.

It is beyond dispute that the natives possess the faculty of being able to recognize the hand-marks of their relatives and tribesmen, even though they may not have been present when they were made.

Less frequently, the negative imprint process is applied to a person’s feet or any of his private belongings, such as stone tomahawks. At times, too, the hand is smeared over with ochre and then smacked against a surface to obtain a positive. Vide Plate XLIV, 2.

The number of ochre drawings one finds on rock surfaces is naturally unlimited, especially when extending observations over the whole of Australia; and the variety in regard to subject, colour, composition, and execution is correspondingly large.

Without at this stage attempting to delve deeply into the consideration of individual designs and their artistic merits, let us cast our eyes for a moment upon an illustration, which might be considered typical, to familiarize ourselves with the general appearance of Australian cave drawings (Plate XLV, 1). We have before us a rock shelter or abris on the Forrest River in the north of Western Australia, a more or less vertical wall at the base, overhung at the top by a solid ledge or “roof” of quartzite. For the better part of the day this spot is protected from the intense heat of a tropical sun; and during the “wet season,” also, it provides a shelter from the prolific rains. But a casual glance at the picture suffices to convince one of the presence of a number of conspicuous designs drawn in ochre upon the rock faces. One in particular, that of a huge snake, immediately catches the eye, but if a careful scrutiny of the lower portion of the escarpment is made, many other smaller designs will be discovered.

When the rocky background is light-coloured, and not sooty, the artists often include charcoal drawings among the coloured ochre designs. The native applies the charcoal either in the form of a powder with the aid of his fingers, or he selects a piece of charred wood, big enough to hold between his fingers, and this he uses after the fashion a modern artist does a crayon. According to the method employed, the result is either a figure blackened all over, or a line drawing, shaded here and there. Some particularly creditable charcoal drawings were obtained near Pigeon Hole on the Victoria River in the Northern Territory; these are described later.

An aboriginal not only paints the sides of the caves he temporarily occupies, but he also delights in decorating the sheets of bark which in certain districts, such as the north coast of Australia and Melville and Bathurst Islands, are used for making his huts waterproof. The method he adopts in applying ochre to bark is precisely similar to that already considered in connection with his cave drawings. And we might at the same time extend these remarks to the decorative designs which appear in such profusion upon his spears, shields, boomerangs, spear-throwers, waddies, clubs, food and water carriers, dilly bags, ceremonial objects, personal ornaments, and, in fact, anything he has occasion to manufacture and handle.

A special variety of ochre drawing which may justify a few remarks is the tribal body decoration. We know that as a simple, but effective, means of protecting his skin against the weather, an aboriginal periodically anoints his body with emu fat; moreover, to evade detection by the game he is stalking, he often covers his body with ochre, earth, or clay to simulate the colour of his surroundings as nearly as possible. But for reasons, to him entirely cosmetic, he finds occasion to rub red ochre powder (and charcoal also) over his face and body.

He has a distinct liking for the beautiful and does not hesitate to avail himself of anything which might tend to make his person more attractive looking by the application of colour. Not only the sire, but the whole family endeavour to improve their swarthy appearance by painting ornate designs over different regions of their bodies. Longitudinal, parallel bands of red, yellow, or black, extending up the legs, back, and abdomen, together with transverse lines on the chest, shoulders, upper arms, and outer surfaces of thighs, are symmetrically drawn, and connected here and there (as, for instance, on the chest or back) by lattice patterns and concentric circles. Parents are very proud of their children thus decorated. On the Forrest River, a favourite mode is to draw a broad step-ladder-like pattern from the ankles up the front surfaces of the legs, continuing this up the trunk to about the level of the nipples, and then circling outwards, down an arm on either side, to run out at the elbow. This design is usually painted in yellow.

We have frequently referred to the fact that during corrobborees and ceremonial dances, the bodies of the performers are decorated. White pipe-clay is one of the principal pigments used, although red ochre is also much in evidence. In the performance of ceremonies, we learned that a common motive embodied in the decorations was the human skeleton. The quickest, and perhaps most effective, way of whitening the face in the representation of the skull is for the performer to literally “wash” it in finely crushed pipe-clay. To accomplish this, he scoops a quantity of the material with his hands, and, closing his eyes, rubs the stuff all over his face and possibly his head, too. By this process even the eyelids are thoroughly whitened. The other lines, horizontal and vertical, which are to represent the bones, he rubs on to the body with his fingers (Plate XLVI).

Another method is to apply the paint in the form of a water mixture, similar to that described when discussing the ochre drawings. For this purpose, especially when an important event is pending, a number of men are chosen to attend to the “make up” of the performers. The assistants kneel beside those who are to act, and apply the paste with their fingers. The most delicate parts to handle are the eyelids. The actor is required to close his eyes whilst the artist carefully applies the paste to the lids; but it occasionally happens that some of the material slips on to the eyeball and is rubbed against it before the sufferer can give the alarm. Vide Plate XLV, 2.

We have already referred to the coloured down decorations which are attached with human blood to the bodies of the performers taking part in sacred and other ceremonies, and we have also mentioned a ground drawing known as “Etominja” (Plate XXXVII), which is constructed in a similar way. Some of the latter (e.g. the “walk-about” of the “Tjilba Purra Altjerra Knaninja”) are very large; others, as for instance that connected with the “Erriakutta” or yelka ceremony, are constructed over the entire surface of mounds which cover many square feet of ground.

Having briefly reviewed the different methods of art production in vogue in Australia, we shall proceed to consider a number of the designs in greater detail, deduce their origin, trace their evolution, and, where possible, give their interpretation. It will be realized at the outset that some of the designs are crude in the extreme, whilst others are undeniably shapely and quite up to the standard of an average European’s artistic proficiency. The latter remarks apply best to actual representations of natural forms. It must be remembered that the artistic reproductions an aboriginal makes are invariably from memory; the primitive artist never draws with a model in front of him. If we were to ask a number of Europeans to draw, say a horse from memory, there is no doubt we should receive a great variety of results in response to our request. So, among the aboriginal artists, there is a great diversity of talent which is more individual than tribal.

If, for instance, we study the different attempts at representing the form of one of the most familiar subjects we could ask an aboriginal to experiment upon—the ubiquitous kangaroo —we should find by comparison of the productions placed before us, a very marked difference in quality. Compare, for instance, the two pictures of kangaroo on Plate XLVII. They are the works of men of the same tribe, are all similarly drawn, and come from the same locality. Yet, in the upper picture, the outline and proportions of the two animals are so incorrect that it is very doubtful whether many people not acquainted with the locality would guess what animal the pictures are intended to represent. In the lower picture, however, anybody acquainted with the shape of a kangaroo would have no hesitation in pronouncing his diagnosis. The characteristic attitude, the large tail, the disproportion between the front and hind limbs, and the shape of the head are quite true enough to nature to permit of correct identification.

The three designs are all drawn in charcoal, the figures in the first two cases being outlined with a white pipe-clay line, and in the second case with one of yellow ochre. If we wish to go one better still, we need only study the pipe-clay drawing on bark by a native of the Katherine River district shown on Plate XLIX, 1—a very creditable picture of a dead kangaroo.

Some of the designs one meets with are so accurately drawn that a scientific determination of the species becomes possible. Look for a moment at the fish, portrayed in pipe-clay, shown in Plate XLVIII. The piscine nature of the form, here depicted on rocks, is not only apparent, but it is possible to say with some certainty that the two shown swimming belong to the Toxotes, which are commonly called Archer Fish. The form shown in Plate XLIX, 4, is unquestionably meant to be one of the Therapon species. Both kinds of fish are known to be living in the Katherine River, not far from the site at which these pictures were drawn.

But if, on the other hand, some of the designs are so poor as to be barely recognizable or even quite unrecognizable by us, how does the aboriginal manage? When the artist is present, he can explain. But he is not always available!

If, by way of illustration, we were asked to say definitely what the meaning of the central figure on Plate L, 1, was we should in all probability want to know more about it before committing ourselves. But an aboriginal can give us a correct reply immediately. The locality at which the photograph was obtained is north of the Musgrave Ranges in central Australia. But that does not give us any clue. After studying the picture more closely, we might be able to distinguish the outline of a quadruped, the four legs being shown, one behind the other, in a row, and a big head on the right-hand side, in a position suggesting that the animal is feeding. But these are characteristics common to many animals!

So far, therefore, we have seen nothing to suggest the class of animal we are dealing with. When we look again, we might note that there is a crude image of a human being shown on the back of the animal; and behind this is a structure which might stand for a saddle. We guess the answer and claim that the group is a very poor drawing of a man on horseback.

But there are other animals a man could ride! And when we look again, we observe that the second leg of the animal, counting from the right, has a peculiar enlargement attached to its lower end. That structure is the key to the riddle; it represents the track of the animal! Those familiar with the great beast of burden, now used extensively in central Australia, will recognize the two-toed spoor of a camel.

This method of pictorial elucidation is by no means exceptional. We have already noticed something similar in the ancient carvings at Port Hedland, where the human foot-print is added to disperse any doubt which may be entertained in so far as the correct interpretation of the figure is concerned. A similar device is well exemplified in the accompanying sketch of an ochre drawing of a human form from the Glenelg River district in the northern Kimberleys of Western Australia (Fig. 15). In the carving of an emu from the King Sound district, which is reproduced in Plate XLII, 2, we noticed the same sort of thing.

The cases before us are not accidental, but we have acquainted ourselves with the recognized determinative system of Australian pictographs which is quite analogous to that known to have been practised by the ancient Egyptians. Consider, for instance, the character signifying “to love”—a human figure in profile with one hand lifted to the level of the mouth. The same figure, with a few parallel wavy lines, signifying water, drawn against it, means no longer “to love,” but “to drink.” The wavy lines in this instance are the determinative. In the Australian illustrations given above, we have selected samples which are easily followed, but there are many cases where the reading would be quite impossible if it were not for the presence of the little, subsidiary, determinative sketch.

In his endeavour to make the meaning of some of his designs clear, a native often embodies as many features as possible, quite regardless as to whether in reality they would all be visible in the one plane he is drawing. In the picture of a crocodile appearing on a boabab-nut from the Derby district in Western Australia, shown in Fig. 16, it will be observed that the reptile, in spite of having its dorsal surface represented, has its vent indicated. The long, slender muzzle of this figure, by the way, makes it clear that the smaller species of the two northern Australian crocodiles (C. Johnstoni) is intended. The human figure, too, very often appears half in full and half in profile.

The aboriginal is a keen observer, and takes careful note of many things besides a kangaroo, a snake track, or other similar natural objects which may lead him to his daily bread. When travelling in the Buccaneer Archipelago in the far north-west I remember one of the natives drawing my attention to a peculiar formation in the clouds, and saying, in the Sunday Island dialect: “Arrar ninmiddi,” which means, literally: “Cloud knee.” My instructor proceeded to draw the extraordinary shape he could see with his finger upon the hatchway of the pearling lugger we were sailing in, after which he completed the figure of a man. I was struck with this man’s faculty of observation, because the cloud effect he referred to was rather out of the common and projected from a cirro-cumulus like the bent limb of a swastica.

It is in this way that many inspirations come to the cave artist. Repeatedly one has occasion to notice how a pre-existing feature or defect in the rock face—a crevice, a floor, a concretion—becomes the centre piece of a design drawn to suit it. The feature one finds most commonly embodied in a cave drawing is a small hole. This often figures in the place of an animal’s eye, or a hole into which a snake is disappearing. A local bulge in the rock may also be taken in as part of a design and represent portion of a head or body.

Not only does the artist embody suitable natural features in his designs, but, conversely, he also applies his knowledge of form to explain already existing phenomena in the world about him. The embodiment of his artistic ideas in his poetical explanations of Nature’s wonders plays, as might be expected, an important role in his mythology. These remarks apply especially to any striking characteristics in the sky. When among the tribes of the Musgrave Ranges, I ascertained that the black-looking gap in the Milky Way, close to the Southern Cross, which is commonly known as the Coal Sack, was referred to as “Kaleya Pubanye,” that is, the “Resting Emu.”

In the north of Australia, the Larrekiya, Wogait, and other tribes have adopted a similar designation for a series of dark spaces along the Milky Way. But they have extended the idea considerably in that the Coal Sack represents only the head of a gigantic emu, the beak of which is pointed towards the Musca constellation (i.e. towards the south). A small star of the Southern Cross group very appropriately stands for the eye of the bird; the nebulous effect usually surrounding this star gives it an extra life-like appearance. The neck is but faintly discernible near the head, but becomes clearly visible in the neighbourhood of the nearer Pointer; it passes between the two Pointers and curves slightly towards the constellation of Lupus. Within the constellation of Norma, the dark space widens considerably and represents the body of the emu. The blunt tail turns sharply towards, and into, the constellation of Scorpio. A nebulous patch lying practically on the point of junction between the imaginary areas of Ara, Scorpio, and Norma affords a good division between the legs of the bird, whilst another lying between μ and ζ of the Scorpion group separates the tail. The lower portions of the legs are not very clear, but some of the more imaginative natives maintain that they can distinguish three toes on each extremity. There is no doubt the primitive eye has herein discovered a striking similarity between an optical phenomenon in the southern sky and a living creature, which is of great importance in the hunting field, and at the same time plays a prominent role in tribal folk-lore. They refer to this emu by the name of “Dangorra.” Vide Fig. 17.

As affording a means of comparison, a hunting scene is reproduced carved upon the surface of a club by aborigines of Victoria. The little group is composed of an aboriginal hunter who in one hand is poising a spear and in the other is carrying a boomerang; behind him are two emus standing in much the same position as that assumed to be the case in the heavenly image just described.

The Minning at Eucla recognize only the long neck of the emu in the sky, and refer to it as “Yirrerri”; on the Nullarbor Plains the same portion is looked upon as the heavenly tjuringa of the emu.

Speaking generally, there is perhaps no other creature living which figures so frequently in aboriginal art, both on the cave wall and in the dance, as the great struthious bird of Australia. This is no doubt due in the first place to the admirable way in which it lends itself for the purposes mentioned; its antics in the field suggest many tricks for mimicry at a corrobboree, and its distinctive form supplies the artist with a model which never fails to attract the attention of the artistically inclined among his people. In Plate XLIX, 2, we have a pipeclay drawing of an emu from the Katherine River which is rather exceptional in that it shows the bird more en face than is usual; the proportions are, on the whole, good, except that the head is screwed upwards in a rather strange way. On a boomerang from Broome (Fig. 18), we have a series of engraved emu pictures, all in profile, and in different attitudes.

On the whole, an aboriginal’s pictures are flat and without perspective. He takes the inspiration direct from nature and reproduces the subject singly, and as a separate entity; a number of such designs are drawn side by side with or without pictographic sequence. But there are countless occasions upon which artists, especially the more gifted, prefer to draw a real scene from life, combining subject with action. Environment or surroundings rarely, if ever, receive attention.

Take as a very simple illustration the lizard shown in the pipeclay rock drawing from the Katherine River (Plate XLIX, 3). The general shape of the body, together with the large and well-differentiated head, strongly suggests a species of the large monitor which is common throughout the district. The interesting feature about the picture is, however, the life which is indicated by the fact that the reptile is drawn in the act of shooting out a long, split tongue.

Again, in the charcoal sketch of two crows from the Pigeon Hole district (Fig. 19), one bird is represented in an attentive attitude, as though on the point of flying away, while the other is very characteristically shown in the act of cawing.

One could produce an almost endless variety of decorated figures, representing men and women performing at ceremonial dances and corrobborees to illustrate the life and action which is embodied in aboriginal art. In Fig. 20 a selected number of pipe-clay drawings from the Humbert River, Northern Territory, have been grouped together to serve this purpose.

The most interesting effects, however, are those brought about by a combination of two or more figures. How different, for instance, the two kangaroo shown together in Fig. 21 seem to those previously discussed (Plate XLVII). These are charcoal drawings from Pigeon Hole on the Victoria River, and in them the hopping movement of the animals is indicated very clearly. The animal in the rear is in full flight, as the erect position of the tail and the general holding of the body betray; but the one in the lead is on the point of drawing up and is turning its head back towards its mate.

How realistic, too, the little bark drawing is from east of Port Darwin (Fig. 22), in which a bird of prey is shown mounted upon a wallaby or kangaroo, with its claws and beak embedded in the flesh of its victim.

A neat pipe-clay drawing from the remote Humbert River district is presented in Fig. 23. The group, which is three feet in length, is composed of a central figure of a man who is holding one arm on each side towards a dog, as if offering them something to eat or for the purpose of patting them. The dogs seem to be giving their attention to the man.

Two more charcoal drawings from Pigeon Hole, though roughly sketched by the artist, depict very graphically scenes from the hunt. In one (Fig. 24), the hunter is in the act of stalking a buffalo or bullock with his spear held in readiness to throw, while in the other the attitude of the hunter indicates that the spear has just been thrown and is entering the body of the prey, a kangaroo (Fig. 25).

The carving of an Arunndta man, reproduced in Fig. 26, is most effective. An angry husband has been caught by the artist in the act of punishing his wife with a waddy. The placement of the legs of the two persons indicates stability on the part of the man engaged in the flagellation, and a swinging movement on the part of the woman who is being held back by her hand.

We have already seen the carved representations of two stages in a stone-knife duel by an Arunndta tribesman (Fig. 4), and here, in Fig. 27, an ochre drawing is reproduced which is, if anything, more animated than any previously discussed. A spear-boomerang duel is being fought, during which each of the combatants is protecting himself with a shield. The artist has evinced considerable talent in portraying the men just at the moment when both are bounding through the air towards each other, the one on the left parrying his opponent’s spear, while the other, on the right, is preparing to receive the blow from the boomerang.

One might now go a step further in analyzing aboriginal art. The productions we have studied so far embody the ideas of form, life, and action; and, it might be added, occasionally one finds a very fair sense of composition as well. Such, indeed, might already be said to be true of several of the pictures discussed above, but a finer specimen lies before us in the charcoal drawing from Pigeon Hole (Fig. 28). This faithfully portrays a scene from a gala ceremony, in which the body of performers, fully “dressed” for the occasion, are acting before the leader, who, in his turn, is being supported by two others in the foreground. It must be admitted that the composition of this group of figures is remarkably good, and, what is quite exceptional, a very successful attempt has been made at perspective. All figures are shown in different attitudes of dancing. The impression this charcoal drawing gives one, at first glance, is that of a rough sketch in crayon resembling the outline a European artist might make on his canvas prior to starting upon the actual painting.

Leaving that section of aboriginal art which deals essentially with designs copied directly from Nature in a sense more or less purely artistic and æsthetic, we shall turn our attention to a few types which are more specialized.

From a study of his religious ideas, we have learned that the aboriginal identifies himself with some mystic, natural creature or object, which he adopts as his “totem.” It would only be reasonable to expect, therefore, that some of the drawings represent these objects; and that they are recognized by the natives as having particular personal or family significance. Looked at from a modern standpoint, these designs are really the equivalent of a family crest, and are claimed only by those rightfully entitled to them. This explanation must be given for many of the naturalistic designs appearing on rocks, trees, grave posts, and personal belongings. These “totemic” crests or symbols being hereditary, we have before us a primitive form of heraldry, a conception we have already learned to be covered by the word “Kobong,” originally introduced by Sir George Grey from the north-west of Australia.

We have also ascertained that some of the central as well as north-western tribes of Australia believe that the earliest tribal ancestors originally were more animal than human in appearance, and adopted the shape of a man only at a later period; that they can, however, return to the animal form whenever they desire; and that others remain semi-human. It is not surprising, therefore, to find amongst their drawings and carvings representations which are partly human and partly animal in outline; these are honest attempts at perpetuating the traditional appearance of the ancestral beings of the tribe. In the photograph attached hereto (Plate LI, 1), taken at Forrest River, two pictures of such creatures are to be found which are drawn in ochre. There were many others, from three to five feet in length, reptilian in shape, some with human hands and feet, others with hair shown upon the head, and in most of them the sex unduly prominent. These remarkable designs are, therefore, not naturalistic, but have been evolved on purely fictional or mythological lines, based upon the tradition of the tribe and upon the imagination of the artist.

From the consideration of these artistic effigies of their Demigods, it is not a big step forwards which brings us face to face with the sacred tribal drawings. During initiation ceremonies, especially of the now practically extinct south-eastern tribes of Australia, gigantic figures resembling a human being were moulded into the surface of the ground and subsequently tinted with ochre, which were supposed to conceal the Great Spirit or Deity, which, like the “Altjerra Knaninja” of central Australia, watched over the proceedings as the young men passed from a condition of adolescence to that of permanent manhood; numerous carvings and ochre drawings were also made upon the trunks of any trees nearby.

Not only during the initiation ceremonies are these practices resorted to, but when a sacred observance is contemplated, especially those having to do with the “totem,” elaborate designs are painted in ochre upon the surrounding surfaces of rocks and trees which depict an act connected with the traditional origin of the sacred object.

A classical illustration is to be found in the MacDonnell Ranges, at Emily Gap. According to Arunndta belief, it was at this spot that the early semi-human ancestors of the witchedy grub or “Utnguringita” alighted from Altjerringa. They brought with them large numbers of the grub, which they cooked and ate. The territory dominated by these ancient beings extended from Heavitree Gap to Emily Gap, and across to Jessie Gap. On the western wall of the first-named gap, known by the natives as “Ndariba,” an inclined slab of rock, not high above the level of the sandy bed of the Todd River, contains a series of peculiar concentric iron stains which are regarded as the impressions of the stern of an Utnguringita Altjerra who sat there, and, as he collected grubs, moved forwards. The Utnguringita came into frequent conflict with the Dingo or “Knullia” people whose country lay immediately west of Heavitree Gap, but, nevertheless, they blessed the land with many eggs, which developed into larvæ and supplied the tribe with food.

Eventually the Utnguringita ancestors returned to Altjerringa, but they left a number of stone tjuringas in Emily Gap, which are supposed to be occupied by the spirits whenever a sacred ceremony is performed on the spot. On the eastern stony wall of this gap some rather imposing designs are to be seen, which originally must have occupied most of the area available. The drawings are very old; their origin dating back long before the recollections of the present generation. It is wonderful how well the work has withstood the denuding action of the weather for so long. The natives tell you that the old Altjerringa men applied the pigment to the rock and that they mixed it with the “knudda” (fat) of the grubs. It is more likely that the ochres were mixed with emu fat; in places the pigment seems as though it were chemically combined with the rock, and it could only be removed by chipping the surface. The designs in their present condition (Plate LI, 2) consist of a series of parallel, vertical lines, alternately coloured red and white, and capped by horizontal bands of the same colours, the white of which containing three or four red dots. What the original designs may have been like, it is now difficult to say, but the natives maintain that they included the images of some women they call “Aluggurra,” who were waiting at the foot of the cliff while the men were concealing their tjuringas in the rocks and nooks above. To the present day, the old men of the local Arunndta group store their ceremonial objects in the same sanctuary, thinking that the sacred figures on the wall will protect them from the hands of inquisitive intruders.

There remains yet another class of ochre drawing which deserves mention. I allude to the famous discovery of Sir George Grey in 1837. There is perhaps no other Australian drawing, old or modern, which has been so freely discussed and criticized. During an expedition in the northern Kimberleys of Western Australia, it was my good fortune to re-discover several drawings of this type in practically the same locality as that recorded by Sir George Grey, near the Glenelg River. One figure was perfect, others were partly obliterated or incomplete. The best design was in a cave near the top of a prominent bluff the local Worora people call Berrial; it was drawn in ochre upon a steep face of rock immediately under an overhanging ledge of quartzite. The figure was unquestionably that of a human being, although it measured fully nine feet in length. It lay fully extended, upon its left side, with its arms placed straight against its sides. It reminded one forcibly of a Buddha in a Ceylonese temple. What made the figure seem un-Australian was that it was clothed in a long, striped garment, resembling a priestly gown, from which only the head, hands, and feet were excluded. A loosely-fitting belt is also shown. As seems common to all these drawings, the facial features are only indicated by the eyes and nose, the mouth being omitted. Another characteristic, which is shared by all other drawings, is that the head is surrounded by a number of peculiar, concentric bands, through which, and from which, many lines radiate, giving the structure the effect of a halo surrounding the head of a saint. The picture bore an unmistakable likeness to the type illustrated by Sir George Grey, and was drawn in red, brown, black, and white. Vide Fig. 29 and Plate L, 2.

There is no doubt about these curious drawings, now more or less adopted by the local tribe, having originated under some exotic influence. It is historically known that for centuries past excursions have been made to the north of Australia by Macassans and other eastern people, who may have been responsible for the first drawing of a figure of so sacerdotal an appearance, which the aborigines have since learned to copy so perfectly. It has also been speculated that shipwrecked sailors might be responsible for the representation of the clothed human form; in fact, an American scientist, John Campbell, claims to have deciphered an ancient Japanese inscription upon one of Grey’s figures referring to the “hopeless number,” presumably of the castaways.

In regard to the quaint head-gear which distinguishes these designs, one need not go far from Australia to find something quite analogous, for the Papuans wear an article which is quite similar to what might be suggested by the drawings.

We now turn to a more psychological aspect of primitive Australian art, which includes such factors as convention and imagination. These processes lie behind the symbolization of thought which has evolved a means of pictographically conveying messages from one individual to another, or, collectively, from one tribe to another. Through long usage, the artist has learned to reduce the complexity of a familiar, naturalistic design in such a way that, while still retaining its intrinsic interpretation, he is able to demonstrate by a few lines what ordinarily would require an intricate drawing. The ultimate aim of such a system is, of course, to reduce the execution of a design to a minimum of energy and time, without imperilling the correctness of its interpretation. But whilst the artist is designing to simplify the complexity of his thought symbol, the reciprocative factor of assimilation on the part of his fellows is being stimulated. And by means of this joint education, a design, with a simple motive from Nature behind it, might gradually become so conventionalized that the uninitiated fails entirely to grasp its significance.

During this evolution, or, should one say, metamorphosis, in the perception of art, the tendency must necessarily be to smooth out the irregular and unsymmetrical contours of Nature and bring the design down to as nearly geometrical as possible. For the same reason, a single design is often repeated indefinitely, so that a single form derived from a simple motive may expand into a continuous chain or ornate pattern covering a considerable area. A large series of devices has been established, the majority of which are known all over the Australian continent; but, as the same time, there are many signs which are entirely of a “totemic” nature and can only be understood by a person belonging to that particular “totem.”

Let us take a few simple cases illustrating the different points enumerated above.

A simple drawing of a lizard would include a substantial body, with rounded head and tapering tail; the legs are usually extended, and at times have the claws marked. Vide Fig. 30.

The conventionalized form consists of a long straight line crossed at right angles by two shorter bars, at points about one-quarter and three-quarters distance respectively from one end.

A turtle design consists of an oval, representing the shield, from which extend the head, tail, and paddles. In its modified form this becomes a circle with six short lines radiating from the circumference at equal distances apart (Fig. 31).

The picture of a frog in its simplified form becomes, like that of a turtle, a circle, but has only four radiating lines (Fig. 32). When designs like these are expanded symmetrically into patterns, the result is after the style of that shown in the accompanying sketches. These patterns are extensively used in totemic devices upon tjuringas and implements.

The drawing of an echidna, or native hedgehog, ordinarily is like the sketch shown above (Fig. 33), but as a result of its conventional transformation it becomes a simple hexagon, from the corners of which the limbs may or may not be shown as simply projecting lines. The pattern obtained by linking up a number of hexagons is not uncommonly found engraved upon weapons and implements.

Many of the conventional patterns are not so apparent as the few just mentioned. Let us take, for instance, the “Ladjia” or Yam Tjuringa pattern of the Arunndta. Only the initiated would be able to recognize in a number of groups of small, concentric circles, regularly placed at the corners of rectangular figures, as the stems of the yam plant, and a system of parallel lines connecting the circles both straight and diagonally as the roots. Vide Fig. 34.

Tracks of animal, bird, and man are conspicuous among the designs, generally, whether they be true copies from Nature upon the walls of a cave, more or less modified gravures upon weapons, or conventional patterns incised upon a message stick. A dog track is represented by a larger dot, suggesting the imprint of the ball of the paw, to which are attached four smaller dots, which lie in a row in close proximity to the former; the smaller dots stand for the impressions of the claws (Fig. 35).

A kangaroo track shows the two long parallel median impressions, with a lateral at an acute angle to the former at either side. The same figure is repeated a short distance away from the one described, and in a straight line with it. The same design on a smaller scale denotes a wallaby track. Occasionally the lateral lines are dispensed with (Fig. 36).

Small oblong dots drawn in pair at equal distances from each other indicate the hopping of a rabbit (Fig. 37).

The characteristic broad arrow-like footprint of an emu has already been referred to; the smaller variety of the same design implies that a wild turkey is meant. When a number of birds are to be represented collectively, the archetype is developed into a continuous pattern by linking one track up with another into a chain (Fig. 38).

When attention is to be drawn to the fact that the birds are laying, or sitting on eggs, a number of small circles are drawn about the track (Fig. 39).

A lizard track is indicated by drawing a number of dots, equally spaced along a straight line, and on alternate sides of it. The dots are the claw impressions, the line the trail left by the tail (Fig. 40).

A single wavy line, or a number of parallel wavy lines, represents a snake or a snake track (Fig. 41).

The human footprint is either correctly shown in detail, or is reduced to a short, straight line at one end of which five (occasionally only three or four) dots are drawn in a sloping line to indicate the toes. When walking is to be implied, these footprints are either shown one behind the other in a straight line, at equal distances apart, or they stand alternately right and left by an imaginary central line. The common way of showing the last-named system conventionally is to connect the alternate footprints, whether they be actually shown or not, by a zig-zag line (Fig. 42).

In all cases mentioned above, the track may stand equally well for the object itself.

It is a common thing to see two or more of the above systems combined, after the style of the figures shown on page 344.

The interpretation of the first of these messages would be: “A man is tracking a rabbit.”

The second (Fig. 44) would read: “A hunter is pursuing an emu and is accompanied by his dog.”

In the same way as the natives of the Northern Territory have applied their artistic talents to deciphering images of earthly objects amongst the celestial bodies, and point with pride upon the great emu, “Dangorra,” which nightly watches over them, so the Wongapitcha and Aluridja of central Australia recognize in the constellation we know as the Southern Cross the shape of an eagle-hawk’s claw, and call it in consequence “Warridajinna”; the Milky Way they consider to be a creek bed and assign to it the name “Karru”; the northern Kimberleys tribes believe the Milky Way to be the track of a great carpet snake they refer to as “Womma.”

In the representation of a fish, the scales often take the form of a cross-hatched pattern; but there are many cases in which the form of the fish is not shown at all, yet the cross-hatched pattern remains and is nevertheless indicative of the fish.

A design, fairly common in the north of Western Australia, consists of two wavy lines which are parallel, in the inverted or reflected sense, and joined at one end. The true significance of this pattern does not become evident until one hides from view all but three of the “waves,” say that portion lying to the right of the dotted line in the accompanying sketch. When this is done, the form of a “flying fox” is immediately recognized (Fig. 45).

In central, northern, and eastern Australia, a pattern frequently met with on boomerangs, fighting sticks, and message sticks, consists of strings of lenticles longitudinally striped and generally associated with kangaroo tracks. This device is analogous to the one standing for the walking of a man, viz. the zig-zag, in so far as it stands for the hopping of a kangaroo. Here and there one finds the pattern “finished off” at one end with the head of a kangaroo (Fig. 46).

A duel or tribal fight of any description is graphically recorded by two crossed boomerangs, but the conventional derivative of this design is simply supplied by two crossed lines (Fig. 47).

Time is chronicled by two phases of the moon; a crescent standing for new, and a circle for full moon.

The substance, origin, home, or habitat of any creature figuring in a drawing or gravure is particularized by the addition of a circle-within-circle design. For instance, in the tjuringa of the witchedy grub shown in Fig. 48, the parallel, straight lines, enclosed within a “U,” at the left-hand side, represent the grub, the three concentric circle groups in the centre are the gum trees in which it lives, the “U within U” pattern at the right is an ancestor whose “totem” was the witchedy grub, while the parallel lines at the extreme right of the tjuringa are markings on the grub which have been adopted by the man who owns the tjuringa, in the form of cicatrices, he cuts on his chest.

The “U within U” pattern is frequently met with engraved upon tjuringas, and in most cases it conventionally conveys the idea of a “sitting” person or animal. We have already noted something similar in the peculiar concentric iron stains of Heavitree Gap (page 342), but in the following three tjuringa drawings of the Arunndta additional illustrations are given.

In the first instance, an “Arrera Knaninja” or Kangaroo Tjuringa, the meat and the fat of the animal are represented by the two series of concentric circles in the centre, whereas its sinew is indicated by the horizontal lines connecting the circles. The numerous U groups on both sides of the central figures stand for a great number of kangaroo, each of which is sitting or lying on the ground (Fig. 49).

The second example is from the “Yeapatja” or Caterpillar Tjuringa. The large “circle-within-circle” groups in the centre are generally recognized to be the bushes upon which the caterpillars were born, while the U groups with smaller concentric circles in their centres are intended for caterpillars attached to smaller plants upon which they are feeding (Fig. 50).

Lastly, a sacred drawing of the “Alangua Knaninja” or Native Pear (Marsdenia) “totem,” which belongs to the Altjerringa women, is composed of a central “circle-within-circle” group representing the “totem,” whilst surrounding it a number of U groups are supposed to be the mythic women seated on the ground (Fig. 51).

We shall now turn our attention to the consideration of the representation of the human figure and its derivative forms. Several more or less obvious designs have already been discussed. The first step towards conventionalism is seen in the two figures from the Humbert River district, the first an ochre cave drawing, the second a carving on a boabab tree (Fig. 52). We notice in the ochre drawing, which was one foot six inches high, a fairly shapely and solid figure of a man holding a shield in his left hand; in the carving, which measured one foot nine inches in height, the solid and shapely outline has been reduced to a matter of just a few straight lines; that is, if we neglect for the present the consideration of shield and boomerang which the figure is holding. The result is, therefore, a design resembling a Latin cross, at the lower end of which is attached an inverted V-shaped symbol representing the legs; a small circle may or may not be added to the top end to stand for the head.

This design is often repeated indefinitely in a lateral sense, so that a rather ornate pattern results in which the individual figures “join hands” and their “toes touch” below. A chained pattern, such as is shown in the accompanying sketch (Fig. 53), may be noticed in Plate XLV, 1, near the centre of the picture, below the ledge on which the bold drawing of a snake appears, and on the same level as the semi-human design on the extreme left.

The ultimate stage of this conventionalism so far as the human figure is concerned is a simple, straight line, the upright arm of the cross; this is extensively employed in carved representations of people on message sticks. We might now hark back to the question at the beginning of our disquisition on aboriginal art “what lies in a mere line” and supply one answer at any rate.

Any number of people might be represented by the same number of short, straight, vertical lines. Followed by a zig-zag line, such people are represented as being on the march. When a small dot stands on each side of the straight line, or perhaps a number of dots in intermediate positions between the lines, the design conveys the idea that the people are camped, the dots standing for camp fires. Moreover, when a horizontal line lies over the upright lines, the last-named indicates that a hut, shelter, or breakwind was used during the encampment (Fig. 54).

When there is an obvious, and intended, difference in the lengths of the upright lines, the longer represent men, the shorter women.

Reverting now to the cross, and looking more closely into its development, expansion, and embodiment in anthropomorphous designs, we meet with one or two points of considerable interest.

We have had occasion to note that throughout central and northern Australia, the tribes during the final acts of initiation ceremonies make use of a sacred cross, called “Wanningi” or “Wanninga” in the former region and “Parli” in the western portions of the latter. These wanningi are constructed only immediately before they are required and are destroyed again the moment the ceremony is over. Women are not allowed to see them under any consideration. A wanningi is made by fixing two pieces of wood together in the shape of a cross, then, by starting at the intersection of the arms, a long string, made of human hair, is wound spirally round and round, from arm to arm, until the whole space between the arms is filled in. The size of these crosses varies from three or four inches up to two feet or more. This object is produced by the Aluridja just before the mutilation of the neophyte is to take place. At this critical moment of the youth’s life, when he is stepping from adolescence across the great gap which will lead him to manhood, the spirit of the Great Tukura presides invisibly concealed within the wanningi, but returns to his high abode again when the function is over. Vide Plate XLIII, 2.

The spiral winding of hair-string around the arms of the wanningi associates the idea of the rhombic outline of the string with the arms of the cross. In the representation of the human form, one often finds the two patterns combined, or, it may be, the rhomb replaces the cross.

In the example before us (Fig. 55, a), we have an engraved pattern appearing on a spear-thrower, the motive of which, were it not that the artist had added a human face, would have been very difficult for the untrained eye to recognize. As it is, we have the unmistakable evidence of an anthropomorphous design. Not only does a modified rhomb represent the body of a man, but the figure itself is flourishing the crossed arms of a “Wanningi” in its right hand. The principal design thus identified passes, at the bottom, into a pattern composed of several polygonal figures which may, no doubt, be looked upon as derivatives of an original rhomb.

In the other illustration (Fig. 55, b), which is also a carving upon a spear-thrower, the intricate association of the rhomb with the human form is again apparent. The figure of a man, with face in profile, is represented in a plain and more or less conventional way; the straight trunk with the two arms resting upon the hips, symmetrically on each side, in itself suggests the rhomb, but, in addition, most of the intervening spaces have been filled in with parallel lines and a cross-hatching pattern which embodies the rhomb.

Conventionalism in the representation of the human figure has thus gone further than the mere inclusion of the cross or the rhomb motive, by working in with the original design a derivative or new pattern which fills up all the surrounding spaces.

By means of this system, a new element is introduced in the shape of symmetry. If a vertical line, drawn through the centre of the trunk, be taken as a median line in a simple design of the human figure, all subsequent patterns which are drawn will be grouped symmetrically about it. The most popular pattern used to fill up the available spaces with, is one of a “concentric” type. By this method a distinctive, bi-laterally symmetrical pattern is evolved, which after prolonged usage may actually take the place of the original, and have a true anthropomorphous significance.

Take the illustration of conventionalism of this kind shown on the carved pearl shell covering from King Sound reproduced in Fig. 56. The original motive was a simple line drawing of a human being after the style of the one on the left-hand side. The next stage in its evolution was brought about by blocking the areas between the limbs, and between the head and arm, on either side, respectively, in a manner which made the resulting pattern appear equally balanced in respect of a median longitudinal line running through the back and head of the original figure.

Very numerous designs of this nature are constantly met with in all tribal areas of Australia, but in most cases the stranger who is not aware of the intermediate or transitional stages may fail entirely to grasp their meaning or origin.