South-East Australian Indigenous Space and Its Cosmological Origins

SOUTH-EAST AUSTRALIAN INDIGENOUS SPACE AND ITS COSMOLOGICAL ORIGINS

Jacqueline Power

Doctor of Philosophy

Built Environment University of New South Wales

Submitted 2013

ABSTRACT

Purpose: The purpose of this thesis is to investigate Australian Indigenous spatial ordering. The central question guiding the research is: how does south-east Australian Indigenous spatial ordering differ from the European concept of spatial ordering? The hypothesis is that south-east Australian Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority; in addition, it is also hypothesised that colonising western Europeans failed to understand this occupation and as a result, sought to impose western European spatial ordering in its place. The thesis presents a new narrative that is specifically associated with the discipline of interior architecture.

Methodology: The overall research framework adopted in the thesis is a ‘spatial approach.’ An interpretive-historical research methodology is operating in a majority of the thesis chapters, bar one (Chapter 8), which diverges from this approach and adopts an ethnographic-type research methodology. A number of research methods have been utilised in order to gather and analyse the empirical material contained in this thesis.

Results: Empirical material has been gathered and considered in relation to, but not only, the Sky Dome, palawa buildings, the site of Wybalenna, and Ring Trees. The aforesaid examples contribute to the thesis by allowing a questioning of the following: how cosmology lays the foundation for physical spatial ordering, how building types play a role in defining spatial ordering, the resistance of the palawa peoples to western European spatial ordering, and how Ring Trees in Wadi Wadi Country illustrate a spatial organising principle.

Conclusions: The thesis concludes that western European spatial ordering, concerned with an inside and outside, finds expression differently in south-east Australian Indigenous buildings. These buildings are argued to operate as artefacts within spatial divisions enacted at a much larger scale defined by cosmology and inhabitation of the cultural landscape. The contribution that this thesis makes is to enable the western European spatial ordering model to transform and accommodate variations of its expression, as well as to contribute more broadly to the dialogue regarding Australian Indigenous buildings and space.

I TABLE OF CONTENTS

TABLE OF CONTENTS______II

LIST OF FIGURES______III

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS______V

PREFACE______VII

NOTE TO THE READER______IX

CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION______1

CHAPTER 2 METHODOLOGY______24

CHAPTER 3 INTERIORITY AND THE ORDERS OF SPACE______58

CHAPTER 4 THE INFORMING OF SPATIAL ORDERING: THE SKY-DOME______88

CHAPTER 5 CULTURAL ENCOUNTERS AND MISUNDERSTANDINGS______120

CHAPTER 6 THE ROLE OF BUILDINGS IN INDIGENOUS SPATIAL ORGANISATION: CLASSICAL PALAWA BUILDINGS______158

CHAPTER 7 RESISTING WESTERN EUROPEAN SPATIAL ORDERING: THE BUILDINGS OF WYBALENNA______201

CHAPTER 8 A NON-ARCHITECTURAL SPATIAL ORGANISATION METHOD: RING TREES IN WADI WADI COUNTRY______239

CHAPTER 9 CONCLUSION______285

LIST OF REFERENCES______306

APPENDICES______340

APPENDIX 1 THE RE-INSCRIPTION OF SPATIAL ORDERING______341

APPENDIX 1 LIST OF REFERENCES______352

II LIST OF FIGURES

FIGURESi

1 Kambera Embassy interior architecture graduation project 6 2 Venn-diagram based on Kevin O’Brien’s representation of first, 85 second and third space 3 Aboriginal Australia map 91 4 Diorama of the sky raising magpies 97 5 The Dawn Magazine cover from July 1957 featuring the 99 artwork of Byram Mansell 6 Man and Woman engraving in the Ku-ring-gai Chase National 111 Park 7 Detail of the Man and Woman engraving 113 8 Satellite image showing boundaries of the nine Nations 130 9 Monument to the anchorage of Captain Tobias Furneaux 136 10 'The Neck' or isthmus which joins north and south Bruny Island 138 11 Human evolution and relationship to buildings and architecture 148 12 Tomb 177 13 Windbreak 181 14 Sketch of a windbreak by Thomas Scott 182 15 Watercolour of an open-sided dome at Adventure Bay 184 16 A more detailed watercolour of an open-sided dome 186 17 Map of Flinders Island showing the location of Wybalenna and 211 The Lagoons 18 Map of Wybalenna believed to be based on Robinson’s 1838 221 map 19 Watercolour view of Wybalenna by artist John Skinner Prout 234 20 Scarred Tree in the Nyah-Vinifera Park 256 21 The ‘Fruit’ 258 22 Bush asparagus 259 23 Fragment of Clay Ball 260

i Note: figures contained in the appendix are not included in this list of figures.

III 24 River Reeds growing along the Murray River 261 25 Wood Wood Ring Tree 1 265 26 Wood Wood Ring Tree 2 267 27 Wood Wood Ring Tree 3 268 28 Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 4 269 29 Bora ground 270 30 Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 5 271 31 Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 6 272 32 Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 7 274 33 Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 8 275 34 Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 9 276 35 Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 9 showing shade area with small 277 grafted ring 36 Koraleigh Ring Tree 278 37 Koraleigh Ring Tree 281 38 Signage that marks the Koraleigh Ring Tree 281

TABLES 1 Key terminology 46 2 European and palawa names for the nine Nations 129 3 Clans of the nine Nations 132-33 4 Tasmanian Aboriginal settlements in the Furneaux Island 207 Group and their period of occupation 5 Overview of apartments that housed the palawa peoples in 218 phase 1 of the settlement 6 Overview of apartments that housed the palawa peoples in 219 phase 2 of the settlement

IV ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My heartfelt thanks are extended to supervisor Dr Thomas Loveday for his encouragement, support and generosity of knowledge. Whenever I could not see a way forward, Dr Loveday helped me find a path. Any faults that remain in the thesis are entirely my own.

My thanks to Wadi Wadi Elders Doug Nicholls and Marilyne Nicholls, who took me into their confidence, and their culture and showed tremendous faith in me. It has been a great privilege to be entrusted with their knowledge. I hope I have done it justice here.

My thanks are extended to Donna Gorey, Reverend Robyn Davis, Shelley Davis and respected Wadi Wadi Elder Aunty Shirley Davis, for taking the time to read the Ring Tree chapter and provide comment on the work. Their input was greatly appreciated.

My thanks to Peter C. Sims and Dr John Wilson, who told me the story of the Daisy Dell mia-mia. Peter and Dr Wilson kindly shared with me their photographs and provided a close reading of this material when it was intended to form a discrete chapter in the thesis. Although no longer included in the thesis following revisions, I hope it will inform future publications.

A special thank you to the late Dr Dianne Johnson, Honorary Associate of UTS, who reviewed my publication for the IASTE conference and discussed with me her knowledge of the sky-dome. It was with great sadness that I learned of her recent passing.

I would like to thank co-supervisors; architect and lecturer Bill MacMahon, and curator Djon Mundine, for their guidance particularly in the initial phases of the candidature. I would also like to thank Director of Postgraduate Research Dr Christine Steinmetz, for all of her advice and guidance in the completion of this research project.

I would also like to thank my colleagues at the School of Architecture and Design, University of Tasmania. My particular thanks are extended to Head of School Professor

V Stephen Loo, Program Director of Interior Design Kirsty Máté, and Professor Roger Fay for their support and guidance.

My thanks also go to Indira Narayan, Wadi Wadi Co-Management Negotiations Coordinator, for facilitating communication with the Wadi Wadi community; Dr Libby Porter, then lecturer at the University of Sheffield, for putting me in contact with Mr Nicholls and Ms Nicholls; Geoff Barker, Senior Health and Building Surveyor for the Wakool Shire Council, for sharing with me his photographs of the Koraleigh Ring Tree; Doreen Lovegrove, a volunteer at the Furneaux Museum, who kindly showed me Wybalenna; Karla Chisholm, Information Services Librarian at the Maryborough Library, who helped me source information related to the arches discussed in the appendices; Rochelle Jones, Publishing Assistant at the Aboriginal Studies Press, for approval to use the Aboriginal Australia map; and Victoria Haines, Metropolitan Local Aboriginal Land Council, for permission to use photographs of engravings in the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park.

Thanks to Andry Sculthorpe, the Lands Manager, Tasmanian Aboriginal Centre (TAC), and Heather Sculthorpe, Manager, Tasmanian Aboriginal Centre, who showed me Oyster Cove. Although a discussion of the site is not part of this thesis, I gained a greater understanding and sensitivity from this experience. My thanks are also extended to Graeme Gardner, Manager, Aboriginal Land Council of Tasmania (ALCT), who discussed with me Wybalenna before I visited the site.

My thanks go to copy editor and Ruskin scholar Dr Mark Stiles, for his careful reading of an earlier version of this text.

I would also like to thank Research Support Officer Wendy Roberts who copy edited the final thesis for me.

Finally, a big thank you to my parents Pam and Phil, and partner Will, for their love and support throughout my candidature. I am very grateful for their proofreading, suggestions and honesty in their opinions. I would also like to thank Mum for always being so observant and taking note of anything that could prove relevant for my research.

VI PREFACE

This thesis received support in the form of an Australian Postgraduate Award (APA). In addition, funding was received from the UNSW Built Environment for the presentation of several conference papers.

The following publications and conference papers were produced during the PhD candidature and are edited chapters and sections of this thesis:

Jacqueline Power, “Aboriginal Arches of Colonial Communitas” (paper presented at the Architecture at the Ragged Edge of Empire symposium, Brisbane, Australia, 27-27 June 2013).

Jacqueline Power and Marilyne Nicholls, “Intertwined: Ring Trees in Wadi Wadi Country” (paper presented at the Interstices: under construction symposium, Launceston, Australia, 25-27 November 2011).

Jacqueline Power, “Thrice: blurring demarcation between inside and out,” Design Principles and Practices: an international journal, vol. 4, no. 1 (2010): pp. 291-301.ii

Jacqueline Power, “Healthy Buildings of the Tasmanian Aboriginal Peoples,” Interiors: design, architecture and culture,’ vol. 1, no. 3 (2010): pp. 245-264.

Jacqueline Power, “Australian Indigenous Interiority and Cosmology” (paper presented at the Twelfth Conference of the International Association for the Study of Traditional Environments, Beirut, Lebanon, December 15-18, 2010).

Jacqueline Power, “Architectural Myopia: the contested authenticity of a Tasmanian mia- mia” (paper presented at the Contained Memory Conference, Wellington, New Zealand, 9-11 December, 2010).

ii This paper was one of ten nominated in 2010 for the annual Design Principles and Practices’ International Award for Excellence. The ten papers that emerge from the referee process with the highest ranks are nominated for the award.

VII

Jacqueline Power, “Exhibitions and Arches: representations of Australian Indigenous cultures” (paper presented at the Art Association of Australia and New Zealand annual conference, Adelaide, Australia, 1-4 December, 2010).iii

Jacqueline Power, “Australian Indigenous Interiority and Cosmology,” Traditional Dwellings and Settlements Working Paper Series, vol. 224 (2010): pp. 1-28.

Jacqueline Power, “Australian Indigenous Interiority and Cosmology,” Journal of the International Association for the Study of Traditional Environments – Special Issue Conference Abstracts, vol. 22, no. 1 (2010): p. 43.

Jacqueline Power, “Classical Buildings of the Palawa,” Eighth Annual Hawaii International Conference on Arts and Humanities Conference Proceedings, Hawaii, 2010, pp. 1720-1734.

Jacqueline Power, “The Architecture of Wybalenna and Oyster Cove,” Eighth Annual Hawaii International Conference on Arts and Humanities Conference Proceedings. Hawaii, 2010, pp. 1735-1755.

Jacqueline Power, “Classical Period of Australian Indigenous Interiors: shaping of space and interiority,” Design Principles and Practices: an international journal vol. 3, no. 1 (2009): pp. 357-367.

A summary of this research was also presented at the UNSW Indigenous Research Showcase in November 2009.

iii Thanks to Professor Terry Smith, Professor Virginia Spate and Professor Peter McNeil who contributed to the AAANZ Postgraduate Student Bursaries, of which I was a recipient.

VIII NOTE TO THE READER

The Chicago Style reference method has been adopted in this thesis. This reference style uses the Notes-Bibliography system.iv The Chicago Style is appropriate in its use here as it is used widely in the humanities and is “preferred by many writers in literature, history, and the arts.”v The first reference for a text in a given chapter includes the author’s full name, title of the text and publication details enclosed in parentheses. The publication information provided includes the place of publication, publisher and year of publication. A page number, if applicable is provided outside of the parentheses as the concluding piece of information. Subsequent references to the text do not include the same level of information, and instead the author or authors’ surname, title of the text and page number, if applicable, is provided. Readers can consult the bibliography divided by chapters provided at the back of the thesis for full reference details if required.

iv As opposed to the Author-Date method. v The Chicago Manual of Style, 16th ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010). p. 655.

CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION

Thesis Statement Interiors of Australian Indigenous buildings (both pre- and post- European colonisation) have remained largely unaddressed within interior architecture and architecture. An understanding of Australian Indigenous interiors, and by extension spatial ordering1 and interiority, is seemingly the natural precondition for the design of contemporary Indigenous architecture. However, little is known regarding this subject within the fields that carry out the work. Instead it has been left to fields such as anthropology to build knowledge in this area, without much impression upon the disciplines of either interior architecture or architecture. Australian Indigenous building pre-European colonisation and in the early years post-colonisation, presents a challenge to western European architecture. This challenge is the result of a different foundation that underpins Australian Indigenous buildings. Therefore the aim of this thesis is to examine south-east Australian Indigenous spatial ordering and explore where interiority belongs within this model. This thesis finds a spatial ordering model that differs to that which appears in the western European tradition. The contribution that this thesis makes is to enable the western European spatial ordering model to transform and accommodate different cultural expressions of spatial ordering, as well as to contribute more broadly to the dialogue regarding Australian Indigenous buildings and space.

Research Question The central question guiding the research is:

How does south-east Australian Indigenous spatial ordering differ from the western European concept of spatial ordering?

The thesis provides a particular emphasis on Tasmanian Aboriginal or palawa buildings.

1 ‘Spatial ordering’ or the ‘orders of space’ are phrases used frequently throughout the thesis. This order of space is founded on an inside and outside which typically correlate with private and public space. This spatial ordering is the fundamental order by which buildings are understood and which the thesis questions in regards to Australian Indigenous buildings. 1 However, it should be noted that due to the absence of detailed information about palawa buildings and space, some case studies from elsewhere in south-east Australia are also incorporated (Chapters 4 and 8) in order to supplement the main case study material. Although the material presented in the thesis is somewhat diverse, this thesis is a narrative that grapples with the many facets of spatial ordering and therefore including a range of examples has been necessary to achieve this complexity. The thesis presents a new narrative that is specifically associated with the discipline of interior architecture.

The hypothesis is that south-east Australian Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority; in addition, it is also hypothesised that colonising western Europeans failed to understand this occupation and as a result, sought to impose western European spatial ordering in its place.

The thesis will seek to demonstrate this ordering and re-ordering of space as a matter of the relationship between interiority, exteriority, and third space, using a range of examples. The effects of the imposition of the western European spatial ordering model will also be described (Chapter 7). The mechanisms for how Indigenous spatial ordering was misunderstood and replaced are also described as a supplementary narrative (Appendix). This is considered a supplementary narrative because it illustrates a consequence of the core idea or line of inquiry contained in the thesis.

The hypothesis is founded on the idea that as Australian Indigenous buildings appear, from a western European viewpoint, to have little need to create a permanent separation between interior and exterior space, a different approach to this idea needs to be formulated. It is hypothesised that Australian Indigenous space from the ‘classical period’ can be understood as a single continuous interior, meaning that conventional spatial ordering of interior and exterior is unable to be applied to individual instances of built form. As such, Indigenous buildings could be conceived as already within a larger ‘interior’ space. The premise for this idea was initially founded on the cosmology of the ‘sky-dome,’ as it is termed by anthropologist Dianne D. Johnson (1947-2012) in her text Night Skies of Aboriginal Australia: a noctuary.2 It should be noted that the term

2 Dianne D. Johnson, Night Skies of Aboriginal Australia: a noctuary, Oceania Monographs (Sydney: Oceania Publications, University of Sydney, 1998). 2 “classical period”, as it is explained by architect and anthropologist Paul Memmott, is used in preference to the term ‘traditional’ throughout the thesis and refers to:

Aboriginal presence in Australia prior to the time of British colonisation, and particularly to the cultural institutions, practices and principles that were maintained during this era. Such cultural practices survived for a short time after colonisation but were then transformed in various ways that depended upon processes and imposed forces of local cultural change.3

It is difficult to completely step outside the central premise of European inside/outside space in order to explore the research question, nor will this be attempted. As such, the western European inside/outside model is not entirely dispensed with when discussing Australian Indigenous buildings and their spatial organisation. This model is allowed to transform and variations of it as expressed by Australian Indigenous buildings and space, are described within the thesis.

Arrival at the Research Project The arrival at the research project can be categorised in two ways – for disciplinary reasons and for reasons specific to myself as a researcher from the field of interior architecture.

At a disciplinary level there is a place for this research in the need to question existing ‘classical’ spatial models that are used to judge the cultural production of non-western European cultures. It is proposed here that western European spatial organisation is deeply embedded within all attempts to design for Indigenous Australians and highlights an ongoing colonial approach which is disguised within this model. A reassessment of western European spatial ordering promises to make a positive contribution to cultural differences in Australia. Yet in the very act to set out to explore these spatial ordering differences, a binary is invoked.4 The most obvious binary that appears in the work is the opposition generated by inside/outside spatial arrangements. As philosopher Mark

3 Paul Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia (St. Lucia, Qld: University of Queensland Press, 2007). p. 322. 4 In fact, two binaries appear – the binary of the inside/outside spatial arrangement, and the binary of opposing western European and Indigenous spatial ordering models. 3 Kingwell articulates “interior is always defined by at least three working parts: inside, outside, and (most important yet least noticed) the threshold setting off one from the other.”5 The space between the opposing inside/outside generates a productive place to practice – an interstice of opportunity. Like Kingwell describes the purpose of the threshold as “to separate, and thus to be crossed”, the classical spatial ordering of inside/outside should not be treated as a fixed binary opposition but as an arrangement that allows for movement.6 As such, the intention of this thesis is not to completely rupture the binary of inside/outside space but rather unsettle the binary, through the proposition that different versions of this model may operate and at different spatial scales. Thus, this thesis looks for the porosity7 of the western European inside/outside spatial model that enables alternative modes of engaging with space across differing modes of cultural production. As a result, the western European inside/outside model (of first, second and third space defined later in the thesis) cannot be entirely dispensed with when discussing Australian Indigenous buildings and their spatial organisation. The operation of this model is allowed to transform and different articulations of it are demonstrated within the thesis.

Interior architecture as a discipline is well placed to offer something to the academic dialogue regarding Australian Indigenous buildings, including the discussion presented here in relation to spatial ordering. Up until now, research into Australian Indigenous buildings and space has primarily been from the fields of architecture and anthropology. The notion of interior has not been considered through the lens of interior architecture itself. This has the potential to reveal both new ideas and previously unseen disciplinary synergies.

Not only does interior architecture potentially have something to offer the existing discourse on Australian Indigenous buildings and space, but it also has something to learn. In this regard, research into Australian Indigenous buildings and space can benefit

5 Mark Kingwell, "Crossing the Threshold: towards a philosophy of the interior," Queen's Quarterly vol. 113, no. 1 (Spring 2006): p. 91. 6 Ibid., p. 93. 7 “The word ‘pore’ derives from the Greek word ‘poriferous’ meaning ‘passage’.” Malte Wagenfeld, "The Porous-City: atmospheric conversations of the Urban/Interior," in Urban Interior: informal explorations, interventions and occupations, ed. Rochus Urban Hinkel (Baunach, Germany: Spurbuchverlag, 2011), p. 148. 4 the discipline of interior architecture by adding to and transforming pedagogy. This is particularly important in light of the 2012 Review of Higher Education Access and Outcomes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People Final Report chaired by Larissa Behrendt. As stated in the report, “The Review of Higher Education Access and Outcomes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People (the Review) builds on the Bradley Review and examines how improving higher education outcomes among Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people will contribute to nation building and reduce Indigenous disadvantage.”8 Thus it is recognised by the Behrendt-chaired report that the tertiary education landscape needs to better accommodate Indigenous students. The report suggests that one of three “critical success factor[s]” in relation to “Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander knowledge and perspectives” is that “diverse knowledge domains are recognised, including a focus on regeneration and transition of Indigenous knowledges”.9 Research such as this paves the way for introducing curriculum content in relation to Australian Indigenous buildings and space, into the teaching of interiors within tertiary settings. Thus this research has the potential to address the “need for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander knowledge, issues and perspectives to be included in curriculums, graduate attributes and teaching practices” as recognised by the Behrendt-chaired report.10 In this sense, the interior architecture discipline and its pedagogy can greatly benefit from research into Australian Indigenous buildings and spaces.

Arriving at this research project on a personal level stems from previous research and study. The foundation of this research can be traced to my undergraduate interior architecture graduation design project entitled Kambera Embassy: a meeting place for reconciliation (Figure 1). This design project sought to extend the functions of the Tent Embassy and provide extra space for it within Old Parliament House. The program for the building sought to bring reconciliation to the forefront of the agenda by presenting two histories in a thoughtful and non-confrontational manner. This project assisted in refining

8 Larissa Behrendt et al., "Review of Higher Education Access and Outcomes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People: final report," Department of Industry, Innovation, Climate Change, Science, Research and Tertiary Education, re-accessed 8 August 2013 www.innovation.gov.au/IHER. 9 Ibid., p. 196. 10 "Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Knowledge," Department of Industry, Innovation, Climate Change, Science, Research and Tertiary Education, accessed 8 August 2013 http://www.innovation.gov.au/highereducation/IndigenousHigherEducation/ReviewOfIndigenousHigherEd ucation/Pages/FactSheets/Knowledge.aspx. 5 my knowledge of Australian history both social and political, and exploring the complexity of dealing with such issues in an architecturally sensitive manner. My undergraduate honours dissertation entitled Indigenous Interior Architecture provided the theoretical underpinning for the design project. The design project and its accompanying dissertation provided the impetus to undertake further research in the fields of interior architecture and Australia Indigenous buildings and space.

Figure 1. Kambera Embassy, interior architecture graduation project. (Image by author, 2007.)

6 Non-Indigenous researchers are often sought to justify their engagement with Indigenous- based research. This is well articulated in a PhD thesis concerning Australian Indigenous heritage in which the author explains in the preface to the work:

Studying Aboriginal Australian heritage has not been an easy task. I have been constantly questioned as to what brought about my interest in this area of research…I would like to neither defend nor justify my reasons for undertaking this research and instead outline what brought me to this juncture.11

Post-colonial theorist Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (1942- ) has said, “No one can quite articulate the space she herself inhabits. My attempt has been to describe this relatively ungraspable space in terms of what might be its history.”12 To briefly summarise the history of my own space - I am a non-Indigenous researcher trained in the field of interior architecture. I am therefore both an insider and outsider in the context of this research – an insider in the field of interior architecture but an outsider to Australian Indigenous cultures and buildings. As much of the material utilised in the thesis is of an historical nature, I am also spatially and temporally separate from much of the empirical material utilised.

Broader Research Context It is necessary to position this PhD research within its broader context. This context encompasses: typology research into Australian Indigenous buildings; research into Aboriginal housing solutions and models; increasing numbers of Indigenous graduates from the field of architecture; the developing identity of the interior architecture discipline; the burgeoning of literature regarding the development of interior architecture and interior design in Australia; and the development of design studios and projects within built environment faculties that enable students to engage with Australian Indigenous subject matter.

Typologies of classical Indigenous buildings and their geographic distribution have now

11 Vidhu Gandhi, "Aboriginal Australian Heritage in the Postcolonial City: sites of anti-colonial resistance and continuing presence" (PhD thesis, University of New South Wales, 2008), p. i. 12 Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, "The Post-Colonial Critic," in Modern Criticism and Theory: a reader, ed. David Lodge and Nigel Wood (Harlow: Pearson, 2008), p. 601. 7 begun to be mapped and produced as stand-alone works, rather than found as dispersed accounts in the anthropological literature. The 2007 publication of Paul Memmott’s Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia presented for the first time “the beginnings of a continental overview of Aboriginal ethno-architecture in all its diversity.” 13 Memmott’s text, which has been described as a “seminal work”, represents an important milestone in Australia’s architectural history in which Australian Indigenous buildings are recognised.14 Yet the ability to adopt this position took a long time to emerge. Memmott articulates its development:

Upon early exploration of Terra Australis by Europeans, an international view developed that Australian Aboriginal people did not have houses or towns, but rather occupied ephemeral camps, moving relentlessly and sheltering in flimsy, makeshift huts or lean-tos of grass and bark, colloquially known in parts of the continent as ‘gunyahs’ or ‘wurlies.’ This view has persisted to this day.15

It wasn’t until 1987 in John Archer’s (1941- ) Building a Nation: a history of the Australian house, that Australian Indigenous building was first acknowledged as a part of Australia’s building tradition. 16 In the text Archer dedicated a chapter called ‘No Permanent Habitations’ to the discussion of Australian Indigenous building.17 Archer acknowledged that prior to European colonisation, “Australia was a land of great cultural diversity. Languages, customs and technology varied considerably as Aboriginal people developed appropriate responses to the regions in which they settled. Nowhere is this more obvious than in their dwellings.”18 In the text Indigenous buildings are positioned to highlight a development from ‘primitive’ huts to more sophisticated architectural expressions post-European colonisation. Archer even states that “Australian architecture

13 Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. XVI. 14 Julie Willis and Philip Goad, "A Bigger Picture: reframing Australian architectural history," Fabrications: the Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, Australia and New Zealand vol. 18, no. 1 (June 2008): p. 10. 15 Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. XI. 16 Philip Goad, New Directions in Australian Architecture, ed. Patrick Bingham-Hall (Balmain, NSW: Pesaro Publishing, 2001). p. 41. 17 The chapter predominately relies upon descriptions of dwellings such as those documented by N.W. Thomas in Natives of Australia. John Archer, Building a Nation: a history of the Australian house (Sydney: Collins, 1987). pp. 12-23. 18 ibid., p. 13. 8 began in 1788…”19 However, the recognition and inclusion of Australian Indigenous buildings in the text marked a shift that occurred in the 1980s, which saw an emergence of projects and research into this field.

Interest in Aboriginal housing, as it is commonly known, was stimulated by the 1967 referendum on Commonwealth Responsibility for Aborigines. 20 Until this time the Australian Government had favoured a policy of assimilation, which resulted in the repression of Indigenous cultures and knowledge of Indigenous buildings. The success of the 1967 national referendum enabled Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to be counted in the census, and also allowed the Commonwealth Government to “assume responsibility for Aboriginal people in the states.”21 The referendum also resulted in the abandonment of policies such as assimilation, which architecturally was expressed through transitional housing, in favour of self-determination.22 It should be noted that Government policies towards Indigenous Australians have undergone distinct policy shifts every thirty years: “protection (1910-1940), assimilation (1940-1970), self- determination (1970-2000).”23 A critical juncture has now been reached, a watershed period during which the period of self-determination will no doubt be increasingly reassessed and analysed. Already critiques of various policies “have emerged, questioning the orthodoxies of the self-determination era.”24 Since the 1967 referendum Aboriginal housing has remained an unresolved political issue. In the 1980s architect Paul Pholeros carried out research on Anangu Pitjantjatjara lands in South Australia to better understand the link between housing and health. 25 This ground-breaking research continues to inform the design of houses that facilitate good health, and provides the basis

19 ibid., p. 9. 20 Paul Memmott, "Aboriginal Housing: the state of the art (or non-state of the art)," Architecture Australia (June 1988): p. 34. 21 Ian Howie-Willis, "Referendum 1967," in The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia, ed. David Horton (Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 1994), pp. 933-34. 22 SGS Economics & Planning and Tallegalla Consultants Pty Ltd, "Occasional Paper No. 14. Evaluation of Fixing Houses for Better Health Projects 2, 3 and 4," (Canberra: Department of Families, Community Services and Indigenous Affairs, 2006), p. 16. 23 Gillian K. Cowlishaw, Emma Kowal, and Tess Lea, "Double Binds," in Moving Anthropology: critical Indigenous studies, ed. Tess Lea, Emma Kowal, and Gillian K. Cowlishaw (Darwin: Charles Darwin University Press, 2006), p. 12. 24 Ibid., p. 1. 25 Goad, New Directions in Australian Architecture: p. 42. 9 of the National Indigenous Housing Guide: improving the living environment for safety, health and sustainability. Yet the generally poor state of Aboriginal housing has continued to be a source of controversy. In an attempt to combat the appalling state of Indigenous housing, the Australian Institute of Architects (AIA) established the Indigenous Housing Taskforce in 2006.26 This taskforce was established to develop policy on Indigenous housing for the AIA, bringing together information on best practice, and to aid the development of partnerships with Government.27 It is evident that with a focus on finding a remedy for the state of Aboriginal housing, an investigation of spatial ordering has been a lower priority.

This research in its questioning of south-east Australian Indigenous spatial ordering is deemed timely, as it is being produced at such a time when it can receive critical appraisal and ignite discussion as a result of the increasing numbers of Indigenous graduates and academics.28 Specifically in relation to the architectural discipline, one text published in 2006 states “since 1990, there have been fewer than 10 Indigenous people who have graduated with an architectural degree.”29 In 2009 there were eight architecture graduates of Australian Indigenous descent.30 In New South Wales there is now a “collaboration of Indigenous architects and designers” called Merrima Design.31 Merrima Design 32 is associated with the Indigenous Design Unit that is a sub-section of the New South Wales Government Architect’s Office (GAO).33 The Merrima practitioners elevate the process

26 ‘Appendix 4 RAIA Policy on Indigenous Housing’ in "Appendix 4: RAIA Policy on Indigenous Housing," in Which Way? directions in Indigenous housing (Alice Springs: Royal Australian Institute of Architects, 2008), p. 143. 27 ‘Appendix 4 RAIA Policy on Indigenous Housing’ in ibid. 28 Much has changed (and much has remained the same) since 1965 when Charles Perkins became the first Australian Indigenous university graduate. Anita Heiss, Peter Minter, and Nicholas Jose, "Charles Perkins," in Macquarie Pen Anthology of Aboriginal Literature ed. Anita Heiss, Peter Minter, and Nicholas Jose (Crows Nest, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 2008), p. 55. 29 The Art of Politics, The Politics of Art: the place of Indigenous contemporary art, ed. Fiona Foley (Brisbane: Keeaira Press, 2006). p. ix. 30 Tara Mallie, "Questioning 'Authentic' Aboriginal Architecture: an analysis of recent cultural centre designs" (master's thesis, University of Newcastle, 2009), p. iv. 31 Dillon Kombumerri, "Indigenous Architecture Painted Black by White Architects," in The Art of Politics, The Politics of Art: the place of indigenous contemporary art, ed. Fiona Foley (Brisbane: Keeaira Press, 2006), p. 78. 32 Merrima “roughly translates as ‘falling stars,’ in reference to a belief that deceased elders in the sky can return to help descendants in need.” Davina Jackson, "Merrima Mines the Riches of Australia's Aboriginal Heritage and Points to its Future," Architectural Record vol. 191, no. 12 (2003). 33 Mallie, "Questioning 'Authentic' Aboriginal Architecture: an analysis of recent cultural centre designs," p. iv. 10 of designing and constructing the building above that of the physical built outcome.34 According to architect Kevin O’Brien, “Merrima would more likely describe themselves as Regionalists acknowledging and incorporating critical cultural information (of an Aboriginal nature) rather than Aboriginal architects making Aboriginal architecture.”35 Such practitioners and academics are vital as they will be able to critically assess the merits (and failings) of this thesis, thus providing an important link between academia, the design disciplines and Australian Indigenous peoples. The establishment of a dialogue between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples in architecture and design will assist in avoiding the otherwise “constant monologue” and its reduction to generalisations and over simplifications. 36 The Merrima architects and designers, which include Dillon Kombumerri, Kevin O’Brien, Alison Page and Michael Mossman, have questioned the architectural representation of Australian Indigenous cultures. Representation of culture in built form as it appears across Australia, particularly in the form of cultural centres, has been considered in detail in the 2009 Master’s thesis of Tara Mallie entitled Questioning ‘Authentic’ Aboriginal Architecture: an analysis of recent cultural centre designs. Mallie’s thesis utilises an ‘Indigenous Research Methodology’ which provides a mechanism to reposition the power structures associated with the subject matter, and deliver it back into Indigenous control allowing for the reinterpretation of “Aboriginality in architecture” from an “Indigenous perspective.”37 Thus, this PhD research is taking place in the context of the increasing body of architectural work by Australian Indigenous architects and designers, as well as a supporting body of theoretical literature and critique.38

34 Kombumerri, "Indigenous Architecture Painted Black by White Architects," p. 73. 35 Kevin O'Brien, "Aboriginality and Architecture: built projects by Merrima and unbuilt projects on Mer" (master's thesis, University of Queensland, 2005), p. 25. 36 Mathilde Lochert, "Mediating Aboriginal Architecture," Transition, no. 54-55 (1997): p. 10. 37 Mallie, "Questioning 'Authentic' Aboriginal Architecture: an analysis of recent cultural centre designs," p. 8. 38 It should be mentioned that the emerging body of literature being produced by Australian Indigenous scholars and designers parallels a similar trend taking place across the Tasman Sea in New Zealand. This is well reflected by Deidre Brown’s research into Máori architecture that has culminated in the 2009 publication of Máori Architecture: from Fale to Wharenui and beyond. Despite the differences between Australia and New Zealand, culturally, politically and socially, and the very different responses to and impact of colonisation, there seem to be a number of parallels in regard to the long timeframe that existed before Máori buildings and Australian Indigenous buildings were rightfully acknowledged rather than viewed as ‘primitive shelters.’ 11 This research into south-east Australian Indigenous spatial ordering is also considered timely because it is taking place in relation to the emergence of the interior architecture discipline, both in its academic foundation and wider recognition. Interior architecture is a discipline which could be said to exist on the periphery of academia, neither outside nor inside. This is a position that is increasingly being readdressed. The use of the term ‘interior architecture’ first “emerged in the 1970s as the description of a discipline that employs architectural theory, history and principles in the design and creation of interior spaces.”39 In the 2007 text The Fundamentals of Interior Architecture the identity of interior architecture is further expanded and described as comprised of the following components: respectful of both the built envelope and greater context; making use of three-dimensional volumes; responds to the senses; utilises light; and integrates materiality and colour into the total design.40 Since the 1970s the nomenclature has slowly found acceptance and recognition. The discipline was described in 2006 as “a field in emergence.”41 Several edited volumes comprising chapters dedicated to key themes in interior design42 have been published.43 It is telling that a majority of the contributors to these volumes do not specialise in the field of interiors but have adopted relevant material for the discipline. Internationally, there exist only three established academic journals focused on interiors; the Interior Design/Interior Architecture Educators Association (IDEA) Journal; the Journal of Interior Design; and Interiors: design, architecture, culture.44 This highlights the lack of academic literature dedicated to the discipline in comparison to some of the more established academic fields. In terms of literature related to the study of the interior (in the specific sense of the term interior meaning inside a building) Charles Rice proposes that the available literature can typically be classified in the following ways; “comprehensive histories of the interior and its decoration, histories of private life in relation to societal and class structure, focused studies of domestic life in

39 John Coles and Naomi House, The Fundamentals of Interior Architecture (Lausanne: AVA Academia, 2007). p. 9. 40 Ibid. 41 Joanne Cys, "[un]disciplined," Interior Design/Interior Architecture Educators Association (IDEA) Journal (2006): p. 21. 42 The distinction between interior architecture and interior design continues to be debated, as will be discussed, and so these interior design texts have therefore been included for mention here. 43 See Mark Taylor and Julieanna Preston, Intimus: interior design theory reader (Chichester: Wiley- Academy, 2006). And, Lois Weinthal, ed. Towards a New Interior: an anthology of interior design theory (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2011). 44 This was the case in 2013. 12 relation to periodisations of architectural style, and critical-historical studies engaging with and critiquing the very conceptualisation of privacy and domesticity.”45 Arguably, many of the sources of information related to these categories are particularly bound to interior decoration, which is of course distinct from, although has a relationship with, both interior architecture and design. With few dedicated theoretical texts, and without a long theoretical lineage or what might be called a canon of knowledge for interior architecture, it is perhaps unsurprising that interiority and Indigenous spatial ordering have, until recently, failed to be a subject of focus.

In addition, this research with its focus on spatial ordering is taking place within an increasing body of literature being developed in relation to the development of the interior design profession in Australia. Research has been undertaken to chart such things as the role of women in establishing the profession, biographies of key protagonists such as Phyillis Shillito46 (1895-1980), Thea Proctor47 (1879-1966), Marion Hall Best48 (1905- 1988), and the professionalisation of the discipline. Many of the biographical studies are Master’s theses, whilst the PhD theses49 chart broader influences on the discipline’s historical development and predicted trajectory of its future path. Generally the historic relationship of Indigenous Australia with interior design sits somewhat uneasily, particularly in relation to the appropriation of Indigenous art and motifs within design, a practice that had little regard for social and cultural significance. For example, the English-born design educator Phyllis Shillito, who taught at the East Sydney Technical College from 1935 until 1960, in keeping with pedagogic techniques of the time, made little attempt to consider the cultural significance of the artefacts and images she appropriated. As explained in a PhD thesis by Carol A. Morrow, “Even in using Aboriginal motifs, Shillito directed the study to underlying elements and principles of form, colour, pattern, contrast, and repetition, without critical interest in Indigenous

45 Charles Rice, "The Doubleness of the Interior: inhabitation and bourgeois domesticity" (PhD thesis, University of New South Wales, 2003), p. 21. 46 Christopher John Kent, "Phyllis Shillito (1895-1980), A Review" (master's thesis, University of Technology, 1995). 47 Avenal Mitchell, "Thea Proctor (1879-1966): aspects of elitism 1921 to 1940" (master's thesis, University of Sydney, 1980). and Helen Morgan, "Thea Proctor, Her Career Before 1921 and the Question of Her Aesthetic Reputation" (master's thesis, University of Melbourne, 1994). 48 Michaela Richards, "Making the Modern Interior: Marion Hall Best and Australian Interior Design 1945-1965" (master's thesis, Australian National University, 1993). 49 See for instance Rice, "The Doubleness of the Interior: inhabitation and bourgeois domesticity." 13 values, beliefs or social predicament.”50 Unlike past approaches, this thesis aims to engage with Australian Indigenous cultures in a more positive manner, by taking heed of knowledge now understood in a postcolonial era.

This research into spatial ordering is positioned in relation to the interior architecture discipline, rather than the better-known fields of interior design or interior decoration. As such, this PhD research is taking place in the context of the search by interior architecture for a distinct identity from these other two disciplines. This research could also be considered timely in this regard. The apparent interchangeability of the terms interior design and interior architecture has provided an ongoing point of debate within the discipline and will perhaps one day form the focus of a dedicated PhD study. Some protagonists in the field firmly believe that the terms cannot be used interchangeably and that their meaning differs significantly.51 According to interior theorist Suzie Atwill, temporality and permanence are key ideas through which it is possible to understand interior design and interior architecture respectively. 52 Interior architecture and its difference to interior design has been articulated as “a legislated title, to describe the activity of Registered Architects, a discipline concerned only with built enclosure and not as the illegal form that is increasingly being adopted by various fields to describe deliberate creation.”53 Instead of interior architecture being associated with the regulation and restriction of the architectural profession, it is perhaps its desire to be identified with an established professional body that best characterises interior architecture. Visually this idea can be represented by the shingle (or the more interior-oriented cartouche) that provides the ability to identify oneself as a member of a professionally registered group, recognised within the strictures of legislation, as the restrictions on the use of the title ‘Architect’ reveals. Identification or the desire by interior architects to be identified with the architectural profession, is perhaps in response to the lack of regulation and disciplinary history which consequently affects the perceived acceptance of interior design as a specialised discipline requiring professional training.

50 Carol A. Morrow, "Women and Modernity in Interior Design : a legacy of design in Sydney, Australia from the 1920s to the 1960s" (PhD thesis, University of New South Wales, 2005), p. 368. 51 Suzie Attiwill, "Towards an Interior History," Interior Design/Interior Architecture Educators Association (IDEA) Journal (2004): p. 3. 52 Ibid., p. 6. 53 Cys, "[un]disciplined," p. 19. 14

Yet it is the practice and education of interior decorators that differ substantially from either interior design or interior architecture.54 Australian contemporary theorist and previously a senior lecturer in the interior architecture discipline, Thomas Loveday explains that “interior designers have tended, like architects, to determine three- dimensional space using geometry” for which one motive is to “distance itself [the discipline] from decoration.”55 The tradition of projective geometry therefore presents the key parallel in the practice of interior designers and interior architects. Loveday explains that interior decorators are primarily concerned with “selection and purchase, according to assemblies of taste.” 56 On the other hand, “interior designers determine three- dimensional space using geometry by manipulating representations of material substances or ‘building work.’”57 In contrast, the use of material boards is a design tool which presents a commonality between both interior decoration and interior architecture.58 However, it is the foundation of interior design in abstract geometry from which “a distance is implied between interior design and interior decoration” and which at the same time reveals the similarities in practice between interior design and interior architecture.59 In addition, interior architects, interior designers and architects are all called upon to understand the orders of space which has links with geometry.

A number of interior design and interior architecture programs in Australia are increasingly developing Indigenous-based projects or encouraging students to utilise Indigenous precedents in the early stages of their work. The lack of information and awareness of “the meaning and application of culture and place in the built environment” particularly in relation to Australian Indigenous cultures is gradually

54 Additionally, differing “scale of the intervention” has also been proposed as differentiating interior architecture, interior design and interior decoration. Ro Spankie, Drawing Out the Interior, Basics of Interior Architecture 03 (Lausanne: AVA Publishing, 2009). p. 011. 55 Thomas Loveday, "Design, the Decoration of Culture?," Interior Design/Interior Architecture Educators Association (IDEA) Journal (2003): p. 71. 56 Ibid., p. 74. 57 Ibid. 58 Ibid. 59 Ibid. 15 being remedied. 60 For example, methods of “cross-cultural connectedness and communication” have been employed for engaging students and providing them with the means to develop sensitive design responses in a fourteen week Furniture Studio held at Curtin University.61 The project began “with a careful study of an element of material culture,” and culminated with the design and creation of a 1:1 prototype of an item of furniture.62 The development of such projects as components within design studios is undoubtedly a valuable step towards nurturing cultural sensitivity in the work of students and therefore future design professionals.

In summary, the broader context of this research encompasses typology research into Australian Indigenous buildings; the continuing question of Aboriginal housing; increased numbers of Indigenous graduates from tertiary architecture and design degrees; the evolving identity of interior architecture as a professional and academic discipline; the increasing literature dedicated to the development of interior disciplines in Australia; and the development of design studio projects with an Indigenous focus.

Criteria for Success of the Project To focus the aims and objectives of the thesis a number of criteria for success of the project have been developed as expressed in the following five succinct statements:

(a) The thesis contributes to the understanding and appreciation of Australian Indigenous cultural expression in the form of buildings, and assists in providing a small bridge towards conciliation;63

(b) The thesis contributes a significant new idea to the discipline of interior architecture in the rethinking of the inside/outside spatial ordering model and consequently enhances its connection with other disciplines;

60 Marina Lommerse, "Raising Understanding of Indigenous Australian Culture through Creative Production in Interior Architecture," Interior Design/Interior Architecture Educators Association (IDEA) Journal (2003): p. 57. 61 Ibid. 62 Ibid., p. 60. 63 Richard Bell, "Bell's Theorem: Aboriginal art- it's a white thing," (2003), www.kooriweb.org/foley/great/art/bell.html. The term conciliation is used in reference to Richard Bell’s article Bell’s Theorem: Aboriginal art- it’s a white thing. He highlights the point that the reconciliation process indicates that ‘conciliation’ took place at some “prior date. It never happened.” 16

(c) The discussion of spatial ordering has the ability to inform analysis of non-western European building traditions beyond the context described here;

(d) The undertaking of the research extends the existing knowledge base of Australian Indigenous building and interiority; (e) The thesis acts as a springboard for further study of the subject of spatial ordering and interiority and encourages future research students to add to this research.

Chapter Summaries – overview, significance and boundaries of chapters The overall thesis is considered original in its focus on Australian Indigenous spatial ordering and interiority, a topic that has been inadequately addressed within the disciplines of interior architecture or architecture. Importantly the research is not positioned in relation to a social policy driven investigation of ‘building for housing’ or the discipline of anthropology. Instead, the thesis questions the cultural image of space and the role that building plays as part of that image. Thus, the research begins a new trajectory in relation to Australian Indigenous buildings and thereby fills a gap in the existing body of knowledge. Yet by ‘filling the gap,’ the thesis does not intend to provide a definitive explanation or metanarrative of how Australian Indigenous spatial ordering and interiority can be defined. The ambition is that this thesis is dialogic in nature rather than an imperialistic64 monologue. The dialogic and pluralistic quality is achieved through the careful selection of examples in the thesis in order to demonstrate that spatial ordering cannot be considered in a singular way. For instance, the discussion of both the sky-dome (Chapter 4) and Ring Trees (Chapter 8) demonstrate different approaches to spatial ordering operating at different scales.65 The significance of each individual chapter is described in further detail below.

64 Edward W. Said, Culture and Imperialism (London: Vintage, 1994). p. 8. Edward W. Said defines imperialism as the “practice, the theory, and the attitudes of a dominating metropolitan center ruling a distant territory…” 65 In terms of the sky-dome discussion contained in Chapter 4, specific language groups who were documented as ascribing to this belief are described in the chapter. Every effort has been made to demonstrate the complexity and variation of this cosmology to avoid a metanarrative. Variations in terms of how the sky-dome was understood are also described in the chapter. In this way the thesis does not seek a single answer to the question of spatial ordering but rather seeks to show the complexity and variation of this idea. 17 The thesis is divided into an introduction chapter (Chapter 1), methodology chapter (Chapter 2), six core body chapters (Chapters 3-8) and a conclusion chapter (Chapter 9). Each chapter is further divided by the use of sub-headings. An overview is provided below.

Chapter 1 - Introduction This introduction chapter has outlined the research question and the hypothesis. This chapter has also provided the broader context within which this research is taking place. Essentially this chapter outlines the need for this research and the reasons why it has been carried out.

Chapter 2 - Methodology The methodology chapter outlines how the research has been carried out. This chapter describes the research framework, research methodology and research methods. In addition, this chapter details the boundaries of the research and defines the terminology that has been adopted. Within this chapter, the cross-disciplinary nature of the research and cultural sensitivities are also described.

Chapter 3 – Interiority and the Orders of Space Chapter 3 provides a framework for the thesis in its consideration of the research question ‘How does south-east Australian Indigenous spatial ordering differ from the western European concept of spatial ordering?’ This chapter considers several classical spatial ordering models, one of which applies to buildings (Loveday’s ‘Orders of Space’) and another model which relates to landscape (Hunt’s ‘Three Natures’). This chapter seeks to demonstrate that the order of space expressed by buildings is a western European model. Thus these two models are provided to demonstrate the lineage from which Australian Indigenous space has been perceived. This chapter utilises textual analysis in its method.

This chapter is significant for the thesis because it demonstrates how Australian Indigenous buildings have been perceived due to these spatial models. It is also considered significant in that it reveals that the orders of space expressed by buildings belong to a western European architectural ontological view of the world.

18 This chapter does not seek to provide a detailed overview of the concept of space and how it has been variously explored across disciplines. Although this may be perceived as a limitation, the discussion of space contained in the chapter focuses specifically on ways space has been engaged with from within interior architecture. As such, literature pertinent to the field of interior architecture has been relied upon to provide a foundation for the discussion of space contained in the chapter. Another boundary of the chapter relates to the discussion of third space. This concept originates from cultural theory and has been reframed in Loveday’s theory according to its usefulness within interior architecture and architecture. As such, this part of the chapter does not seek to consider third space and its inherent power relations in its anterior usage within cultural theory.

Chapter 4 – The Informing of Spatial Ordering: the Sky-Dome Chapter 4 shows how cosmology and the spiritual knowledge of cultures provides the foundation to understand physical spatial ordering. This chapter provides the means to reconceptualise the role of buildings in expressing spatial ordering. Cosmological models predominately from cultures in south-east Australia are outlined in this chapter. The main cosmological model described in the chapter, the sky-dome, is argued to demonstrate interiority at a cosmic scale. This chapter utilises textual analysis, particularly of anthropological literature, in its method.

This chapter is significant because it provides a shifting of scale that demonstrates interiority at a cosmological level. This chapter is also considered significant because it provides an understanding of how Australian Indigenous buildings and their spatial ordering can be reconsidered in light of cosmological conceptions of the world.

This chapter predominately relates to south-east Australia, with the exception of a brief discussion of Tiwi cosmology. As such, the chapter does not attempt to provide coverage of all cosmological models across Indigenous Australia. Due to this defined focus it is acknowledged that different cosmological models may alter the expression of interiority that it proposed in this chapter.

Chapter 5 – Cultural Encounters and Misunderstandings Chapter 5 sets the scene for cultural encounters, in which forms of construction in one culture are misconstrued in another. This chapter draws upon accounts in the historic 19 literature to show how European navigators and colonists perceived palawa buildings. This chapter argues that palawa buildings did not present a spatial arrangement familiar to the European observers and thus the European accounts reflect the difficulty in coming to terms with this difference. This chapter utilises textual analysis in its method.

This chapter is significant because it provides a discussion of the classical period of Trouwunna (Tasmanian) Aboriginal buildings and their perception by European navigators and colonists. This chapter is also considered significant because it reveals that the critiques provided of palawa buildings partly judge the buildings in relation to their considered failure in spatial ordering.

This chapter does not examine all of the material documented by early European navigators and colonists in relation to palawa buildings. Instead, the chapter utilises a sample of accounts regarding palawa buildings. These accounts are presented in chronological order, so as to enable an overview of cultural encounters in Tasmania as they historically unfolded.

Chapter 6 – The Role of Buildings in Indigenous Spatial Organisation: classical palawa buildings Chapter 6 examines Indigenous building typologies or types, and the role that these types had in the expression of spatial differences and functions, using the example of palawa building types. This chapter also shows that palawa buildings included elements other than abstraction of space, specifically the health effects of good design, which Europeans failed to recognise. The orders of space are described in relation to the specific examples of buildings provided, and it is shown when these spatial orders are expressed differently, revealing a shifting of the model. This chapter utilises textual analysis in its method.

This chapter is significant because it provides a detailed discussion of palawa building typologies. Architect and anthropologist Paul Memmott has provided an overview of the dome buildings produced in western Tasmania in Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia but notes that western Tasmania is a region that requires further “in-depth research.”66 This chapter provides material related to western

66 Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. XX. 20 Tasmania and Tasmania more broadly, and in this way is significant in its presentation of material related to palawa buildings.

This chapter does not endeavour to present all material related to palawa buildings, but instead provides an overview of key building typologies and their role in spatial ordering. It should be noted that the available source material is framed through the eyes of European navigators and colonialists, as there is little material available from the perspective of the palawa peoples.

Chapter 7 – Resisting western European Spatial Ordering: the buildings of Wybalenna Chapter 7 describes an ineffective application of European culture upon Indigenous cultures. The discussion contained in Chapter 7 is geographically and historically connected to the earlier discussions contained in Chapters 5 and 6. This chapter shows what happened when western European spatial ordering was imposed on the palawa peoples at Wybalenna, and the resistance that was expressed in relation to the imposition of this spatial ordering. This chapter utilises textual analysis in its method.

This chapter is significant because it presents material related to the site of Wybalenna and frames it in a new way. While the settlement of Wybalenna has been analysed by both historians and archaeologists, it has not been assessed from within the fields of interior architecture or architecture. This chapter presents such an analysis and framing of material for the first time.

This chapter does not recount the complete history of Wybalenna. Instead the discussion is confined to a more narrow history of the site in relation to the buildings provided for the palawa residents and the inhabitation of these buildings.

Chapter 8 – A Non-Architectural Spatial Organisation Method: Ring Trees in Wadi Wadi Country Chapter 8 provides a case study of an Indigenous spatial organising principle illustrated by Ring Trees. Ring Trees support the central hypothesis of the thesis that spatial divisions in Indigenous Australia are not ordered according to those of western Europeans. Ring Trees, located in the Swan Hill region of Victoria, provide a means of engaging with notions of interiority and exploring Indigenous spatial ordering beyond 21 buildings. This chapter seeks to demonstrate that Australian Indigenous spatial ordering has a very different and to some extent far broader meaning than a colonial interior, and operates at a different scale. This chapter utilises a ‘dialogic collaboration-type’ method and a site visit.

This chapter is significant because it presents important new material related to Ring Trees. Until now there has been a scarcity of published documentation regarding Ring Trees, and as a result the cultural significance of Ring Trees is not widely known and understood.

In this chapter Ring Trees are only considered in relation to Wadi Wadi Country. Ring Trees that may exist elsewhere fall outside the parameters of this chapter.

Chapter 9 - Conclusion The body of the thesis concludes with a chapter presenting a summary of each chapter and a concluding discussion of the hypothesis and research findings.

Appendix – The Re-inscription of Spatial Ordering An appendix is included at the end of the thesis. The appendix describes the mechanisms for how Indigenous spatial ordering was misunderstood and replaced. This narrative is presented in an appendix as it is considered a supplementary narrative to the main discussion contained in the body of the thesis. The discussion in the appendix considers the re-inscription of Australian Indigenous spatial ordering, occurring as a result of the reframing of buildings and artefacts through western European representations. A discussion is provided of three arches constructed in 1901, 1920 and 1954 to mark royal visits to Australia.

The appendix is significant because it presents primary source material. At the time of writing this thesis and to the author’s knowledge, this material has not been previously considered in a manner linking these three architectural constructs.

The discussion in the appendix is restricted to the 1901, 1920 and 1954 triumphal arches. The selection of the arches is not based on their geographic comparability but rather their expression of the one design tradition – ‘the triumphal arch’ – its incorporation of 22 Australian Indigenous subject matter and how this has changed over time. The various construction dates thus enable a discussion of changing representation over a period of time. Minimal archival material has been able to be sourced in relation to the 1920 arch, thereby providing a restriction in terms of the level of detail that has been able to be provided about this arch.

23 CHAPTER 2 METHODOLOGY

Introduction The previous chapter outlined the research question, hypothesis, and provided the broader context within which this research is taking place – in other words, the why for the research. This chapter will now outline how the research has been carried out. Firstly in this chapter the research framework will be described, followed by the research methodology and research methods. Next, the sources of empirical material will be outlined, followed by a discussion of the boundaries of the research material considered within the thesis. The use of terminology and key terms adopted in the thesis will then be explained and following this a discussion of research sensitivities outlined. The chapter will conclude with a discussion of reflexivity and knowledge production and how this has been considered within the context of this thesis.

Research Framework The overall research framework (or, as it could be alternatively called, the “system of inquiry”) 1 is a ‘spatial approach.’ The spatial approach allows this research to be positioned in relation to research carried out in the field of vernacular studies. A spatial approach is one of a number of approaches that may be used in the study of vernacular architecture, as described by Paul Oliver in Encyclopedia of Vernacular Architecture of the World: it is both “interdisciplinary and…conceptual.”2 Oliver explains that the various approaches presented in the Encyclopedia of Vernacular Architecture of the World can be classified into three broad categories:

The first is disciplinary and is supported by a body of knowledge, such as an archaeological approach. The second may be interdisciplinary and is conceptual, for instance a spatial approach, while the third is methodological as is the case with recording and documentation.3

1 Linda Groat, "The Scope of this Book," in Architectural Research Methods, ed. Linda Groat and David Wang (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 2002), p. 11. 2 Paul Oliver, "Approaches and Concepts," in Encyclopedia of Vernacular Architecture of the World, ed. Paul Oliver (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 1. 3 Ibid.

The spatial approach adopted here specifically focuses on the relationship between interior and exterior, termed in this thesis as ‘spatial ordering.’

Research Methodology “‘A research methodology is a theory and analysis of how research does or should proceed…’” 4 Linda Tuhiwai Smith in Decolonizing Methodologies: research and Indigenous peoples says that “Methodology is important because it frames the questions being asked, determines the set of instruments and methods to be employed and shapes the analyses.”5

In order to unpack the hypothesis stated in the Introduction, that south-east Australian Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority; in addition, it is also hypothesised that colonising western Europeans failed to understand this occupation and as a result, sought to impose western European spatial ordering in its place, I have undertaken what is referred to as interpretive-historical research. David Wang defines an interpretive-historical research method, in the text Architectural Research Methods, as “investigations into social-physical phenomena within complex contexts, with a view toward explaining those phenomena in narrative form and in a holistic fashion.”6 The reason for adopting an interpretive-historical methodology is because it provides the capacity to engage with historical literature and events, whilst positioning these in relation to theoretical concepts. This methodology enables themes and ideas to be charted in a holistic manner across a timescale. An interpretive-historical research methodology is also appropriate in light of the fact that the thesis is not applied research, but rather seeks to contribute to the discourse of interior architecture and Australian Indigenous buildings and spaces. To do this successfully, both interpretation and historical research is required. Interpretive-historical research is also well established as a methodology used by those writing within, or contributing to dialogue surrounding, the interior architecture

4 Sandra Harding cited in Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: research and Indigenous peoples (London: Zed Books, 1999). p. 143. 5 Ibid. 6 David Wang, "Interpretive-Historical Research," in Architectural Research Methods, ed. Linda Groat and David Wang (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 2002), p. 136.

25 discipline. This is illustrated for instance in research by Charles Rice7 (described in more detail later in the chapter), Anthony Vidler,8 and Mark Taylor and Julieanna Preston9, whose particular referenced work also holds some thematic alignments with this thesis.

It should be noted however that not all of the material presented in this thesis provides a historical perspective, although material is presented, broadly speaking, in a logical, chronological sequence pertaining to pre- and post-colonisation periods.10 Chapter 8 utilises contemporary empirical material thereby shifting the distance of the researcher closer to the material. As such, not all of the “phenomenon [described in this thesis] is a past condition, relative to the researcher.”11 As a long time scale has been used from which material is drawn, it was considered appropriate in the research design to consider contemporary examples. Chapter 8 assists in demonstrating that ideas regarding spatial ordering have current implications. It should also be noted that the thesis does not purport to present a historical coverage in the sense of covering all material related to the research question and, as such, omissions will exist in the text.

Design historian Penny Sparke’s The Modern Interior is an example of research that implements an interpretive-historical type research approach. Sparke seeks to “position the modern interior at the centre of the construction of the modern ‘self’, or ‘subject.’”12 Sparke divides her discussion of the modern interior into two parts, with a number of thematically titled chapters linking the discussion of the changing interior to broader social changes; for instance, Chapter 1 The Private Interior, Chapter 3 The Mass- consumed Interior and Chapter 8 The Mass-produced Interior. Sparke says that the chapters in the text aim to “expose the tensions, the ambiguities, the contradictions and the paradoxes that defined the relationship between the private and public spheres in the

7 Charles Rice, "The Doubleness of the Interior: inhabitation and bourgeois domesticity" (PhD thesis, University of New South Wales, 2003). 8 Anthony Vidler, "Outside In/Inside Out: a short history of (modern) interiority," in After Taste: expanded practice in interior design, ed. Kent Kleinman, Joanna Merwood-Sailsbury, and Lois Weinthal (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2012). 9 Mark Taylor and Julieanna Preston, "Interior Bowers: the dormant wilderness of nineteenth-century boudoirs," Interior Design/Interior Architecture Educators Association (IDEA) Journal (2005). 10 Wang has explained that the “historical narrative cannot violate the sequence of that flow, or the coherent interconnectedness of its contents”. Wang, "Interpretive-Historical Research," p. 138. 11 Ibid., p. 136. 12 Penny Sparke, The Modern Interior (London: Reaktion Books, 2008). p. 13.

26 period in question.”13 At the end of the text Sparke briefly departs from the historical focus to include a discussion of contemporary work contained within the conclusion chapter. Sparke mentions a range of precedents to illustrate her discussion of “Modernism’s legacy” in “the early twenty-first century.”14 As previously mentioned, a departure from historical material also occurs in this thesis in Chapter 8. Whilst, Sparke discusses the contemporary implications more generally within the conclusion chapter, in this thesis the contemporary departure takes the form of a dedicated case study.

Another example of research that could be considered to apply an interpretive-historical methodology is Charles Rice’s The Emergence of the Interior: architecture, modernity, domesticity. Rice provides a “critique of conventional ways in which the interior has been considered historically” and provides “detailed readings of historically and theoretically significant texts, buildings and images, which act as case studies.”15 The use of material referred to in Rice’s text is diverse, both in terms of time and place. Similarly, a diversity of literature and range of ideas appear in this thesis because of the cross-disciplinary nature of the discipline, as well as the research question.

Charles Rice’s PhD, titled The Doubleness of the Interior: inhabitation and bourgeois domesticity, also provides a useful springboard for the research methodology16 adopted here. Rice, who has been described as “arguably Australia’s most published and respected academic in the field of interiors”, states in his PhD thesis that:17

my motivations are related to the interior as an object of academic research…and as such, they are directed towards how historical and theoretical research on the interior might be re-conceptualised in order to escape conventional thinking that posits the interior and its inhabitation as universal and essential.18

13 Ibid., p. 10. 14 Ibid., p. 206. 15 Charles Rice, The Emergence of the Interior: architecture, modernity, domesticity (London: Routledge, 2007). p. 5. 16 The method utilised by Rice (as opposed to the methodology) allows for a “problematising” of what has previously been a “simple, timeless account of the interior.” Rice uses the approach of problematising which “follows that set out by Michel Foucault”. ———, "The Doubleness of the Interior: inhabitation and bourgeois domesticity," p. 19. 17 Joanne Cys, "[un]disciplined," Interior Design/Interior Architecture Educators Association (IDEA) Journal (2006): p. 25. 18 Rice, "The Doubleness of the Interior: inhabitation and bourgeois domesticity," p. 56. 27

In a similar manner, this thesis utilises historical and theoretical research in order to rethink the preconceptions of spatial ordering. As previously stated, the thesis also seeks to avoid a universal account by adopting a pluralist account. The selection of material presented provides, as Rice describes in his own PhD, “one historical-theoretical

19 ‘picture’”, however it is acknowledged that this is not the only picture possible.

As stated above, Chapter 8 of this thesis departs from the interpretive-historical research methodology and utilises what can be described as a broadly ethnographic-type methodology. In some respects, it is possible to describe oneself as operating as both a qualitative researcher and architectural historian within the context of this research. The reason for adopting a broadly qualitative ethnographic methodology in Chapter 8 is because it provides the capacity to bridge cultural difference between the researcher, being myself, and the cultures that inform the research study. Linda Groat explains that “qualitative researchers are more likely to be concerned with data collection involving people; historians typically rely on documents and other material artifacts.”20 Although ethnographic research typically involves “immersion of the researcher in a particular cultural context and on the attempt to ascertain how those living in that context interpret their situation”, this has not been the case here.21 In the context of this research, buildings and spatial ordering are the primary focus, not people. As such, the ethnographic methodological approach does not use “participant observation” in the traditional sense, but instead seeks to understand cultural expressions in a dialogical way (see under Methods heading for a further discussion of the use of this method).22 In other words, it relies upon the knowledge of people to better understand cultural expressions, not to better understand people themselves.

As previously described, the methodologies and their application within this thesis have been adapted to best suit the project at hand and the disciplinary concerns of interior architecture. In this way, what could be termed a ‘methodological space’, which mixes approaches and methods, has been sought, hence the use of several methods within the

19 Ibid. 20 Groat, "Qualitative Research," p. 180. 21 Ibid., p. 182. 22 Ibid., pp. 183-84.

28 thesis. Both the discipline from which it stems and the adopted methodologies result in the thesis being cross-disciplinary in nature, which is an important aspect of this methodological space. Julieanna Preston defines cross-disciplinary research as “one discipline using the knowledge set of another, i.e., importation across discipline boundaries.”23 As a discipline interior architecture itself is cross-disciplinary. The thesis utilises literature from not only interior architecture but architecture to which it is closely aligned, anthropology, Aboriginal studies, cultural theory, post-colonial studies, landscape theory and art theory. The reoccurring themes, useful to interior architecture, that run through these various streams of literature can be classified in two primary ways. Firstly, the literature demonstrates the importance of engaging with cultural difference. Secondly, much of the literature provides discussion of Australian Indigenous buildings and environments, whether as the principal focus of the text or incidentally in relation to the discussion. Although literature has been used from different disciplines, the literature has been used in such a way as to be ‘useful’ for interior architecture. This may mean that at times application of concepts from the literature utilised may differ from that of the original discipline – like a camera obscura making use of the exterior for an interior context.24

In terms of situating the thesis in relation to the use of colonial historical records, this thesis is positioned in relation to architectural research which utilises colonial records for the purposes of understanding buildings. An example of architectural literature that does this is Paul Memmott’s Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia. Memmott reminds researchers and readers “In interpreting the variety of source materials on Aboriginal ethno-architecture, one must maintain a critical awareness of the intentions and interests of the ethnographic recorder.”25 Memmott explains that in regions such as the east coast of Australia and Tasmania, “a visual understanding of ethno- architecture has been largely dependent on artists’ renditions.”26 This is because “acute

23 Julieanna Preston, "A Fossick for Interior Design Pedagogies," in After Taste: expanded practice in interior design, ed. Kent Kleinman, Joanna Merwood-Sailsbury, and Lois Weinthal (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2012), p. 105. 24 See the artwork of Abelardo Morell. Diana Gaston, "The Secrets of Rooms," in Towards a New Interior: an anthology of interior design theory, ed. Lois Weinthal (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2011). 25 Paul Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia (St. Lucia, Qld: University of Queensland Press, 2007). p. 313. 26 Ibid.

29 cultural change resulted in the cessation of the classical ethno-architectural practice by the time photography was introduced”.27 Memmott reflects on the difficulties of utilising artistic representations of buildings, noting that:

One of the methodological difficulties in evaluating these artistic works is determining whether a particular published image is either (a) an in-situ rendition by an expedition artist, (b) a rendition by a publisher’s artist from a sketch by an expedition artist, or (c) a rendition by a publisher’s artist of a written journal description by an explorer; each option bears a differing degree of reliability and accuracy.28

Written accounts provide us with a limited amount of information about buildings. There is much that cannot be transmitted via a written account. It is therefore inevitable that artistic images, such as those type described by Memmott, are utilised within the thesis (where these visual recordings are available). As such, it has been necessary to consider the intended purpose of each image and closeness of the recorder to the event. The three types of images described by Memmott (a; b; and c) are referred to as necessary in the thesis. For an architecturally focused thesis, consideration of the image in this way is a necessity.

In the use of colonial historical research records, an appropriate critical approach to the use of the empirical material needs to be adopted. A case in point is the use of paintings by landscape artist John Glover. Ian Mclean issues a warning to be “careful to distinguish our own motives from those of Glover and his time. Glover’s interest in the indigenous inhabitants is that of an Englishman nurtured by eighteenth-century Enlightenment ideals, not that of a modern Australian trying to understand his heritage and the history of his country.”29 In interpreting the buildings depicted by Glover, it is important to be aware of his motives, his possible interactions and ability to have witnessed the scenes in question. Glover’s paintings provide a mix of both palawa and Australian Indigenous mainland

27 Ibid. 28 Ibid., p. 362. 29 Ian McLean, "Figuring Nature: painting the Indigenous landscape," in John Glover and the Colonial Picturesque, ed. David Hansen (Hobart: Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery and Art Exhibitions Australia, 2003), p. 122.

30 cultural practices and presumably by extension building types.30 Tim Bonyhady suggests that “Glover was probably unaware of many of the differences in material culture between the mainland and Tasmanian Aborigines.”31 Furthering this, Jeanette Hoorn has highlighted that in Glover’s Last Muster of the Tasmanian Aborigines at Risdon 1836 the buildings shown in the painting “were not known in the south-east and have been described by Brian Plomley as a ‘northern form.’”32 Glover’s artistic renditions thus provide an example of the need to correlate and check empirical material.

Research Methods Linda Tuhiwai Smith explains that methods are “the means and procedures through which the central problems of the research are addressed.”33 Smith cites the work of Sandra Harding, who further defines a research method as “‘a technique for (or a way of proceeding in) gathering evidence.’”34 A variety of methods have been adopted to gather empirical material relevant to the thesis hypothesis. Methods used in each chapter, reasons for their selection and important decisions in the research design will be described below.

The design of the research process for this thesis is best described as “emergent”, to use the term adopted by Trena Paulus, Marianne Woodside, and Mary Ziegler in their article Extending the Conversation: Qualitative Research as Dialogic Collaborative Process.35 The notion of adhering to a plan “reflects the notion that research is a linear process.”36 While distinct phases in the research process are clear (information collection, analysis, writing), much like the design process itself, the research process is not linear, or at least not in this case. As the response to the research question unfolded, decisions were made,

30 John Batman had “at least ten ‘Sydney natives’ (as they were called) and several Tasmanian Aborigines” living with him in Mills’ Plains. About half a dozen ‘Sydney natives’ and probably some Tasmanians were living with him [Batman] in 1832, when Glover first got to know him.” Ibid., p. 125. 31 Tim Bonyhady, Images in Opposition: Australian landscape painting 1801-1890 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). p. 33. 32 Jeanette Hoorn, Australian Pastoral: the making of a white landscape (Fremantle: Fremantle Press, 2007). p. 86. 33 Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: research and Indigenous peoples: p. 143. 34 Sandra Harding cited in ibid. 35 Trena Paulus, Marianne Woodside, and Mary Ziegler, "Extending the Conversation: qualitative research as dialogic collaborative process," The Qualitative Report Vol. 13, no. 2 (June 2008): p. 232. 36 Ibid.

31 as required, to determine how best to continue the process.

In Chapter 3 what is being termed here as ‘textual analysis’ of theoretical sources has been undertaken. In relation to architectural historiographical methods (and by extension theoretical methods), Demetri Porphyrios explained in 1981 “architectural history has always had tools of analysis, yet, by avoiding the systematic discussion of these tools, it has blurred its epistemological foundations.”37 Although these ‘tools’ are sometimes not made visible within the context of architectural historical writing, there are a number of key methods which have informed the writing of architectural history, or what is being termed in this thesis more broadly as interpretive-historical research. Some specific interpretive and writing methods include: biography,38 polemic, operative criticism,39 the “Hegelian model”,40 “narrating the social experience of the inhabitants of buildings”41 and “the relationship of architecture and society…as one of production”.42 None of these methods provided an appropriate model within the context of this thesis. As previously noted, this thesis considers what is a previously untold story related to spatial ordering. Architectural historian Dana Arnold, in Reading Architectural History, has explained that a historian may “have a thesis or method which drives his/her enquiry”.43 As such, the thesis hypothesis itself has formed the method through which material has been tested and interpreted, rather than imposing an additional method or lens through which to filter the material. As such, the method of textual analysis, implying an analysis of documentary

37 Demetri Porphyrios (ed.) "Introduction," Architectural Design - 'On the Methodology of Architectural History' special issue 51, no. 6-7 (1981): p. 2. 38 Dana Arnold has highlighted that the “biographical canon of architectural history” acts to privilege “named-author buildings” above those whose architect or designer is unknown. Arnold says “Assignment of an architect changes the perceived status or value of the building”. Dana Arnold, "Chapter 2 The Authority of the Author: biography and the reconstruction of the canon," in Reading Architectural History, ed. Dana Arnold (London: Routledge, 2002), p. 37. 39 For a further discussion of operative criticism see Zeynep Ceylanli, "Sigfried Giedion's 'Space, Time and Architecture': an analysis of modern architectural historiography" (master's thesis, Middle East Technical University, 2008). 40 For a further discussion of the Hegelian model see Demetri Porphyrios (ed.) "Notes on a Method," Architectural Design - 'On the Methodology of Architectural History' special issue 51, no. 6-7 (1981): p. 99. 41 Arnold, "Chapter 4 A Class Performance: social histories of architecture," p. 127. 42 For a further discussion of this model, termed by Porphyrios as the ‘problematic’, see Porphyrios (ed.) "Notes on a Method," p. 99. 43 Arnold, "Chapter 2 The Authority of the Author: biography and the reconstruction of the canon," p. 35.

32 source material in relation to the hypothesis, has been used. Chapter 3 provides a conceptual framework for the thesis.44

Chapter 4 has also utilised textual analysis. Much of the material relied upon in this chapter originates from anthropology, and is therefore outside the typical scope of the interior architecture discipline. Anthropology has been criticised as being “a product of colonialism” and “complicit with the colonial enterprise.”45 As anthropological literature has had to be engaged with over the course of the thesis, particularly in Chapter 4, the many issues engulfing the discipline have had to be grappled with. Issues such as binarism, construction of identity and the entangling of anthropology with colonialism are some of the aspects of anthropology that have had to be considered in the course of undertaking the research. As such, engaging with anthropological literature as part of the textual analysis method, presented challenges and required sensitive handling. Geoffrey Gray has asked, “How do Indigenous people capture their lives rather than having them captured both in the archive and in the knowledge produced by anthropologists?”46 Perhaps as a non-anthropologist, such a dilemma may be approached through the source material used and the recognition that a definitive cultural truth is not being revealed by the thesis, but rather that some ideas are being explored which are relevant in some places to some people. Indeed the research contributes to the construction of Aboriginality, which as explained by anthropologist and geographer Marcia Langton, “is made over and over again in a process of dialogue, of imagination, of representation and interpretation.”47 The research is therefore part of a larger continuing process of change and transformation, which is contributed to by Indigenous and non-Indigenous people alike.48 As such, the research does not seek to speak on behalf of people, or endeavour to construct identity or represent cultural expression in a static way, which anthropology is described as doing by artist Richard Bell (1953- ):

44 Loveday’s ‘orders of space’ framework was able to be discussed directly with the theorist, enabling clarification of interpretations being made in relation to the ‘orders of space’ framework used in this chapter. 45 Geoffrey G. Gray, A Cautious Silence: the politics of Australian anthropology (Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press, 2007). p. 1. 46 Ibid., p. 227. 47 Marcia Langton, cited in Mathilde Lochert, "Mediating Aboriginal Architecture," Transition, no. 54-55 (1997): p. 10. 48 Ibid.

33 Aboriginal cultures throughout the World have been infested by plagues of Anthropologists down the Ages. Never more so than during the last three decades here in Australia. We have been the most studied creatures on earth. They KNOW more about us than we know about ourselves. Should you ask an Aboriginal how they’re feeling, the most appropriate answer would be "Wait ‘til I ask my Anthropologist." They are stuck so far up our arses that they are on first name terms with sphincters, colons and any intestinal parasites. And behold, they DO speak for us.49

This approach could also be described as the “anthropological lens.”50 Theorist Thomas Loveday has provided a discussion of the need to avoid the anthropological lens in design and design studio teaching. He describes that the key feature of the anthropological lens “is that it claims absolute and universal truth and that to abandon it is to leap into madness.”51 In order to avoid the lens a reassessment of one’s own thinking and position is called for.52 Ultimately, this is what this thesis sets out to achieve through consideration of the entrenched European interior/exterior spatial model.

In developing Chapter 4, anthropologist Dianne Johnson’s text Night Skies of Aboriginal Australia: a noctuary provided an important starting point in terms of its literature base.53 A visit was undertaken to aid the development of this chapter to view a number of rock engraving sites in the Sydney-Hawkesbury region, particularly in the Ku-Ring-Gai Chase National Park, during 2008 and 2009. This visit was undertaken after reading the text A Field Guide to Aboriginal Rock Engravings: with special reference to those around Sydney, in particular to view the Man and Woman engraving.

49 Richard Bell, "Bell's Theorem: Aboriginal art- it's a white thing," (2003), www.kooriweb.org/foley/great/art/bell.html. 50 Thomas Loveday, "Cross-Cultural Design Studio Teaching: avoiding the anthropological lens," in ConnectED 2007 International Conference on Design and Education (Sydney2007). 51 Ibid., p. 2. 52 Ibid. 53 Dianne Johnson, anthropologist and author of Night Skies of Aboriginal Australia: a nocturary, was contacted over the phone to discuss the text, and the use of it in relation to my research hypothesis. Dr Johnson also kindly provided comment on a conference publication that stemmed from Chapter 4 and in this way provided mentorship of my research. Dr Johnson provided comment on: Jacqueline Power, “Australian Indigenous Interiority and Cosmology,” Traditional Dwellings and Settlements Working Paper Series, vol. 224 (2010): pp. 1-28.

34 Chapter 5, Chapter 6, and Chapter 7 have also utilised textual analysis, both of primary and secondary source material. These chapters focus on palawa buildings, as well as the building stock supplied at Wybalenna. It should be noted that the selection of examples discussed in the thesis is an important element of the research design. The Tasmanian case studies (Chapters 5 and Chapter 6) were selected because palawa buildings have received little representation in Memmott’s Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal architecture of Australia and are a building tradition requiring further research. 54 Wybalenna (Chapter 7) and its building stock has thus far not been considered from within the architecture or interior architecture discipline. The Wybalenna case study was also selected because the European building stock constructed to house the palawa peoples provides a counterpoint to the earlier discussion of classical palawa buildings (Chapter 5 and Chapter 6) enabling a more complete narrative to be told. The Tasmanian case studies in the thesis have also been selected for their potential to yield information, contribute to the overall hypothesis in responding to the research question and engage constructively with concerns related to notions of traditional/non-traditional culture.

In relation to the notion of traditional/non-traditional, the Tasmanian case studies (Chapter 5, Chapter 6 and Chapter 7), and also the Victorian Ring Tree case study (Chapter 8), seek to make a statement regarding “the dichotomy between ‘traditional’ and ‘non-traditional’” Australian Indigenous peoples and to engage constructively with this idea. 55 The thesis does not seek to validate a community as being more ‘real’ if ‘traditional’ practices are adhered to, or in accordance with geographical location and remoteness. Aboriginality is not defined on such terms. Artist Richard Bell has described this distribution and validation as “the supposed real Aborigines of the North and the supposed unreal or inauthentic Aboriginals of the South.”56 Anthropologist Geoffrey Gray calls this “a sort of North-South divide.”57 Although highly inappropriate, such concepts continue to hold some sway, and Gray has explained that in terms of south-east and south-west distribution across Australia “ideas about blood quantum and its conflation with culture disrupt…distinctions” in relation to remoteness. 58 Postcolonial theorist

54 Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. XX. 55 Gray, A Cautious Silence: the politics of Australian anthropology: p. 17. 56 Bell, "Bell's Theorem: Aboriginal art- it's a white thing". p. 3. 57 Gray, A Cautious Silence: the politics of Australian anthropology: p. 16. 58 Gray, A Cautious Silence: the politics of Australian anthropology: p. 17.

35 Edward W. Said (1935-2003) has highlighted, in relation to Orientalism, that the distinction created by such divisions has often been used “towards not especially admirable ends.”59 This is undoubtedly true in the Australian context, highlighted by the removal of Indigenous children of mixed descent from their families. This was a practice, supported by policies of assimilation, which dates from the 1937 Commonwealth-State Native Welfare Conference, and continued until the mid-1970s.60 Thus, research focusing on remote communities has not been carried out in recognition of these concerns therefore informing the selection of case studies.

The case study contained in Chapter 8 makes use of additional methods. Whilst some textual analysis and base literature has been used in the foundation of the chapter, what I am terming a ‘dialogic collaboration-type’ method has been primarily used in this chapter’s development. This method best aligns with ‘natural conversation’, which is described by Rachel Eni and Gladys Rowe in their article Natural Conversations as a Method of Coming to Know Indigenous Communities.61 Eni and Rowe explain that a value of this technique is that it positions the decision of whether or not to share knowledge in the hands of the knowledge holders themselves:

Rather than guiding the conversations in an area where the researcher wishes to gather more information (suspecting as well that the researcher has already formulated a worldview within a foreign interpretation of the order of the world, replete with theory, hypothesis and guiding research questions), natural conversations value the wisdom and knowledge of all participants to weave a story and share what is meant to be shared at each gathering (allowing for unfolding of an interpretation of the world that may be quite different from anything the researcher knows to be true and may in fact contradict the researcher’s understanding of the order of things in the world).62

59 Edward W. Said, Orientalism (London: Penguin Books, 2003). p. 45. First published 1978 by Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd. 60 "Bringing them Home: national inquiry into the separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families," (Sydney: Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, April 1997). 61 Although this article relates to a research project with “a Northern Manitoba First Nation” in Canada it was deemed to have transferability to an Australian context. Rachel Eni and Gladys Rowe, "Natural Conversations as a Method of Coming to Know Indigenous Communities," MAI Review, no. 3 (2010): p. 1. 62 Ibid., p. 2.

36 In this regard, the power balance of researcher-researched is transformed. A dialogic-type method or natural conversation, referenced as personal communication in the thesis, was also undertaken because the subject matter of Ring Trees is new within academic research and there are few published sources of information available (the currently available published sources of information will be outlined in Chapter 8). As such, contact was made with Wadi Wadi Elders, Doug Nicholls and Marilyne Nicholls, who generously shared their cultural knowledge of these significant trees. Communication was made in a number of ways including on the telephone, via letters and in face-to-face conversations during a site visit to a number of the Ring Trees. The discussions undertaken were carried out in an informal way and information was shared with me through conversation. The development of Chapter 8 is best described as a collaborative work between myself, Mr Doug Nicholls and Ms Marilyne Nicholls. Draft copies of the chapter were sent back and forth, discussion undertaken and edits made to the chapter based on our discussions. This ensured the paper covered appropriate issues and was written in a manner considered appropriate by the knowledge holders. This process was not formalised but was organic and collaborative in nature. Rather than positioning myself as the researcher gathering information, I would like to suggest that the chapter is the result of close collaboration and discussion between research partners.

Learning to listen and understanding when to speak is an important part of undertaking a dialogic method. It was important to step back from asking questions and simply listen carefully to the information offered in words, gesture and by inference. In the text Stars of Tagai: the Torres Strait Islanders, anthropologist Nonie Sharp explained the importance of listening and ‘yarning’ throughout the research process. As Sharp explains:

The thing is to ‘read’ the signs. It is the ‘other’ who can tell the ‘me,’ if the ‘me’ can just stay quiet and listen…Listening to yarning, yarning, yarning. Yarning is reflecting. And yarn too and listen; not just to the words…63

A site visit was also carried out during the research process for Chapter 8. Ring Trees in Wadi Wadi Country were visited in March 2010 over two consecutive days. This site visit was undertaken in the company of Marilyne Nicholls. Marilyne suggested the recording

63 Nonie Sharp, Stars of Tagai: the Torres Strait Islanders (Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press, 1993). p. 14.

37 of information onto a small hand held tape recorder, which enabled me to later review and further absorb the information. This provided the ability during the site visit to focus more fully on the experience of the Ring Trees and their setting. During the visit it was important to “tune into the land”, as Ms Nicholls describes the process of engagement with place.64 Reflecting on the experience, Ms Nicholls reminds me that there was not simply a physical aspect to the visit - of seeing, talking and learning - but a spiritual context and state of mind.65 Sources of Empirical Material66 This thesis is underpinned by a variety of both primary and secondary sources. In addition material has been sourced from across a variety of disciplines. The cross-disciplinary nature of interior architecture is such that it was deemed important to utilise literature not only within interior architecture, but from architecture, to which it is closely connected, anthropology,67 Aboriginal studies, post-colonial studies, landscape theory, and art theory.

In such instances where the opportunity to use primary sources has arisen, sources have included journals, letters, artists’ renderings and newspaper articles. In some instances published versions of primary sources have been used, such as the journals of George Augustus Robinson published under the title Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834, but wherever possible the original versions have also been viewed. In the relevant sections of the thesis where primary sources have been used, they are complemented by the use of secondary sources68 including writings by architectural theorists and historians, works of anthropology and historical accounts. Primary and secondary source material has been consulted in a variety of libraries and archives. As previously outlined, a dialogic-type method has been

64 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 65 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 66 According to Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln, “Empirical materials is the preferred term for what traditionally have been described as data.” The term ‘data’ also has scientific overtones, which does not seem appropriate within the context of this thesis. Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln, "Introduction: the discipline and practice of qualitative research," in Collecting and Interpreting Qualitative Materials, ed. Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln (Los Angeles: Sage Publications, 2008), p. 38, ft 19. 67 In relation to Australian Aboriginal anthropology, literature will be used from all three phases of its historical development: “the amateur ethnographer… armchair anthropologist… the trained professional field worker.” As a result language and levels of understanding across the literature used may at times vary. Gray, A Cautious Silence: the politics of Australian anthropology: p. 1. 68 At times the authors of secondary sources have been contacted to obtain advice. In particular, contact was made with Dr Dianne D. Johnson, and Dr Libby Porter.

38 undertaken for the collection of primary source material for Chapter 8. Points of call for published and non-published information have included: The Historic Houses Trust of New South Wales; Caroline Simpson Library; University of New South Wales Library and Nurra Gilli Centre; Sydney College of the Arts Library; State Library of NSW; Mitchell Library, NSW; National Library of Australia; Allport Library and Museum of Fine Arts, State Library of Tasmania; WL Crowther Library, State Library of Tasmania; Tasmanian Archive and Heritage Office; Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies (AIATSIS) and the Aboriginal Studies Electronic Data Archive of AIATSIS; Bowman History Room, Flinders Island; Furneaux Museum, Flinders Island; The Bligh Museum of Pacific Exploration, Bruny Island; State Library of Victoria; Queensland State Archives; City of Sydney Archives; Maryborough Library; and University of Tasmania Library.

Where possible during the course of this thesis, sources composed by Indigenous authors and academics have been used. It is important that the imbalance of Indigenous voices in the literature is redressed. This approach however has not been adopted in the misinformed belief that it is more appropriate for Indigenous Australians to create representations “because being Aboriginal gives ‘greater’ understanding.” 69 Marcia Langton (1951- ) has explained that this “naïve belief” is founded upon “the assumption of the undifferentiated Other.”70 How has this idea been interpreted within the context of this thesis? At times the Indigenous identity of authors is noted, if this identity is considered relevant to the discussion at hand, if not, this identity is not revealed. A more detailed discussion of this is provided later in the chapter in relation to binarism.

Boundaries of the Research At the commencement of the PhD the boundaries of the research were considered and continued to be assessed throughout the research process. The initial establishment of parameters was a daunting task, for it signalled the beginning of the research and seemed that it would have a great impact on what was ultimately produced. Edward W. Said has described the beginning as requiring “an act of delimitation by which something is cut out of a great mass of material, separated from the mass, and made to stand for, as well as be,

69 Marcia Langton, cited in Lochert, "Mediating Aboriginal Architecture," p. 10. 70 Marcia Langton, cited in ibid.

39 a starting point, a beginning”.71 My question was whether I had cut from the ‘right’ mass? However, there is no right or wrong mass, but merely “texts, authors and periods…best suited for study.”72 Parameters that limit the research have helped to refine the overall work and filter the information subject to consideration in the body of the thesis. These boundaries were set in place for a variety of reasons, including the philosophical position of the argument, time-constraints of the project and perceived importance of the subject matter to the hypothesis. Boundaries of individual chapters were previously described in the Introduction (Chapter 1). More detail will be provided here in relation to the boundaries of the research. Concepts and literature that fall outside the scope of this research include Aboriginal architecture, interior design proposals for Aboriginal housing, a limitation to the use of sources when discussing the concept of space, theorisation of colonial power relations and, finally, limiting the discussion of Ring Trees to Wadi Wadi Country.

The notion of Aboriginal architecture, when this term is applied to the kinds of buildings that construct identity and claim to represent Australian Indigenous peoples, largely falls outside the scope of this research. Paul Memmott and Joseph Reser have defined Aboriginal architecture, “as a building which in some way generates an Aboriginal identity about itself.” 73 This statement articulates the strong relationship between buildings and the cultures that construct them – all buildings express their cultures. The term Aboriginal architecture can also variously be used to describe the classical and post- classical74 periods of buildings constructed by Australian Indigenous peoples, and to a lesser extent, buildings constructed for Indigenous clients or users. Whilst the classical period of buildings will be engaged with here, particularly the buildings of the palawa peoples of Tasmania, contemporary cultural and community centres and other buildings constructed for Indigenous Australians, or with a purpose to present an architectural expression of culture for visitors, will not be engaged with in this thesis. Construction of

71 Said, Orientalism: p. 16. 72 Ibid. 73 Paul Memmott and Joseph Reser, "Design Concepts and Processes for Public Aboriginal Architecture," People and Physical Environment Research (PaPER): The Person-Environment and Cultural Heritage Journal of Australia and New Zealand vol. 55-56(2000): p. 69. 74 “The classical period is thus in contrast to the post-classical (or post contact) period of colonisation and hegemonic domination by the new settlers.” Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. 322.

40 identity is particularly associated with cultural and community centre building typologies. Analysis of these types of buildings is not seen to further an understanding of Indigenous spatial ordering because these buildings have been designed within the context of the European inside/outside dichotomy.

What might be termed ‘best practice’ interior architecture solutions for Indigenous clients in relation to the issue of Aboriginal housing also falls outside of the scope of this thesis, as previously outlined. This parameter was established early during the proposal phase for the research. This decision was partly founded on the design philosophy that each architectural solution should cater specifically for the individual client and site. Only after consultation with individual clients and investigating design and site opportunities and constraints, among a raft of other factors, can a comprehensive brief be determined. Coupled with this concern is the underlying notion of remedialism, a key concept influencing Indigenous policy, which is often entangled with the belief that it is necessary to ‘improve’ the lives of Indigenous peoples, “based on the unqualified conviction that it is possible and necessary for the more knowing and better equipped ‘us’ to do so.”75 As a result of this sensitivity it seems particularly inappropriate to suggest possible design models for Aboriginal housing. However, the resulting product of the research in the form of ideas should not be considered any lesser in value, for as philosopher Elizabeth Grosz has said, “Texts, like concepts, do things, make things, perform connections, bring about new alignments.”76 These new alignments may in turn have important future implications for Aboriginal housing.

As the concept of ‘space’ is studied across disciplines, it is important to outline the boundaries as to how space has been considered within this thesis. Theorists particularly pertinent to the field of interior architecture and architecture have been used to inform the discussion of space that occurs throughout the thesis. This therefore provides a parameter to the literature used in the thesis concerning space – not all literature available regarding space is, or can be discussed, within the constraints of the research, nor literature considered pertinent to other disciplines, such as geography, utilised. The theorists in this

75 Gillian K. Cowlishaw, Emma Kowal, and Tess Lea, "Double Binds," in Moving Anthropology: critical Indigenous studies, ed. Tess Lea, Emma Kowal, and Gillian K. Cowlishaw (Darwin: Charles Darwin University Press, 2006), p. 5. 76 Elizabeth Grosz, Architecture from the Outside: essays on virtual and real space (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001). p. 58.

41 thesis are either considered significant in the field of interior architecture/architecture history and theory and/or have important new ideas and concepts regarding the subject for the principle research question contained within the thesis. Literature from such theorists as Charles Rice77, Elizabeth Grosz,78 Vitruvius,79 Paul Memmott80, John Dixon Hunt,81 Nancy Munn82 and Thomas Loveday83 have formed some of the principal references underpinning the discussion of space particularly in Chapter 3.

Chapter 3 also provides an overview of space specifically as it is understood and engaged with from within interior architecture. The purpose of the focused discussion of space in Chapter 3, under the heading ‘Space and Interior Architecture’, is not to recount all of the constructs of space, nor how it is conceived of differently across disciplines beyond that of interior architecture. It is useful to note that Charles Rice has said that there are two “major strand[s] of spatial theory pertinent to the study of the interior”.84 According to Rice, “the literature on space is split between the architectural and the poetic, where architectural space is seen in its particular historical emergence in the late nineteenth century, and the poetics of domestic space are seen as perpetually available to

77 Charles Rice is an Australian architectural historian who has been described as “arguably Australia’s most published and respected academic in the field of interiors”. Cys, "[un]disciplined," p. 25. 78 Philosopher Elizabeth Grosz is an often-cited theorist within interior architecture theory and this is demonstrated by the publication of her article titled Chaos, Territory, Art. Deleuze and the Framing of the Earth in the IDEA journal 2005. 79 Roman architect and engineer Marcus Vitruvius Pollio (1st century AD), who is usually known simply as Vitruvius, wrote the Ten Books of Architecture, which is generally considered the earliest western European architectural treatise. 80 Architect and anthropologist Paul Memmott is the architectural authority on Australian Indigenous buildings. In 2007 he published Gunyah, Goondie and Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia. He is, at the time of writing, the Director of the Aboriginal Environments Research Centre at the University of Queensland. 81 Landscape philosopher John Dixon Hunt in his text Greater Perfections: the practice of garden theory, provides a framework for conceptualising the treatment of landscape. Hunt’s framework enables parallels to be drawn with the spatial ordering of buildings – the operation of inside, outside and third space. 82 Anthropologist Nancy Munn is the author of the seminal 1973 text Warlpiri Iconography: graphic representation and cultural symbolism in a Central Australian society. Her discussion of space contained in the article Excluded Spaces: the figure in the Australian Aboriginal landscape, describes space in relation to the Australian Indigenous landscape. This is therefore considered a highly useful source within the context of the research question. 83 Australian architect, artist and architectural philosopher Thomas Loveday has adopted the idea of third space from cultural theory and applied it as a new architectural idea. Loveday’s ‘modes of space’ theory has been used in the thesis, as it provides an important new idea that is useful for the research question explored here. 84 Rice, "The Doubleness of the Interior: inhabitation and bourgeois domesticity," p. 27.

42 experience.”85 This delineation of interior-oriented spatial theory by Rice highlights the discipline specific manner in which the concept of space should be treated. Under the heading ‘Space and Interior Architecture’ in Chapter 3, an overview of space as it is understood through its application to design, and the potential of space to be manipulated in various ways through the built form, is provided. This discussion does not pretend to be an exhaustive discussion on the subject matter but instead provides background for those outside of the discipline.

Theorisation of colonial power relations is also considered outside of the scope of this thesis. As such, chapters will not provide discussion of colonial power relations. The primary focus of this thesis is on architecture and buildings, not necessarily the politics engendered by these expressions of culture. With that said, Chapter 5 seeks to provide an explanation of how language has played a role in the framing of palawa buildings by Europeans, and in this way the chapter engages with power relations, albeit in a limited manner, in the production of architectural history and theory. It should also be noted that in the discussion of third space introduced in Chapter 3, this again does not focus upon space in the sense of power relations. The concept of third space is explored in its application to architectural history and theory, as developed by Thomas Loveday in his ‘modes of space’ theory. Loveday’s spatial theory frames third space as a quotidian and relatable experience. This is of course quite a different treatment of third space to that which is familiar within cultural theory. As is often the case with architectural theory, concepts are borrowed from different disciplines and reframed according to their applicability in relation to architectural theory and practice. Readers should therefore not expect the discussion of third space to necessarily focus on the same concerns, such as power relations, as its originating discipline.

In addition, the research relating to Ring Trees has been limited to Victoria, although it is believed that these trees probably occur much more widely across continental Australia.86 Limiting the investigation to the trees in the Swan Hill region of Victoria is due to the knowledge available about these particular trees from Traditional Owners. It was not

85 Ibid., p. 28. 86 Doug Nicholls, personal communication, 16 October, 2009.

43 deemed appropriate to ‘discover’ additional trees in other areas within the context of this research.

Terminology The terminology adopted in this thesis also requires discussion in the context of this chapter, in relation to how the research has been communicated. As such, the selection of various terminologies will be outlined. This thesis predominately uses the term ‘Indigenous.’ United Nations Special Rapporteur Jose R. Martinez Cobo describes “indigenous communities, peoples and nations” in their global sense as:

having a historical continuity with pre-invasion and pre-colonial societies that developed on their territories, consider themselves distinct from other sectors of societies now prevailing on those territories, or parts of them. They form at present non-dominant sectors of society and are determined to preserve, develop and transmit to future generations their ancestral territories, and their ethnic identity, as the basis of their continued existence as peoples, in accordance with their own cultural patterns, social institutions and legal system.87

The United Nations has not adopted a formal definition of the term ‘indigenous peoples’ nor is this considered necessary.88 The lack of definition has not impeded the adoption of the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. However it should be noted that the term ‘Indigenous’ is not used in its “general sense to refer to the original inhabitants of other countries” in this thesis, and as such the term is capitalised.89 Unless otherwise noted, the term is used in reference to Australian Indigenous peoples. While capitalisation of the term Indigenous varies in the literature, “Commonwealth documents generally capitalize ‘Indigenous’ as they refer specifically to Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island peoples.”90 The term Indigenous is used in the thesis as an adjective, not a

87 Special Rapporteur Jose R. Martinez Cobo in "The Concept of Indigenous Peoples - background paper," United Nations, re-accessed 14 June 2012 http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/workshop_data_background.doc. 88 Ibid. 89 Snooks & Co., Style Manual: for authors, editors and printers, 6th ed. (Milton, QLD: John Wiley & Sons, 2002). p. 56. 90 "Communicating Positively: a guide to appropriate Aboriginal terminology," ed. NSW Department of Health (Better Health Centre- Publications Warehouse, 2004), p. 11.

44 noun.91 The term Indigenous has been used in preference to that of Aboriginal, however neither of these terms recognises the diversity that exists across Australian Indigenous cultures. David Unaipon (1872-1967) in his landmark text Legendary Tales of the Australian Aborigines explains:

Of course, it will be readily understood that the Aboriginal language and customs vary a great deal according to the nature of the country the tribes are living in, although there is a great common understanding running through us all.92

This thesis uses the term ‘Indigenous peoples’ as a collective name, adding an ‘s’ to ‘people’ in order to recognise the diversity of languages, cultures and beliefs.93 Although ‘people’ already denotes a plural, the addition of the ‘s’ is a linguistic affectation that points to a political underpinning bound up with these terms. The term Indigenous has been employed in preference to the term ‘Aboriginal,’ in recognition of the negative connotations with which this term is sometimes considered to be burdened within academia. As James Miller has said, “The word Aboriginal is a Latin-derived English word which…did not give my people a separate identity [and] always has derogatory connotations.”94 Unlike the term Aboriginal, the term Indigenous has not yet been burdened to the same degree with negative associations, though in the future the appropriateness of this term may require reassessment. It is recognised however that the “most precise and inclusive collective reference for Indigenous Australians” as is preferred by the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission (ATSIC) is ‘Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples.’95 In instances in the thesis where Torres Strait Islander peoples may be referred to in the thesis, the term ‘Torres Strait Islander peoples’ is used. In relation to the discussion about Tasmania in the thesis, the term ‘Tasmanian Aboriginal peoples’ is used rather than Indigenous, in recognition of the preference for use of this terminology in that state.96 It should be noted that at times the

91 Ibid., p. 9. 92 David Unaipon, "Legendary Tales of the Australian Aborigines," in Macquarie Pen Anthology of Aboriginal Literature, ed. Anita Heiss, Peter Minter, and Nicholas Jose (Crows Nest, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 2008), p. 20. 93 "Communicating Positively: a guide to appropriate Aboriginal terminology," p. 10. 94 James Miller, cited in Michael Martin and Greater Western Education Centre, On Darug Land: an Aboriginal perspective (St. Marys, NSW: Greater Western Education Centre Collective, 1988). p. 3. 95 Snooks & Co., Style Manual: for authors, editors and printers: p. 57. 96 Heather Sculthorpe, personal communication, 13 March, 2010.

45 term Aboriginal is used in cases where this has become the generally accepted term, for instance in reference to Australian Aboriginal anthropology and Aboriginal housing.

Local Term Region Koori or Koorie Koori in NSW Koori or Koorie in Victoria Nunga South Australia Nyoongah or Nyungar South-West Western Australia Nyoongah is the spelling used by Indigenous writers from area Nyungar is used in scholarly spelling Anangu Central Australia Murri Queensland Yolngu Central and Eastern Arnhem Land (in Western Arnhem Land the term is Bininj)97 Northern Territory palawa or pakana Tasmania Table 1. Key terminology and the states where this is generally employed. (after Snooks & Co., Style Manual: for authors, editors and printers, p. 57.)

In line with Commonwealth publications, local “regional and linguistic” terms are adopted in the thesis where possible and appropriate, as a means of avoiding generalisations.98 The document Values and Ethics: Guidelines for Ethical Conduct in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Health Research explains that “most Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples prefer terms that better reflect their cultural identity… This is about more than just language. It is a reflection of real cultural diversity.”99 For instance, palawa or pakana may be used by the Tasmanian Aboriginal peoples, Koori may be used in New South Wales, Murri in Queensland, Yolngu in the Arnhem region

97 Jon C. Altman, Hetti Perkins, and Art Gallery of New South Wales., Crossing Country: the alchemy of western Arnhem Land art (Sydney: Art Gallery of New South Wales, 2004). p. 233. 98 Snooks & Co., Style Manual: for authors, editors and printers: p. 57. 99 NHMRC, "Values and Ethics: guidelines for ethical conduct in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health research," National Health & Medical Research Council, re-accessed 14 June 2012 http://www.nhmrc.gov.au/_files_nhmrc/publications/attachments/e52.pdf.

46 and Northern Territory, Nunga in South Australia, Anangu in Central Australia and Nyoongah or Nyungar in the south-west Western Australia (refer to Table 1).100 The adoption of the term palawa by the Tasmanian Aboriginal peoples has been described as “an act of liberation from an oppressive present” that had refused recognition of identity.101 Naming instigated a “process of remembering.”102 A lowercase ‘p’ is used for palawa rather than the expected capitalisation, as a means of not being reliant upon English language grammatical rules.103 However, subsequent to the decision to adopt this term in the thesis, it was brought to my attention that the term pakana was increasingly becoming favoured by the Tasmanian Aboriginal peoples. The increasing use of this term is based on research showing that the term pakana is “derived from the NE tribal dialect from which most of the current community is from.”104 The decision to retain the use of the term palawa in the thesis was the result of several publications having already been published that had adopted the term. For consistency between the thesis and these publications it was deemed appropriate to retain the use of the term palawa.

Sometimes in the thesis specific regional and linguistic groups105 are referred to, such as the Wadi Wadi people. The term Wadi Wadi is generally spelt as either Wathi Wathi or Watti Watti by the people themselves.106 However Wadi Wadi is adopted in this paper in recognition of its entrenched usage in academia and governmental documents. Names of linguistic groups, such as Wért Wért, are also sometimes used. In this instance, it should be noted that on signage erected by the Swan Hill Rural City Council the incorrect spelling of Wort Wort is used, however the term should be spelt Wért Wért as used by the local Indigenous community.107 This will not be corrected if the grammatical error is

100 Snooks & Co., Style Manual: for authors, editors and printers: p. 57. 101 Greg Lehman, "Being Here: authenticity and presence in Tasmanian Aboriginal art," in Keeping Culture: Aboriginal Tasmania, ed. Amanda Jane Reynolds (Canberra: National Museum of Australia Press, 2006), p. 35. 102 Ibid. 103 Heather Sculthorpe, personal communication, 13 March, 2010, and Andry Sculthorpe, personal communication, 14 July, 2010. 104 Andry Sculthorpe, personal communication, 14 July, 2010. 105 “These regional and linguistic names are used within the Indigenous community, and can also be used by those outside it whenever a specific group is being referred to.” Snooks & Co., Style Manual: for authors, editors and printers: p. 57. 106 The language group was recorded by Norman Tindale with another spelling variation of “Wati wati”. Bruce Baxter et al., Matakupat: the Aboriginal history of the Swan Hill area (Swan Hill: Matakupat, 1990). p. 6. 107 Marilyne Nicholls, personal communication, 23 July, 2010. 47 continually perpetuated within published literature. As such the term Wért Wért is employed in this thesis as requested by Wadi Wadi Community Elders.

Chromatism is the term used to “refer to the essentialist distinction between people on the basis of colour.”108 Chromatism is inappropriate, and such language is not used in this thesis. Post Colonial theorist Gayatri Spivak (1942- ) further describes chromatism as “basing everything on skin color”.109 This is a racist approach that is founded on categorisation of people based on abstract differences. When referencing quotations where such language exists, this terminology is made absent in the quotation wherever possible and practical, using the points of ellipsis as is done when sections of the quotation are not included.

The term ‘western European’ is used throughout the thesis. The decision to provide a geographic qualifier to the term European is in recognition that eastern Europeans are characterised by quite a different socio-political history as well as cultural practices. Therefore, an attempt has been made through the use of terminology to recognise the heterogeneity of European cultures.

The term ‘Country’ is used in the thesis to define an area of land in its association with a particular cultural group, such as Wadi Wadi Country.110 Also sometimes used is the term ‘Nation.’ Anthropologist and linguist Peter Sutton has explained that despite debates within anthropology about the use of this term, “In more recent times the ‘nation’ term, if not the ethnological concept, has again arisen in Aboriginal affairs, mainly playing a role in political discourse.” 111 The catachresis 112 process embedded in these terms is recognised and reveals power relations in Australia’s post-colonial society. Catachresis however, can provide new insights and understandings, and is used with this in mind.

108 Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin, Post-Colonial Studies: the key concepts, 2nd ed. (New York: Routledge, 2007). p. 33. 109 Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, "Questions of Multi-Culturalism," in Modern Criticism and Theory: a reader, ed. David Lodge and Nigel Wood (Harlow: Pearson, 2008), p. 597. 110 "Communicating Positively: a guide to appropriate Aboriginal terminology," p. 15. 111 Peter Sutton, Native Title in Australia: an ethnographic perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). p. 97. 112 Catachresis is explained by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak as when a term seems appropriate as in situations when “no other word will do, and yet it does not really give you the literal meaning in the history of the language, upon which a correct rather than catachrestic metaphoric use would be based.” Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, "Translation as Culture," Parallax vol. 6, no. 1 (2000): p. 14. 48

The term ‘Creation’ is used in the thesis where possible in preference to the term ‘Dreaming.’ Wadi Wadi Elder Marilyne Nicholls has explained the importance from a cultural perspective that Creation narratives are not framed as mythology, but as revealing actual Creation. Creation narratives reveal both cultural and empirical truths. According to Ms Nicholls, the use of the term Dreaming is “institutionalised racism in writing and terminologies.”113 The term Dreamtime is sometimes used in literature that is referenced in the thesis however, the term Dreaming, or better still Creation, more adequately recognises that Creation events are not considered as “having happened in some remote past but as happening in an eternal dimension.” 114

Marilyne Nicholls first brought the subtle difference between the terms ‘law’ and ‘lore’ to my attention.115 She highlighted that in a discussion related to heritage legislation and legalities, the term ‘law’ should be employed. However, in describing Australian Indigenous cultural practices the term ‘lore’ ought to be used. This term is more closely related to cultural tradition and knowledge, and therefore more appropriate in the context of such a discussion.

As previously mentioned, the term ‘classical’ is used in preference to ‘traditional’ throughout the thesis. This seeks to draw upon the language adopted by Paul Memmott in his seminal text Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia. Memmott’s use of this terminology references anthropologist Peter Sutton in Native Title in Australia: an ethnographic perspective. Sutton explains that the term ‘classical’ has become increasingly used in place of the term ‘traditional’ since the 1980s. He explains that the primary reason for this “is that the former customary distinction between ‘traditional’ and ‘contemporary’ (or ‘urban/rural’) tended to suppress the fact that contemporary urban and rural Aboriginal people also have traditions.”116 The use of the term ‘classical’ in architectural theory suggests Greek and Roman architecture. Architectural historian James Stevens Curl defines Classicism as: “The principles of

113 Marilyne Nicholls, personal communication, 11 August, 2012. 114 Raymond Haynes, Explorers of the Southern Sky: a history of Australian astronomy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). p. 434. 115 Marilyne Nicholls, personal communication, 9 July, 2010. 116 Sutton, Native Title in Australia: an ethnographic perspective: p. xvii.

49 Greek and Roman art and architecture, so Classical architecture is derived from Antique precedents that were respected as having some kind of authoritative excellence.”117 In other words, this is a high point of design, referenced in later design periods including postmodernism. In using the term ‘classical’ in the context of architectural theory, it also therefore implies a golden age of Australian Indigenous buildings.

Other terminology that requires justification or an acknowledgment is the use of the term ‘space’ throughout the paper (space as a concept is described in more detail in Chapter 3). Although the term space is used in the thesis, its modernist and colonialist associations are acknowledged. However, when used contextually within the discipline,

the space of which architects [or interior architects] talk is not space in general, but an understanding of it quite specific to their own métier- it is a category invented for purposes of their own.118

This “own métier” of architects and interior architects generally refers to extant spatial volumes within buildings and the confines of a physical site, rather than space in its abstract sense, except of course when the term might be used during the design concept/development phases. Used in its design sense, the “concept [space] derived from Euclidean geometry” is concerned with the “three-dimensional built object that results both from a process of physical construction with material means and from a process of social appropriation and constant recreation by society.”119 However, space can also be understood as a mental construct that allows projection onto the world which problematically then allows for this to become a tool to transform the world.120 As such the entanglement of space with the “dominant discourse of power and domination of modern capitalist societies” and consequently its implications in colonialist agendas are recognised, and the burdened nature of the term is acknowledged.121

117 James Stevens Curl, A Dictionary of Architecture and Landscape Architecture, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). p. 178. 118 Adrian Forty, Words and Buildings: a vocabulary of modern architecture (London: Thames & Hudson, 2000). p. 275. 119 Mari-Jose Amerlinck, "The Meaning and Scope of Architectural Anthropology," in Architectural Anthropology, ed. Mari-Jose Amerlinck (Westport, CT: Bergin & Garvey, 2001), p. 2. 120 David Leatherbarrow, The Roots of Architectural Invention: site, enclosure, materials (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). p. 9. 121 Forty, Words and Buildings: a vocabulary of modern architecture: p. 275.

While every attempt has been made to use the most current, correct and appropriate terminology throughout the thesis, language and word usage change over time. If a future reassessment of the thesis is made, key terms may need to be updated to reflect changing attitudes and trends.

Research Sensitivities In relation to research sensitivities, the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies (AIATSIS) Guidelines for Ethical Research in Indigenous Studies was consulted to inform research procedures. Consultation of these Guidelines is required under the UNSW Research Code of Conduct which states under section 6.3 that:

Research involving Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples must only be conducted in accordance with Values and Ethics: Guidelines for Ethical Conduct in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Health Research and the Guidelines for Ethical Research in Indigenous Studies.122

Whilst the Guidelines are specifically intended for research that receives sponsorship from AIATSIS, understanding the Guidelines was nevertheless appropriate. The eleven core recommendations which comprise the Guides for Ethical Research in Indigenous Studies are divided under three headings: Consultation, Negotiations and Mutual Understanding; Respect, Recognition and Involvement; and Benefits, Outcomes and Agreement. The eleven points are as follows:

Consultation, Negotiation and Mutual Understanding 1. Consultation, negotiation and free and informed consent are the foundations for research with or about Indigenous peoples. 2. The responsibility for consultation and negotiation is ongoing. 3. Consultation and negotiation should achieve mutual understanding about the proposed research.

Respect, Recognition and Involvement 4. Indigenous knowledge systems and processes must be respected.

122 UNSW, "Research Code of Conduct," re-accessed 14 June 2012 http://www.gs.unsw.edu.au/policy/documents/researchcode.pdf.

51 5. There must be recognition of the diversity and uniqueness of peoples as well as of individuals. 6. The intellectual and cultural property rights of Indigenous peoples must be respected and preserved. 7. Indigenous researchers, individuals and communities should be involved in research as collaborators.

Benefits, Outcomes and Agreement 8. The use of, and access to, research results should be agreed. 9. A researched community should benefit from, and not be disadvantaged by, the research project. 10. The negotiation of outcomes should include results specific to the needs of the researched community. 11. Negotiation should result in a formal agreement for the conduct of a research project, based on good faith and free and informed consent.123

Due to the nature of this particular research, some of the points were more applicable than others. Whilst the AIATSIS Guidelines for Ethical Research in Indigenous Studies have been tailored to address the needs of research in Indigenous studies, the points outlined within the Guidelines also seem to have a broader application for ethical research generally and can be taken beyond this research to inform future research projects that may be undertaken.

In addition to the AIATSIS Guidelines for Ethical Research in Indigenous Studies, the UNSW Research Code of Conduct also states that Values and Ethics: Guidelines for Ethical Conduct in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Health Research should be followed. Although these Guidelines have been devised to aid in health research, which is not the focus of this thesis, the Guidelines nevertheless contain valuable advice to ensure that research is conducted in a sensitive and appropriate way. The Guidelines are underpinned by six key principles: Spirit and Integrity/ Reciprocity/ Respect/ Equality/ Survival and Protection/ Responsibility.124

123 "Guidelines for Ethical Research in Indigenous Studies," (Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 1999). 124 NHMRC, "Values and Ethics: guidelines for ethical conduct in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health research," National Health & Medical Research Council, re-accessed 14 June 2012 http://www.nhmrc.gov.au/_files_nhmrc/publications/attachments/e52.pdf.

A further research awareness required was that of binaries. Binarism which once had a strangle hold on anthropological writing has been recognised as inappropriate. An excellent example of binarism “is the black/white, Aboriginal/non-Aboriginal binary, an enduring, crude, inadequate construct, yet one that is self-perpetuating because it aligns with powerful features of social and political experience.”125 As previously discussed in the Introduction (Chapter 1), it may seem strange that the central research question on which this thesis is premised establishes a binary; the research question asks how Indigenous spatial ordering and western European spatial ordering differ, and in doing so establishes a binary.126 However, it is arguably impossible to eschew such a binary opposition. From within interior architecture as a non-Indigenous academic it is essential to reveal my position and engagement with the research. The framing of the research question therefore reveals my position of looking from one field and culture, to engage with another way of thinking. Despite best efforts to avoid binaries, as demonstrated in this research, they linger. Postcolonial theorist Homi K. Bhabha (1949- ) has asked the question “Must we always polarize in order to polemicize?”127 This thesis seeks to steer clear of creating polarising cultural distinctions. Anthropologist Michael Jackson (1940- ), in his text At Home in the World, provides an example that engages with the problem of polarisation and binarism. Jackson explains:

The most difficult thing for whites is to break the habit of categorizing Aboriginal people. It hardly matters whether we denigrate them as Stone Age remnants, romanticize them as New Age sages, or pity them as victims. Definition is itself at the roots of racism: the way we reduce the world to a word, and gag the mouths of others with our labels. One man put it very succinctly: “Amongst ourselves we are people: whites turn us into Aborigines.”128

The man quoted at the end of the passage is not recognised with a title or a name.129 This is not to say that the failure to properly attribute the quote to its source should be equated

125 Cowlishaw, Kowal, and Lea, "Double Binds," p. 6. 126 However, it should be noted that western European buildings and precedent examples are not discussed in the thesis in a comparative manner to Australian Indigenous buildings. Every attempt has been made to avoid this manner of cultural comparison, which often results in the subjugation of one of the parties involved. 127 Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London: Routledge, 1995). p. 19. 128 Michael Jackson, At Home in the World (London: Duke University Press, 1995). p. 14.

53 with definition, however both the man’s name and his identity are unacknowledged. Whatever prompted the decision by Jackson to leave the quote unattributed, it stands as a warning that one must be constantly aware of when it is appropriate to ‘label,’ as much as when these labels may offend. In a similar vein, Edward W. Said has explained in Culture and Imperialism that, “No one today is purely one thing. Labels like Indian or woman … are no more than starting-points, which if followed into actual experience for only a moment are quickly left behind.”130 Said goes on to explain that imperialism has been responsible for a mixing of cultures globally.131 In acknowledgement of the sensitivity attached to labels, whenever possible throughout the course of this thesis, ideas and quotes are attributed to people. At times where it is considered of importance to the argument, their Indigenous identity is noted, in other cases it is not.

Reflexivity and Knowledge Production The need to demonstrate reflexivity in the research process and reveal the impact that the researcher themselves has on the material, is well articulated in the text Landscape Architecture Research: inquiry, strategy, design:

“Interpretive research strategies start from the recognition that the meanings of objects, events, words, actions, and images are not always plain and obvious, and they require the investigator to actively engage in ‘making sense’ of the phenomena they encounter. The consequence of becoming actively engaged in interpreting meaning is that conclusions can never be totally independent of the investigator. In effect, the investigator becomes a social actor within the research, and understanding is actively constructed through mediation between researcher and the data.”132

As previously explained in the Introduction (Chapter 1), where I articulated the space that I occupy - I am a non-Indigenous researcher trained in the field of interior architecture. I am therefore both an insider and outsider in the context of this research – an insider in the

129 It may have been an intentional omission or a result of logistics as the author may have been unable to attribute the quote directly. 130 Edward W. Said, Culture and Imperialism (London: Vintage, 1994). p. 407. 131 Ibid. 132 M. E. Deming and Simon Swaffield, Landscape Architecture Research: inquiry, strategy, design (New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, 2011). p. 152.

54 field of interior architecture but an outsider to Australian Indigenous cultures and buildings. As much of the material utilised in the thesis is of an historical nature, I am also spatially and temporally separate from much of the empirical material utilised.

Chapter 5 Cultural Encounters and Misunderstandings is described here to illustrate reflexivity in the treatment of empirical material. This chapter describes palawa buildings and how European navigators and colonists perceived these buildings. An aim of this chapter is to show that language has played a crucial role in the framing of palawa buildings by Europeans. The chapter seeks to consider terminology choice and the sometimes leading nature of these terms, such as the term ‘primitive’, to frame palawa buildings as inferior to western European buildings. This type of analysis demonstrates a reflexive stance. In the chapter it is argued that the descriptions of buildings contained in the historic literature are not neutral descriptions but rather operate as critiques. These critiques establish a referential system to western European architecture and buildings. Such a perspective highlights the difficulty of placing one’s interpretations upon historic material. It was not necessarily the case that the observers intended to frame the buildings in this way (for instance, changing word usage and meaning over time may distort perceptions of the material), but the accounts can certainly be interpreted as such. Due to this awareness of my position, the observer’s intention or lack of it is acknowledged in the chapter. Having been trained in the field of interior architecture and as a researcher, I bring a different focus and level of knowledge in relation to palawa buildings than the observers who documented these accounts. In some respects, it is perhaps unavoidable that these accounts are treated in the way they are within the chapter, due to myself as a researcher being both temporally and spatially separate and interpreting these accounts from within the lens of a post-colonial era.

Further in relation to reflexivity and what may impact the production of knowledge, Linda Tuhiwai Smith, in the text Decolonizing Methodologies: research and Indigenous peoples, says that “the term ‘research’ is inextricably linked to European imperialism and colonialism. The word itself…is probably one of the dirtiest words in the indigenous world’s vocabulary.” 133 The relationship with and positioning of non-Indigenous academics to Australian Indigenous peoples requires further discussion in this regard. As

133 Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: research and Indigenous peoples: p. 1.

55 author Ruby Langford Ginibi (1934- ) described it, in a conversation with friends and family in My Bundjalung People:

I told them I thought academics and big book writers were having a field day with all our Koori history. They use our resources- our life stories- and write big books and make big bucks, but they’re writing our stories and stealing our history from us and they are full of bull goonung [shit] anyhow!134

This statement reveals a complex problem founded on cultural dissonance, to which there are no easy answers. Yet as a non-Indigenous researcher it is necessary to acknowledge such criticism and potential mistrust. Not only is interaction with and positioning to others involved with the research important in such work, but also personal orientation to the project, interaction with the material and the acceptance that some irresolvable differences will continue to exist. It is important not to frame oneself as invisible, and yet also not to deceive oneself into thinking that visibility will ensure a complete picture of the material being studied. Reflexivity is a strived for although difficult position to obtain. Sociologist Lisa Adkins describes reflexivity as “widely understood to make visible the relations between knower and known and hence redress the problem of the concealment of normatively constituted speaking positions.”135 As noted in the methodology of a thesis produced at College of Fine Arts, School of Art History and Theory, “the identity of the researcher cannot be entirely dropped” and I have been constantly aware that “I bring my own personal history, cultural background, gender, class and race to bear on my research and seek to make transparent the reflexivity and complexities of my position.”136 Thus it is acknowledged here that I have particular experiences that inform my being-in-the- world and consequently my engagement with the research question and material. In some ways this further supports the intention that the thesis does not, nor can it, provide a definitive explanation of how Australian Indigenous spatial ordering and interiority can be defined (as previously discussed in Chapter 1). Spatial ordering of classical Australian Indigenous buildings cannot be considered in a singular prescriptive way, either within

134 Ruby Langford Ginibi, My Bundjalung People (St. Lucia, QLD: University of Queensland Press, 1994). p. 19. 135 Lisa Adkins, "Reflexivity and the Politics of Qualitative Research," in Qualitative Research in Action, ed. Tim May (London: Sage, 2002), p. 332. 136 Victoria King, "Art of Place and Displacement: embodied perception of the haptic ground" (PhD thesis, University of New South Wales, 2005), p. 21.

56 this thesis or across the field of research, due to the very nature of the research process itself and the influence of individual researchers on the field.

57 CHAPTER 3 INTERIORITY AND THE ORDERS OF SPACE

This thesis reassesses how the orders of space may operate differently in Australian Indigenous cultures compared to western European architecture and buildings. By using a comparative approach with landscape spatial ordering models, this chapter will demonstrate that the orders of space belong to a western European architectural discourse. European architectural history has been described by architect and theorist Felipe Hernandez as a “kind of Europeanising discourse; a discourse which, like colonial discourse, is characterised by a simultaneous operation of inclusion and exclusion.”1 It will be argued that the orders of space belongs to a European architectural history, which is a history that provides the “referential system with which to judge architectural production around the world…”2 As such, a colonial approach remains embedded in the perception of Australian Indigenous buildings until a much needed reassessment of European spatial ordering takes place. As Edward W. Said has explained, although “colonialism has largely ended; imperialism…lingers…” 3 European spatial ordering remains unchallenged in the analysis of Australian Indigenous buildings. This chapter seeks to demonstrate the lineage from which Australian Indigenous space has been perceived.

This chapter begins by defining the terms interior and interiority. The chapter then turns to an exploration of space and its conceptualisation within interior architecture, followed by a discussion of Loveday’s orders of space and Hunt’s three natures. The discussion of Hunt’s conceptualisation of landscape will assist in demonstrating how the orders of space align with essentially western European ways of thinking about buildings. References pertinent to the field of interior architecture have been used to inform this chapter. Although concepts of space and various other concepts engaged with in this chapter have been theorised in many different disciplines, including that of geography, sources relevant and often cited within interior architecture and architecture have been

1 Felipe Hernandez, Bhabha for Architects, ed. Adam Sharr, Thinkers for Architects (London: Routledge, 2010). p. 51. 2 Ibid. 3 Edward W. Said, Culture and Imperialism (London: Vintage, 1994). p. 8. 58 predominately relied upon (see under ‘Limits of the Research’ in the Methodology chapter for a more detailed discussion).

This chapter contributes to the hypothesis stated in the Introduction, that south-east Australian Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority; in addition, it is also hypothesised that colonising western Europeans failed to understand this occupation and that as a result, sought to impose western European spatial ordering in its place, by outlining what is meant by the term interiority, and demonstrating how spatial ordering is revealed by buildings. This chapter will also relate the spaces of inside/outside and the space of building and construction, to a theory of landscape that allows the Eurocentric nature of the modes of space to be comparatively illustrated.

The Interior The interior is commonly associated with the limits of a building’s envelope or the surfaces presented by built forms. As interior design theorist Suzie Attiwill articulates in her PhD thesis, “‘Interior’ is assumed as enclosed space; a relation defined in advance by a structure; the subjectivity of an individual.”4 However, the usage of the term has varied and can be applied in a variety of applications. Charles Rice, who as previously mentioned has been described as “arguably Australia’s most published and respected academic in the field of interiors,” discusses the use of the term ‘interior’.5 Rice highlights that the use of the term interior has changed several times throughout the centuries. He provides a discussion of the temporal progression of the use of the term explaining that:

4 In relation to Attiwill’s use of punctuation in both the title of her PhD and when this term is used throughout the text, she explains on page 8 of the thesis that, “moving ? before interior produces a pause, even a stumbling, before responding, before answering. ? before interior opens interior to the outside; to the current; to movement; and invites a response.” Suzie Attiwill "?Interior, Practices of Interiorization, Interior Designs" (PhD thesis, RMIT, 2012), p. 124. 5 Joanne Cys, "[un]disciplined," Interior Design/Interior Architecture Educators Association (IDEA) Journal (2006): p. 25. 59 [Interior] had come into use in English from the late fifteenth century to mean basic divisions between inside and outside, and to describe the spiritual and inner nature of the soul. From the early eighteenth century, interiority was used to designate inner character and a sense of individual subjectivity, and from the middle of the eighteenth century the interior came to designate the domestic affairs of a state, as well as the interior sense of territory that belongs to a country or region. It was only from the beginning of the nineteenth century, however, that the interior came to designate what the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) records as: ‘The inside of a building or room, esp. in reference to the artistic effect; also, a picture or representation of the inside of a building or room. Also, in theatre, a ‘set’ consisting of the inside of a building or room’.6

Essentially, the term interior describes something that is inside, yet from Rice’s description it is clear that historically the term has been used more broadly than this, referring to both micro and macro concerns. As articulated by Rice, the term has been used to refer to diverse concepts ranging from buildings, through to people and states. Some dictionary definitions also mention the literary technique of interior monologue in which the private thoughts of a character are revealed.7 It must be noted here that the application of the term to these divergent concepts occurred within various contexts, not specifically within the building paradigm used by architecture to express its concepts. Many of the various uses of the term seem to be tied up historically with notions of ownership – of land, of space, and of thoughts. In all of these uses the term interior implies a degree of isolation in shutting out people or concepts in order to allow for greater control and ownership. This underlying aspect of the term interior reveals a certain myopic quality that is historically bound up with the term. Let us instead turn to the concept of interiority as a more fruitful underpinning to explore how people reside in and occupy space, which may not be limited to physical internalisation.

Interiority The concept of interiority in its most basic form can best be described as a sense of ‘interior-ness’ freed from the constraints of architectural forms. Architectural theorist

6 Charles Rice, "Rethinking Histories of the Interior," The Journal of Architecture vol. 9, no. 3 (2004): 276. 7 Oxford Dictionary of English. 3rd ed., s.v. “interior adjective,” accessed 16 February, 2012, http://www.oxfordreference.com/views/ENTRY.html?subview=Main&entry=t140.e0416390. 60 Michael Benedikt explains this sense of ‘interior-ness’ or what he terms “the feeling of interiority” as “being immersed, surrounded, enclosed” however, this feeling “transcends the experience of rooms and other indoor enclosures, and extends to the out-of-doors (streets, squares, and parks bounded by trees and buildings).”8 Internalisation in a physical sense is required for the existence of a built interior, however by applying the concept of interiority this paves the way to consider how a sense of ‘interior-ness’ might be achieved when a physical interior may not be present. As interior architecture theorist Christine McCarthy states, “interiority is not a guarantee of inside location.”9 While “inside and outside are architectural prescriptions tied to the boundary of building” which is the space of construction and building materials that mediates inside and outside, “interiority and exteriority weave within and without the built constraints of architecture, sometimes between them, and sometimes independent of them.”10

Interiority is a philosophical concept, although it has been utilised “across many disciplines including psychology, literature … and architecture.”11 Architectural historian Anthony Vidler has summed up some of the philosophical theses regarding the notion of interiority in his book chapter Outside In/Inside Out: a short history of (modern) interiority. He describes, for instance, the work of René Descartes, John Locke and G. W. Leibniz in which they compared the perception of the outside world in the mind, likening it to a “camera obscura – a dark room with a pinhole, projecting images from outside inside.”12 Modernist architects like Le Corbusier later “erased the separation between interior and exterior” space, creating in effect a complete continuity of interior space.13 Vidler explains that the various “theses on interiority” had an “effect on the perceptions of the interior’s power to construct and inform psychic interiority”.14 As he sums up “Sensations, space, and the interaction between the two were constitutive of the human

8 Michael Benedikt, "Environmental Stoicism and Place Machismo," Harvard Design Magazine, no. 16 (Winter/Spring 2002): p. 2. 9 Christine McCarthy, "Toward a Definition of Interiority," Space and Culture vol. 8, no. 2 (May 2005): p. 116. 10 Ibid. 11 Petra Perolini, "Interior Environments: the space of interiority," Zoontechnica, no. 3 (2013): p. 1. 12 Anthony Vidler, "Outside In/Inside Out: a short history of (modern) interiority," in After Taste: expanded practice in interior design, ed. Kent Kleinman, Joanna Merwood-Sailsbury, and Lois Weinthal (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2012), p. 57. 13 Ibid., p. 74. 14 Ibid., p. 57. 61 psyche – emotions and rational thought alike were deeply intertwined with the forms of exteriority translated into interior images, thoughts, and ideas.”15 In this way, a sense a spatial engagement can be achieved in the interaction between inside and outside resulting in a sense of ‘interior-ness’, however an architectural interior may not necessarily form part of this equation. Design historian Penny Sparke explains in relation to the domestic interior, that it provided a capacity for “self-reflection, or ‘interiority’” for its occupants.16 This further supports the explanation from Vidler, that the notion of interiority has an impact on the relationship between the interior itself and the abstract space of interiority. Interiority in this way can be understood as the relationship between the “intangible images we carry in our minds and the experience of a physical place that contributes to the sense of place of an interior.”17 For the purposes of the argument, interiority will be explored further as a liminal state.

Interiority is explored here in more detail, as definable through its liminality18. Christine McCarthy describes interiority as “not an absolute condition”.19 Liminality is thus an appropriate concept through which to further explore interiority. Liminality is described by Homi K. Bhabha as a space that allows multiple perspectives and understandings. He says that “this [liminal] interstitial passage between fixed identifications opens up the possibility of a cultural hybridity that entertains difference without an assumed or imposed hierarchy.”20 Thus a focus on liminality provides an opportunity for difference to exist rather than further entrenching binary oppositions, such as inside and outside, which would otherwise result in one of the conditions in question being dominated by the other. With this in mind, interiority can be understood as a shifting space between ‘fixed identifications’ of inside and outside, which is changeable in terms of its properties and qualities. The premise of liminality also allows for the recognition that the people and cultures that identify with interiority are themselves in states of constant change and transition. The liminal space, as Bhabha describes it, “prevents identities at either end of it

15 Ibid. 16 Penny Sparke, The Modern Interior (London: Reaktion Books, 2008). pp. 12-13. 17 Perolini, "Interior Environments: the space of interiority," p. 1. 18 The term liminality refers to the point at which conscious awareness occurs. The term is being used in the context of this thesis to refer to a ‘real’ experience (of the literal threshold) rather than a metaphorical experience. 19 McCarthy, "Toward a Definition of Interiority," p. 112. 20 Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London: Routledge, 1995). p. 4. 62 from settling into primordial polarities.”21 Despite its liminality, interiority always retains a sense of ‘interior-ness’ about it; however, as previously explained, this ‘interior-ness’ may not necessarily equate with being inside a building. The binary opposition of interior/exterior has been enforced in architectural thinking using various mechanisms, emphasising why interiority is a more useful construct with which to engage.

Aspects of modernism and its prevailing concerns have had a role to play in emphasising the binary distinctions of built elements reinforcing the separation of interior/exterior. Architectural theorist Michael Tawa has discussed how modernity has caused a shift in the role of ornamentation and in the form in which ornamentation is recognised, for example moving away from the surface, to instead be embodied by the junction of materials, describing it as “the conveyance of radical difference and differentiation… between materials.”22 Modernity has also elevated as a concern the delineation of “the foundational qualities and prepositional conditions of architecture itself (inside/outside; above/below; front/back; left/right) and its foundational elements (floor, wall, roof).”23 Thus the binary opposition of concepts and built elements have become more visually articulated and expressive, either physically or representationally, as a result of the architectural concerns of modernism.

It is possible to draw a link between the heightened emphases of what Tawa calls the “prepositional conditions of architecture” to the dislocation of people that commenced with European expansion in the mid-nineteenth century. Homi K. Bhabha has described this as “one of the most sustained periods of mass migration within the West, and colonial expansion in the East.”24 This great flux of people into liminal states, and the friction caused by the movement of people out of place, has contributed to the need for designation between familiar space and the unknown place beyond this comfort, thus contributing to the emphasis of binary oppositions. The absence left by those who have departed becomes what Bhabha calls the “language of metaphor. Metaphor, as the

21 Ibid. 22 Michael Tawa, "Limit and Leimma: what remains for architecture?," in Limits: Proceedings of the 21st Annual Conference of the Society of Architectural Historians Australia and New Zealand, ed. Harriet Edquist and Helene Frichot (Melbourne: Society of Architectural Historians, Australia and New Zealand, 2004), p. 458. 23 Ibid. 24 Bhabha, The Location of Culture: p. 139. 63 etymology of the word suggests, transfers the meaning of home and belonging, across the ‘middle passage’...”25 Edward W. Said describes the practice of forming in one’s mind a distinction between “a familiar space which is ‘ours’ and an unfamiliar space beyond ‘ours’ which is ‘theirs’” as being a “universal practice.”26 However, he highlights that the distinctions made “can be entirely arbitrary.”27 The notion of such distinctions being a “universal practice” requires further consideration in relation to Australian Indigenous conceptualisation of landscape and place. In Australian Indigenous cultures the opposition ‘ours/theirs’ embodies itself in different ways – across divisions of gender, sacred/profane and cultural knowledge that shifts over the course of an individual’s lifetime28, rather than necessarily in relation to “geographical distinctions”29. This provides a means to begin to explore the concept of interiority in relation to Australian Indigenous cultures.

Australian Indigenous interiority will be argued here to be both a personal and collective space that shifts over time. Architect Kevin O’Brien reminds one that, “Aboriginality is a cultural context- not a formal philosophical position like the movements of Deconstruction, Modernism or Post-Modernism.”30 As Aboriginality is a cultural state, as explained by O’Brien, an understanding of interiority as both temporal and spatial must be allowed room to manoeuvre. It is therefore not possible, nor is it appropriate, for an aesthetic to be sought that exhibits the qualities of Aboriginality. Only an understanding of interiority can be sought. Anthropologist Nancy Munn (1931-) in an article entitled Excluded Spaces: the figure in the Australian aboriginal landscape, provides a framework that might be applied to an understanding of interiority as being both temporal and spatial. Munn, the author of the 1973 text Warlpiri Iconography: graphic representation and cultural symbolism in a Central Australian society, considers the boundary in relation to “spatial exclusion.”31 Munn suggests that by applying the concept of space to a particular place or area, the relationship between space and time loses its

25 Ibid. 26 Edward W. Said, Orientalism (London: Penguin Books, 2003). p. 54. 27 Ibid. 28 For more on cultural knowledge and the individual see Nancy Munn, "Excluded Spaces: the figure in the Australian Aboriginal landscape," Critical Inquiry vol. 22(Spring 1996). 29 Said, Orientalism: p. 54. 30 Kevin O'Brien, "Aboriginality and Architecture: built projects by Merrima and unbuilt projects on Mer" (master's thesis, University of Queensland, 2005), p. 25. 31 Munn, "Excluded Spaces: the figure in the Australian Aboriginal landscape," p. 449. 64 clarity. She speaks of a “spatially and temporally situated actor,” the protagonist engaged in the dynamic exchanges between “spatial regions and moving spatial fields.”32 A person’s relationship to space, to places and to socio-constructed space is in a constant state of flux, but this is perceivable or best expressed when the body and actions are considered in this “dynamic” relationship.33 This allows a physical space to be considered, which is of course a primary concern of architectural thinking. In Excluded Space Munn considers “Australian Aboriginal spatial interdictions” in relation to the Central and Western Desert, although she notes that her discussion may have a broader applicability.34 Although Munn’s discussion focuses on regions and peoples not considered within the broader thesis, the concept provides a useful starting point in relation to the examples dealt with here. As Munn describes it:

These interdictions create a partially shifting range of excluded or restricted regions for each person throughout his or her life. A specific kind of spatial form is being produced: a space of deletions or of delimitations constraining one’s presence at particular locales.35

Munn explains that this concept or what she terms “negative space” is well conveyed by the use of the phrase “no room,” or variations of the phrase or of its specific application.36 Munn provides an extensive list of references and personal communications relating to the use of this term by Indigenous Australians. She compares a person’s space to a “patchwork of regions” that may or may not overlap with the space of others, providing the example of gender exclusion from particular places or ceremonies.37 This presents interiority in terms of its liminality – a threshold which shifts and changes. The concept of excluded space is summarised by Munn as follows:

32 Ibid., p. 465. 33 Ibid. 34 Ibid., pp. 447-48. 35 Ibid., p. 448. 36 Ibid. 37 Ibid. 65 Aboriginal ‘excluded spaces’ can be understood as particular spatiotemporal formations produced out of the interaction of actors’ moving spatial fields and the terrestrial spaces or bases of bodily action. From this perspective, the analytical problem of spatial boundaries cannot automatically refer to limits marked out on pieces of land (or in architectural forms); nor can bodily boundaries be dealt with as body surfaces apart from the body’s spatiality, actions, and locatedness.38

Munn’s so-called ‘excluded spaces’ provide a perfect position from which to understand the concept of interiority in relation to liminal states. It provides the opportunity for interiority to be understood on various scales – from an individual level to a societal one. The term liminality also calls into question the limits and margins of interiority – there must after all exist some definition to the boundary in order to form this sense of ‘interior- ness’.

The term liminality originates from the term limen, which means threshold.39 Coupled with this understanding, the term interior is a Latin one, which is “comparative of adjective ‘interus,’ placed on the inside, from the prepositional ‘inter,’ in between.”40 The underlying notion of ‘in between’ suggests that the threshold of the interstitial space is essential to any understanding of interiority. Binary opposites, such as inside and outside, belong within a geometric ‘thirding’ effect in which a third term or element is brought into play. Such thinking stems from philosophy, in which geometry is used in relation to philosophical metaphors, for instance as expressed in the work of the geographer and philosopher Edward W. Soja41 (1941- ). Thus the dichotomy expressed by the two ideas actually belongs to a triptych, mediated by an interstitial space. The boundary or mediating force is also a construct that occupies a tenuous existence, ready at any moment to transform. This is not to suggest however that, as expressed by Soja, the “‘in-between’ position” seeks to connect “the opposite extremes of the dichotomy, for such a position

38 Ibid., p. 462. 39 Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin, Post-Colonial Studies: the key concepts, 2nd ed. (New York: Routledge, 2007). p. 117. 40 Eric Partridge, in Origins: a short etymological dictionary of modern English (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1961), p. 193. 41 Edward W. Soja, "Thirdspace: expanding the scope of the geographical imagination," in Architecturally Speaking: practices of art, architecture and the everyday, ed. Alan Read (London: Routledge, 2000). 66 still remains within the totalizing dualism.”42 As Tawa has eloquently described it: “The limit trembles –whether it be at the interface of distinct ecological systems, between historical epochs, between philosophies or concepts, between different social and cultural communities…or at the edges of buildings meeting a street.” 43 It is perhaps this “tremble”, or what might be a more appropriate term in relation to the visual effect of Central Desert art -‘shimmering’44- that best characterises interiority. A place that allows for exchange of difference, whatever that difference might be concerned with, exists on a shifting scale– from a domestic level, social existence of a group, to a spiritual awareness of one’s relation to others and place. As Tawa articulates it:

Liminal states are…not states of closure, stability or formal cohesion – but precisely unstable states poised on a breach, on the potential of the open to manifest itself as fervent and effusive fecundity. It is in this sense that the limit is what wavers or shivers, so as to touch its own incandescence. This condition of excess, that is both withheld and promised by the limit, and which is both the excess of the limit and the limit of excess, is the remainder. It is precisely because something always remains over and above a limit, that the boundary is what is always-already destined to break.45

Liminality is therefore a ‘place’ or state of becoming, fused with the potential of what it might be, what it is not, what it will be and how that will occur. It is the “threshold, or passage, between two positions or more”.46 It is the start of something more, a boundary to the beyond. Interiority, then, is defined by its liminality; its changeability; its ‘shimmering’. While an interior must be within a building, interiority is not simply concerned with the inside of a building, it is considered here to be culturally and socially dependant, as well as “spatial and temporal, the very essence of space and time” as suggested by the philosopher Elizabeth Grosz.47 Christine McCarthy also considers

42 Ibid., p. 20. 43 Tawa, "Limit and Leimma: what remains for architecture?," p. 457. 44 For more on Warlpiri shimmering see Jennifer Loureide Biddle, Breasts, Bodies, Canvas: Central Desert art as experience (Sydney: University of New South Wales Press, 2007). pp. 69-75. 45 Tawa, "Limit and Leimma: what remains for architecture?," p. 456. 46 Hernandez, Bhabha for Architects: p. 89. 47 Elizabeth Grosz, Architecture from the Outside: essays on virtual and real space (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001). p. 94. 67 interiority to be “temporal because changes in its variables (boundary, performance, intimacy, between-ness, enclosure) can cause the dissolution or the materialization of interiorities.”48 While it is clear that the presence of an actual built form is not necessary for a sense of interiority to exist, it is recognised that, as explained by Mari-Jose Amerlinck, “most spaces and places are architectural, in the sense that they are built: They are the result of a process of construction, even if its constructive underpinning is not always evident nor easily recognizable as such to the unskilled observer.”49 Amerlinck further explains that, “When space is solely defined by human presence, movement through it, or mythological references, as with the Australian aboriginal landscape, this distinction is of foremost importance. There are many ways to build, to put constructive behaviour into practice.”50 Of course, it would not be correct to claim that Australian Indigenous space is solely defined in these terms, as complex built expressions also contribute to define Australian Indigenous space. However, Amerlinck’s explanation of construction being applicable to many things, which are not necessarily architectural, assists here in providing a more distilled definition of interiority. The discussion by Amerlinck however fails to distinguish between architecture and building - for building does not necessarily constitute architecture, as will be described in greater detail later in the chapter. Yet to better understand interiority it is necessary to turn to a discussion of space generally, and then the orders of space, to understand the assumptions that are embedded in how buildings operate as an architectural construct.

Space and Interior Architecture The concept of space has been theorised in a number of ways from within a variety of disciplines, such as within the sciences, geography and of course architecture. Within interior architecture and architecture, one way space has been conceived of is objective in its ability to pinpoint one’s location in space using Cartesian geometry. Design historian Clive Edwards explains that the Cartesian “static approach” to space was, for example, “the basis of the nineteenth-century Beaux Arts ideal of interior layouts of space based on axes and hierarchical openings.”51 But quite in contrast space can be far more abstract,

48 McCarthy, "Toward a Definition of Interiority," p. 120. 49 Mari-Jose Amerlinck, "The Meaning and Scope of Architectural Anthropology," in Architectural Anthropology, ed. Mari-Jose Amerlinck (Westport, CT: Bergin & Garvey, 2001), p. 11. 50 Ibid., fn. 6, p. 24. 51 Clive Edwards, Interior Design: a critical introduction (Oxford: Berg, 2011). p. 115. 68 understandable as both the physical built environment and the social fabric of that environment .52 According to philosopher Gaston Bachelard, “Inhabited space transcends geometrical space.”53 Charles Rice has explained that space “as a specifically architectural concept denoting three-dimensional volume only became conceptualized towards the end of the nineteenth century, and it could be argued that it owes its conceptualization to the cultural significance of the bourgeois domestic interior.”54 The purpose of this part of the chapter is not to recount the many constructs of space but instead provide an overview of space as it is understood and engaged with from within interior architecture (see Chapter 5 for an additional discussion of space).

As previously explained in Chapter 2, there are a number of ways in which space is engaged with specifically from within interior architecture. Space in relation to interior architecture generates discussions round the following key issues –representation of space; occupation and use of space that can be applied to inform the design process; well- being of users in space; and behavioural settings that can inform the design process. Primarily, space is understood through its application to design and the potentiality of space to be manipulated in various ways through the built form. In this way, space is conceived of at an intimate scale - at the level of the individual and interaction between groups of inhabitants or users.

Within interior architecture the ability to represent interior space is a particular concern. Representation using orthographic drawing techniques is essential within practice, and is considered a vital skill taught to budding practitioners during their tertiary education. The orthographic technique of the “developed surface interior”, as it is termed by Robin Evans, which allowed for “turning architecture inside-out, so that internal rather than external elevations were shown” in relation to a floor plan, is an example of an interior- specific application of orthographic drawing.55 Philosopher Henri Lefebvre explains in

52 ‘Behavioural settings’, which “consists of the space, its surroundings and contents, and the people and their activities.” Bryan Lawson, The Language of Space (Oxford: Architectural Press, 2001). p. 23. 53 Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, trans. Maria Jolas (Boston: Beacon Press, 1994). p. 47. 54 Charles Rice, The Emergence of the Interior: architecture, modernity, domesticity (London: Routledge, 2007). ft 13, p. 122. 55 Robin Evans, "The Developed Surface: an enquiry into the brief life of an eighteenth-century drawing technique," in Towards a New Interior: an anthology of interior design theory, ed. Lois Weinthal (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2011), p. 304. 69 relation to architecture, which shares a common representational language with interior architecture, that:

Within the spatial practice of modern society, the architect ensconces himself in his own space. He has a representation of this space, one which is bound to graphic elements – to sheets of paper, plans, elevations, sections, perspective views of facades, modules, and so on. This conceived space is thought by those who make use of it to be true, despite the fact – or perhaps because of the fact – that it is geometrical: because it is a medium for objects, an object itself, and a locus of the objectification of plans.56

Orthographic drawings are perceived as communicating actual space, as explained by Lefebvre. The use of poché, the drawing technique of illustrating the space of construction as a void that is sometimes coloured-in but does not indicate any of the actual building materials necessary, perhaps captures this concern with geometry most clearly. In representing interior space, the space of construction is most often considered unnecessary within presentation drawings; only the surfaces presented to the interior are privileged with representation.57 Of course, orthographic drawings do not convey all qualities associated with an interior, and therefore require supplementing with perspectives and models. However, orthographic drawings have the advantage of showing both inside, outside and the space of construction simultaneously.58 Interior architecture is primarily concerned with the representation of space before-the-fact of its coming into being, making it critical to convey the totality of the experiential qualities of what will comprise the actual space to be lived.

Occupation and use of space is also an important concern for the practice of interior architecture. Anthropologist Edward T. Hall’s Theory of Proxemics59 designates the

56 Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, English translation 1991). p. 361. 57 Thomas Loveday, "Construction, the Third Space of Architecture," (Paper presented at Art Association of Australia and New Zealand (AAANZ) Annual Conference, Monash University, VictoriaDecember 2006), p. 6. 58 Ibid., p. 5. 59 Hall defines ‘proxemics’ as “the term I have coined for the interrelated observations and theories of man’s use of space as a specialized elaboration of culture.” Edward T. Hall, The Hidden Dimension: man's use of space in public and private (London: The Bodley Head, 1969). p. 1. 70 difference between fixed-feature space, semifixed-feature space, and informal space. Hall defines fixed-feature space as comprising both “material manifestations as well as the hidden, internalized designs that govern behavior”.60 The fixed-feature space can be best equated with the permanent structure of the building and ideas associated with it – for instance the association of certain activities correlating with particular spaces. Semifixed- feature space relates particularly to the furniture arrangements within the space, which establish particular patterns of behaviour, whilst informal space relates to the “distances maintained in encounters with others.”61 Hall’s four levels of informal space (intimate distance, personal distance, social distance and public distance) vary in degrees of sensory engagement with other users of the space. Hall highlights that his description of spatial proxemics varies culturally, and that “people from different cultures not only speak different languages but, what is possibly more important, inhabit different sensory worlds.”62 Lefebvre explains that the space of the user is “lived – not represented (or conceived)” quite in contrast to the representational concerns of the discipline.63 Lefebvre comments upon the use of terms ‘users’ and ‘inhabitants’ as being “clumsy and pejorative labels” which create a homogeny and “marginalization by spatial practice.”64 This might well be true but not easily negated within conceptualisation of space. However, users (for want of a better term) are a principal focus of the interior architect.

Space and its impact on the well-being of users, in both the short and long term, is another way in which space is conceptualised within the discipline. Shashi Caan, interior designer and current President of the International Federation of Interior Architects/Designers (IFI), states that “human well-being is the end goal of design.”65 Caan suggests that well- being can be influenced by the use of design elements and principles in a space, as well as through more subjective outcomes such as inspirational and uplifting spaces.66 Colour is an example of how design elements and principles can be applied in the design of a space,

60 Ibid., p. 97. 61 Ibid., p. 105. 62 Ibid., p. 2. 63 Lefebvre, The Production of Space: p. 362. 64 Ibid. 65 Shashi Caan, Rethinking Design and Interiors: human beings in the built environment (London: Laurence King Publishing, 2011). p. 76. 66 Ibid., pp. 76-78. 71 and thereby effect emotional and behavioural change in users. For instance, a blue room can cause time to lengthen, while red and yellow spaces stimulate activity and appetite.67 The consideration of space through the lenses of health and well-being extends to properties of indoor air quality (IAQ). Mechanical engineer Jeffrey Siegel explains that “there are many well-known sources of indoor air pollution, including radon from soil, formaldehyde from pressed wood products, allergies to dust mites and pet dander, and odors from paints and solvents.”68 IAQ can have both immediate effects on the users of the space but can also have long-term health consequences. Space when viewed through the lens of well-being not only considers the immediacy of the physical space, but extends this through time to consider the future effects of the space on users.

Understanding of behavioural settings is another way in which space is conceptualised within interior architecture: space forms the settings in which users carry out activities and rituals, which may be “influenced and even constrained by these settings”. 69 Architectural theorist Bryan Lawson insightfully suggests that without an understanding “of space and settings, life would be unbearably stressful. If every time we entered a room we simply had no idea at all what was expected of us, we should have to work very hard to identify and learn the local rules.”70 The properties of space and settings have implications for the design of the interior (although behavioural settings are not limited to interior spaces) in relation to all of the design elements and principles. Lawson explains that the international style of architecture provides a haven for the traveller in the provision of commonly identifiable elements. He says that the “international hotel with its foyer, reception desk, bars and restaurants provides an understood setting that offers the foreign traveller a haven of security within the otherwise illegible settings of the local culture.”71 Gestures that “mobilize and activate the total body” as described by Henri Lefebvre may be appropriate for certain behavioural settings.72 Lefebvre claims that many “social spaces are given rhythm by the gestures which are produced within them, and

67 Ibid., p. 111. 68 Jeffrey Siegel, "Engineering the Indoor Environment," in Towards a New Interior: an anthology of interior design theory, ed. Lois Weinthal (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2011), p. 349. 69 Lawson, The Language of Space: p. 23. 70 Ibid., p. 25. 71 Ibid. 72 Lefebvre, The Production of Space: p. 213. 72 which produce them (and they are accordingly often measured in paces, cubits, feet, palms or thumbs).73 Thus, the behaviour intended or desired for a space is socially determined.

Loveday’s Orders of Space Building on the understanding of how space is variously conceptualised within interior architecture, leads to the need to question the orders of space and the role of architecture in expressing these orders. The orders of space framework proposed by architectural theorist Thomas Loveday provides a new way of understanding architectural space. Loveday’s orders of space presents a trinity which is founded on the concept of third space, drawing on the work of the cultural theorists Fredric Jameson (1934- ), Edward W. Soja and Henri Lefebvre (1901-1991). Loveday’s spatial theory frames third space not so much as a political framing of space that stands apart from society and cities, but as a quotidian, relatable experience. The three modes of space defined by Loveday are expressed by buildings and provide the ability to describe how spatial ordering typically occurs in western European architecture. Throughout the rest of the thesis, the terms from this framework are referred to as needed to explain when first, second and third space are revealed.

Loveday explains the need for the modes of space framework in Construction, the Third Space of Architecture, cautioning that architecture is fast approaching a point of “crisis in which it [architecture] has divided itself from new values in spatial thinking.”74 Drawing upon the work of Fredric Jameson, Loveday questions why it is necessary to search for fresh ways in which to see the world and the need to find new unburdened terms to describe these new modes.75 This is “Because the old words and modes are failing in the worst way which is to say to the death.”76 Loveday explains that because “Third Space concerns ideas about the character of power relations in space” it is therefore of relevance to architecture.77 Loveday’s use of the term third space is used in reference to cultural

73 Ibid., p. 216. 74 Loveday, "Construction, the Third Space of Architecture," p. 1. 75 Ibid. 76 Ibid., p. 2. 77 Thomas Loveday, "Architecture and Third Space," (Paper presented at Society of Architectural Historians Australia and New Zealand (SAHANZ) Conference, Geelong, VictoriaJuly 2008), p. 2. 73 theorist Edward W. Soja, who “derives the term ‘thirdspace’ from philosopher Henri Lefebvre, as the space inhabited by an ‘other’ or outsider. Various hegemonies, according to Soja, enforce a space that is peripheral, outside and away from the centre.”78 Loveday uses the borrowed philosophical metaphor and applies it as a “literal spatial order.”79 As is often the case with architectural theory, concepts are borrowed from different disciplines and reframed according to their applicability in relation to architectural theory and practice.80 An example of this is the concept of deconstruction borrowed from literary theory. Architectural deconstruction is a rebellion against geometrical order and organisation, as expressed in the work of such architects as Zaha Hadid. With this said, it should be noted that the use of third space in the modes of space framework is in a manner specific to the discipline, and therefore differs from its original conception within philosophy and geography. Thus according to Loveday, third space reveals itself in architecture through two ways: as “cultural power exchanges” and as a “metaphysical effect.”81 Within this mode of space as defined by Loveday he proposes that, first space is aligned with the interior, for this is the principal reason buildings are constructed. Second space or outside, is produced by having a first space and it is third space or the space of construction and building materials “that presents surfaces to both inside, first space and outside, second space.” 82 In Loveday’s metaphysical trinity there is seemingly a privileging of one mode over the others, that is to say the inside or first space, although when read by an interior architect that is perhaps unsurprising.

As previously mentioned, the term third space has a lineage in cultural theory appearing in the work of Henri Lefebvre and later Edward W. Soja and Fredric Jameson.83 For Lefebvre and Soja, thirdspace is a “lived space” which moves beyond the dualism of what Lefebvre terms ‘perceived space’ and ‘conceived space’, or what is termed by Soja as

78 Ibid., p. 6. 79 Dr Thomas Loveday, personal communication, 18 April, 2012. 80 This practice is not confined to architecture. As Michael Peters and Colin Lankshear explain in relation to postmodernism in their book chapter ‘Postmodern Counternarratives’, “It is a mistake to think that these [different] disciplines and discourses treat ‘postmodernism’ in the same way, or to assume that they have developed in a similar fashion.” Michael Peters and Colin Lankshear, "Postmodern Counternarratives," in Counternarratives: cultural studies and critical pedagogies in postmodern spaces, ed. Henry Giroux, et al. (New York: Routledge, 1996), p. 5. 81 Loveday, "Architecture and Third Space," p. 9. 82 Ibid. 83 ———, "Construction, the Third Space of Architecture," p. 10. 74 ‘Firstspace’ and ‘Secondscape’.84 A detailed analysis will not be provided of these concepts in order to avoid deviating from the main discussion. Of most benefit is to understand how the concepts have come to be applied to architecture and are of relevance to the field. According to Loveday, third space in its application to architecture always has a highly defined “spatial limit because it is actual building material.”85 Loveday provides the following explanation of the relevance of third space for architecture:

For architecture, third space, in an everyday sense, certainly carries the same imperialistic flavours expressed within cultural theory, except that they are reconstructed within a neo-conservative consumer endgame in the 21st century. However, my argument is that through architectural third space, or third space as the space of and for building, third space can be directly grasped within quotidian experience by the inhabitants of cities rather than as a theoretical form abstracted and at a distance. Third space is folded into everyone’s experience, not only those that claim outsider status. An architectural third space frees third space from the rigidity of the discursive ‘other’, thereby allowing it to be a productive force, as Lefebvre described, independent of the politics of centre and periphery, self and other.86

Loveday’s mode of space theory particularly emphasises space as material and comprised of a socio-political dimension. Third space conceals the labour involved in the production of the space. Lefebvre explains generally, in relation to the production of space, that the “produced or worked objects pass from the space of labour to the enveloping social space only once the traces of labour have been effaced from them.”87 According to Loveday, because architectural representation (except in the case of construction drawings) does not communicate third space “the forces involved in third space have virtually disappeared from design. The politics of the building site, the economics of construction and the aesthetics of building trades play no part in design representations.”88 In this way power relations are revealed through their concealment. Therefore aspects of space, as they are

84 Soja, "Thirdspace: expanding the scope of the geographical imagination," pp. 17-21. 85 Loveday, "Construction, the Third Space of Architecture," p. 3. 86 Ibid., p. 11. 87 Lefebvre, The Production of Space: p. 212. 88 Loveday, "Construction, the Third Space of Architecture," p. 10. 75 theorised in the modes of space theory, are always conceived of as physical. The spatial dynamics of the building process thus become a way in which the quotidian nature of third space can be experienced within Loveday’s modes of space theory. Third space in a spatial sense is absolute, a clearly defined composition of construction materials brought together into a built form. However, third space has also been explained to go beyond its physical manifestation and embody cultural matter.

The question must be asked, what role does architecture play in the articulation of the modes of space? The practice of architecture draws on the need for a distinction between inside/outside and ‘designs’ a form that becomes the built expression of this need. Thus the architectural design articulates what is a cultural understanding of inside and outside and the relationship between the two. The primary role of a building in western European thought, and consequently the purpose of the built interior is “working against…the tendencies of the natural world.”89 Architecture as a separate pursuit from building encompasses various other additional concerns. Architectural historian Nikolaus Pevsner has explained the separation between architecture and building stating that while “Nearly everything that encloses space on a scale sufficient for a human being to move in is a building; the term architecture applies only to buildings designed with a view to aesthetic appeal.”90 For Roman architect and engineer Marcus Vitruvius Pollio (1st century AD), usually known simply as Vitruvius, architecture must fulfil three criteria of “durability, convenience, and beauty.”91 For polemicist John Ruskin (1819-1900) buildings constitute architecture only if they satisfy seven criteria, which he outlines at length in The Seven Lamps of Architecture. Paul Memmott in Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia provides another definition of architecture:

89 David Leatherbarrow, Topographical Stories: studies in landscape and architecture (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004). p. 61. 90 Nikolaus Pevsner, An Outline of European Architecture, 7th ed. (Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1977). p. 15. 91 Marcus Pollio Vitruvius, Vitruvius: the ten books on architecture, trans. Morris Hicky Morgan (London: Harvard University Press, 1914). p. 17. 76 Architecture is a selected, arranged and constructed configuration of environmental properties, both natural and artificial, in and around one or more activity spaces or behavioural settings, all within a cultural landscape, and combined with patterns of behavioural rules and meanings as well as incorporating cultural constructs of space and time, to result in human comfort and quality of lifestyle.92

This definition of architecture is provided by Memmott to suit the purposes of his exploration of Australian Indigenous buildings. The adoption of the term architecture also reveals an attempt to expand the parameters of the architectural canon that has previously operated as a gatekeeper that includes or excludes work, meaning that the type of buildings described by Memmott would have been previously ignored. 93 Yet this definition highlights the merging of the concept of architecture with building. In the definition provided by Memmott the term ‘architecture’ could be easily substituted with the term ‘building.’ The role then of architecture in this scenario is to imagine and represent the properties described by Memmott. This imagining and representation is claimed by architecture as a creative act achieved particularly through orthographic drawings and models. A key feature of architecture at odds with the “culture landscape” referred to by Memmott is the erased site on which this imagining takes place – the tabula rasa. This erased site may be conceived of as physical or exist only in the mind’s eye. With this underpinning notion in place, the use of the term architecture becomes problematic, as a clear distinction is not articulated between architecture and buildings. Thus, architecture and buildings play different roles in relation to the modes of space – architecture designs how the modes of space will be expressed, whilst a building is the physical expression of these modes. Within non-western European cultural building traditions in which orthographic projection or other representational methods may not be used before the building is constructed, the modes of space should not be assumed to be conceived of as an integral part of the building methodology. Although the buildings themselves may distinguish between three spaces – inside, outside and the space of construction and building materials – it does not necessarily follow that the purpose of the buildings is to provide an arrangement between these three types of spaces.

92 Paul Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia (St. Lucia, Qld: University of Queensland Press, 2007). p. 320. 93 Hernandez, Bhabha for Architects: p. 17. 77 Hunt’s Three Natures Loveday’s orders of space establishes a clear distinction between inside and outside and demonstrates how this is operationalised by buildings. Yet this ordering of space also occurs more broadly and is enacted across the landscape, as well as affecting the relationship between buildings and landscape. A useful framework for conceptualising the order of space beyond buildings is provided by landscape philosopher John Dixon Hunt in his text Greater Perfections: the practice of garden theory, in which he presents a symbolic classification termed ‘three natures’. Although Hunt has not necessarily intended for the three natures to be related to Loveday’s orders of space, the three natures employs a similar distinction between spatial types in terms of degrees of familiarity and inhabitation. Hunt’s framework provides an understanding of how “a territory can be viewed in the light of how it has or has not been treated in space and time.”94 Hunt draws upon the writing of the Roman writer Cicero, and the Italian humanists Bartolomeo Taegio and Jacopo Bonafido, to assist in the categorisation of landscape types. In simplified terms what Hunt terms first nature is used to describe the wilderness, second nature is landscape that has been cultivated and third nature refers to gardens.95 Hunt suggests that Cicero coined the term second nature in De Natura Deorum in 1508, and that the term third nature was employed separately by Bartolomeo Taegio and Jacopo Bonfadio, in 1559 and 1541 respectively.96 It must be emphasised that the use of classificatory terms is not intended to necessarily suggest a privileging of one of the natures over the others.97 Hunt highlights that the relationship between the three natures, including their ordering, is contingent upon the circumstances of the location, impacted upon by such wide-ranging factors as topography and economic pressures.98 As Hunt articulates it, “distinct, palpable, and meaningful distinctions, declensions or gradations of intervention, are clear in virtually every instance. It is this phenomenon, not necessarily a particular number of zones in the landscape, which the idea of ‘three natures’ codifies.”99

94 John Dixon Hunt, Greater Perfections: the practice of garden theory (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2000). pp. 35-36. 95 ibid. 96 Ibid., pp. 33-34. 97 Ibid., pp. 35-36. 98 Ibid. 99 Ibid., pp. 36. 78 The decision to discuss Hunt’s three natures framework is intended to assist in illustrating the culturally defined nature of the modes of space. In the discussion that follows it will be demonstrated that the three natures is essentially a European way of perceiving and categorising the landscape. It will be suggested that the three natures framework defined by Hunt is arguably comparative to the modes of space manifest by western European buildings. Therefore, by discussing the three natures in a comparative manner, it is suggested that the arrangement of spaces by buildings can similarly be conceived of as culturally determined. It is considered necessary to discuss such a landscape model because hitherto the orders of space have received little discussion and therefore require a point of comparison to assist in the discussion of the hypothesis put forward here.

First nature, or wilderness, is explained by Hunt as “inevitably constructed by a given culture as a means of differentiating kinds of identity or behaviour, or of protecting parcels of territory for special purposes.”100 In respect to first nature, Hunt notes that “one criterion of wilderness is its hostility, its ‘otherness,’ its ability to bewilder.”101 Hunt states in Greater Perfections, “We come to terms with first nature and explain our encounters with wilderness by talking of wonder, awe, fear or distaste.”102 This sentiment is well captured in a passage from a Marcus Clarke essay of 1874 that is an often-cited description of the Australian bush. The description evidently strikes a chord with those familiar with the qualities of the Australian bush and is also representative of the dislocation experienced by early colonial settlers:

The Australian mountain forests are funereal, secret and stern. Their solitude is desolation. They seem to stifle in their black gorges a story of sullen despair. No tender sentiment is nourished in their shade. In other lands the dying year is mourned, and falling leaves drop lightly on his bier. In the Australian forests, no leaves fall. The savage wind shouts among the rock-clefts. From the melancholy gums, strips of white bark hang and rustle. … All is fear inspiring and gloomy.103

100 Hunt, Greater Perfections: the practice of garden theory: p. 51. 101 Ibid., p. 57. 102 Hunt, Greater Perfections: the practice of garden theory: p. 57. 103 Marcus Clarke, cited in Christopher Allen, Art in Australia: from colonization to postmodernism (London: Thames and Hudson, 1997). p. 44. 79 First nature demonstrates a European perception of landscape. It is of course inappropriate to consider the Australian landscape as a first nature or wilderness as it denies the existence of the Australian Indigenous peoples. Historian Bill Gammage has illustrated in his text, The Biggest Estate on Earth: how Aborigines made Australia, “how the people of Australian managed their land in 1788…It [the book] argues that collectively they managed an Australian estate they thought of as single and universal”.104 Gammage says simply that “There was no wilderness.”105 However, failure to recognise inhabitation and instead ‘see’ wilderness, has continued until recent times. In Tasmania in the early 1980s the flooding of the Franklin River (located in Tasmania’s south-west) was proposed in order to facilitate the construction of a dam for a hydro-electric scheme. The Tasmanian Wilderness Society instigated a campaign to stop the scheme going ahead, however the campaign was not supported by the Tasmanian Aboriginal Centre for the very reason that the Tasmanian Wilderness Society’s “concept of ‘wilderness’ did not acknowledge prior Aboriginal occupation of Tasmania.”106 The notion of wilderness, and its erasure of the presence of Indigenous Australians from the landscape, has even been likened to terra nullius.107 Wilderness did not exist but was a European inscription on the landscape - for the palawa peoples there was “no wilderness, only habitat.”108

The discussion of first nature (or wilderness) has demonstrated that this is a culturally defined concept. The idea of wilderness denies the existence of Indigenous Australians and their inhabitation of place. It could be suggested that the outside, or second space, from Loveday’s modes of space, aligns most closely with first nature. It is from this uncontrolled outside that an interior requires separation. This second space by extension can also be deemed to operate on culturally defined terms. This begins to illustrate that the orders of space expressed by buildings can be considered Eurocentric in nature.

104 Bill Gammage, The Biggest Estate on Earth: how Aborigines made Australia (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2011). p. 1. 105 Ibid., p. 2. 106 The discovery of Kutikina and Deena Reena Cave which are important Indigenous heritage sites, led to the Tasmanian Aboriginal Centre (TAC) changing their position in support of the campaign, “on the grounds that it [the flooding of the Franklin River] would destroy Aboriginal heritage.” Lyndall Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians, 2nd ed. (St. Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 1996). pp. 267-68. 107 Roslynn D. Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography, 1st ed. (Sandy Bay, TAS: Polymath Press, 2006). p. 4. 108 Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography: p. 267. 80 Second nature or cultivated landscape, and third space or the space of construction and building materials that presents surfaces to inside and outside arguably provide something of a landscape and architectural equivalency. Both second nature and third space act as intermediary elements between familiar and non-familiar spaces (exterior) or places (wilderness). Activities such as clearing woods, the erection of walls to protect crops and livestock, and terracing to allow planting of crops are particular examples of second nature provided by Hunt that “are clearly the beginnings of an activity similar to the place-making that we call gardens.”109

We largely live in a world of second nature, places where humans have made over the environment for the purposes of survival and habitation, where labor and productivity dominate, and where the traces of that work are everywhere visible. But there are some examples of second nature that are more slight and/or temporary even than fields and walls. They may not involve actual intervention upon the land, although they certainly envisage some modification of it in the mind’s eye. They all share a recognition of some space as special, as crucially different from surrounding first nature.110

Hunt provides two Indigenous Australian examples. Firstly, a story from Creation of ancestors who carried a pole that during the night provided security and acted as a spatial marker.111 An even more ephemeral form of second nature is explained in relation to Songlines112 that in simplified terms are songs that map the landscape not reliant upon cartographic techniques.113 Hunt proposes that these aforesaid examples “move toward, without achieving, third nature.”114 Obviously it is inappropriate to place Australian Indigenous landscape and cultural expressions within a European ontological view of the world. Within Hunt’s framework, second nature and its comparative building equivalent raised here third space, require work or some other form of cultural exchange to make

109 Hunt, Greater Perfections: the practice of garden theory: p. 59. 110 Ibid., pp. 59-60. 111 Ibid., p. 60. 112 Bill Gammage describes songlines in The Biggest Estate on Earth: how Aborigines made Australia as “also a map, compass and calendar. It follows paths ecologically suited to its creator ancestor, and teaches how to exploit resource en route.” Gammage, The Biggest Estate on Earth: how Aborigines made Australia: p. 135. 113 Hunt, Greater Perfections: the practice of garden theory: pp. 61-62. 114 Ibid., p. 63. 81 their existence visible. Of course if there is no wilderness or outside, there is little need for an intermediary zone between garden or inside. Thus the modes of the space, like the three natures, can be considered to be Eurocentric in the organisation of relationship between spaces.

Third nature, or gardens, and first space, or the interior, can be comparatively considered as private places of familiarity in which there is the visible investment of effort to create the place, or in the latter case, space. As Hunt articulates it, gardens are “privileged...because they are concentrated or perfected forms of place-making.”115 Hunt explains that the title of his text Greater Perfections is used in reference to philosopher Sir Francis Bacon, who suggested that as gardens often follow the construction of buildings they are as a result the ‘greater perfection,’ but according to Hunt “it also mischievously implies that the practice of theory can be a ‘greater perfection’ than garden-making.”116 Hunt suggests that a “‘public garden’ always seems a contradiction in terms.”117 Third nature is culturally and locatively determined. In The Native Races of the British Empire, published in 1920, the failure to understand Australian Indigenous space and place is revealed by the author who states that:

The house is only a shelter of bark; there are no gardening tools, for although the tribes eat all sorts of roots and berries, and even seaweed near the coast, they have no knowledge of cultivating plants.118

It was such attitudes that contributed to the notion of terra nullius and the dispossession of Indigenous Australians of their land. This is potently illustrated by the landmark case of Mabo and Others v. the State of Queensland. The brief discussion of the case here will not focus on the implicit power relations associated with it but instead highlight that European conceptualisation of landscape and place both enabled land to be wrongfully removed from Indigenous Australians in the first place, and later facilitated its return. It was the Mabo case that effectively overturned the concept of terra nullius and paved the

115 Hunt, Greater Perfections: the practice of garden theory: p. 11. 116 Ibid., p. 8. 117 Ibid., p. 63. 118 W. D. Hambly, The Native Races of Australasia: Australia - Tasmania - New Zealand (London: Oxford University Press, 1920). p. 16. 82 way for future recognition of land rights of Indigenous Australians. As geographer Sarah Whatmore explains, “terra nullius legitimized the annexation of ‘uninhabited lands’ by settlement as an acknowledged means, alongside conquest and secession, for the proper conduct of colonization by ‘civilized’ nations.”119 Later recognition of third nature and second nature allowed for Indigenous ownership to be recognised within the strictures of the European judicial system. For land that was “uncultivated was land that could simply be taken as belonging to no one.”120 Third nature conceptually presented first space- private space that consequently allows for recognition of ownership of this mode of space. Third nature was deemed present on the Murray Islands in the Torres Strait, off the Queensland coast, at the time of European contact. When the Mabo case was being heard, Justice Moynihan was sent to the Murray Islands in order to gather information about life on the islands as it was at the time of initial European contact. Of particular importance to life on Murray Island was the presence of gardens:

In the higher central portion of Murray Island lay cultivated garden land. Gardening was crucially important to the Murray Islanders. It provided sustenance, as well as material for use in the ceremonies associated with community life. Various rituals were associated with gardening- rituals which helped to pass on and preserve gardening techniques.121

The recognition of third nature was a landmark decision. In the eyes of a European judicial system it transformed generic ‘space’ into ‘place.’ It recognised the existence of milieu.122 The inhabitation of place by people was recognised by this decision.

The Orders of Space and their users People, or users of space, should not be ignored. In the modes of space and the three natures model, people do not form a direct component of either of the models, although

119 Sarah Whatmore, Hybrid Geographies: natures, cultures, spaces (London: Sage Publications, 2002). pp. 63-64. 120 David Turnbull, "Movement, Boundaries, Rationality and the State," in Moving Anthropology: critical Indigenous studies, ed. Tess Lea, Emma Kowal, and Gillian K. Cowlishaw (Darwin: Charles Darwin University Press, 2006), p. 191. 121 P. J. Butt and Robert D. Eagleson, Mabo: what the High Court said and what the government did, 2nd ed. (Sydney: Federation Press, 1996). p. 15. 122 Hunt provides an explanation of geographer Augustin Berque’s concept of ‘milieu’ as a two-pronged concept, involving the “mediation of environment” and the relationship between the place and its user. Hunt, Greater Perfections: the practice of garden theory: pp. 8-9. 83 their actions may be implied in the generation of the various spaces. Architect Kevin O’Brien has provided a conceptualisation of spatial ordering quite different from the model of Loveday, introducing people as a key component. Like Loveday, O’Brien also adopts the terms “first space”, “second space” and “third space”, to describe his understanding of spaces, in this case that might be useful in the design process for the Church of the Torres Strait. Consideration of O’Brien’s approach to the ordering of space is significant in the context of this chapter. O’Brien’s approach to spatial ordering is not raised here simply because it adopts a similar nomenclature. As stated previously in Chapter 1, O’Brien is one of less than 10 Australian Indigenous architecture graduates and his perspective on spatial arrangements is therefore important to make mention of in the context of this research. His approach to spatial ordering also has important implications for interior architecture in its consideration of people. O’Brien supports his spatial ordering discussion and design process with a Venn-style diagram (see Figure 2) to illustrate the relationship between the three kinds of spaces. O’Brien adopts the term first space for landscape, second space for building, and third space for people.123 The union between all three of the spaces results in the “response” or “ritual”. What is not clear is what occurs in the unions between first and second space, first and third space and second and third space. These engagements are left unmarked on O’Brien’s diagram and are not addressed in the text. It may be that the style of diagram is inappropriate for illustrating the interstitial spaces between the concepts.124 According to Nancy Munn, a person’s relationship to places and socio-constructed space is in a constant state of flux, but this is most perceivable or best expressed when the body and actions are considered in a “dynamic” relationship.125 Perhaps the “moving spatial fields” that Munn describes are the question marks that are left in O’Brien’s Venn diagram - the shifting liminal region in a constant state of flux. Perhaps this is the space where interiority resides?

123 O'Brien, "Aboriginality and Architecture: built projects by Merrima and unbuilt projects on Mer," p. 31. 124 Philosopher Gaston Bachelard suggests in relation to the dialectic formed by inside and outside that “Unless one is careful, it is made into a basis of images that governs all thoughts of positive and negative. Logicians draw circles that overlap or exclude each other, and all their rules immediately become clear. Philosophers, when confronted with outside and inside, think in terms of being and non-being.” Bachelard, The Poetics of Space: pp. 211-12. 125 Munn, "Excluded Spaces: the figure in the Australian Aboriginal landscape," p. 465. 84 first space (landscape)

? ? response (ritual) second space third space (building) ? (people) second space

Figure 2. Venn-diagram based on Kevin O’Brien’s representation of first, second and third space. The question marks have been added to highlight the uncertain nature of the unions between the three spaces that are left blank in O’Brien’s original diagram. (after O'Brien, “Aboriginality and Architecture: built projects by Merrima and unbuilt projects on Mer,” p. 31.)

There are some similarities between O’Brien’s diagram and that of Edward Soja’s Trialectics of Spatiality diagram.126 O’Brien’s use of classificatory terms establishes a hierarchy from which the generation of the design might emerge. And indeed, O’Brien suggests that the experience begins in first space and from this it can be extended into second space or architecture.127 The adoption of the terminology first, second and third space by O’Brien, although incongruous here in the usage of classificatory terms as adopted in Loveday’s modes of space, suggests the application of the trinity to articulate concepts that might inform the design process. It seems that the concern is once again for the building, the outside and the inside - although inside in this case is framed through the dynamic exchanges that occur as a result of the users. Thus, O’Brien’s framework recognises people as a key element. In the three natures and modes of space, either production resulting from people, or habitation required by people, is considered. People

126 Soja, "Thirdspace: expanding the scope of the geographical imagination," p. 18. 127 O'Brien, "Aboriginality and Architecture: built projects by Merrima and unbuilt projects on Mer," p. 31. 85 themselves are not considered as entities in their own right. The introduction of people, or third space as termed by O’Brien, is an important addition to models of understanding buildings and landscape, which is complimentary to the concerns of interior architecture. O’Brien’s spatial orders zoom out in scale. While Loveday’s model considers the spatial modes in relation to these orders being enacted by individual buildings, O’Brien’s approach considers these issues at a landscape level, considering the relationship between the building as a whole, its landscape and the occupants. The interaction between all three results in what O’Brien terms the response or ritual.

O’Brien’s triad provides an application of a tripartite model to architectural practice by an Australian Indigenous architect. Although first, second and third space are applied differently in O’Brien’s model, people are an important new element introduced. A first space which is created by third space, using the terms as they are applied by Loveday, is after all constructed by people with the purpose to be inhabited by people.128

Conclusion By reflecting on the foundation on which we build an understanding of the term interior, it is possible to see that the interior is both etymologically, and through inference, bound to notions of ownership and possession. Interiority then, or a sense of ‘interior-ness’, is considered a more fruitful concept with which to engage. The concept of interiority was explained as emerging from philosophy, and provides a means to consider how engagement between interiors and exteriors can occur from which architectural thinking might benefit. Interiority has been described here in terms of its liminality, as it provides an opportunity to negate binary divisions and allow difference. Liminality was explained as a threshold between states or positions, whether these be physical or abstract. As a result, this also means that cultural and individual differences can be accommodated in this model, and explorations of interior-focused concepts need not to be tied to a Eurocentric approach. Whilst it is acknowledged that the definitions provided of interiority and liminality are highly conceptual, they are valuable in providing a means to explore what interiors might be when these are not necessarily defined by built form in the traditional western European manner.

128 A first space might not only be for domestic inhabitation but a place of work, worship or for other purposes of cultural exchange. 86

The orders of space by which buildings present an arrangement of inside and outside, is a primary way through which the interior is understood, and closely linked to this is interiority. Using links to how landscape is conceptualised, based on Hunt’s three natures, this discussion has shown that Eurocentric ideas are embedded in how buildings operate as an architectural construct. The orders of space are often assumed to be based on a universally applicable way in which to arrange and organise relationships between inside and outside. The discussion of the orders of space in this chapter has drawn on two models by which the orders of space can be explored, the three natures as outlined by John Dixon Hunt and the modes of space proposed by Thomas Loveday. The two models demonstrate essentially western European ways of thinking about landscape, the role of the building, and the interior. Spatial ordering operating at a variety of scales has also been described – from a personal scale, to a collective space that maybe used or conceived of as a group. However, as the modes of space might not necessarily be demonstrated by Australian Indigenous buildings in the same manner that the modes of space are thought of in their original form, interiority becomes a method by which to consider first, second and third space when there may not be a physical building. Engaging with spatial ordering at a variety of scales therefore becomes even more important.

This chapter contributed to the hypothesis stated in the Introduction by exploring the notion of interiority and describing the spatial ordering revealed by buildings. This chapter also provided a comparative discussion of Hunt’s three natures, in which landscape types are categorised, to further the argument that the orders of space expressed by buildings can be understood as belonging to a western European architectural, ontological view of the world.

The next chapter will reveal how spatial ordering may exist in ways beyond the physicality of the building, through the examination of cosmological models in Australian Indigenous cultures.

87 CHAPTER 4 THE INFORMING OF SPATIAL ORDERING: THE SKY-DOME

The previous chapter defined the terms interior and interiority, as applied in the thesis, and situated the concept of the order of space as being Eurocentric in nature. The order of space is the primary method by which the spatial arrangement expressed by buildings is understood in western European architectural literature, including those buildings that are not of European origin. The relationship between the order of space and the entrenched Eurocentrism that this reveals in architectural thinking has not been challenged. This chapter will reveal how spatial ordering may exist in ways beyond the physicality of the building through the examination of cosmological models in Australian Indigenous cultures. It also furthers the discussion of interiority that commenced in Chapter 3. Firstly, this chapter will outline Australian Indigenous cosmology with a particular focus on cosmological models from the south-east - namely the sky-dome.1 Secondly, the utopian sky world, a spatial region located beyond the sky-dome, will be considered. Thirdly, the chapter will outline methods of gaining access to and from the sky world. Fourthly, visual representations of the sky-dome cosmology will be outlined. Finally, what this cosmology implies for buildings and interiority will be summarised.

Various accounts documented within anthropological literature will be drawn upon in the course of this chapter, and a variety of examples will be considered from across the Australian continent but with a particular emphasis on south-east Australia. Although it is believed that a similar cosmology was subscribed to across many parts of Australia in the early years of European colonisation, there were also many variations, and as such cosmological beliefs are attributed wherever possible to the appropriate people or regional area, depending on the level of information available.

1 It should be noted that a discussion of the sky-hero, or Baiamae, and correlations with the sky-dome cosmology are not provided in this chapter. This is considered beyond the scope of the chapter, which is focused on the spatial implications of the cosmology rather than mapping correlating spiritual beliefs. 88 occupation and that as a result, sought to impose western European spatial ordering in its place, by outlining cosmological models predominately from cultures in south-east Australia. The cosmological models that will be described, in particular the sky-dome, will be shown to reveal a familiarity with, and inhabitation of, the landscape beyond buildings, thus demonstrating interiority at a cosmic scale.

Cosmology The concept of utopia provides a starting point to access cosmology. The Greek root of the term Utopia, ‘no-place’, is often cited in association with the term to highlight its seemingly ambiguous and contradictory nature. Philosopher Elizabeth Grosz proposes a different interpretation suggesting that, “not the good place is no place, but rather no place is the good place.”2 This quote by Grosz suggests a link between utopia and cosmology; as will be later described, a cosmological utopian tradition results in spirits being located not on earth but removed to the sky.3 The notion of utopia from the fifteenth century, the period known as ‘the age of discovery,’ rejected the idea that the world was completely known.4 Such a utopia within literature asserts the existence of “unknown waters and lands” to which the reader is not completely privy.5 The “early modern utopias originate from a time when borders were being crossed and the world was opening up,” although the idea of a world revealed sits uneasily with these utopias.6 The Australian continent was one such new world ‘discovered’ by Europeans some several hundred years after the age of great exploration. In a similar vein to the literary utopian convention, a “strange and unknown” place presented itself to the Europeans - a place filled with unusual flora and fauna.7 The undefined land on maps was designated terra nullius by European colonisers, who considered it to be a land unoccupied and belonging to no one, thus enabling the processes of colonisation to occur unimpeded. The colonial process, often termed ‘colonisation’, can be understood to have occurred in two different ways: “One,

2 Elizabeth Grosz, Architecture from the Outside: essays on virtual and real space (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001). p. 135. 3 Tony Swain, "A New Sky Hero from a Conquered Land," History of Religions vol. 29, no. 3 (February 1990): p. 203. 4 Chloe Houston, "No Place and New Worlds: the early modern utopia and the concept of the global community," Spaces of Utopia, no. 1 (2006): p. 13. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid., pp. 13-14. 7 Ibid., p. 13. 89 involving the distant control of land and resources...and the other, the direct settlement of Europeans in places as far afield as South Africa, Canada, Algeria and Australia.”8 Lesley Naa Norle Lokko notes that “the words ‘colonization’, ‘culture’ and ‘cult’ (i.e. religion) all stem from the same Latin verb colo, whose past participle is cultus and whose future participle is culturus. Occupying and cultivating the land, affirming one’s origins and the passing on of tradition and values to young generations are therefore etymologically linked.”9 Colonisation was met with in different ways by Indigenous Australians but a number of commonalities generally defined the colonisation experience; communities were dislocated from their lands in association with mining and pastoralism, introduced diseases swept through communities often with devastating results, and Indigenous rights to land were ignored or failed to be understood. Later in this chapter the ways in which cosmologies were adapted in order to accommodate the changes brought about by colonisation will be described. Individuals themselves responded in different ways to the changes brought about by colonisation – sometimes embracing change, sometimes fighting to preserve their way of life and community. Bennelong for instance, provided assistance to Governor Phillip and adopted English dress and customs, while in contrast Pemulwuy10 lead a war of resistance against the newcomers. Although the continent may have been ascribed as terra nullius by the colonisers, across Australia there were many language groups11, “more than 250 … each with their own language, laws and territorial boundaries. A civilisation encompassing the entire continent” 12 (Figure 3). Human habitation and settlement was highly developed, in many ways similar to other continents, and included high levels of cultural diversity and complexity, as well as sophisticated cosmologies. Yet despite this diversity, the utopian cosmology of Indigenous Australians, particularly in south-east Australia, is believed to have been similar (and in some cases demonstrates similarities in the far corners of the continent) when Europeans first

8 Lesley Naa Norle Lokko, "Introduction," in White Papers, Black Marks: architecture, race, culture, ed. Lesley Naa Norle Lokko (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000), p. 22. 9 Ibid. 10 Bill Gammage has described Pemulwuy as the “most determined resister of the English” in Sydney. Gammage explains that Pemulwuy’s “totem, like his name, was bhimul, earth. That was what he was defending.” Bill Gammage, The Biggest Estate on Earth: how Aborigines made Australia (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2011). p. 129. 11 Peter Sutton defines language groups, also known as ‘dialectal tribes’, as “collectives of smaller groups, and linguistic territories” who “share the same linguistic affiliation.” Peter Sutton, Native Title in Australia: an ethnographic perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). p. 76. 12 Rachel Perkins et al., First Australians, (Sydney: Special Broadcasting Service Corporation; Madman Entertainment [distributor], 2008), 2 DVDs, 382 mins. 90 redefined the ‘unknown’ land that occupied the southern latitudes of the map, through the complex processes of colonisation.13 The significance of such cosmology for Australian Indigenous space and building remains relatively unknown, especially from an architectural and interior perspective.

Figure 3. Aboriginal Australia Map. “This map is just one representation of many other map sources that are available for Aboriginal Australia. Using published resources available between 1988–1994, this map attempts to represent all the language or tribal or nation groups of the Indigenous people of Australia. It indicates only the general location of larger groupings of people which may include smaller groups such as clans, dialects or individual languages in a group. Boundaries are not intended to be exact. This map is NOT SUITABLE FOR USE IN NATIVE TITLE AND OTHER LAND CLAIMS.” (David R. Horton, creator, © Aboriginal Studies Press, AIATSIS and Auslig/Sinclair, Knight, Merz, 1996.)

13 Cartography and surveying techniques are understood to be closely linked with colonisation processes. “Colonization itself is often consequent on a voyage of ‘discovery,’ a bringing into being of ‘undiscovered’ lands. The process of discovery is reinforced by the construction of maps, whose existence is a means of textualizing the spatial reality of the other, naming or, in almost all cases, renaming spaces in a symbolic and literal act of mastery and control.” Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin, Post-Colonial Studies: the key concepts, 2nd ed. (Oxon: Routledge, 2007). pp. 28-30. 91 The reasoning behind the use of cosmology in relation to spatial ordering is in recognition that “values and cultural assumptions implicit in the structuring of space and Indigenous architectural form” are problematic in their articulation, particularly when such buildings often present “minimal modification” of the environment.14 As a result of this seemingly “minimal modification”, environmental psychologist Joseph Reser explains that it is therefore of “considerable value” to broaden the field of view and “examine alternate modes of cultural expression, such as ritual, mythology and art.”15 Thus this chapter turns to cosmology. Additionally, in respect to the Australian Indigenous relationship with land and place, it makes sense to look beyond the built form to cosmology, particularly as architecture and building “often involves working against, not with, the products and tendencies of the natural world.”16 Landscape philosopher David Leatherbarrow has explained that, “the primary tools of the architectural trade are analogues of the knife- the pencil and the spade.”17 This is a relationship with place that is seemingly in contrast to Australian Indigenous values. As such, it is of value to recognise how the world is conceptually perceived by its inhabitants as expressed through cosmology.

To better understand the environmental utopian ideal of a people, a useful approach is to consider the landscape of the dead, or the “world beyond death.”18 Geographer Yi-Fu Tuan in Topophilia: a study of environmental perception, attitudes and values employs this approach. He explains that in many places around the world, the spirits of the deceased occupy a landscape in the sky, under the ground or beyond the rim of the horizon.19 Tuan highlights that generally common to these ideals is the similarity of the world after death to the ‘real’ world, although the disagreeable elements of the terrestrial world are absent.20 He provides the example of the Australian Indigenous sky world, or world beyond the horizon. The cosmographic belief of a sky world and presumably a

14 Joseph P. Reser, "The Dwelling as Motif in Aboriginal Bark Painting," in Form in Indigenous Art : schematisation in the art of Aboriginal Australia and prehistoric Europe, ed. Peter J. Ucko (Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies, 1977), p. 210. 15 Ibid. 16 David Leatherbarrow, Topographical Stories: studies in landscape and architecture (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004). p. 61. 17 Ibid., p. 23. 18 Yi-fu Tuan, Topophilia: a study of environmental perception, attitudes, and values, Morningside ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990). p. 113. 19 Ibid., p. 114. 20 Ibid. 92 separating dome structure is generally regarded as similar, particularly in south-east Australia, but was also held further across the Australian continent. According to anthropologist Fredrick David McCarthy (1905-1997), it was a “widely held idea” that “the earth was flat and surrounded by water, being held up by props.”21 It was held by the Karadjeri22 of north Western Australia, the Yarralin23 of the Northern Territory, the Anyamatana24 of South Australia, the Wotjobaluk25, the Wurunjerri26 and the Wiimbaio.27 Anthropologist Aldo Massola (1910-1975) describes the structuring of the world in this cosmological model in the following terms:

Briefly, the earth was a flat circular body, covered with a solid vaulted concave sky which reached down to the horizon. It can be, perhaps, described as a plate covered with a dish cover. Beyond this solid covering there was a beautiful country full of all good things to eat and which was never short of water. To that place eventually went the spirits of all dead…28

According to Massola the Wotjobaluk subscribed to this cosmological belief, in which the sky not only rested on props but was supported on structures that “also allowed the sun to pass underneath the ‘lid’, to light and warm the earth.”29 Keith Willey (1930-1984), in his text When the Sky Fell Down: the destruction of the tribes of the Sydney region 1788- 1850s, provides a similar description of this cosmological model. Willey explains:

21 Frederick D. McCarthy, Australia's Aborigines: their life and culture, 1st ed. (Melbourne: Colorgravure Publications, 1957). p. 116. 22 Ralph Piddington, "Totemic System of the Karadjeri Tribe," Oceania vol. 2, no. 4 (1932): p. 394. 23 Deborah Bird Rose, Dingo Makes Us Human: life and land in an Aboriginal Australian culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). p. 94. 24 Charles P. Mountford, "An Anyamatana Legend of the Pleiades," Victorian Naturalist vol. 56(1939): p. 103. 25 A.W. Howitt, The Native Tribes of South-East Australia (London: Macmillan, 1904). p. 427. 26 Ibid. 27 Ibid. 28 Aldo Massola, Bunjil's Cave: myths, legends and superstitions of the Aborigines of south-east Australia (Melbourne: Lansdowne Press, 1968). p. 105. 29 Ibid., p. 106. 93 The world was the people’s own country and that of other tribes, much like themselves, extending away into the unknown. The sky was a canopy covering all and coming down beyond the horizon to meet and enclose the flat surface on which men and women followed the fixed patterns of their lives.30

This interpretation regarding the shape of the earth and sky above “is a logical one, since that is how it [the form] appears from a plain, under a star-lit sky.”31 In a flat landscape experienced away from the light pollution now generated by cities, the stars arc across the night sky creating the effect of the earth as a flat plane with a concave element curving above. This concave bowl is what Dianne Johnson, in her text Night Skies of Aboriginal Australia: a noctuary, descriptively terms the ‘sky-dome.’32 Johnson’s use of the term reflects the architectural-like creation of space formed by the presence of an astreated33 dome. The sky-dome is presented here as the primary illustration of Australian Indigenous cosmology and spatial ordering. It presents a spatial arrangement that is clearly defined, with an identifiable inside (the terrestrial landscape under the dome), and an outside (the sky world beyond the dome). Within this arrangement the terrestrial landscape in its totality forms an expression of interiority. The idea of linking interiority with the landscape is furthered by Michael Benedikt who explains:

The feeling of interiority can also extend to pristine natural environments, where the stars or a tree canopy can seem like a ceiling, where the earth or a bed of leaves can feel like a floor, and a rock-face like a wall. ‘Embeddedness’ is the metaphor and the dominant feeling.34

As a result, buildings do not have the same necessity for articulating spatial ordering, and thus present “minimal modification” of the environment. As anthropologist Peter Sutton

30 Keith Willey, When the Sky Fell Down: the destruction of the tribes of the Sydney region, 1788-1850s (Sydney: Collins, 1979). p. 51. 31 Massola, Bunjil's Cave: myths, legends and superstitions of the Aborigines of south-east Australia: p. 194. 32 Dianne D. Johnson, Night Skies of Aboriginal Australia: a noctuary, Oceania Monographs (Sydney: Oceania Publications, University of Sydney, 1998). pp. 13-14. 33 “Decorated with stars.” James Stevens Curl, A Dictionary of Architecture and Landscape Architecture, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). p. 50. 34 Michael Benedikt, "Environmental Stoicism and Place Machismo," Harvard Design Magazine, no. 16 (Winter/Spring 2002): p. 2. 94 articulates, “In traditional Aboriginal thought, there is no nature without culture, just as there is no contrast either of domesticated landscape with wilderness or of interior scene with an expansive ‘outside’ beyond four walls.”35

This cosmological spatial ordering occurs in different ways in different places. A stratified cosmology36 reveals itself in the cosmology of the Tiwi people of Melville and Bathurst Islands that lie off the coast of Darwin on Australia’s north coast. According to this cosmology the earth was flat and “limited in area,” and as a result if one travelled far from Country “they would fall over the edge” of the world.37 The Tiwi cosmology comprised four levels: the lower world called the Ilara or Yilaru38; the earth called Kaluwartu39; the sky world called the Juwuku; and the upper world called the Tuniruna.40 Anthropologist Charles P. Mountford (1890-1976) explains that Ilara is in constant darkness devoid of flora or fauna.41 In Ilara there are two rocky mountains, and a valley along which the sun-woman travels with a lighted torch each day.42 The lower world could be reached by digging, as the earth was considered to have a penetrable thickness.43 This cosmological model is clearly somewhat different from that subscribed to on the mainland, although similarities exist in the perception of the landscape as being limited in area and the existence of a sky world located above, although not conceived as a dome form.

A variety of Creation narratives recount how the sky came to exist in its present position in relation to mainland Australian Indigenous cosmology. These narratives are recounted

35 Peter Sutton, South Australian Museum, and Asia Society Galleries., Dreamings: the art of Aboriginal Australia (Ringwood, VIC: Viking in association with the Asia Society Galleries, New York, 1988). p. 18. 36 Roslynn D. Haynes has suggested that this four decked cosmology “is not unlike the three decker view prevalent in medieval Europe, although the significance attached to the various levels is very different.” Roslynn D. Haynes, "Astronomy and the Dreaming: the astronomy of the Aboriginal Australians," in Astronomy Across Cultures: the history of non-western astronomy, ed. H. Selin (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 2000), p. 60. 37 Charles P. Mountford, The Tiwi: their art, myth and ceremony (London: Phoenix House, 1958). p. 170. 38 Michael Sims, "Tiwi Cosmology," in Australian Aboriginal Concepts, ed. Lester R. Hiatt (Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies; Humanities Press, 1978), p. 165. 39 Ibid. 40 Mountford, The Tiwi: their art, myth and ceremony: p. 170. 41 Ibid. 42 Ibid. 43 Sims, "Tiwi Cosmology," p. 166. 95 predominately in literary form. Massola tells of the raising of the sky that had previously been laid flat across the ground until it was successfully lifted by Goruk the Magpie, a native Australian bird. 44 Several literary recitations of this Creation narrative are available. Charles Mountford recounts a version in a collection of Creation narratives called Legends of the Dreamtime.45 Mountford explains this general cosmology; “the earth floats in the middle of a boundless ocean; it is a disc of limited size, moving in the sky just below the stars. And over the horizon is the land of the dead; a land with streams of running water, shady trees, ample food, and perpetual fine weather.”46 In The First Sunrise, Mountford explains how the sky was originally so close in proximity to the earth that no light penetrated until the magpies raised the sky upon sticks and boulders.47 This is graphically depicted in a diorama made at the Kensington Public School in Sydney (Figure 4).

44 Massola, Bunjil's Cave: myths, legends and superstitions of the Aborigines of south-east Australia: p. 15. 45 Ainslie Roberts and Charles P. Mountford, Legends of the Dreamtime: Australian Aboriginal myths in paintings (Adelaide: International Limited Editions, 1975). p. 88. 46 Ibid. 47 Ibid. 96

Figure 4. Diorama at Kensington Public School depicting the sky-raising magpies. (Photograph by Eileen Heaney, date unknown.)

The raising of the sky by the magpies is enacted in the television film series called The Dreamtime, and described in the accompanying text Gulpilil’s Stories of The Dreamtime.48 C. W. Peck tells yet another version of the raising of the sky in How the Sky Was Lifted Up in his text Australian Legends. Peck states in this 1925 book that the account described by him was originally told to him “by the tribe of aborigines who inhabit a part of the head waters of the Murrumbidgee River.” 49 Little is related specifically about the origins of the stories, so the veracity of the author’s accounts must be treated with caution.50 Although the details of this version vary from the Mountford telling of the narrative, the essence remains; the sky was so low that humans and creatures were affected by its proximity. The story ends with the raising of the sky, in this instance caused by a rod that extends in length extracted from the depths of a lake by the ‘Chief’ in

48 Gulpilil, Hugh Rule, and Stuart Goodman, Gulpilil's Stories of the Dreamtime (Sydney: Collins, 1979). 49 C.W. Peck, Australian Legends: tales handed down from the remotest times by the autocthonous inhabitants of our land, (Sydney: Stafford, 1925), http://www.sacred-texts.com/aus/peck/index.htm. 50 Pecks claims that the stories were told to him by an Indigenous Princess born at Unanderra near the Wollongong area. 97 the story.51 Ronald Eggleston also recounts this story in the text When Yondi Pushed Up the Sky. In this version the world is flat, the sky close to the earth and the inhabitants the size of ants. Yondi is ostracised by his people and finds the Pool of Tomorrow in which he bathes. The magical properties of the pool cause him to grow and become strong. Yondi draws from the pool a branch, which has soaked many years in the water. Using this branch he pushes up the sky (the similarities to the Arthurian legend makes the reader question how much artistic license the author has taken with the account). The sun, which also grows in size, causes the pool of water to boil, making steam and creating the clouds from which rain falls. The rain possesses the magical properties of the Pool of Tomorrow causing animals and humans to grow to current human size. Yondi uses the branch as the first boomerang. 52 This narrative formed the inspiration for artist Byram Mansell’s painting from which a tapestry was woven and presented to Queen Elizabeth in 1954 on her first visit to Australia, as a gift for Prince Charles.53 It featured on the cover of the July 1957 issue of The Dawn magazine (Figure 5). This Creation narrative was also a part of Burragorang Dreamtime that formed part of the ballet suite the Pageant of Nationhood performed for Queen Elizabeth whilst in Australia.54 Although varied in their specific details, these versions of the Creation narrative each deal with scale and solidity of the sky. Scale is addressed in terms of the proximity of the sky to the earth below, while the sky is importantly presented as a solid substance thereby enabling pressure to be applied to it, consequently allowing a change in its position relative to the earth.

51 Peck, Australian Legends: tales handed down from the remotest times by the autocthonous inhabitants of our land. 52 Roland Eggleston and Grace Huxtable, When Yondi Pushed Up the Sky (London: Jonathan Cape, 1963). 53 "The Legend of Yondi and the Boomerang," Dawn vol. 12, no. 3 (March, 1963): p. 5. 54 ibid. 98

Image removed. Copyright holder unable to be contacted to receive approval for reproduction.

Figure 5. The Dawn Magazine cover from July 1957 featuring the artwork of Byram Mansell. (Byram Mansell, “Yondi Lifting the Sky” as reproduced on Dawn magazine cover, Dawn, July 1957, http://www.aiatsis.gov.au/collections/exhibitions/dawn/series/serie s_1957.html.)

By understanding such cosmologies it becomes clear why Europeans were often “regarded as returning spirits of the dead.”55 The correlation drawn between Europeans and the returned spirits of deceased kin is closely linked with the cosmological model.56 Indigenous artist Tommy McCrae depicts in a number of pen and ink drawings, an

55 Ronald M. Berndt and Catherine H. Berndt, The World of the First Australians, Rev. ed. (Sydney: Lansdowne Press, 1981). p. 492. 56 This was not however always the case. “Mahroot, last surviving man of the Botany Bay tribe,” explained the reaction to the arrival of the First Fleet in Sydney Cove in the following terms: “’They thought they was the devil when they landed first, they did not know what to make of them. When they saw them going up the masts they thought they was opossums.’” Willey, When the Sky Fell Down: the destruction of the tribes of the Sydney region, 1788-1850s: pp. 51-52. 99 example of this occurring in the case of William Buckley. Convict William Buckley escaped from the failed Port Philip Bay penal settlement and eluded capture for thirty-two years living with the Wathaurong in the Port Philip Bay region. Buckley later explained that his acceptance was a result of being considered returned deceased kin.57 Another historic example of this occurring is in the case of shipwreck survivor Barbara Thompson, who lived for almost five years with the Kaurareg people of Muralag (or Prince of Wales Island).58 Thompson explained that deceased kin were believed to return in the “ships of the white people”, and that the vessel that rescued her, called the Rattlesnake, was referred to by the Kaurareg people as “marki angool, ghost’s ship.”59 These two examples of this occurring are from almost opposite ends of the continent and this therefore emphasises that this was not an isolated occurrence.

However, this understanding of Europeans as “deceased of kin” should be treated with some caution.60 Tony Swain in A New Sky Hero from a Conquered Land indicates that it is actually a “misrepresentation to suggest that Aborigines saw their invaders as ‘ghosts’ or spirits.”61 He insightfully suggests that this “was a conceptual equation.”62 As Swain explains, “The value of defining intruders as deceased kinfolk was that it provided a mechanism for expanding the pre-existent cosmologically and morally established social order to accommodate alien people.”63 According to Swain, this interpretation of the Europeans as deceased kin would not have been the only interpretation explored but was the model finally decided upon for it was considered to be the most suitable by the people at the time.64

57 Carol Cooper et al., eds., Aboriginal Australia (Sydney: Australian Gallery Directors Council, 1981), p. 114. 58 David R. Moore, Islanders and Aborigines at Cape York: an ethnographic reconstruction based on the 1848-1850 "Rattlesnake' journals of O.W. Brierly and information he obtained from Barbara Thompson (Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies; Humanities Press, 1979). p. 3. 59 Ibid., p. 146. 60 Swain, "A New Sky Hero from a Conquered Land," p. 205. 61 Ibid., p. 204. 62 Ibid. 63 Ibid., p. 205. 64 Ibid. 100 One historical account reveals the intertwining of the cosmology with the arrival of European colonisers. Berak of the Wurunjerri explained that a message made its way from tribe to tribe until it reached the Wurunjerri.65 This message conveyed that the props were rotting away and “unless tomahawks were at once sent up to cut new ones, the sky would fall and burst, and all the people would be drowned.”66 According to A. W. Howitt a similar account was provided by William Buckley. Buckley recounted knowledge gained from his time spent among the Wathaurong to Lieutenant Morgan. In Buckley’s version the props were in the charge of a man who resided at the end of the earth.67 Lieutenant Morgan, to whom Buckley dictated his tales, described that:

They have a notion that the earth is supported by props, which are in the care of a man, who lives at the furthest end of the earth. They were dreadfully alarmed on one occasion when I was with them, by news passed from tribe to tribe, that unless they could send him a supply of tomahawks68 for cutting some more props with, and some more rope to tie them with, the earth would go by the run, and all hands would be smothered. Fearful of this, they began to think, and enquire and calculate where the highest mountains were, and how to get at them and on them, so as to have some chance of escape from the threatened danger. Notwithstanding this forethought, they set to work to provide the needful, and succeeded in this way. Passing on the word to the tribes along the coast, some settlers at a very great distance were robbed of axes, saws, and rope, and tiers of dray wheels, all of which were forwarded on from tribe to tribe to the Old Gentleman on the other side; and, as was supposed, in time to prevent the capsize, for it never happened.69

Based on the Howitt and Buckley-Morgan accounts, a summary of this cosmology is also provided by Aldo Massola70 and Keith Willey.71 Another version of the account is given

65 Howitt, The Native Tribes of South-East Australia: p. 427. 66 Ibid. 67 Ibid. 68 A more appropriate term would be ‘club.’ 69 Lieutenant Morgan, cited in James Bonwick, William Buckley, the Wild White Man, and His Port Phillip Black Friends (Melbourne: Geo. Nichols, 1856). pp. 79-80. 70 Massola, Bunjil's Cave: myths, legends and superstitions of the Aborigines of south-east Australia: p. 105. 71 Willey, When the Sky Fell Down: the destruction of the tribes of the Sydney region, 1788-1850s: pp. 54- 55. 101 by A. W. Reed in Aboriginal Myths, Legends & Fables.72 The accounts by Berak and Buckley highlight the prevalence of the cosmology and the impact of colonisation on the cosmology, which will be discussed in greater detail later in the chapter. What the breaching of the experiential terrestrial world seems to point to, is that the prevalent cosmology was more than a conceptual model. It was a clear and understood expression of spatial ordering.

Tiwi cosmology also accounts for the perception formed of visitors to the islands. The proximity of Melville and Bathurst Islands to the Australian mainland means that on fine clear days it is possible to see the coastline of Australia from the southern edges of the islands.73 According to anthropologists C. W. M. Hart and Arnold Pilling; “To them [the Tiwi], the dimly seen coastline of Australia was Tibambinumi, the home of the dead, to which all Tiwi souls went after death.”74 The Melville and Bathurst Islands in this sense not only acted to demarcate space on a physical level, but also operated as a boundary on a metaphysical and spiritual level separating the living and non-living. Fishers from the mainland or from the southern islands of Indonesia (known in Tiwi culture as ‘Malays’) who breached the boundary and arrived on the islands were apparently resisted and met with hostilities,75 although this has later been a point of debate, and revised in the literature. However, drawing on this previously held understanding of the encounters, Hart and Pilling explain that “thus the word ‘Tiwi’ did not mean ‘people’ in the sense of all human beings, but rather ‘we, the only people,’ or the chosen people who live on and own the islands, as distinct from the alleged human beings who might show up from time to time on the beaches.”76 The apparent hostility shown to strangers that landed on the shores seems to be not so much as a result of the desire to preserve the integrity of the physical boundary of the islands, but rather the veil separating life and death.

72 A. W. Reed, Aboriginal Myths, Legends, and Fables (Chatswood, NSW: Reed New Holland, 1999). pp. 229-31. 73 C. W. M. Hart and Arnold R. Pilling, The Tiwi of North Australia (New York: Holt, 1960). p. 9. 74 Ibid. 75 Ibid. 76 Ibid., p. 10. 102 Utopian Sky World The existence of a sky world within Australian Indigenous cosmology creates a spatial effect across the Australian Indigenous landscape. The spatial region of the sky world held similarities to the earthly landscape beneath, and could influence the lives of those below. One nineteenth century observer explained, in relation to the “Adelaide Aboriginal people”:77

[Australian Indigenous peoples] consider the firmament [Heavens] with its bodies as a land similar to what they are living upon…It is their opinion that all the celestial bodies were formerly living upon earth, partly as animals, partly as men, and that they left this lower region to exchange for the higher one. Therefore all the names which apply to the beings on earth they apply to the celestial bodies, and believe themselves to be obnoxious to their influence, and ascribe to them mal- formation of the body, and other accidents.78

The geography and predominant vegetation of the sky world, located above the flat plane of the earth, varied. Mountford describes the sky world in general terms as a place with “an abundance of food, good weather, comfortable camping places, and a community of old friends, all of whom are at peace with each other.”79 Anthropologist A. P. Elkin suggested that the sky world above contained much quartz crystal and fresh water; although it is unclear to which people on the Australian continent he ascribes this belief.80 On the other hand Howitt interpreted it as another country much like earth “with trees and rivers.”81 These accounts fail to be attributed to specific cultural groups, and as a result they are incorrectly suggestive of homogeneity. However, Massola records more specifically that according to the Wotjobaluk of Victoria, gum trees grew in abundance there covered with “larp, or manna, the sweet nutritious food so loved by the

77 C. G. Teichelmann, ‘Aborigines of South Australia…’, cited in Philip A. Clarke, "The Aboriginal Cosmic Landscape of Southern South Australia," Records of the South Australian Museum vol. 29, no. 2 (1997): p. 127. 78 C. G. Teichelmann, cited in ‘Aborigines of South Australia…’, ibid. 79 Roberts and Mountford, Legends of the Dreamtime: Australian Aboriginal myths in paintings: p. 13. 80 A. P. Elkin, The Australian Aborigines: how to understand them, 3rd ed. (Sydney: Angus and Robertson, 1954). p. 213. 81 Howitt, The Native Tribes of South-East Australia: p. 426. 103 Aborigines.”82 Generally lacking in the literature are descriptions concerning how the sky itself was conceptualised and the substance of which it was comprised.83 The Karadjeri of north Western Australia believed the sky to be “a dome of a very hard substance (rock or shell), the stars representing the bilyur (spirits) of dead men and women.”84 In contrast, there is much more documentation available regarding the qualities of the stars and other celestial features, such as the Magellanic Clouds and meteors. Ralph Piddington explains that interpretations of the stars varied from being individual spheres of light, to nautilus shells with live fish inside.85 The Milky Way figures greatly in interpretations of the Australian Indigenous cosmic landscape, obviously because the southern hemisphere’s night sky is dominated by the Milky Way.86 According to Philip A. Clarke, in the Adelaide region of South Australia the Milky Way was considered to be “a large river, along the banks of which reeds were growing.”87 The Milky Way was called Wodliparri in this area, which translates to mean “hut-river.”88 Clarke explains that the dwellings of the deceased are an important feature of the Milky Way. Clarke quotes a nineteenth century observer, Charles White who wrote in 1905:

In parts of Queensland and South Australia the natives believed the ‘Milky Way’ to be a sort of celestial place for disembodied spirits. They said it was the smoke proceeding from celestial grass which had been set on fire by their departed women, the signal being intended to guide the ghosts of the deceased to the eternal camp fires of the tribe.89

Within Tiwi cosmology, the sky world and upper world also had distinct qualities. The upper world was similar to the landscape of the earth but with no sea, although fresh water was abundant.90 Many varieties of fruit grew in the upper world or Tuniruna

82 Massola, Bunjil's Cave: myths, legends and superstitions of the Aborigines of south-east Australia: p. 13. 83 Dianne Johnson has said that “how ‘sky’ was experienced, construed or constructed” were questions not asked by early European observers. Johnson, Night Skies of Aboriginal Australia: a noctuary: p. 10. 84 Piddington, "Totemic System of the Karadjeri Tribe," p. 394. 85 Ibid. 86 Clarke, "The Aboriginal Cosmic Landscape of Southern South Australia," p. 134. 87 Ibid. 88 Ibid. 89 Charles White, cited in ibid. 90 Mountford, The Tiwi: their art, myth and ceremony: p. 171. 104 including wild plums and yams.91 The falling rain was believed to provide a connection between the upper world and the earth- the droplets providing the means for the plants of the upper world to “send their spirits...to the ground beneath, where they grow into plants similar to their progenitors in the upper world.”92 As such, all the vegetation of the home of the Tiwi people had its origins in the upper world.93 It is not clear how the upper world and sky world differed, except that the upper world had both the wet and dry season.94 Connections between the various planes therefore occurred in a number of ways.

It is necessary to recognise that the conceptualisation of the landscape in terms of a sky-dome cosmology was predominantly one subscribed to in south-east Australia. The Tiwi people employed a stratified planar cosmology. More research needs to be carried out in relation to the palawa peoples of Tasmania, of whom much less information regarding astronomy and cosmology was recorded.95 Robinson’s journals provide some information such as noting that “they [the palawa peoples] have names for the stars and constellations and are aware that they revolve.”96 In the Torres Strait Islands there are quite different cosmological models. In the text Stars of Tagai: the Torres Strait Islanders by anthropologist Nonie Sharp, she explains that the accumulation of knowledge during one’s lifetime, “moves in the form of a spiral, resembling the pattern imprinted upon the wauri shell” which is a cone shell.97 Sharp explains the connection between the movement of the stars across the sky and their relationship with cultural life. According to Sharp, like the “helioc movement” of the stars, it is this “arch which forms the Meriam image of cosmic space.”98 This spiral form is extremely different from the cosmological model

91 Ibid., plate 171. 92 Ibid. 93 Ibid. 94 Sims, "Tiwi Cosmology," p. 166. 95 The various palawa names for the southern lights were recorded by Robinson in his journal entry of 19th October 1837. “(1) PURNENYER (2) NO.HOI.NER King George, (1) GEN.NER (2) NUM.MER.GEN Nomey western native.” N. J. B. Plomley, ed. Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839 (Sandy Bay, TAS: Blubber Head Press, 1987), p. 490. 96 N. J. B. Plomley, ed. Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834 (Hobart: Tasmanian Historical Research Association, 1966), p. 861. 97 Nonie Sharp, Stars of Tagai: the Torres Strait Islanders (Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press, 1993). p. 75. 98 Ibid., p. 76. 105 discussed in this paper, but most importantly it emphasises the cultural diversity amongst Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples.

Methods of Accessing the Utopian Sky World The ability to access the sky world was important, as it was a place where knowledge could be obtained.99 The capacity to enter the sky world becomes clearer when the sense of scale between the earth and sky is understood. In the southern regions of South Australia for instance the sky was considered to be quite low in height, and begin at the treetops or height of a hill.100 “In the Lower Murray region, large trees and big sand dunes that were thought to reach the clouds and attract lightning strikes were regarded as malevolent.”101

Access to the sky world was possible in a variety of ways which differed in various parts of the continent. Dianne Johnson has explained that the concept of a “cord or link, an umbilicus, should be recognised as part of a myth cycle involving the life-giving or life- sustaining, connecting the earth and the present with the world above, the eternal.”102 In parts of south-east Australia a “magic cord” could be used to “travel up to the sky or to the tops of trees and through space.”103 For the Wotjobaluk of Victoria, the sky was accessible by a “giant pine tree which stood where Lake Buninjon now is...” 104 Anthropologist A. P. Elkin explains that in the Northern Kimberley in Western Australia, the sky could be reached by a cord or on a rainbow used as a rope.105 Similarly for the Wik-Mungkan, described by Ursula McConnel, the rainbow appears to have acted as a connection to the sky.106 The Dieri of the Lake Eyre region of South Australia visited the sky “by means of a hair-cord.”107 Similarly, in the south-east of the continent a “thread”

99 Clarke, "The Aboriginal Cosmic Landscape of Southern South Australia," p. 127. 100 Ibid., p. 128. 101 Ibid. 102 Johnson, Night Skies of Aboriginal Australia: a noctuary: p. 15. 103 A.P. Elkin, Aboriginal Men of High Degree, 2nd ed. (St. Lucia, QLD: University of Queensland Press, 1977). p. 53. 104 Massola, Bunjil's Cave: myths, legends and superstitions of the Aborigines of south-east Australia: p. 13. 105 Elkin, Aboriginal Men of High Degree: p. 22. 106 Ursula McConnel, Myths of the Munkan [Mungkan] (Carlton, VIC: Melbourne University Press, 1957). p. 115. 107 Elkin, Aboriginal Men of High Degree: p. 20. 106 was the means to access the sky.108 For the Kulin the spirits of the dead went to the sky, “reached by the rays of the setting sun.”109 The Wotjobaluk reached the sky by a great pine tree.110 The Kurnai of Gippsland wore a nose-bone by which the spirits could carry them through the clouds.111 “They were admitted at the entrance to the sky by the headman of the Sky-Land, where they saw people dancing, and learnt new songs and dances which they afterwards taught to the Kurnai.112 The Wurunjeri too were carried to the sky, and into the “‘gum-tree country.’”113 In the Northern Territory the Alawa tell of “a large stringybark tree that extended up into the sky.”114 In a Creation narrative of the peoples of the Encounter Bay region of South Australia it is told how a spear was thrown and pierced the sky. The spear acted as a platform to reach the sky above.115 In many of these instances there may lack an actual description of the sky as a separate plane or element however the ability to access the sky suggests that the sky was in fact regarded as a different spatial area, one which was distinctly separate from the earth below. It is the narratives that speak of the presence of an aperture in the sky that are most evocative of a solid plane acting to separate the world below from the world above, and consequently, most directly show how cosmology provides an expression of spatial ordering. Across this organisation of space, access occurred bi-directionally from the earth to the sky and from the sky to the earth.

The residents of the sky could also access the world below. The spirits could come down from the sky and linger in the treetops to “communicate with the magicians and ceremonial leaders.”116 The Wiradjuri and Kamilaroi of New South Wales used bark or trees around a gravesite aligned with the cardinal points, “engraved with totemic designs

108 McCarthy, Australia's Aborigines: their life and culture: p. 136. 109 Elkin, Aboriginal Men of High Degree: p. 76. 110 Ibid. 111 Ibid., p. 77. 112 Ibid. 113 Ibid., p. 76. 114 Ronald M. Berndt and Catherine H. Berndt, The Speaking Land: myth and story in Aboriginal Australia (Ringwood, VIC: Penguin, 1989). p. 284. 115 H. A. E. Meyer, Manners and Customs of the Aborigines of the Encounter Bay Tribe, South Australia (Blackwood, SA: Second Edition History, 2000). p. 19. 116 McCarthy, Australia's Aborigines: their life and culture: p. 116. 107 as a pathway for the spirits between the sky and earth.”117 These carved trees are known as dendroglyphs. According to the Anyamatana, two men, the Wundukara, inhabit the sky.118 During a ritual performed by children (called the Hoar Frost ritual), the watching Wundukara untied their long hair and dropped it down through an aperture in the sky.119 The hair was long enough to touch the ground below and the children beneath, bestowing upon the boys thick beards in their adulthood.120 At the same time the Wundukara “endow the girls with breasts.”121 It is through the aperture that the medicine-men could see the two Wundukara, but only they (the medicine-men) were able to see them.122

It must be outlined however that the place to where the spirits of the deceased go varies considerably around the continent, from “a water-hole, rock, tree, the sky, or a symbol like a tjuringa.”123 Tony Swain, in A New Sky Hero from a Conquered Land, describes this as the “locative tradition” in which the human spirit is closely associated with culturally significant places and elements.124 Swain suggests that the ‘locative tradition’ “stresses ubiety and earth-based powers.”125 He refers to the work of R. H. Mathews (1841-1918) who notes that the Kamilaroi spirits journeyed up the Barwon River to its source beneath the mountains, and the spirits of the Dharug of southern New South Wales were sent towards “the Country of the deceased’s mother.”126 The cosmology involving a sky world is termed by Swain as the “utopian tradition,” which “removes both human and ancestral spirits to an otiose sky realm...”127 So for instance “right-handed men went up to the sky, while left-handed men went down under the ground.”128 Or, in the case of the Bibbulmun of Western Australia “the spirits of the dead were taken to Kur’an’nup, a land

117 Ibid., p. 162. 118 Mountford, "An Anyamatana Legend of the Pleiades," pp. 103-04. 119 Ibid., p. 104. 120 Ibid. 121 Ibid. 122 Ibid. 123 McCarthy, Australia's Aborigines: their life and culture: p. 130. 124 Swain, "A New Sky Hero from a Conquered Land," p. 203. 125 Ibid. 126 R. H. Mathews, cited in ibid., p. 202. 127 Ibid., p. 203. 128 Howitt, The Native Tribes of South-East Australia: p. 473. 108 beyond the western sea.”129 Swain highlights the seeming discrepancy between the existence of both the ‘locative’ and ‘utopian’ cosmological traditions. He suggests that unlike the plurality of the ‘locative tradition’, the duality required of the ‘utopian tradition’ results in the earthly world existing in “impoverished opposition to the utopian skyworld.”130 Swain sees the two traditions in relation to European colonisation and proposes that the ‘locative tradition’ was essentially restructured and “fashioned to mirror processes of invasion.”131 He writes:

the Aborigines of southeast Australia were left with no other genuine option than subsuming some of the ontological principles of the invader’s own cosmology. I am not referring to syncretisms or mythic borrowings, although these did occur, but to a major reformulation of their understanding of the nature of existence.132

As a result, power moved from the earth as had existed with the ‘locative tradition,’ to the sky. Swain links this to the notion that a “reestablishment of moral equilibrium might only be attainable by purging the world of intrinsically bad (evil) elements.”133 Swain’s hypothesis highlights the possibility for cosmology to be both resilient and adaptable, changing in relation to the altered nature of post-colonial existence. However within the context of this chapter concerned with spatial ordering, there is not an attempt to account for the apparent discrepancies between the existence of both ‘locative’ and ‘utopian’ traditions within Australian Indigenous cultures, or to consider the relationship between the two traditions. Neither is it necessary to explore the possibility of the ‘utopian’ cosmology having evolved from European colonisation, but rather recognise that it was believed to be the case for Australian Indigenous cultures in the early years of European colonisation. However, if the utopian cosmology did develop in response to European colonisation, this seems to have strong implications in relation to the spatial organisation of the world and the perception of intruders into a prior system that required it to be substantially restructured. This restructuring should be considered in relation to the

129 Daisy Bates, The Passing of the Aborigines: a lifetime spent among the natives of Australia (London: John Murray, 1938). p. 60. 130 Swain, "A New Sky Hero from a Conquered Land," p. 209. 131 Ibid., p. 207. 132 Ibid. 133 Ibid., p. 200. 109 concept of anomaly, a category into which the European colonisers clearly fitted. Anomaly is defined by anthropologist Mary Douglas (1921-2007) as “an element which does not fit a given set or series; ambiguity is a characteristic of statements capable of two interpretations.”134 Douglas explains that an anomaly can be approached from within either a negative or positive framework – an anomaly can be ignored or it can cause “an individual to revise his own personal scheme of classifications.”135 In the previously mentioned case of the Tiwi people of Melville and Bathurst Island, new people arriving were regarded as intruders and were killed in order to remove a contradiction to the classification system, while contrastingly William Buckley was embraced by the Wathaurong in the Port Philip Bay region as the return of deceased kin, and was treated as an exception to the system allowing the system to remain intact. These are examples of two very different approaches to the presence of anomaly. It should be recognised that as an individual exists within a broader social context, this reassessment of classifications occurring at an individual level would also have had to take place and find acceptance in the minds of others in the social structure. Thus the intrusion into the cosmological structure by unknown European outsiders clearly required reclassification of elements. Understood as a process of reclassification, it is not a discrepancy that both a locative and a utopian tradition were operating simultaneously. In fact it seems logical that the reclassification and reorganisation of a complex cosmology as a result of anomalous people would have occurred over a protracted period, if European colonisation was indeed a primary cause of the presence of the two traditions.

Representations of the Cosmology Are tangible representations of this “solid vault of the sky”, as it is termed by Massola, available for further investigation of this idea and what it might mean for understanding spatial ordering?136 Although there are many images that represent individual phenomena and associated narratives in regards to the sky, it appears that there are no direct representations of the sky-dome cosmology showing the structuring of the world. There are representations of the Tiwi stratified cosmology, such as the bark painting of The Sky

134 Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: an analysis of concepts of pollution and taboo (London: Routledge Classics, 2002). p. 47. 135 Ibid., p. 48. 136 Massola, Bunjil's Cave: myths, legends and superstitions of the Aborigines of south-east Australia: p. 105. 110 and Upper World included in the text The Tiwi: their art, myth and ceremony by Charles P. Mountford.137 According to Mountford the bark painting depicts a wife of the moon- man, stars, clouds, the earth and plum trees “which grow in the upper world.”138 Also represented “are the spirit fruits of the many trees at Tuniruna [the upper world], which…fall from the upper world to the earth beneath.”139

Figure 6. Man and Woman engraving located in the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park. (Photograph by William Quinney, 2008.) Reproduced with permission of the Metropolitan Local Aboriginal Land Council.

137 Mountford, The Tiwi: their art, myth and ceremony: plate 63. 138 Ibid., plate 172. 139 Ibid. 111 An engraving (Figure 6) at the Basin Aboriginal Art Site in the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park in the Sydney-Hawkesbury region140 of New South Wales, the custodians of which are the Guringai people, provides a source worth contemplating in regards to the sky-dome. Non-Indigenous poet David Campbell has written a poem entitled Man and Woman in response to the engraving. It is important to note that Campbell did not rely upon Guringai ethnology for the poem, but refers to the composition of the figures by describing the crossed ankles of the man and woman, and their upraised arms. The poem intimates at a relationship between the engraving and the night sky; “All night they look at the moon.”141 The image of the moon in the poem is presumably generated from the curved crescent that appears above the figures. Whilst the curve is in close proximity to the figures, there are many engravings at this location. At this site fifty-one engravings and two mundoes (footprints) can be found on the natural rock tessellations.142 The use of the engraving as inspiration for the poem highlights the muse quality of the engraving and the need for continued preservation of such significant cultural heritage sites. The intended representation of the crescent element of the engraving set has been the source of much speculation. Poet David Campbell, for example, has interpreted the subject matter of the engraving imaginatively and allowed it to inform his literary response. No ethnographic documentation exists to be able to determine what the engraving represents. Anthropologists Peter Stanbury and John Clegg have explained that any hypothesis regarding the engravings “are only that, and are based on general knowledge of Aboriginal culture rather than on direct observations or informants in specific localities.”143 What we do know for certain is that the engraving represents an event made palpable by the grooves etched into the sandstone. This was a place visited and evidently valued. The representation could be thought to reveal the presence of the engravers and engraved. “It is proof of the moment of its coming into being; this was done.”144 It seems

140 According to anthropologist F.D. McCarthy “four hundred groups [of engravings] are scattered among the sandstone outcrops” of the Sydney-Hawkesbury central coast region. McCarthy, Australia's Aborigines: their life and culture: p. 173. 141 David Campbell, ‘Ku-Ring-Gai Rock Carvings’, cited in Peter Stanbury, David Campbell, and John Clegg, A Field Guide to Aboriginal Rock Engravings: with special reference to those around Sydney (Sydney: Sydney University Press, 1990). p. 63. 142 Ibid. 143 Ibid., p. 9. 144 John von Sturmer, ‘A Limping World. Works in the Arnott’s Collection: some conceptual underpinnings,’ cited in Djon Mundine, Linda Micheal, and Museum of Contemporary Art, They Are Meditating: bark paintings from the MCA's Arnott's collection (Sydney: Museum of Contemporary Art, 2008). p. 40. 112 to be a part of human nature that we reduce the world into manageable and comprehendible components, joining point, line and plane in an effort to catalogue the world to enable its diversity to become manageable. Dianne Johnson explains that, “By naming and classifying, the rich world of infinite variability shrinks to manipulative size and becomes bearable, understandable and ultimately meaningful.”145 Perhaps it is this need more than anything else that leads us to speculate about unknown images and their significance.

Figure 7. Detail of the Man and Woman engraving with the curved form in the tessellation above. (Photograph by author, 2008.) Reproduced with permission of the Metropolitan Local Aboriginal Land Council.

145 Johnson, Night Skies of Aboriginal Australia: a noctuary: p. 8. 113 It is assumed that the engravings at the Basin Aboriginal Art Site were most likely made in several stages, “the main themes depicted are successful fishing expeditions and a herd of hopping kangaroos or wallabies.”146 Of most relevance to this discussion is the man and woman, the subjects of the Campbell poem, with overlapping limbs, “their genital organs are clearly represented.”147 Above the figures, and close enough in proximity to suggest it is part of the same composition, is a crescent-shaped object. The man and woman have been placed within the one tessellation and the crescent has been placed separately within the parameters defined by the tessellation above (Figure 7). Speculation on what the crescent above the figures represents has ranged from a weapon,148 shelter149 and even a solar eclipse.150 In relation to the discussion about cosmology here, the crescent could be interpreted to articulate a dome form. When viewed in this way it reads as a section creating a sense of interiority for the figures beneath. However, it is not possible to do more than speculate, as ethnographic material is not available to substantiate any claims made in relation to this grouping of engravings. Whilst we may never be able to definitively determine the connection between the Man and Woman engraving and the possibility of its connection with cosmology or narratives associated with astronomical bodies, our inability to do so is a testament to that time when:

The ships…arrived, the pale strangers had poured ashore and within days or weeks the landscape itself, with all of its Dreamtime associations, had begun to be transformed…the sky had fallen down.151

146 Stanbury, Campbell, and Clegg, A Field Guide to Aboriginal Rock Engravings: with special reference to those around Sydney: p. 63. 147 Ibid. 148 Ibid., p. 65. 149 Ibid., p. 118. 150 In the magazine article In Search of Aboriginal Astronomy, author and astrophysicist Ray Norris suggests that the crescent is an astronomical body, as proposed in David Campbell’s literary response, in particular suggesting it to be representative of a solar eclipse. Importantly it must be noted that Norris draws upon a narrative of the Warlpiri in support of this hypothesis, culturally different people to the artists who engraved this image, the Guringai people. Norris explains the Warlpiri belief that a lunar eclipse is the result of the Sun-woman in pursuit of the Moon-man, who is catching him up, and a solar eclipse is the obscuring of the Sun-Woman by the Moon-man as they engage in sexual intercourse. Ray Norris, "In Search of Aboriginal Astronomy," Australian Sky and Telescope March/April 2008, p. 4. Additionally, in an article published in Rock Art Research, the authors Ray P. Norris and Duane W. Hamacher further suggest that the “man and woman face toward the north-eastern horizon, in the direction an eclipse could be seen in the early morning.” Ray P. Norris and Duane W. Hamacher, "Astronomical Symbolism in Australian Aboriginal Rock Art," Rock Art Research vol. 28, no. 1 (2011): p. 102. 151 Willey, When the Sky Fell Down: the destruction of the tribes of the Sydney region, 1788-1850s: p. 55. 114

The metaphoric falling of the sky resulted in the transformation of cosmologies and ultimately the loss of knowledge related to sites such as the Man and Woman. Thus, colonisation brought with it many changes including, amongst these changes, the concealing of Australian Indigenous spatial ordering.

Cosmology and Interiority How can Australian Indigenous cosmology further an understanding of spatial ordering? P. A. Clarke has explained that although “European accounts of Aboriginal relationships to space have tended to describe territoriality over two-dimensional space, rendered as ‘tribes’ on maps…it is clear that Aboriginal people considered that there were other realms within the perceived cultural landscape in addition to their own terrestrial regions, to which they could travel in spirit form.”152 Within Australian Indigenous cosmology the ‘secular’ landscape was defined by the surface of the sky above, which was broad in its span encompassing the peoples’ territorial landscape. The sky was formed of a surface or substance that was tangible, knowable and sometimes even touchable. This organisation of the landscape into distinct zones or regions, metaphysically and spatially separate, reveals spatial ordering as a key component of Australian Indigenous cosmology, operating at a scale beyond individual built forms.

The dome-like effect of Australian Indigenous cosmology also finds expression in a different way in western European architecture. It is not the intention here to provide a comparative analysis of western European architectural expressions and cosmology, but rather to demonstrate that the notion of the dome as an element within western European architecture can be conceptualised as essentially interior in nature. This is considered to be useful to further link sky-dome cosmological spatial ordering with interiority. The western European dome represented through the use of a circle in plan, is considered to be a “translation of heaven to earth. The dome is a three-dimensional symbol of heaven.”153 Texts such as The Dome: a study in the history of ideas have chartered the religious and cultural underpinning of the development of the symbolism of the dome. In The Dome of Heaven, author Karl Lehmann explains the development of the dome of heaven from its

152 Clarke, "The Aboriginal Cosmic Landscape of Southern South Australia," p. 127. 153 Tuan, Topophilia: a study of environmental perception, attitudes, and values: p. 169. 115 representation using depictions of heavenly symbols, to the use of a trompe l’oeil effect of an actual concave canopy, achieved by the representation of a malleable material stretched and pinned “marked by projecting angles between concave sides.”154 In western European architecture the dome is therefore considered to be an expression of a cosmological concept. Interiority and its representation by the architectural dome is emphasised by the symbolic nature of the ceiling, which is the surface presented to first space by third space.

From the time when men began to visualize the unknown in terms of the known and attached so much value to mimesis, many cultures had come to think of the house, tomb and sanctuary as a replica, or symbol, of the universe. Because of the religious nature of this cosmological thinking, most antique civilizations were accustomed to associate the heavens with the ceilings of their most revered shelters.155

As such, the dome can be more readily understood as an interior element, rather than an architectural feature, because the dome is intended to be experienced from beneath. Furthermore, in western European architecture domes were not necessarily static elements which further emphasises their mimesis, as explained by Smith, of cosmology. Several historic examples express the importance of movement in relation to the architectural dome. The Throne Hall of Chosroes and dining hall of Nero were both wooden dome structures that rotated with the aid of horses located in a basement beneath and connected to a rope mechanism.156 This again emphasises that the dome of western European architecture provides a built expression of the conceptualisation of a larger interior. Thus the dome of western European architecture enables the spatial ordering model demonstrated by the Australian Indigenous sky-dome to be made accessible within western European architecture and the modes of space framework.

Conclusion This chapter has explored how spatial ordering may exist in ways beyond the physicality

154 Karl Lehmann, "The Dome of Heaven," Art Bulletin vol. 27, no. 1 (1945): p. 17. 155 E. Baldwin Smith, The Dome: a study in the history of ideas (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1950). p. 79. 156 Lehmann, "The Dome of Heaven," p. 41. 116 of the building through the examination of cosmological models in Australian Indigenous cultures. This chapter has also provided a foundation for understanding physical spatial ordering and for understanding the role buildings play in relation to this cosmological model. The utopian cosmologies of Indigenous Australians, particularly in south-east Australia are considered by anthropologists to have been similar at the time of European colonisation. Utopian ideals reveal themselves in the cosmology of Indigenous Australians. Conceptually, cosmology provides a means to understand spatial ordering beyond buildings – this spatial ordering is an expression of interiority that encompasses the broader cultural landscape. The reason for investigating the spatial implications of cosmology, prior to investigating buildings, is because cosmology provides an opportunity to understand how the world is perceived in a conceptual sense. Buildings belong within this broader cultural landscape.

The term sky-dome, as coined by anthropologist Dianne Johnson, is a key cosmological model that was subscribed to by Indigenous cultures, particularly in the south-east of Australia. In this cosmological model a spatial arrangement is clearly expressed with a first space beneath the dome, and a second space that exists beyond the dome. The sky- dome provided defined limits to the world and has implications as to why European colonisers were conceptually considered as the returned spirits of deceased ancestors. Several instance of this occurring in different parts of the continent were described in the chapter, in particular the cases of William Buckley and Barbara Thompson.

The presence of a spatial region known as the sky world located beyond the dome, created a spatial effect across the landscape. The sky world was informed by the world below but could also influence the lives of those beneath. Knowledge is an important component in association with the ability to access the sky world. A variety of techniques facilitated access to the sky world, including use of ropes, magic cords, trees and rainbows. These methods varied between language groups. The narratives that mention an aperture in the sky, thus enabling access to the sky world beyond, highlight that the sky could be likened to a space of construction, or third space, presenting surfaces to inside and outside. A defining feature of the sky world was that it was a place where knowledge could be obtained. This is an appropriate metaphor for the fact that by turning to Australian Indigenous cosmology it is possible to better understand spatial ordering and thereby engage more comprehensively with the notion of interiority. 117

From a western European architectural perspective, an interior is understood as a volume bounded by a built form. Interiority is a sense of ‘interior-ness’ that is not necessarily reliant on architecture or built form as described in Chapter 3. Australian Indigenous cosmology takes the form of a hemisphere with the protagonist situated at the base on the terrestrial landscape. Although only one hemispherical form may be seen by the naked eye, the complete landscape could be conceived as being formed of two hemispheres – the terrestrial and spiritual.157 Interiority when viewed in this way is highly structured, demarcated, and the space within familiar. Thus there is no division between inside and outside in relation to the built form and the landscape beyond. Spatial ordering has no need to operate on strict terms in this way and is not reliant upon a built mediator. In relation to this cosmology, the role that buildings play in creating a sense of ‘interior- ness’ is diminished. The dome, which is the sky, and therefore tangible, is also conceptual in its interpretation, and acts to form a zone of interior-ness. The sky resides in a liminal role - forever changing, reconceptualised and restructured in its role. It is a highly evocative and powerful expression of spatial ordering – the terrestrial landscape is knowable and familiar, the space beyond the sky-dome at times and to certain people, is accessible. Anthropologist Nancy Munn has explained the notion of the situational protagonist whose role changes throughout time, as discussed in Chapter 3.158 This is seemingly true of interaction with the sky-dome.

Western European buildings seek to ‘keep out’ undesired natural elements (wind, rain, cold), undesirable people and animals, and in this way establish a private interior utopia for the occupants. These types of buildings express spatial ordering in which inside is equated with private space and outside is equated with public space. However, the sky- dome does something quite different. The sky-dome separates the terrestrial landscape from the utopian sky world beyond, not on an individual basis but on a societal scale. As a result individual buildings do not create a private utopian environment because this ‘place’ is repositioned beneath the sky-dome. Buildings illustrate spatial ordering but they

157 Dianne D. Johnson, personal conversation, 2010. 158 Nancy Munn, "Excluded Spaces: the figure in the Australian Aboriginal landscape," Critical Inquiry vol. 22(Spring 1996). 118 are not the only vehicle through which this spatial ordering operates, nor are they the primary vehicle - it is the sky-dome that has precedence.

This chapter contributed to the hypothesis stated in the Introduction by outlining cosmological models predominately from cultures in south-east Australia. The cosmological model described, in particular the sky-dome, was shown to reveal a familiarity with and inhabitation of the landscape beyond buildings, thus demonstrating interiority at a cosmic scale.

The next chapter will shift the focus from cosmology to examine perceptions and representations of Australian Indigenous buildings. In particular, Chapter 5 will outline how early European navigators and colonials perceived classical palawa buildings.

119 CHAPTER 5 CULTURAL ENCOUNTERS AND MISUNDERSTANDINGS

The previous chapter provided a discussion of the sky-dome cosmology. This cosmological model was prevalent across much of south-east Australia. It has been argued that this cosmology provides an expression of spatial ordering that then lays the foundation for physical spatial ordering. This shifts the role of buildings within this arrangement and lessens their importance in creating division between spaces. This chapter will now set the scene for cultural encounters in which buildings in one culture are misconstrued in various ways by another. This chapter will discuss the buildings of the Tasmanian Aboriginal or palawa people and how European navigators and colonists perceived these buildings. This chapter argues that palawa buildings did not present a spatial arrangement familiar to the European observers, and thus the European accounts reflect the difficulty in coming to terms with this difference. An aim of this chapter is to show that language has played a crucial role in the framing of palawa buildings by Europeans, so firstly a discussion of the role of language is explored. Secondly, the chapter will focus on selected accounts by navigators and colonialists providing an outline of the European voyages of exploration by the Dutch, French and British that lead to the ‘discovery’ of Tasmania, an island of “67, 870 square kilometres”1, and the varying degrees of interest these Europeans had in learning about the palawa peoples. From these accounts it will be demonstrated that judgement is cast on the spatial ordering of palawa buildings. This chapter does not examine all of the qualitative material documented by early European navigators and colonists, but provides a representative sample of the types of commentary regarding palawa buildings. These accounts are provided in chronological order, so as to simultaneously enable an overview of the encounters in Tasmania as they historically unfolded.

1 Historian Lyndall Ryan puts the size of Tasmania in context explaining that it is about the size of Sri Lanka. Lyndall Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians, 2nd ed. (St. Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 1996). p. 7. 120 occupation and that as a result, sought to impose western European spatial ordering in its place, by outlining how classical palawa buildings were perceived by early European navigators and colonials. This chapter will show that western Europeans failed to understand classical palawa buildings, by often relying upon a hierarchical comparison to western European buildings. The treatment of the accounts contained in this chapter also highlights the difficulty of placing one’s interpretations upon historic material. It should be noted that the observers did not necessarily intend to frame the buildings in the way that will be described, but the accounts can certainly be interpreted as such. As such, this chapter presents an interpretation of these accounts that overlays current dilemmas and contemporary concerns.

Language On the surface, language seems to provide a tool to engage with the world, a mechanism for describing its properties and engaging with others in shared understandings and meanings. The exchanges that occur via language are far from being this straightforward. Architect Thomas A. Markus and the linguist Deborah Cameron explain, in The Words Between the Spaces: buildings and language, that “the linguistic choices speakers and writers make can cue hearers and readers to make certain inferences about the meaning of an utterance or text, and these go beyond its purely informational content.”2 Language lacks neutrality and carries with it the weight of the speaker or writer’s cultural, social and historic milieu.3 In other words, all terms are filled with meaning not controlled or necessarily intended by the author. As literary critic Roland Barthes (1915-1980) stated “it is language which speaks, not the author”.4 Barthes explains in his famous essay The Death of the Author from 1968, that all terms are absorptive, acquiring meanings and bringing with them the history of their past use. To this end Barthes says, “We know now that a text is not a line of words releasing a single ‘theological’ meaning (the ‘message’ of the Author-God) but a multi-dimensional space in which a variety of writings, none of them original, blend and clash.”5 The argument here does not intend to turn to an

2 Thomas A. Markus and Deborah Cameron, The Words Between the Spaces: buildings and language (New York: Routledge, 2002). p. 3. 3 Ibid. 4 Roland Barthes, 'The Death of the Author' in David Lodge and Nigel Wood, eds., Modern Criticism and Theory: a reader, 3rd ed. (Harlow: Pearson, 2008), p. 313. 5 Ibid., p. 315. 121 investigation of semiology as proffered by linguist Ferdinand de Saussure (1857-1913) and Charles Sanders Peirce (1839-1914); however, the semiological idea that meaning is devised through contrast is relevant to the discussion at hand. As explained by Markus and Cameron, “meaning works by contrast: the meaning of form A is grasped through its difference from form B in a given communication systems, as with the contrast between red and green lights in the traffic signal system.”6 In relation to the accounts of buildings documented by early European navigators and colonists, the selected language establishes contrast or difference between western European buildings and palawa buildings. This is a commonality between the historical accounts. The writers of these accounts frame spatial arrangements of local buildings in the only language available to them – that of the colonial. The choice of language reveals the values, stemming from western European architectural practices, of the navigators and colonists that are then attached to the buildings of a new world. Language provides a representation of buildings and it is the primary tool used for critique within architecture. In the historical accounts of palawa buildings these accounts are therefore a critique of sorts of the buildings in question. It is important to mention that the judgement provided in these critiques by the individual writers is not reflective of an official position adopted by the British, nor is it necessarily representative of the apex of theoretical thinking at the time. Furthermore, these accounts are being interpreted and coloured by the concerns and milieu of myself as a researcher. It is acknowledged that the intentions and motivations of the recorders cannot be entirely known. What the descriptions do reveal however are cultural values embedded in such thinking. The critiques by the individual writers emphasise a contrast between western European and palawa buildings which is hierarchical in nature. This hierarchy becomes more entrenched because it is unable to be balanced due to the lack of critique provided of western European architecture from a palawa perspective. The semiotician Umberto Eco (1932- ) has provided a humorous attempt to comment on the imbalance that exists within anthropological literature in his essay Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society. In the text Eco provides an anthropological analysis of the residents of Milan from the perspective of a Melanesian researcher. Eco describes the ‘research project’ as an “objective anthropological study of colorless man and an understanding of Western

6 Markus and Cameron, The Words Between the Spaces: buildings and language: p. 7. 122 civilization.”7 Eco describes a football game or similar sporting event in the following terms:

Kept always in this state of bewilderment, the native suffers a constant tension, which the headmen allow him to release only during collective feasts, when the whole population crams into immense constructions, ellipsoid in shape, from which an uninterrupted and frightful din is heard.8

Eco presents what is a well-understood event for Europeans and distorts it – seeing it as if with eyes that do not fully understand the social and cultural practices at hand. The language used by Eco emphasises this strangeness. Eco even provides an acknowledgement to a fictional ‘Aborigine Foundation of Tasmania’ who funded the fieldwork with a “travel grant of twenty-four thousand dog’s teeth, enough to underwrite my expenses and the purchase of required equipment.”9 Eco has subverted what would be expected to be a monetary grant, to instead reflect the exchange of goods that would take place in a barter-based society. The overall text emphasises the power relations at work when viewing a society or culture from within the lens of another, and highlights through its use of descriptive language, that this language plays a crucial role in establishing strangeness. The sense of strangeness is made more potent because an understanding is drawn through a point of comparison to the writer’s own culture. This notion of strangeness also picks up on an additional point in relation to buildings – that architecture and buildings have the potential to be ‘read’ through a semiological approach. This chapter will highlight that colonial descriptions of Tasmanian Aboriginal buildings instead focus on the spatial ordering of the buildings in question, thus casting judgement on the successful mediation between inside and out.

Within the context of the discussion of language here, it is appropriate to provide an overview of the ‘order of space’ or ‘spatial ordering’ as used within this thesis, and the complexity embedded within these terms. Both ‘order’ and ‘space’ are terms loaded with meaning and when used in conjunction they have the potential to create uncertainty as to

7 Umberto Eco, Misreadings, trans. William Weaver (London: Jonathan Cape, 1993). p. 71. 8 Ibid., p. 77. 9 Ibid., p. 69. 123 the intention of their use. Architectural historian Adrian Forty (1948- ) provides a summary of the notion of ‘order’ and how it operates in the architectural domain. He suggests that until the 1970s, order had been applied to four key areas. These four ways in which order can be understood operates at a variety of scales, from buildings, to social organisation, through to the impact of order at an urban scale. The first of the four ways by which order is understood stems from antiquity and can be traced to the writing of Vitruvius, and is chiefly concerned with proportion-based organisational systems through which to achieve a harmonious resolution of a design.10 The so-called stylistic ‘orders of architecture’ are linked to this conceptualising of order. Secondly, order is linked to the “architectural expression of social distinction”, social hierarchical structures reinforced and reflected through architectural expression.11 Thirdly, from the late eighteenth-century order in architecture was linked with social concerns and restoring “ordered relationships within a world otherwise chaotic and lacking in order.”12 Fourthly, order has operated at an urban scale, at the level of the city, responding to the disorder reflected by the complexity of the polis. Forty has said:

If architecture does not create ‘order’, there would be no need to have architecture at all and the processes of environmental change can be left to get on with it on their own; but if architecture is in the business of producing ‘order,’ it is involved in something far bigger than it can possibly handle, the process by which experience is filtered, transformed and fed back to us in reduced form, all in the name of ‘culture.’13

This quote by Forty captures the complexity that order engenders. Buildings at their most basic level of operation seek to present an orderly and filtered engagement with the world. Architecture goes one step further, acting as a mirror that is held to society both reflecting and shaping culture. In the context of this thesis, order is used to refer to the arrangement and organisation of space. It is therefore most closely aligned with Forty’s first explanation of the use of order in relation to an organisational principle. The ordering of

10 Adrian Forty, Words and Buildings: a vocabulary of modern architecture (London: Thames & Hudson, 2000). p. 240. 11 Ibid., p. 241. 12 Ibid., p. 243. 13 Ibid., p. 248. 124 space is not based on proportional systems in the attempt to achieve a pleasing aesthetic outcome, but instead relates to the way categories of space are arranged - the division between public and private space, and interior and exterior space.14

Turning to the term space, Forty has explained that in relation to the architectural discipline the term can present confusion – the term may be used both in relation to the physical property of space, and in terms of “a property of the mind, part of the apparatus through which we perceive the world.”15 When the term space is used in this thesis within the phrase ‘orders of space’ or ‘spatial ordering’ it is being used in both of its meanings - how space is imagined in the minds of architects or builders, as may be the case for palawa peoples who constructed buildings without the aid of orthographic projection, as well as how it is physically manifest in built form. Space and its entanglement with colonialism and the processes of change associated with it was touched upon in the Chapter 2. Architectural theorist Neil Leach has stated that “space is never empty space.”16 This highlights that the projection of space in the mind’s eye carries with it power relations, among other things, while the physical manifestation of space must grapple with its situational qualities. Space, even in its abstract sense, is never devoid of impinging concerns. Leach says, “once the full ontological potential of space is understood, architects might begin to incorporate such considerations into their design processes.”17 Later in this chapter it will be shown that in the historic critiques of palawa buildings provided by western Europeans, space at a philosophical level is disregarded and buildings are arguably entirely considered in relation to their success in creating the physical formation of spatial zones between inside and outside. The fact that the palawa peoples may have considered space and the role of buildings in different ways was inaccessible to the European viewers, as we shall see below and in the chapter that follows.

14 The division between public and private space, and interior and exterior space also holds gender associations. See Diana Agrest, Patricia Conway, and Leslie Kanes Weisman, "Introduction," in The Sex of Architecture, ed. Diana Agrest, Patricia Conway, and Leslie Kanes Weisman (New York: Harry N. Abrams Inc., 1996), p. 11. 15 Forty, Words and Buildings: a vocabulary of modern architecture: p. 256. 16 Neil Leach, ed. Rethinking Architecture: a reader in cultural theory (New York: Routledge, 1997), p. xv. 17 Ibid. 125 Encounters The buildings of the palawa peoples, produced prior to and in the early years of European colonisation, have remained largely unexamined in architectural research. Generally a cursory overview of palawa buildings is provided in the context of a more broad ranging discussion of Tasmanian Aboriginal culture and history. In Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia, Paul Memmott has provided a short discussion of the dome buildings produced in western Tasmania, but notes that western Tasmania is a region that requires further “in-depth research.”18 There is currently one text that is solely dedicated to a discussion of Tasmanian Aboriginal buildings. Traditional Villages, by Worawee (aka Emma Wilson), is notable in that it reinterprets and presents historic source material concerning Tasmanian Aboriginal buildings from the perspective of a Tasmanian Aboriginal19 author. However, the author of Traditional Villages makes a strong statement in not adhering to referencing (other than providing a bibliography) explaining that, “I have chosen not to place the sources into a formal academic structure of reference solely because this book is not intended to give credit of any sort to those who wrote the information down about my ancestors.”20 From an academic standpoint this devalues the text as it fails to adhere to expected referencing conventions that enables material to be traced to its source. Despite this however, the text does contain a number of useful insights which are discussed in Chapter 6. What becomes clear from the various discussions about palawa buildings is that the interpretative literature lacks any significant understanding of typological variation in relation to the nine Nations. Nine palawa Nations, or language groups 21 , existed across Tasmania at the time of European colonisation, however much remains unknown about the differences and similarities of the buildings constructed by the different Nations because of the lack of detailed primary documentation. The selected accounts are therefore not an attempt by the documenters to understand the type and scope of buildings constructed across Tasmania, and it is

18 Paul Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia (St. Lucia, Qld: University of Queensland Press, 2007). p. XX. 19 Questions of identity do not fall within the scope of this research. Worawee is described here as Tasmanian Aboriginal, as this is how she identifies herself. It should be noted however that there is an ongoing debate regarding the Lia Pootah people. See ‘Blackfella, Whitefella’ Four Corners transcript, accessed 11 April, 2012, http://www.abc.net.au/4corners/stories/s659321.htm. 20 Worawee, Traditional Villages, Revised 'Yes We Had Villages' ed., Aspects of Tasmania's traditional Aboriginal people series (Lindisfarne, TAS: Manuta Tunapee Puggaluggalia, 1999). p. 62. 21 The nine nations are also sometimes referred to as ‘language groups.’ See for instance; James Boyce, "Towlangany: to tell lies," in First Australians: an illustrated history, ed. Rachel Perkins and Marcia Langton (Carlton, VIC: The Miegunyah Press, 2010), p. 67. 126 therefore not possible to build a complete picture of typology22 variation and distribution here.

Trowunna23 also spelt Trouwunna24, or Van Dieman’s Land as Europeans reinscribed it until 185525, after which it was renamed Tasmania, was visited by a wave of European navigators. These voyages of exploration have been described as “driven largely by national interest- the longstanding political rivalry between the great powers France and Britain and their desire for new colonies as sources of wealth.”26 But it was not the French or British to first lay anchor in Tasmania, but the Dutch. Dutch Captain Abel Tasman is considered the first European to ‘discover’ Tasmania landing in 1642. On 24 November, Tasman and his crew had their first sighting of Tasmania, which he called Anthonie Van Diemensland.27 The process of renaming was not simply confined to terrestrial features but in later years also extended to the inhabitants. For instance Captain James Cook refers to the palawa peoples as ‘natives’, whilst George Augustus Robinson adopts the term ‘aborigines.’ These terms both imply homogeneity and sameness with different people located in different parts of the world. In the 1990s the term Pallawah as it was then spelt, was becoming increasingly adopted by the Tasmanian Aboriginal peoples in order to identify with “First Nation Aboriginal groups...”28 Greg Lehman, Chair of the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery's Aboriginal Advisory, explains that in the 1970s, in an attempt to initiate a campaign to reclaim land and identity, the Tasmanian Aboriginal peoples

22 “By definition, typology is concerned with those aspects of human production that can be grouped because of some inherent characteristics that make them similar. Classification systems lie at the heart of many disciplines. Within architecture, the two most common classifications have been by use (churches, prisons, banks, airports) and by morphology (buildings with long hall-shaped interiors, centrally planned buildings, buildings with courtyards, buildings with interconnecting compartments).” Jan Jennings, "A Case Study for a Typology of Design: the interior archetype project," Journal of Interior Design vol. 32, no. 3 (2007): p. 48. 23 Marcia Langton, "Prologue," in First Australians: an illustrated history, ed. Rachel Perkins and Marcia Langton (Carlton, VIC: The Miegunyah Press, 2010), p. xxvi. 24 Patsy Cameron, Grease and Ochre: the blending of two cultures at the colonial sea frontier (Launceston: Fullers Bookshop, 2011). p. 2. 25 Robert Brown et al., Nature's Investigator: the diary of Robert Brown in Australia, 1801-1805 (Canberra: Australian Biological Resources Study, 2001). p. 481. 26 Roslynn D. Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography, 1st ed. (Sandy Bay, TAS: Polymath Press, 2006). p. 7. 27 Edward Duyker, ed. The Discovery of Tasmania: journal extracts from the expeditions of Abel Janszoon Tasman and Marc-Joseph Marion Dufresne, 1642 and 1772 (Hobart: St. David's Park Publishing, 1992), p. 10. 28 Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. xx. 127 named themselves Koories, mimicking the choice of name adopted in parts of the mainland. Lehman explains that twenty years later the Tasmanian Aboriginal people “called upon the name of our creation-time ancestor and declared ourselves Palawa. This, perhaps more than any other step, summoned up the cultural imprimatur to begin reclaiming traditional practices and expressions…” 29 Renaming with a term whose cultural relevance is purely owned by the Tasmanian Aboriginal people facilitated making the community visible. Table 2 compares the various palawa and European names of the nine Nations or language groups. The European names refer only to the geographical location of the language groups (Figure 8), thus rendering invisible the Tasmanian Aboriginal language. Postcolonial theorist Gayatri Spivak (1942- ) has described the renaming process as one of the most brutal of colonisation practices – renaming the land Anthonie Van Diemensland was in some respects the first step to colonisation. Anthropologist Jennifer Biddle has explained that catachresis is not simply the misuse of a term but also implies “the impossibility of ‘correctness’ in a historical context where ‘indigenous’ or ‘pre-colonial’ meaning has been breached. Violated, by a second tongue’s appropriation which either mispronounces, repronounces or simply renames, such that whatever meaning may have existed in the name ‘originally’ is occluded.”30 In later years the palawa peoples who were moved to Wybalenna on Flinders Island were given new names by George Augustus Robinson. The historian Henry Reynolds has suggested that Robinson’s motivation for doing so was to replace the degrading names that other colonists had bestowed on the people. 31 Despite the apparent good intentions for Robinson’s actions, English names were selected rather than reverting to the people’s original names. Unlike naming or from a palawa perspective renaming the landmass of Tasmania, which was an action linked to possession and control particularly through cartography, to rename a person is an act that can restructure or reshape an identity and in the case of Wybalenna, suppress culture.

29 Greg Lehman, "Being Here: authenticity and presence in Tasmanian Aboriginal art," in Keeping Culture: Aboriginal Tasmania, ed. Amanda Jane Reynolds (Canberra: National Museum of Australia Press, 2006), p. 35. 30 Jennifer Loureide Biddle, Breasts, Bodies, Canvas: Central Desert art as experience (Sydney: University of New South Wales Press, 2007). p. 53. 31 Henry Reynolds, "George Augustus Robinson in Van Dieman's Land: race, status and religion," in Reading Robinson: companion essays to Friendly Mission, ed. Anna Johnston and Mitchell Rolls (Hobart: Quintus Publishing, 2008), p. 168. 128 palawa Nation or Language European Name European Regional Group name32 Grouping33 Tommeginne North people Eastern and Northern Pyemmairrener North East people Eastern and Northern Paredarerme Oyster Bay people Eastern and Northern Tyerrernotepanner North Midlands people Midland Pyemmairrener Ben Lomond people Midland Lairmairrener Big River people Midland Peerapper North West people Maritime Nuenonne South East people Maritime Toogee South West people Maritime Table 2. European and palawa names for the nine language groups or Nations.

32 These spellings are sourced from "The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia," ed. David Horton (Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 1994), p. 1053. 33 As defined in Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: pp. 14-17. 129

Figure 8. Satellite image of Tasmania with an overlay showing the territorial boundaries of the nine Nations. (Martyman, “Tasmanian Tribes.” accessed 20 November, 2009, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Tasmanian_tribes-MJC.jpg, CC- BY-SA-3.0. AU, For more information see http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/au/)

The European terms pressed into service for the nine Nations have not only resulted from a desire to explain the location of the Nations but to also simplify the complexity of the social organisation that existed. The nine Nations (Figure 8) are sometimes broadly understood and described in three groupings which relate to the type of country occupied, as explained by the historian Lyndall Ryan in her landmark text The Aboriginal Tasmanians:

130 The eastern and northern groups consisted of the Oyster Bay, North East and North tribes and had both an extensive coast and hinterland. The midland group, consisting of the Big River, North Midlands, and Ben Lomond tribes, had little or no coastline, while the third, the maritime group, consisting of the North West, South West and South East tribes, had an extensive coast and limited hinterland. All three groups gained coastal and inland access to one another’s territory by agreement.34

The nine Nations were further comprised of clans as illustrated in Table 3. Peter Sutton explains a clan to be a “patrifilial group” (or groups) in which descent follows the male line.35 This group forms the “land-holding group”.36 According to Ryan, in Tasmania there was a three-tiered social structure consisting of the family group37 (previously called the hearth group, as it was originally termed by Rhys Jones38), the clan (previously called the band) and the Nation (previously called the tribe).39 Ryan explains the social purpose of each of the three levels of the tiered system – the family group formed the domestic unit; the clan formed the basic social unit; and, the nation formed the political unit.40 Thus each clan “was associated with a wider political unit”, or nation, which is “the name preferred by Tasmanian Aborigines today.”41 Historian Patsy Cameron explains that the term ‘nation’ in the Tasmanian context refers to a “collective of clans, each of which had its own territory or country, shared the same homeland with its distinct boundaries that separated them from neighbouring nations, and spoke the same language.”42

Ryan further defines the hearth group as essentially a distinct family unit that may comprise a “husband, wife, and children and relatives and sometimes friends and other

34 Ibid., pp. 14-17. 35 Peter Sutton, Native Title in Australia: an ethnographic perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). p. 41. 36 Peter Sutton, Country: Aboriginal boundaries and land ownership in Australia, ed. Diane Smith, Aboriginal History Monograph Series 1995 (Canberra: Aboriginal History Incorporated, 1995). p. 40. 37 Lyndall Ryan, Tasmanian Aborigines: a history since 1803 (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2012). p. 11. 38 Lyndall Ryan, "The Aborigines in Tasmania, 1800-1974 and their Problems with the Europeans" (PhD thesis, Macquarie University, 1975), p. 18. 39 ———, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 12. 40 ———, Tasmanian Aborigines: a history since 1803: p. 11. 41 Ibid., p. 14. 42 Cameron, Grease and Ochre: the blending of two cultures at the colonial sea frontier: p. 138, ft. 18. 131 relations.”43 It is estimated that numbers could range from between two to eleven people.44 Of interest in relation to the discussion of buildings, Ryan suggests that this group would have occupied the one camp area, used the one hearth, and on the west coast cohabitated in a single building.45

Nation Clan Tommeginne Punnilerpanner (North people) Pallittorre Noeteeler Plairhekehillerplue Pyemmairrener Trawlwoolway (North East people) Leenerrerter Pinterrairer Peeberrangner Pyemmairrenerpairrener Leenethmairrener Panpekanner Paredarerme Leetermairremener (Oyster Bay people) Linetemairrener Loontitetermairrelehoinner Toorernomairremener Poredareme Laremairremener Tyreddeme Portmairremener Pydairrerme Moomairremener Tyerrernotepanner Leterremairrener (North Midlands people) Panninher Tyerrernotepanner Pyemmairrener Plangermairreenner (Ben Lomond people) Plindermairhemener Tonenerweenerlarmenne

43 Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: pp. 12-13. 44 Ibid., p. 13. 45 Ibid., p. 12. 132 Nation Clan Lairmairrener Leenowwenne (Big River People) Pangerninghe Braylwunyer Larmairremener Luggermairrernerpairrer Peerapper Tommeginer (North West people) Parperloihener Pennemukeer Pendowte Peerapper Manegin Tarkinener Peternidic Nuenonne Mouheneenner (South East people) Nuenonne Mellukerdee Lyluequonny Toogee Mimegin (South West people) Lowreenne Ninene Needwonnee

Table 3. Clans that comprised each of the nine Nations or language groups of Trouwunna. Nations ranged in size from three bands to ten bands.46 (table after Lyndall Ryan, Tasmanian Aborigines: a history since 1803 (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2012), pp. 15-17.)

Returning to Tasman’s expedition, the crew recorded their observations of structures and evidence of people. On 2 December 1642 a number of Tasman’s crew landed and collected vegetables, and although they saw evidence of the Tasmanian Aboriginal peoples they did not actually have any face-to-face meetings. They heard “a shrill sound from singing people,”47 described as “resembling a trumpet or a little gong”48 and saw the

46 Ian Macfarlane, "Aboriginal Society in North West Tasmania: dispossession and genocide" (PhD thesis, University of Tasmania, 2002), p. 284. 47 Duyker, The Discovery of Tasmania: journal extracts from the expeditions of Abel Janszoon Tasman and Marc-Joseph Marion Dufresne, 1642 and 1772, p. 18. 48 Ibid., p. 13. 133 smoke from fires. Only two instances of structures are recorded. These structures were trees notched for climbing. The size of the trees and the distance between ‘runners’ impressed the observers and lead to forming the romantic impression that Tasmania was possibly inhabited by giants49:

That they had seen two trees about two to 2 ! fathoms thick and measuring 60 to 65 feet to the lowest branches and the bark of those trees was peeled off and they were notched with flint stones (to climb up and rob the nests of birds above) to form steps five feet apart, so that our men presumed that the people here must be very big or that they avail themselves of some practical means to climb the trees. In one of the trees these carved steps were very fresh and green as if they had been cut less than four days before.50

This quote reveals that the documenters viewed the situation via comparison to their own experiences and environment. Thus they surmised that the notches must have been used in conjunction with a supporting mechanism to facilitate climbing or otherwise very tall people must reside in the place. In 1830 George Augustus Robinson described these notched trees as being used for the purposes of climbing to hunt opossums and explained that the trees were climbed with the aid of plaited rope.51

In addition to these trees, Tasman noted seeing a “large number” of fire-hollowed trees that had been “burnt deep inside, above the roots, while the earth had become as hard as flint because of the continual effect of the fire.”52 Around these trees “lay mussel- shells.”53 Other European navigators recorded similar accounts of such trees. These hollowed trees may have been formed naturally in some cases or as a result of human intervention in others. Bush fires, naturally or intentionally lit would have eaten into the trunk of the eucalyptus “and thus the tree is hollowed out, the heartwood being the

49 “There is no doubt that there are men of extraordinary stature here.” Ibid., p. 14. 50 Ibid., p. 13. 51 N. J. B. Plomley, ed. Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834 (Hobart: Tasmanian Historical Research Association, 1966), p. 190. 52 Duyker, The Discovery of Tasmania: journal extracts from the expeditions of Abel Janszoon Tasman and Marc-Joseph Marion Dufresne, 1642 and 1772, p. 14. 53 This description is given by Henrik Haelbos, who was the “Heemskerck’s barber-surgeon.” Ibid., p. 1 & 18. 134 softest.”54 The Dutch party recorded no windbreaks or dome buildings; although later, navigators surmised that the foresaid trees were used for storage or habitation purposes. It would not be until over a century later when the next European visitors arrived that windbreaks would be recorded in the historic literature. Absence of any mention of buildings could be the result of three things – none were seen by the party; they were misinterpreted as something else altogether; or they were not considered of particular interest to note.

In 1772, the crew of the French ships Mascarin and Marquis de Castries led by Captain Marion Dufresne made the first observations of the palawa peoples at Marion Bay on the east coast.55 The crewmember Julien Crozet provides an important account of meeting with the people, which although commenced in a friendly manner, degenerated into hostilities resulting in injury and one fatality.56 This event, the first recorded encounter between the palawa peoples and Europeans, took place at North Bay.57 Visiting at the end of the summer months the weather was still cold, and the French were amazed by the lack of clothing worn by the people and the lack of what they considered substantial housing. They did record seeing windbreaks, which they described as “roughly formed with the branches of trees, and with traces of fires near these windbreaks.”58 The use of the term “rough” highlights that the French expedition viewed the buildings from within the lens of western European architecture within which there is a technological framing to building – that buildings ought to be finished to a particular standard. The buildings that the French saw evidently did not satisfy this requirement.

54 Roth H. Ling, The Aborigines of Tasmania (Hobart: Fullers Bookshop, 1969). p. 119. 55 Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography: p. 8. 56 A crewmember was wounded in the leg by spear, while several palawa peoples were wounded from gunfire and one man was killed. Duyker, The Discovery of Tasmania: journal extracts from the expeditions of Abel Janszoon Tasman and Marc-Joseph Marion Dufresne, 1642 and 1772, p. 25. 57 The level of detail recorded about the voyage makes it difficult to determine definitively the location of the French landing but “it appears to have been on the Two-mile Beach (North Bay of our present maps).” C. T. Burfitt, "The Discovery of Tasmania (Van Diemen's Land.), New Zealand, and Bass' Straits.," ebook, Journal and Proceedings of the Royal Australian Historical Society vol. 3(1913), Gutenberg of Australia ebook, http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0600541h.html. 58 Duyker, The Discovery of Tasmania: journal extracts from the expeditions of Abel Janszoon Tasman and Marc-Joseph Marion Dufresne, 1642 and 1772, p. 26. 135

Figure 9. Monument to commemorate the anchorage of Captain Tobias Furneaux, who is described on the monument as “discoverer of this bay”. (Photograph by Philip Power, 2010.)

The following year, in March 1773, the commander of the British vessel the Adventure, Captain Tobias Furneaux, landed in Tasmania while on Cook’s second voyage. The Adventure anchored in Adventure Bay as its nomenclature indicates.59 Figure 9 shows Adventure Bay at Bruny Island as it appeared in 2010. The Bay became a regular point of call for navigators in these waters because of its fine harbour and supply of food and potable water.60 The visit to Tasmania by Furneaux lasted only ten days, from 9 March

59 Burfitt, "The Discovery of Tasmania (Van Diemen's Land.), New Zealand, and Bass' Straits.". p. 119. 60 Boyce, "Towlangany: to tell lies," p. 70. 136 1773 to 19 March 1773.61 Just five days were spent at Adventure Bay.62 Captain Cook commanded the Resolution while Furneaux was his second in command on the Adventure. This expedition of the Resolution and the Adventure was launched with the intention to locate Cape Circumcision. If unsuccessful, Cook was instead “to sail south until he reached a solid land mass - hopefully the elusive continent - and then circumnavigate the globe…”63 After the ships departed the Cape of Good Hope they crossed the Antarctic Circle “for the first time in history.”64 However, they decided not to continue further south, and after changing course the two ships lost one another in the fog.65 Both ships continued on a course to New Zealand but the Adventure made an additional stop along the way, Tasmania, making this the “first British visit to Tasmania.”66 Furneaux recorded seeing smoke and fires, and also buildings with bags and nets inside. He provides a description of the construction techniques of the buildings seen at Adventure Bay. He considered them to be poorly built and believed they would not have been effective in keeping out the rain.67 Furneaux states that the construction of the buildings was “so poorly done, that they will hardly keep out a shower of rain.”68 Furneaux was surprised that the British party saw no canoes.69

61 A. W. Reed, ed. Captain Cook in Australia: extracts from the journals of Captain James Cook giving a full account in his own words of his adventures and discoveries in Australia (Wellington: Reed, 1969), p. 160. 62 Burfitt, "The Discovery of Tasmania (Van Diemen's Land.), New Zealand, and Bass' Straits.". p. 119. 63 Beverley Hooper, ed. With Captain James Cook in the Antarctic and Pacific: the private journal of James Burney, second lieutenant of the Adventure on Cook's second voyage, 1772-1773 (Canberra: National Library of Australia, 1975), p. 4. 64 Ibid. 65 Ibid. 66 Ibid. 67 Tobias Furneaux, 'Captain Furneaux's Narrative of a Brief Visit to Van Diemen's Land' in Reed, Captain Cook in Australia: extracts from the journals of Captain James Cook giving a full account in his own words of his adventures and discoveries in Australia, p. 163. 68 Tobias Furneaux, 'Captain Furneaux's Narrative of a Brief Visit to Van Diemen's Land' in ibid. 69 Tobias Furneaux, 'Captain Furneaux's Narrative of a Brief Visit to Van Diemen's Land' in ibid. 137

Figure 10. 'The Neck' or isthmus which joins north Bruny Island with south Bruny Island. Adventure Bay is to the left while the D’Entrecasteaux Channel, which separates Bruny Island from mainland Tasmania, is on the right. (Photograph by Philip Power, 2010.)

The man to lead the first British expedition ashore in Tasmania (as it is now called) on this voyage was James Burney70, second lieutenant. Burney commenced the voyage in 1772 as an able seaman on Cook’s Resolution.71 While at the Cape of Good Hope on 18 November 1772, Burney transferred from the Resolution to the Adventure taking on the

70 Burney was also present on Cook’s third voyage, recording what has been described as “one of the most concise and unemotional” accounts of Cook’s death in Hawaii. Hooper, With Captain James Cook in the Antarctic and Pacific: the private journal of James Burney, second lieutenant of the Adventure on Cook's second voyage, 1772-1773, p. 7. 71 Ibid., p. 3. 138 role of second lieutenant.72 Burney led the British landing ashore on the south coast and recorded the occasion in his journal. The landing took place just west of South-East Cape in the D’Entrecasteux Channel which separates the Tasmanian mainland from Bruny Island (Figure 10).73 Burney noted seeing the remains of a hearth and shells but no inhabitants, although “there was a very good path leading into the woods which would probably have led us to some of their Huts…”74 This comment highlights that Burney appreciated that buildings would of course have been positioned in relation to a network of paths or routes used for day-to-day activities by the residents. Buildings are revealed in this description as not only important as individual objects but in their relationship to a broader social and environmental fabric. Burney, as can only be expected, did not understand what this fabric might have been for the palawa people, or that it may have existed in different ways to that responded to by western Europeans. Burney provides one of the earliest descriptions of palawa buildings and their interior contents. He recorded:

we found Several of their Huts & large old Hollow Trees in which they had lived. there were paths which led along the woods, but almost overgrown with Bushes. the place did not seem to have been inhabited for some Months before, so that it was not our coming frightend them away…their Huts are very low and ill contrived & seem only intended for temporary habitations. They had left nothing in them but 2 or 3 Baskets or Bags made of a very Strong Grass- Some flints and tinder which I believe they make of the bark of a Tree, & a great Number of Pearl Scollop, Mussel, Lobster, & Crayfish shells which they had roasted-75

This quote from Burney frames palawa buildings as ‘poor.’ The choice of terms is pivotal in creating this framing, with words such as “Huts”, “ill contrived” and “temporary” casting the buildings in this light. William Anderson who was the surgeon aboard Cook’s vessel the Resolution provides an additional description of buildings that reinforces this perception of the buildings the British found.76 Anderson says:

72 Burney replaced first lieutenant Joseph Shank who had to return to England because of sickness. Ibid., pp. 3-4. 73 Ibid., p. 37, fn. 1. 74 Ibid., p. 36. 75 Ibid., p. 38. 76 Reed, Captain Cook in Australia: extracts from the journals of Captain James Cook giving a full account in his own words of his adventures and discoveries in Australia, p. 176. 139

Some wretched constructions of sticks, covered with bark, which do not even deserve the name of huts, were indeed found near the shore in the bay; but these seemed only to have been erected for temporary purposes; and many of their largest trees were converted into more comfortable habitations. 77

The judgement of the buildings articulated by both Burney and Anderson is arguably linked to the preconceived notion of the order of space – that the landscape is an outside and buildings divide space thereby creating an interior. This division of space is also linked with possible cultural differences regarding building durability and quality that impacts the effectiveness of this spatial separation. Burney further extends this judgement to the attribution of value in relation to the contents of the interiors. He said that there was “nothing in them”. This so-called nothing was comprised of a number of different artefacts – baskets, flints and tinder, and shells from various marine life. Burney was unable to see that these artefacts may have possessed a cultural significance. He therefore conceived the interior as being devoid of contents. The notion that the buildings contained nothing of significance, and their perceived failure of satisfactorily dividing space, resulted in these buildings being considered as ‘ill contrived’ or poor.

Later in 1777 Captain James Cook himself landed at Adventure Bay on Bruny Island. For this third, and what was to be the last voyage of Cook, Adventure Bay was designated as the meeting place for the Resolution and Discovery should they become separated, as had occurred on the previous voyage.78 A meeting took place between some of the crew and eight palawa men and a boy.79 The party compared weapons, and to demonstrate the superiority of their guns a musket was fired by one of the British party that caused considerable alarm to the palawa peoples.80 Later the same group of men approached the British party while they were taking water in the boat, and unsure of their intentions the

77 William Anderson, 'Mr. Anderson's Remarks on Van Diemen's Land' in ibid., p. 181. 78 Ibid., p. 165. 79 Ibid., p. 169. 80 The musket was fired by Omai, who was a man from the Society Island whom James Burney had befriended while second lieutenant on Cook’s second voyage. Omai returned with Burney on the Adventure to England. One of the purposes of Cook’s third voyage was to return Omai to his home in the Society Islands. Ibid., p. 170. 140 British fired a warning shot into the air in order to disperse the people.81 Clearly these early meetings were fraught with tension on both sides. Cook also provides a brief description of the buildings. Mussel-shells were noted as being around some “deserted habitations near the head of the bay.”82 The buildings were “little sheds or hovels built of sticks, and covered with bark.”83 Although possibly a windbreak, it seems more likely that these buildings were open-sided dome buildings, for Cook says they were “covered with bark” suggestive of a building similar to that documented later in 1792, in the same region, by George Tobin. The terms ‘shed’ and ‘hovel’ are suggestive that the buildings were not fit for human habitation, implying they do not fulfil the requirements of a house or home as framed within Cook’s understanding of buildings.

In 1788, Captain William Bligh anchored the Bounty in Adventure Bay for two weeks while on his expedition to Tahiti. He anchored again in Adventure Bay in February 1792 on his “successful, breadfruit expedition, with [the] Providence and Assistant”.84 During the 1792 visit, Third Lieutenant George Tobin produced twenty watercolours including two depicting open-sided domes (see Chapter 6).85

In 1789, John Henry Cox anchored the Mercury first in Cox’s Bight and then a week later “on the inner side of Maria’s Island in an inlet which Cox called Oyster Bay.”86 Lieutenant George Mortimer published an account of the 1789 visit to Van Diemen’s Land, describing a windbreak seen at Cox’s Bight as a “hovel, of a circular form, open at the top, and rudely constructed of branches of trees, and dried leaves, so as barely to afford a shelter from the inclemency of the weather.”87 The use of language reveals that

81 Ibid. 82 Ibid., p. 172. 83 Ibid. 84 Dan Sprod, ed. Van Diemen's Land Revealed: Flinders and Bass and their circumnavigation of the island in the colonial sloop Norfolk 1798-1799 (Hobart: Blubber Head Press, 2009), p. 2. 85 Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography: p. 9. 86 Sprod, Van Diemen's Land Revealed: Flinders and Bass and their circumnavigation of the island in the colonial sloop Norfolk 1798-1799, pp. 2-3. 87 George Mortimer, Observations and Remarks Made During a Voyage to the Islands of Teneriffe, Amsterdam, Maria's Islands near Van Diemen's Land; Otaheite, Sandwich Islands; Owhyhee, the Fox Islands on the north west coast of America, Tinian, and from thence to Canton, in the Brig Mercury, commanded by John Henry Cox, Esq. (London: T. Cadell, 1791). p. 15. 141 the building failed to satisfy what Mortimer saw as necessary for a building to be successful.

In April 1792, the French Rear-Admiral Bruny D’Entrecasteaux, who commanded the Recherche (meaning seek or research) and the Espérance (meaning hope)88, came in contact with the east coast of Tasmania. His ships sailed up the coast into the D’Entrecasteaux Channel,89 anchoring in Recherche Bay.90 The focus of this voyage was somewhat different from other expeditions with the primary goal of locating navigator Jean-François de Galaup La Pérouse, who had gone missing four years before.91 Yet this expedition also received sponsorship from the “Société d’histoire naturelle to carry out a detailed scientific survey of the area.”92 A published account of the voyage by the naturalist Jacques-Julien Houtou de Labillardiére, entitled Relation du voyage á la recherché de La Pérouse, illustrated by Jean Piron,93 framed the palawa peoples in line with Rousseau’s concept of the ‘noble savage.’ The expedition arrived in Van Diemen’s Land on 21 April 1792 “and two days later discovered Recherche Bay, where fresh water was found.”94 On the 25 April, Labillardiére recorded several instances of buildings – a windbreak and an open-sided dome building. He described the windbreak as a:

88 Edward Duyker, "A French Garden in Tasmania: the legacy of Felix Delahaye (1767-1829)," in Explorations, ed. Ivan Barko, et al. (Melbourne: The Institute for the Study of French-Australian Relations, no. 37, December 2004), p. 4. 89 D’Entrecasteaux had the intention of anchoring in Adventure Bay like others before him but through a navigational error “instead of rounding Bruny Island, he stood to the west of it, and found he was not in Adventure Bay, but in the entrance of the Channel...” Burfitt, "The Discovery of Tasmania (Van Diemen's Land.), New Zealand, and Bass' Straits.". p. 120. 90 Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography: p. 10. 91 Ibid. 92 Ibid. 93 Draughtsman on the voyage. Ibid. 94 Duyker, "A French Garden in Tasmania: the legacy of Felix Delahaye (1767-1829)," p. 7. 142 fence constructed by the natives against the winds from the bay. It consisted of stripes of the bark of the eucalyptus refinifera, interwoven between stakes fixed perpendicularly into the ground, forming an arch, of about a third of the circumference of a circle, nine feet in length and three in height, with its convex side turned toward the bay. A semicircular elevation covered with cinders, and heaped round with shells, pointed out the place where the natives dreffed their victuals. Such a fence must be of great service to them to prevent their fires being extinguished, when the wind blows with violence from the sea.95

The windbreak in this description is framed as a “fence.” The choice of term is partly the result of Labillardiére’s need for a descriptive noun to create a visual image of the building. While he describes the windbreak in some detail, he does not suggest that it is actually a building. Labillardiére also recorded an open-sided dome building of a similar type to those seen by George Tobin in 1792 (see Chapter 6). Labillardiére considered this to be a building this time using the term “hut.” This building, which was unfinished, is described as being “hemispherical” in form and approximately “four feet and a half in height.”96 In the eyes of Labillardiére the branch structure fastened together with grass needed nothing more than a covering of bark to complete the construction. This covering, according to Labillardiére “renders them [the buildings] impenetrable to the rain.”97

The gardener on this same voyage, Félix Delahaye recorded in his Botanical Catalogue- Journal seeing many buildings. He says that although the French did not sight people at their first anchoring spot, they:

found many huts constructed with tea bark, which are tied to props with a graminaceous plant very common in the area. It is shaped like a dovecot. The largest of those we have seen was about 20 feet in length by 10 feet in width and 6 high. Oyster shells are found near the huts...We found pieces of rather well constructed baskets in the huts, but they were rotten.98

95 J. J. H. Labillardiere, Voyage in Search of La Perouse Performed by Order of the Constituent Assembly During the Years 1791, 1792, 1793 and 1794 and Drawn up by M. Labillardiere, Translated from the French. Illustrated with Forty-Six Plates (London: J. Stockdale, 1800). p. 101. 96 Ibid., p. 102. 97 Ibid. 98 Duyker, "Translation of Felix Delahaye's 'Botanical Catalogue-Journal,' In Van Diemen's Land (Tasmania) January-May 1792," p. 34. 143

A ‘dovecot’ is not a structure that houses people but pigeons. The form of dovecots varied, although “often they were miniature representations of the local vernacular architecture”.99 Despite this there is an underlying suggestion of inferiority that pervades the description, as the comparison being drawn is with a building that houses birds not people. There is therefore an underlying suggestion of inferiority about these buildings in comparison to French buildings. The tone of this description however differs from the earlier account. This may be partly a result of the purpose of this expedition being scientific in nature. Delahaye has made some attempt to note the proportions of the building, the construction technique, materials and context.

The same French expedition made a subsequent visit to Tasmania the following year in 1793. Apparently the French party visited a palawa building on 10 February. During an excursion up the D’Entrecasteux River the naturalists on the voyage had arranged a designated point to reboard the ship. The party were unable to raise a response from those aboard the ship, and as the weather was poor, sought shelter in a palawa building.100 Owing to the fact that the party had exhausted their gunpowder they found it impossible to make a fire. Delahaye, the gardener on the voyage, describes spending “the night in the most dismal situation.”101 The historian Edward Duyker explains that the party sought “refuge in an Aboriginal shelter.”102 It is not explicit however that the phrase “dismal situation” refers to the building, this may be an inference on the part of Duyker, or it may be the result of information missing from the translation of Delahaye’s journal. Alternatively, the “dismal situation” may have been intended to refer to the weather rather than the building. Nevertheless the notion of a “dismal situation” has created a link with palawa buildings.

99 Victoria Merrill, "Dovecot," Grove Art Online, accessed 11 January 2013 http://www.oxfordartonline.com:80/subscriber/article/grove/art/T023510. 100 Maryse Duyker (trans.), "Translation of Felix Delahaye's Journal in Van Diemen's Land (Tasmania) January-February 1793," in Explorations, ed. Ivan Barko, et al. (Melbourne: no. 37, December 2004), p. 42. 101 Ibid. 102 Duyker, "A French Garden in Tasmania: the legacy of Felix Delahaye (1767-1829)," p. 11. 144 In 1794, two years after Rear-Admiral Bruny D’Entrecasteaux’s first visit, Captain John Hayes with the ships Duke of Clarence and Duchess anchored in Storm Bay.103 Details from his expedition remain sketchy, including his degree of contact with the palawa peoples, and it is difficult to ascertain if any observations were made of their buildings. This difficulty stems from D’Entrecasteaux laying anchor in the Derwent prior to him, and as a result the company financing Hayes’ voyage were reluctant to publish his journals. According to Margriet Roe “the fate of the manuscript is obscure. After his rebuff from the company Hayes probably sent it to England, hoping to find a publisher there, but the ship carrying it fell into French hands”; as a result little is known about Hayes’ experience.104

Later in 1798 George Bass and Matthew Flinders in their ship the Norfolk attempted to circumnavigate Tasmania.105 On the north coast near Port Dalrymple, Bass describes frequently seeing seven or eight buildings together “like a little encampment”.106 Flinders makes a similar observation in his journal.107 Bass provides some detail about the construction of these buildings, which utilised a fallen branch as a structure on which were placed strips of bark removed from nearby trees. Bass adds “after all their labour, they have not ingenuity enough to place the slips of bark in such a manner as to prevent the free admission of rain.”108 In Matthew Flinder’s revised version of the expedition that was published as the multi-volume A Voyage to Terra Australis, he described buildings seen near the Isle of Caves as “a few miserable huts.”109 It is clear from these observations that there is a critique of the buildings being undertaken rather than description of the

103 Burfitt, "The Discovery of Tasmania (Van Diemen's Land.), New Zealand, and Bass' Straits.". p. 120. 104 Margriet Roe, "Hayes, Sir John (1768–1831)," Australian Dictionary of Biography, National Centre of Biography, Australian National University, accessed 12 April 2012 http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/hayes- sir-john-2173/text2789. 105 Burfitt, "The Discovery of Tasmania (Van Diemen's Land.), New Zealand, and Bass' Straits.". p. 120. 106 George Bass, 'Journal describing Two-Fold Bay in New South Wales, Furneaux's Islands in Bass's Straits and the Coasts and Harbours of Van Diemen's Land from notes made on board the Colonial Sloop Norfolk in 1798 and 1799' in Sprod, Van Diemen's Land Revealed: Flinders and Bass and their circumnavigation of the island in the colonial sloop Norfolk 1798-1799, p. 88. 107 Matthew Flinders, 'Observations on the coasts of Van Diemen's Land, on Bass's Straits and its Islands, and on part of the coast of New South Wales; intended to accompany the charts of the late discoveries in those countries,' in ibid., p. 193. 108 George Bass, 'Journal describing Two-Fold Bay in New South Wales, Furneaux's Islands in Bass's Straits and the Coasts and Harbours of Van Diemen's Land from notes made on board the Colonial Sloop Norfolk in 1798 and 1799' in ibid., p. 89. 109 Matthew Flinders, 'A Voyage to Terra Australis' in ibid., p. 156. 145 buildings’ characteristics. These observations of palawa buildings have the potential to conceal their implicit judgements as actual descriptions, if the reader fails to dissect the language adopted by the writer.

The framing of palawa buildings as ‘poor’, as highlighted in Flinders’ comment, stems from the observers’ point of comparison to their own built environment, but can also be considered in relation to the notion of the origin of architecture. Architectural historian Mari Hvattum, in Origins Redefined: a tale of pigs and primitive huts, has explained that there are numerous eighteenth-century tales that express the “origin of architecture as a gradual evolution from precarious, inarticulate and primitive structure into a stable, permanent form”.110 While the use of the term ‘primitive’ is highly sensitive in its application to cultures and peoples, its use in architecture, argues Adrian Forty, has been used as an equivalent to ‘origin’ or ‘original.’111 He suggests that the term as used in the eighteenth-century meant “nothing more than ‘original’…when, for example, Sir John Soane talked about ‘the primitive model,’ or ‘the progressive state of primitive buildings’ in his lectures, he meant nothing more than the original buildings of mankind”.112 Forty goes onto say that it is unlikely that Soane was suggesting any connection to structures built by indigenous peoples around the world. According to Forty, “it was not until later in the nineteenth century that the meaning of the word primitive would be extended to include” structures of indigenous peoples.113 This alteration in the usage of the term in the nineteenth century aligns not only with what might be considered the high point of British colonialism, but also with the desire for classification that first emerged in the late eighteenth century.114 This classification took the form of the “the Great Chain of Being- a static hierarchy of all life on Earth” in which people and animals were relationally placed on a sliding scale of perceived development.115 In more explicit terms the philosopher and psychiatrist Frantz Fanon (1925-1961), author of Black Skin, White Masks, explains, “It has been said that the Negro is the link between monkey and man – meaning, of course,

110 Mari Hvattum, "Origins Redefined: a tale of pigs and primitive huts," in Primitive: original matters in architecture, ed. Jo Odgers, Flora Samuel, and Adam Sharr (London: Routledge, 2006), p. 33. 111 Adrian Forty, "Primitive: the word and concept," in Primitive: original matters in architecture, ed. Jo Odgers, Flora Samuel, and Adam Sharr (London: Routledge, 2006), pp. 5-6. 112 Ibid., p. 5. 113 Ibid. 114 Reynolds, "George Augustus Robinson in Van Dieman's Land: race, status and religion," p. 163. 115 Ibid. 146 white man.”116 This conceptualisation of people on a path leading to more sophisticated development through evolution also extends to cultural expressions, including buildings. Thus, the buildings constructed by Indigenous Australians were also placed on this scale of power relations; the buildings seen as expressing an evolutionary development. The Darwinian theory of evolution which emerged in the nineteenth century emphasised monogenesis117, and therefore commonality between homo sapiens, which facilitated viewing people and their constructed environment on a comparative scale of development - thereby enabling cultural comparisons to be undertaken. With this background in mind, the context in which the term ‘primitive’ is applied has the potential, as in this case, to deride the structure in question through the suggestion that the building is of inferior quality, part of an evolutionary scale. This perception of buildings as part of an evolutionary scale is also linked to a linear representation of history. Gregory Cowan suggests “that there has too often been a tendency to employ conceptions of architectural history as linear or ‘arboric’”.118 Cowan further explains that “This linear view suggests chronologically progressing from ‘primitive’ and ‘nomadic’ towards an ‘advanced’ state of ‘settled civilisation.’”119

Viewing buildings as part of an evolutionary curve continues to hold sway. Figure 11 is based on a diagram contained in the 2001 text Architectural Anthropology. The figure and its supporting discussion have been developed by the author utilising architectural anthropology methodologies. The figure illustrates “the evolution of man, habitat and architecture. Interpretation by the author showing bipedal locomotion and upright body posture in relation to the evolution of architecture.”120 Whilst it is not the intention to dissect the arguments proposed by the architectural anthropologist Nold Egenter here, what the diagram highlights is the continued framing of buildings as part of an evolutionary model.

116 Frantz Fanon, "Black Skin, White Masks," in Modern Criticism and Theory: a reader, ed. David Lodge and Nigel Wood (Harlow: Pearson, 2008), p. 133. 117 Mankind being of the one species. See Reynolds, "George Augustus Robinson in Van Dieman's Land: race, status and religion," p. 164. 118 Gregory Cowan, "Nomadology in Architecture: ephemerality, movement and collaboration" (master's thesis, University of Adelaide, 2002), p. 4. 119 Ibid. 120 Nold Egenter, "The Deep Structure of Architecture: constructivity and human evolution," in Architectural Anthropology, ed. Mari-Jose Amerlinck (Westport, CT: Bergin & Garvey, 2001), p. 51. 147

Figure 11. Diagram illustrating human evolution and its relationship to buildings and architecture. (after Nold Egenter, “The Deep Structure of Architecture: constructivity and human evolution,” p. 51.)

148 The desire to speculate about the origin121 of architecture seems to exhibit two opposing outcomes- seeking to strengthen the western European architectural discourse, whilst also simultaneously threatening it. While the architectural discipline may have a fascination with the origins of architecture, architectural historian Lorens Holm has rightly noted that the lack of an origin actually enables the continuation of the conversation in this area. If the origin was to be found, a “real first hut (no precedents)”, this would ultimately “be the death of architecture: it would end our ability to say anything speculative about architecture.”122 Paradoxically, if an origin of architecture could be found in the structures of indigenous peoples around the world, this would act to undermine and disempower the western European architectural discourse. In this respect the term ‘primitive’, when used in the historic literature and framed within the architectural discourse, actually acts - if unwittingly - to empower the buildings of Indigenous Australians. This suggests that while language has been used to frame the buildings of Indigenous Australians as ‘poor’ in a comparison to western European buildings, the term primitive has the potential to play a different role when examined or confined to its early usage within architectural history. When the historic literature about palawa buildings is viewed through the lens of architecture, even though those from the discipline may not have recorded it, this enables new ways of interpreting the literature beyond the colonial framing of such terms as primitive.

In 1802 the voyage of Captain Nicolas Baudin resulted in a number of quite detailed accounts and images of buildings and funerary structures of the palawa peoples. The French scientific expedition of discovery commissioned by Napoleon Bonaparte, and led by Admiral Nicolas Baudin, visited Tasmania in January 1802.123 The ships were named the Le Géographe and La Naturaliste, which along with the number of scientists included on the voyage, was “indicative of the specifically scientific purpose of the voyage.”124 Some historians however have cast a more sceptical eye over the motivations of the

121 See for instance Joseph Rykwert, On Adam's House in Paradise: the idea of the primitive hut in architectural history (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1997). 122 Lorens Holm, "The Primitive Hut: fantasies of survival in an all-white world," in Primitive: original matters in archiecture, ed. Jo Odgers, Flora Samuel, and Adam Sharr (London: Routledge, 2006), pp. 50-51. 123 Burfitt, "The Discovery of Tasmania (Van Diemen's Land.), New Zealand, and Bass' Straits.". p. 120. 124 Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography: p. 11. 149 voyage.125 The expedition occurred during the height of the Napoleonic Wars and the British suspected the possibility of political and military undertakings by the French, although because of the scientific nature of the expedition the “British Admiralty granted safe conduct to Baudin’s ships on the grounds that scientific expeditions should be exempt from hostilities.”126

The expedition visited Van Diemen’s Land during the summer months of January and February. The ships anchored in the D’Entrecasteaux Channel on 14 January 1802 where they remained for five weeks.127 The first meeting with the palawa peoples took place at Port Cygnet in the Huon estuary.128 An additional eight days were spent at Maria Island.129 Importantly this expedition not only documented buildings in written form, noting things such as numbers of buildings at camp sites, the contents of buildings, and hollow trees, but also made valuable visual documentation in several instances. The drawings by the artists on the expedition, Charles Alexandre Lesueur and Nicolas-Martin Petit, document a funerary structure and a windbreak (see Chapter 6). The image of the funerary structure is the only visual record of this type of structure in Tasmania. Baudin described them as follows:

125 Ibid. 126 Ibid. 127 Ibid., p. 12. 128 Ibid. 129 Ibid. 150 The two tombs that we found and dug up provided us with a most surprising sight. We had first to dismantle a type of hut in the shape of a sugarloaf. The strips of eucalypt bark, of which it was made, rested on four branches, each curved in a semi-circle and with one end planted in the ground. Under these four hoops, forming more or less an upturned basket, we found two or three layers of a type of fine grass very common on this island. It would undoubtedly make good pasture for live-stock. After lifting this off, we found a heap of ashes, amongst which were several human bones and even some pieces of flesh that the fire had not consumed. At one end of the piles of ashes there was a small channel, which was probably where the natives placed the body for which they were performing the burial rites.130

Elsewhere in his journal, Baudin describes the tomb as “the most skilfully and carefully- made thing that we have seen.”131 His appreciation of its craftsmanship has clearly been a factor that has lead Baudin to describe the structure and its dismantling in detail. The scientific nature of the expedition should also be taken into account.

Near Mount Wellington Baudin also recorded finding eight buildings freshly constructed from eucalyptus bark where, presumably inside one of the buildings, there was a cord of twine and a vessel made of skin. All the trees in the vicinity of this camp had been burned.132 The expedition’s naturalist and unofficial anthropologist François Péron, about whom much has been written in relation to his animosity with Baudin,133 collected many zoological specimens which at the time became the most “comprehensive Australian natural history collection ever made.”134 In his journal Péron records finding in the region of the River Derwent fourteen buildings, with fires still burning, bones of birds and

130 Nicolas Baudin, The Journal of Post Captain Nicolas Baudin Commander-in-Chief of the Corvettes Geographe and Naturaliste, trans. Christine Cornell (Adelaide: The Friends of the State Library of South Australia, 2004). p. 349. 131 Ibid., p. 341. 132 Ibid., p. 314. 133 For instance, much of the official report of the voyage was prepared by Peron as Baudin had died on the return voyage. In this report Peron “never once mentions his [Baudin’s] name.” Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography: p. 12. 134 Edward Duyker, Francois Peron: an impetuous life, naturalist and voyager (Carlton, VIC: Miegunyah Press, 2006). p. 6. 151 kangaroos littering the area, tools and flat stones which he surmised were used as a cooking surface.135

While the French were observing the palawa peoples, the palawa peoples were equally as interested in the newcomers. Some years later in 1831, Woorrady from Bruny Island told George Robinson that he had seen the French ships and that the “men had white collars on.”136 This is a good reminder that there was in fact a two way process at work.

It was not until 1974 that Baudin’s journal was translated into English and published in Australia.137 In an attempt to make the documentation recorded by the Baudin expedition more readily available, the Australian Research Council (ARC) and the National Funds for Scientific Research in Belgium are supporting the Baudin Legacy Project that aims to produce scholarship about the importance of the expedition, along with producing a website to providing access to translated documentation from the voyage.138 Translation has been undertaken to make a number of the journals recorded by the early French and Dutch navigators accessible to English speakers. A number of the texts utilised in this chapter are translations. Walter Benjamin (1892-1940) highlights, in The Task of the Translator, that a translation must carry with it more than simply content but the “effect” embodied in the original text, in this way providing an “echo of the original.”139 A change must inevitably occur between the original and translated copy in order for this to take place effectively. There should be an awareness of this change when relying upon translations. In the context of this chapter it is also a reminder that the original is in fact a construction of the buildings in question – a critique through which the buildings are brought into existence. The documentation contained in the original text is never the

135 Ibid., pp. 114-15. 136 He also says the French carved into a tree the head of a man and that it could still be seen at Recherche Bay. Woorrady seems to recount this story twice to George Robinson, although initially claims that the palawa peoples had destroyed the tree. Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834, pp. 374-76. 137 Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography: p. 12. 138 "The Baudin Legacy: a new history of the French scientific voyage to Australia (1800-1804)," last modified 17 June, 2008, accessed 1February, 2010 http://setis.library.usyd.edu.au/baudin/. and "Voyage of Discovery," SL Magazine April 2009. 139 Walter Benjamin, 'The Task of the Translator,' in Lodge and Wood, Modern Criticism and Theory: a reader, p. 76. 152 building itself, but a representation – a translation from an original object to a text and in this way a transformation also occurs.

From the early years of European colonisation the journals of missionaries, such as George Augustus Robinson, and official governmental documents are some of the sources where descriptions of palawa buildings and their interiors can be found. In this period there was a shift from defining the centre of power with sea exploration in relation to other European territorial powers, to the notion of redefining the demarcation of the colony in relation to the palawa peoples. As explained by N. J. B. Plomley, the “marine explorers who visited Tasmania in the last half of the eighteenth century were almost the only ones to have recorded much information about the Aborigines of the country, the post-settlement records being very inadequate- except for those of George Augustus Robinson in the 1830s.”140

Robinson is a figure who continues to stir debate amongst historians as to his motivations and place within Tasmanian history. Henry Reynolds has explained that “he has been both revered and reviled, viewed as a saviour and as a destroyer and agent of genocide.”141 His involvement with the Wybalenna settlement is a source of inspiration for authors and artists. Anna Johnston and Mitchell Rolls believe that “both Australian and international twentieth-century novelists - from Robert Drewe, to Mudrooroo, to Matthew Kneale - seem compelled to reimagine Robinson’s story.”142 This reimagining is facilitated by Robinson’s extensive journals, recorded both during his time at Wybalenna on Flinders Island and prior to this during the so-called ‘Friendly Missions’. The Friendly Missions journal has been described as a “vibrant cultural artefact”.143 These journals have been made much more accessible as a result of the mammoth transcribing and research efforts of their editor N. J. B. Plomley, whose work will forever be entwined

140 Brian Plomley, "Foreword," in The Discovery of Tasmania: journal extracts from the expeditions of Abel Janszoon Tasman and Marc-Joseph Marion Dufresne 1642 & 1772, ed. Edward Duyker (Hobart: St. David's Park Publishing, 1992), p. vii. 141 Reynolds, "George Augustus Robinson in Van Dieman's Land: race, status and religion," p. 162. 142 Anna Johnston and Mitchell Rolls, "Reading Friendly Mission in the Twenty-First Century: an introduction," in Reading Robinson: companion essays to Friendly Mission, ed. Anna Johnston and Mitchell Rolls (Hobart: Quintus Publishing, 2008), p. 17. 143 Ibid., p. 21. 153 with the material, filtered as it is through Plomley’s eyes.144 The journals are often revered as a primary source, an elusive document containing original and unsullied information; for example the journals have been framed in relation to philosopher Jacques Derrida’s (1930-2004) suggestion that there is a desire to find the starting point, the origin.145 While Robinson’s journals held in the Mitchell Library are indeed a primary source (as Robinson’s poor penmanship is testament), it is still a journal, and cannot escape the inherent bias in the selectivity of material and use of language by the author. It suffers the fate of all texts of being “only a representation, selective, partial and subject to varied processes of production.”146 It cannot be denied that when read cautiously, and as a companion to other available documentary sources, real value can be gleaned from Robinson’s extensive records, particularly in regard to the variety and distribution of buildings he encountered on his journeys across Tasmania. The Friendly Mission journal is unique as it provides descriptions of buildings in regions that were inaccessible to the navigators who had limited access into the interior of the country. As previously mentioned, many commentators have focused on Robinson’s character particularly in regards to his underlying motivations. In this context the most pertinent question is what motivation Robinson may have had in recording details about the buildings he encountered. Robinson recorded more details about buildings than earlier observers, partly because he came into contact with more buildings because of his journeys on foot and was able to learn something about the things he witnessed from his palawa companions. In addition, Robinson had previously been involved in the building industry when he resided in England, during which time he was employed in the Engineers' Department at Chatham.147 Perhaps stemming from Robinson’s previous experience he shows an interest in the materials used for construction of the buildings and an appreciation of the skill required for their construction. For instance he notes, “Passed a neat native hut about three feet in diameter and in the form of a semi-circle. It was covered over with fine grass…and though very small was the neatest I had seen.”148

144 Ibid., p. 22. 145 Ibid. 146 Ibid. 147 "Robinson, George Augustus (1791–1866)," Australian Dictionary of Biography, National Centre of Biography, Australian National University, accessed 12 April 2012 http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/robinson-george-augustus-2596/text3565. 148 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 136. 154 Robinson employs the term “habitations”, in this way attributing to the buildings the purpose of housing people.149 His use of language clearly differs from that of some of the earlier observations described in this chapter.

One particular description of a building from this same period stands out for its use of architectural language and reference to western European architectural styles. Danish born Jorgen Jorgenson (1780-1841) recorded the following description while undertaking exploration for the Van Diemen’s Land Company:

a very compact Native hut far different as are all huts in this quarter from those seen to the Eastward. It was a complete piece of Gothic Architecture, in the Shape of a Dome, and presenting all the first rudiments of that Science.150

This description is unusual in the historic literature because it draws a direct comparison between palawa buildings and a specific type of western European architectural expression, namely Gothic architecture. Jorgenson seems to be attempting to elevate the standing of palawa buildings through the use of the comparison.151 To properly explain the building to those from his own cultural background, Jorgenson essentially relies on cultural translation. Felipe Hernandez describes this practice as “the process of translating a culture in terms that are intelligible to members of other cultures.”152 The reference to Gothic architecture whilst used by Jorgenson to highlight the quality of the building in question, actually invests authority in western European architecture, thereby undermining the status of the palawa building.

Whilst this chapter has focused on the descriptions of buildings recorded by European navigators and early colonists, the roles of the observer/observed inevitably operates in an osmotic manner. The palawa peoples were as fascinated by the Europeans - their physical

149 Ibid., p. 721. 150 Jorgen Jorgensen, "Jorgen Jorgenson - Journals, 2-29 Sept. 1826; 21 Jan.- 10 Apr. 1827," (Sydney: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales. Digital image number a1656091, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemDetailPaged.aspx?itemID=447420, 1826), p. 32. 151 Alternatively, the reference to Gothic architecture could be employed in the description in a pejorative sense, such as the term was initially used to distinguish this style of architecture. Stuart King, personal conversation, 19 July, 2012. 152 Felipe Hernandez, Bhabha for Architects, ed. Adam Sharr, Thinkers for Architects (London: Routledge, 2010). p. 32. 155 appearance, dress, food and weaponry – as the Europeans were by them. Story-teller Woorrady told George Robinson about witnessing the arrival of European colonisers in Hobart Town and the effect this had on altering the landscape and dispossessing the people of their land. His observations are brief but astute. Robinson documented the conversation in his journal noting that Woorrady:

said when they saw the first ship coming at sea they were frightened… that when the first people settled they cut down the trees, built houses, dug the ground and planted; that by and by more ships came, then at last plenty of ships; that the natives went to the mountains, went and looked at what the white people did, went and told other natives and they came and looked also.153

This poignant account also picks up on one of the reasons that villages and buildings were empty when Europeans visited. In much of the historic literature recorded by the Europeans, it is often remarked that buildings appeared to be recently deserted, as evident from the fresh bark cladding and remains of smoking fires. Woorrady tells of the message of the European arrival spreading and that the residents left to communicate this news to friends and relatives.154

Conclusion This chapter set the scene in which buildings produced by one culture are misunderstood by another. The decision to consider cultural exchanges in relation to palawa buildings was founded on the region requiring further in-depth research, as outlined by leading researcher in the field Paul Memmott. This chapter showed that language, in the form of written documentation, has the capacity to perpetuate misunderstanding across time. This chapter has presented the various ways in which language has been a protagonist in the encounters between the palawa peoples and European navigators and colonists. It is from these written accounts that much of our knowledge about palawa buildings exists, however these accounts were demonstrated to conceal judgments by the observers about palawa buildings. Descriptions of palawa buildings not only describe the buildings but also act as a critique, which operates in a referential way to western European

153 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, pp. 375-76. 154 Ibid. 156 architecture. The language in such accounts has often framed palawa buildings as failing to fulfill the criteria expected within western European architecture. The use of terms and phrases such as ‘poor’, ‘roughly formed’, ‘hovel’ and ‘wretched constructions of sticks’ reveals that language has been used to form a critique of the buildings observed. The choice of terms and detail of the description varies, according to the time spent at the location, the interest of the observer, and the nature of the expedition. The descriptions have a particular focus on the ordering of space, although it is not expressed in these terms; it features instead in what the observers considered to be a failure in not creating a hermetically sealed interior, revealed by such criticism as failing to keep out the rain, which is also linked to quality of building construction and manipulation of construction materials.

The chapter provided selected accounts from European navigators presented chronologically to also enable a mapping of European contact with Tasmania, as it is now called. Following colonisation, a selected number of accounts were also provided, such as those of George Robinson. The various accounts demonstrate differing levels of understanding, interest and degrees of documentation in relation to buildings. The treatment of the accounts in this chapter acknowledged that the intentions and motivations of the recorders cannot be entirely known, as these accounts are being interpreted in a spatially and temporally distant landscape. As such, the treatment of the accounts in the chapter is as much a critique of these accounts as the original accounts themselves.

This chapter contributed to the hypothesis stated in the Introduction by describing examples of accounts by early European navigators and colonials, which reveal how classical palawa buildings were perceived. It was argued in the chapter that palawa buildings ultimately failed to present a spatial arrangement familiar to the European observers, and thus their accounts reflect the difficulty in coming to terms with this difference.

The next chapter will explore specific examples of palawa building types and their role in spatial ordering.

157 CHAPTER 6 THE ROLE OF BUILDINGS IN INDIGENOUS SPATIAL ORGANISATION: CLASSICAL PALAWA BUILDINGS

Introduction The role of language was discussed in the previous chapter. To recap, early European navigators and colonists used language as the primary method to critique and form a representation of Tasmanian Aboriginal, or palawa, buildings. These representations of palawa buildings as ‘poor’ have largely persisted to this day. This is because the terms on which the language is used tie the critiques of the buildings to a comparative relationship with western European buildings, resulting in the denigration of palawa buildings in relation to aesthetics, technology and spatial ordering. As a result of this framing, it was (and somewhat still is, in many cases) difficult for western Europeans to grasp that palawa buildings may have expressed these techniques in different ways. This chapter will now begin to explore Australian Indigenous spatial ordering, specifically within the context of palawa building. Australian Indigenous spatial ordering has failed to be understood because it is expressed in different ways and on a different scale consequently altering the western European spatial ordering model. This chapter turns to consider palawa building types and the role that these building types had in the expression of spatial differences and functions. Notions of inside and outside are described in relation to the specific examples of buildings provided. This chapter also shows how the role of Australian Indigenous buildings included elements other than abstraction of space, specifically the health effects of good design, which European colonists failed to acknowledge or understand. Firstly, in this chapter a discussion will be provided of the spatial integration of buildings into their broader environment. This will simultaneously enable an overview to be provided of the favoured locations for buildings and their surrounding curtilage. Secondly, the role of buildings in the internalisation of space will be described in relation to full dome buildings, as well as buildings with a non-domestic purpose, namely funerary structures. Thirdly, the seemingly contradictory notion of non- internalisation of space will be described in relation to windbreaks and open-sided dome buildings. These are building types that do not adhere to the complete enclosing effect of buildings, as is expected in western European approaches to buildings and spatial organisation. Fourthly, and finally, it will be argued that buildings also fulfilled a non- 158 spatial role in relation to promoting good health. This discussion of palawa buildings and health is included because the health and psychology of interiors is a particular concern for interior architecture practice. In this sense, no discussion of palawa buildings and their interiors would be complete without considering their possible non-spatial functions.

The historic material drawn upon for this chapter falls into two broad categories: qualitative and quantitative. The qualitative descriptions express the ‘feel’ of the building; their warmth, decoration and the perceived quality of their construction. The more quantitative descriptions attempt to evaluate the size of the buildings, sometimes drawing comparisons in order to aid description. Sometimes accounts mix both these methods. Accounts providing descriptions of the experiential qualities of the buildings seem to be of particular value, as the language seems right for this type of application. Quantitative descriptions would obviously benefit from supporting visual documentation such as artistic representations or orthographic drawings in order to provide clarity to the descriptions. Language however is the primary vehicle through which palawa buildings have been recorded, and researchers must grapple with the complexity and nuances that this language brings with it as previously described in Chapter 5.

This chapter is valuable because it provides a gathering of historic sources pertaining to the “classical period” of building construction by the Tasmanian palawa peoples. Paul Memmott defines this term as pertaining to the period prior to European colonisation and the short period after colonisation before cultural practices were significantly transformed.1 As previously mentioned, Memmott has provided an overview of the dome buildings produced in western Tasmania in Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia, but notes that western Tasmania is a region that requires further “in-depth research.”2 This chapter attempts to recognise the need for outlining the building types that were constructed across Tasmania, although does not endeavour to present all sources of material available, but rather the material of relevance to the broader arguments contained in the thesis.

1 Paul Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia (St. Lucia, Qld: University of Queensland Press, 2007). p. 322. 2 Ibid., p. XX. 159 This chapter contributes to the hypothesis stated in the Introduction, that south-east Australian Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority; in addition, it is also hypothesised that colonising western Europeans failed to understand this occupation and that as a result, sought to impose western European spatial ordering in its place, by outlining classical palawa buildings and their role in spatial ordering. As previously mentioned, this chapter considers palawa building types and the role that these building types had in the expression of spatial differences and functions.

Spatial integration of buildings into the environment The buildings constructed by the palawa peoples were well adapted to their climatic conditions and were carefully sited in relation to the surrounding landscape. This reveals the spatial integration of buildings into their broader environmental settings.

The palawa utilised seasonal villages3 “during the inclement seasons.”4 According to Danish-born explorer Jorgen Jorgenson5, who carried out work for the Van Diemen’s Land Company (1780-1841), “The[y]…did not live in the same hut throughout the year, but had one for the summer, and another for the winter season.”6 Historical accounts note the proximity of villages in relation to resources such as fuel, food and fresh water.7 The

3 Tim O’Rourke in a paper discussing the villages in southeast Queensland, issues a warning in adopting the term ‘village.’ He says “caution, is required when adopting language from nineteenth century sources to categorize cross-cultural built environments. Without this caution, the senses of the word becomes unclear, as does potentially our understanding of the past.” O’Rourke goes on to say that “In Australian architectural historiography, ‘village’ is perhaps also useful in a figurative sense, revising long-held and stereotypical views of Aboriginal habitation as random and transient. But this usage is a subtle but significant shift in the interpretation of the pre-colonial built environments, which needs further clarification if it is to be a precise representation of the past. What combination of factors— scale, building type, morphology, duration— differentiates a hunter-gatherer village from a camp?” This remains an unanswered question in the context of the material contained in this chapter. The term village has been adopted in this chapter because of its usage in primary source material and in assisting in the revision of assumptions in relation to habitation, as expressed by O’Rourke. However, it is acknowledged that the term is a western architectural concept being applied to another cultural built expression and in this sense is not entirely ideal. Tim O’Rourke, "Aboriginal Camps and ‘Villages’ in Southeast Queensland," in Proceedings of the Society of Architectural Historians, Australia and New Zealand: 30, Open, ed. Alexandra Brown and Andrew Leach (Gold Coast, Queensland: SAHANZ, 2013), p. 852; 62. 4 N. J. B. Plomley, ed. Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834 (Hobart: Tasmanian Historical Research Association, 1966), p. 142. 5 For a more detailed account of his life see N. J. B. Plomley, ed. Jorgen Jorgenson and the Aborigines of Van Diemen's land: being a reconstruction of his "lost' book on their customs and habits, and on his role in the roving parties and the Black Line (Hobart: Blubber Head Press, 1991), pp. 1-5. 6 ibid., p. 58. 7 “Their villages, or favourite places of resort, are selected by them as affording them shelter from the blast of the tempest, and having an abundant supply of water and fuel and being contiguous to some fishing 160 locations of villages were generally sited in “healthy situations.”8 George Augustus Robinson noted the relationship between village sites and the broader landscape in a description of the South West people noting that “These villages are always near to fresh water and close to some fishing rocks, and at them are in general to be found the native fig.”9 A description of two large buildings seen by Robinson in June 1830 captures the careful placement of villages and buildings. These two buildings were described as being “in a beautiful place near a fine stream of water.”10 This region of the west coast near the mouth of the Pieman River was recorded as being abundant with kangaroo, and was described by Robinson as resembling “in appearance a park with extensive grassy hills with honeysuckle trees.”11 Another account of a village describes plants and trees forming a “serene retreat from the winds and a rill of water” running through the centre of the setting.12 In the Tarkine coastal region “circular pits in cobble beaches”, which are thought to have been “seal hunting hides”, have been found in proximity to village sites .13 From such accounts it is clear that buildings were not objects placed haphazardly in the landscape but existed as part of a broader curtilage14 that was both carefully selected and created.

The placement of villages to afford protection from natural elements such as wind was clearly important, however protection from people was also sometimes a consideration.

rock or places where they can procure fruits &c.” ———, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834, p. 142. Similarly, In an article entitled Moral and Social Characteristics of the Aborigines of Tasmania, as gathered from Intercourse with the surviving Remnant of them now located on Flinder’s Island from 1842, apparently drawing upon the reminiscence of the palawa people sent to Flinders Island, the author Reverend T. Dove states that “Their encampments were always formed on the margin of a stream or lagoon.” Rev. T Dove, "Moral and Social Characteristics of the Aborigines of Tasmania, as gathered from Intercourse with the surviving Remnant of them now located on Flinder’s Island," The Tasmanian Journal of Natural Science vol. 1, no. 4 (1842): p. 250. 8 This is stated in relation to a building constructed on an island surrounded by swamp. Robinson was particularly surprised by the location of the building, and assumed that it was selected to afford some degree of safety to the four inhabitants from the European colonisers. Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834, p. 171. 9 ibid., p. 139. 10 Ibid., p. 167. 11 Ibid., p. 166. 12 Ibid., p. 721. 13 "The Tarkine, Waratah Rd, Savage River, TAS, Australia," Australian Heritage Database, accessed 30 May 2012 http://www.environment.gov.au/cgi-bin/ahdb/search.pl. 14 Curtilage, or the surrounding land associated with a building, is in a sense an interior. 161 Thus the need to protect residents also informed the placement of buildings and villages in the landscape. Robinson describes the utilisation of what were essentially naturally formed moats. The use of water around buildings and villages enabled the auditory properties of the material to be utilised. Robinson explains in relation to buildings of the North East people:

This forest is situated in an immense sheet of water varying in its depth and seldom less than three feet…In such places as these the natives on the west coast are in the habit of building their habitations as a secure retreat from the attack of an hostile tribe, as they cannot approach them without making a noise in the water, which would give them time to escape.15

The siting of villages changed in response to the processes of colonisation and the need for protection from hostile Europeans. Robinson describes a building located on a small island in the water, supposing that the site was selected for the purposes of protection. In Robinson’s opinion it was an “uncomfortable and unhealthy situation” for a building and therefore not typical. 16 His comment that “Twenty natives could not haunt here” emphasises that the site was not a typically chosen one in response to unrest between clans, as outlined above, and that this site accommodated only a single building reflects a rupture in the social fabric, as well as the degree of fear of the inhabitants.17 It should be noted that Robinson sometimes only met with single dome buildings that were not situated within village settings. This is surely more an indication of the changing social fabric of the palawa peoples as a result of colonisation, and should not be taken as evidence to contradict the existence of villages. The term ‘village’ in the historic literature suggests a significant number of buildings,18 with sometimes up to fourteen buildings being found at the one site.19

15 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 407. 16 Ibid., p. 171. 17 Ibid. 18 Worawee has entitled her texts about Tasmanian Aboriginal buildings Traditional Villages and Yes we had villages! 19 Edward Duyker, Francois Peron: an impetuous life, naturalist and voyager (Carlton, VIC: Miegunyah Press, 2006). p. 114. 162 A particularly detailed description of a village site at Bluff Point, located on the west coast of Tasmania, was recorded in 1946 (although it was actually visited 15 years earlier in 1930). This village was comprised of ten buildings, as interpreted from the archaeological remains of the buildings:

When I first saw it there had been a sand hill shaped like a truncated cone, and partially covered by stunted scrub. It was about 50 feet high and encircling the lower half were 5 hut sites, higher up were three others and on the nearly level top, two more. When I returned, I found that the surface of the hillock had been swept away, excepting the two on top. The hollows indicating the hut sites had disappeared. The whole surface of the cone was covered with a coating of shells and other debris, including the dried up stems with roots attached of the bushes. Only the surface of these heavy articles had prevented the removal of much of the hillock.20

This description highlights that the elevation of the village seems to have been an important attribute in site selection, and indeed this is considered to have been the case for many of the west coast villages, which is supported by a number of the archaeological remains that have been excavated. Robinson also provides a description and rough sketch of five buildings constructed near Sundown Point on the west coast made of “boughs” and sited “on the declivity of a hill dug out of the sand and towards the top.”21 Being in an elevated situation also provides a means of protection in the ability to survey the surrounding landscape. The village site description also points to the existence of artefacts and their role in defining village settings. In this instance the presence of the midden was an additional element defining the village site and reveals how inhabitants occupied it.

The importance of middens in relation to village sites is also revealed by archaeological investigations of village remains. These village remains or “hut depressions” (such as those described in relation to the Bluff Point site) are often found in association with

20 J. F. Jones, "Huts of Tasmanian Aborigines on the West Coast - July 1946," (Launceston: Community History Centre, Queen Victoria Museum. Transcribed by Peter Sims). 21 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 790. 163 middens.22 The greatest numbers of these “hut depressions” in Tasmania have been found on the Tarkine coast.23 Robinson describes “holes made in the ground for habitations” near Sundown Point24 on the north-west coast, as being “remarkable.”25 He describes “These holes are concave, about ten, twelve and twenty feet wide and three or four and five feet deep, and a large heap of shells beside them. Some holes are small and of a different shape, like a coal scuttle.”26 It is not known what the smaller holes may have been used to house. Archaeologist Don Ranson has described middens at Nelson Bay on the Tasmanian west coast as “‘doughnut’ middens”, above which he believes a building would have been constructed.27 Ranson explains that the midden would have been formed by either “revetting of the hut structure with refuse” and possibly also by the buildings acting as “‘stencils’ around which refuse was deposited over a length of time, either by natural agencies or by the general foraging and disposal activities or successive human groups revisiting the area.”28 Ranson highlights that such middens can be thought of as the “successive building and rebuilding of hut shelters at a favoured site over a considerable period”.29 Thus not only does the midden form a characteristic element of the village or building site but presumably plays a role in the creation of the internalisation of space.

Villages were of course not insular locales and were therefore located in relation to a network of pathways. Inhabitants would come and go from villages for the purposes of hunting, sourcing ochre, carrying out ceremony and sourcing water. Historian Patsy Cameron has explained in relation to the North East Nation or as she terms this Nation, the Coastal Plains Nation, “structures were not built in random locations, but rather were close to women’s economic resources, and at sites of their social and ceremonial

22 "The Tarkine, Waratah Rd, Savage River, TAS, Australia," Australian Heritage Database, accessed 30 May 2012 http://www.environment.gov.au/cgi-bin/ahdb/search.pl. 23 Ibid. 24 Although Robinson notes the location as Ordnance Point, Plomley suggests that this was “almost certainly Sundown Point.” ———, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834, fn 54, p. 915. 25 Ibid., p. 858. 26 Ibid. 27 Don Ranson, "A Preliminary Examination of Prehistoric Coastal Settlement at Nelson Bay, West Coast of Tasmania," Australian Archaeology, no. 8 (1978): p. 155. 28 Ibid. 29 Ibid., p. 156. 164 activities.”30 Pathways would thus have been needed to facilitate access to and from village sites. The location of pathways provided access to villages and this is also a further indication that buildings were spatially integrated into their broader environment.

The relationship of palawa buildings to sources of available food and fresh water highlights the spatial integration of buildings into their broader environment. The conceptualisation of buildings went beyond the artefact of the building itself, extending to patterns of occupation and inhabitation in the landscape. Later in this chapter the integration of buildings into the broader landscape will be considered specifically in relation to health.

Role of buildings in the internalisation of space Several palawa building types created a clear internalisation of space, or first space. In these instances, the building’s shell, or third space, formed the primary expression of spatial difference between inside and outside. This is an approach familiar within the lens of western European architectural practice. Marcus Vitruvius Pollio describes as an act of building the principles of resistance against nature, such as keeping “out the rain and the heat.”31 Full dome buildings, also alternatively called “half-dome buildings” as described by Paul Memmott, are the building types that best illustrate this act of building.32 Full domes were found predominately on the west coast of Tasmania, where climatic conditions consisting of high annual rainfall and strong prevailing winds resulted in the need for well-insulated buildings.33 It was predominately the South West and North West peoples that occupied dome buildings in seasonal villages that were positioned close to hunting grounds.34 Anthropologist Betty Hiatt has commented on the often-considerable size of these buildings, and noted that it was “probably more economical to build large

30 Patsy Cameron, Grease and Ochre: the blending of two cultures at the colonial sea frontier (Launceston: Fullers Bookshop, 2011). p. 42. 31 Marcus Pollio Vitruvius, Vitruvius: the ten books on architecture, trans. Morris Hicky Morgan (London: Harvard University Press, 1914). p. 39. 32 Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. 323. 33 Ibid., p. 103. 34 Lyndall Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians, 2nd ed. (St. Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 1996). pp. 34-39. 165 ones [dome buildings].”35 Hiatt notes that this would have enabled more people to reside in them and consequently “more people would be available to construct them. The construction of semi-permanent dwellings would have encouraged a more sedentary life especially if the food supply was good.”36 European observers described dome buildings constructed on the west coast as being warm and climate-appropriate buildings. In his journal entry for 20 May 1833, Robinson described dome buildings as “secure and warm habitations so ingeniously constructed … [and] well adapted for the bleak and inclement winters peculiar to the west coast of VDL [Van Diemen’s Land].”37

Robinson described another full dome located near Anderson Bay on the north coast on 22 August 1831, paying particular attention to its construction method:

The form of this rude dwelling was a segment of a circle, made by placing up bent logs of wood so contrived as to support each other. This concatenation of wood was extended to form one spacious dwelling. Against these logs or framework was placed sheets of bark or green boughs. This domicile is the largest of the kind that I have yet met with in the whole of my travels, and is sufficiently large as to contain from thirty to forty persons.38

This building was estimated to be “twelve yards in length.”39 Although slightly unclear it seems this building was actually the residence of three men.40 Robinson described the ground in front of the building as being “thickly strewed” with emu feathers, as well as emu and kangaroo bones that were broken into pieces for the purpose, it was presumed, of

35 Betty Hiatt, "The Food Quest and the Economy of the Tasmanian Aborigines (Continued)," Oceania vol. 38, no. 3 (March 1968): pp. 201-02. 36 Ibid., p. 202. 37 Robinson’s general account of dome buildings as being warm and comfortable is provided in relation to an account of finding a building which he goes on to describe as containing “several families, amounting in all to fifteen souls besides dogs.” In his journal Robinson provides a rough sketch of this particular building. It is dome shaped in form and appears to contain bent criss-crossed structural members. The sketch is small and lacks detail. George Augustus Robinson, "Series 02: George Augustus Robinson journals, 1829-1849," in George Augustus Robinson papers, 1818-1924 (Mitchell Library. State Library of NSW – Call no. A 7023 - A7041, 1833). 38 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 410. 39 Ibid. 40 In his journal entry of 29 August 1831 Robinson’s party encountered six men and one woman. According to Robinson “They informed me that there was only three men remaining in the bush. They said the hut I had seen was theirs, that they killed emus and had been to Waterhouse Point and had got fish.” Ibid., p. 415. 166 obtaining the marrow for anointing purposes.41 A small row of fires was still burning.42 This extends the traces of inhabitation beyond the confines of the interior, to the external perimeters around the building.

Building dimensions indicate how interior space may have been utilised and the amount of time spent residing within the building. Another dome, this time constructed by the people of the South West Nation, was referred to by Robinson on the 26 March 1830 at Elliott Bay and was estimated to be fairly large “about ten by ten and seven feet in height”.43 In metric terms the building was estimated to be 3000mm in both length and breadth, and 2100mm in height. A building of this height would have allowed an average height person to stand fully upright. This suggests that a considerable amount of time may have been spent in such a building, as anthropometrics have clearly been considered.

One particular account of a building highlights the degree of internalisation of space, emphasised by the threshold between inside and outside. Jorgenson recorded a dome building seen on the west coast likening it to “Gothic architecture”.44 Jorgenson recorded on 31 March 1826:

He estimated the “Gothic Architecture” building to accommodate roughly “12 to 14 people with ease” indicating the building to be of a considerable size.46 The use of a doorway to facilitate entry and transition, between inside and out, highlights that a clearly defined interior or first space was formed. J. F. Jones visited the remains of a village site

41 Ibid., p. 410. 42 Ibid. 43 Ibid., p. 139. 44 Jorgen Jorgensen, "Jorgen Jorgenson - Journals, 2-29 Sept. 1826; 21 Jan.- 10 Apr. 1827," (Sydney: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales. Digital image number a1656091, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemDetailPaged.aspx?itemID=447420, 1826), p. 32. 45 Ibid. 46 Ibid. 167 in 1945, as previously described, and believed that his discovery may have proved how the “Gothic Architecture” might have been constructed. He believed that whalebones were used to form the structural elements of the building:

On the top I noticed, standing erect at the edge of one of the hollows, a portion of a rib of a large whale. On pulling it out of the sand I found it to be about 2 feet long. The portion that had been exposed to the air had been decayed and the end that had been forced into the ground had been cut on two sides by a chopper by the natives. It was evidently part of one of the roof supports of the hut. Not far off I found a complete rib which showed little sign of decay having probably been uncovered more recently. It appeared that in one, at least, of the ten huts that had been built on the hillock, a whales rib had been used for the supports. I tried to realise the effect, I suddenly realised how Jorgensen's Gothic vault and dome might be quite comprehensible. The number of ribs with one end embedded in the sand at intervals around the hollow, with the other end gathered and fastened together over the middle of the hut would, when completed with lighter material and thatched, make a very perfect dome. Inside in the dim light and blackened by smoke, the bones might easily be mistaken as wood while their smoothness and the evenness of the curve would give the impressions of timber that had been artificially shaped.47

The use of the term “Gothic Architecture” by Jorgensen casts question onto the types of dome buildings constructed in Tasmania and whether both full domes and beehive/pointed dome were also constructed. Jones’ observation of whalebones seems to confirm that this particular description by Jorgensen’s refers to a full dome building. However, beehive dome (or pointed dome) structures, those “whose apex is formed in the shape of a point,” are recorded quite often in the historic literature pertaining to Australian Indigenous buildings of continental Australia.48 Problematically, this terminology is often used simply to describe a full dome. Consequently it can be difficult to discern when a true beehive dome is being described. Robinson for instance, uses the term “cupola or beehive” however, supporting this account Robinson provides a rough sketch which

47 Jones, "Huts of Tasmanian Aborigines on the West Coast - July 1946." 48 Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. 323. 168 appears to represent a full dome rather than a beehive or pointed dome.49 However, a construction technique recorded in the historic literature does point to the presence of the pointed dome typology in Tasmania. This construction technique involved clearing the ground within a copse of tea tree and then “drawing the tops of the surrounding ones together, and thatching the whole with branches and grass. A person may stand upright in a hut of this description.”50 Such a construction method relied heavily on the proximity of the tea trees within the copse and the size and maturity of the branches to enable them to suitably bend. Quaker James Backhouse attributes this typology to the west coast region, however more specific location details are not provided. 51 Captain Furneaux also described what seems to have been a pointed dome at Adventure Bay on Bruny Island in 1773. He described the branches of the building’s frame as being “either broken or split” and secured “with grass in a circular form.”52 The smaller diameters of the branches “meeting in a point at the top” and the sturdier ends secured in the ground, finished with a light cladding of “fern and bark.”53 Another historic account by surveyor George William Evans describes “Three pieces of timber…placed in an oblique position, with their ends sunk a little into the ground, and meeting in a point at the top, where they are fastened by a cord of bark.”54 In addition to such descriptions, in Jorgenson’s text titled A Narrative of the Habits, Manners, and Customs of the Aborigines of Van Diemen’s Land, he describes one of the building typologies as a “bee hive” and “perhaps 15 or 16 feet in length, and about 12 feet in breadth. The door-way is about 2 feet in height…” he supposes to prevent gusts of wind from entering.55 Whilst such accounts certainly point to the fact that both

49 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 736. 50 N. J. B. Plomley, ed. Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839 (Sandy Bay, TAS: Blubber Head Press, 1987), p. 246. 51 Ibid. 52 A. W. Reed, ed. Captain Cook in Australia: extracts from the journals of Captain James Cook giving a full account in his own words of his adventures and discoveries in Australia (Wellington: Reed, 1969), p. 163. 53 Ibid. 54 George William Evans, A Geographical, Historical, and Topographical description of Van Diemen's Land, with important hints to emigrants, and useful information respecting the application for grants of land; together with a list of the most necessary articles for persons to take out. Embellished by a correct view of Hobart Town; also, a large chart of the Island, thirty inches by twenty-four, with the soundings of the harbours and rivers, and in which the various grants of land are accurately laid down (London: John Souter, 1822). p. 23. 55 In metric terms the building is approximately 4500 to 4800mm in length, 3600mm in breadth, with a doorway of 600mm in height. To enter the building, residents would have had to bend. The overall height of 169 full domes and pointed domes were present, it is difficult at times to discern what particular dome types are being referred to in the historic literature, and therefore it is difficult to form a full understanding of their distribution across Tasmania.

Despite the difficulty in differentiating between full domes and pointed domes, both building types would have facilitated the internalisation of space and the creation of interior spaces which could be decorated and filled with artefacts. On the west coast bark was used for cladding, grass for thatch and some of the buildings were lined internally with tea-tree bark making them “remarkable warm.”56 Jorgenson comments in his journal that a tea-tree “is not seldom a sign of the proximity of water”, and thus if village sites were generally located near water, as previously described, the usage of this material in the cladding of the buildings would make sense.57 Thus the insulation properties of local materials were well utilised to mediate environmental conditions and create warm interior spaces. Specifically in relation to the interiors of buildings, Robinson noted while visiting the region of Macquarie Harbour on the west coast that, “the … huts are mostly covered with feathers on the inside, of magpies, cockatoos, crows, and feathers of different feathered animals which they catch or kill with waddies.”58 The use of feathers not only functioned as insulation but also fulfilled a decorative capacity however, whether or not this was specifically desired is unable to be determined.

Traces of occupation that interiorise space, beyond the actual physical nature of the spatial arrangement, are evident in both the artefacts and the decoration of interior space. Philosopher Walter Benjamin (1892-1940) expresses this notion in the phrase, “To live means to leave traces.”59 Paintings and incised images often decorated the interiors of

the building is unfortunately not described. Plomley, Jorgen Jorgenson and the Aborigines of Van Diemen's land: being a reconstruction of his "lost' book on their customs and habits, and on his role in the roving parties and the Black Line, p. 58. 56 ———, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 144. 57 Jorgen Jorgensen, "Jorgen Jorgenson - Journals, 2-29 Sept. 1826; 21 Jan.- 10 Apr. 1827," (Sydney: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales. Digital image number a1656067, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemDetailPaged.aspx?itemID=447420, 1827), p. 8. 58 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 722. 59 Walter Benjamin, "Paris, Capital of the Nineteenth Century" in Neil Leach, ed. Rethinking Architecture: a reader in cultural theory (New York: Routledge, 1997), p. 36. 170 buildings60, particularly those intended for use for a lengthy duration on the west coast of the island. Paul Memmott has noted that “the semi-sedentary habitation of village domes in winter was conducive to interior art creation.”61 As outlined by Jorgenson, “In the stationary huts were generally found an assemblage of rude sketches, representing birds, beasts, human forms etc, for the most part tolerably well executed.”62 The journals of Robinson provide a written record of a number of the artworks he witnessed. Robinson’s 11th November 1831 journal entry describes the content of the images he witnessed near Lake Echo and notes the precision with which the circles had been formed, believing them to have been incised with a pair of scissors:

Observed in several of their huts several rude drawings, circles, broad arrows and other hieroglyphical figures representing men and women, and round circles which from their different diameters I judge to have been done by a pair of scissors.63

In a later journal entry Robinson acknowledges being wrong in his assumption that scissors were used to form the circles (assumed because of their varying sizes and a small centrally located dot in each).64 On seeing these decorative devices again Robinson learned from his palawa companions that “those circles were made by means of a forked stick the same manner as we use a compass.”65 Images were not always present in buildings and on one occasion Robinson entered “a very large” building in the general area of Lake Lea in the north and was disappointed to discover there were no images decorating the interior.66 This disappointment indicates both the quality of images, as

60 Paintings have also been found in rock shelters. Steve Brown et al., "A Preliminary Survey for Aboriginal Sites in the Denison River Valley, March 1989," Australian Archaeology, no. 32 (1991). 61 Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. 103. 62 This sentence is copied almost word for word from Robinson’s official report of 25 January 1832 recounting his meeting with the Big River-Oyster Bay people. Robinson describes: “On reaching this eminence I perceived a new erected native hut, the interior of which was decorated with an assemblage of rude sketches representing birds, beasts, human forms, &c, and were for the most part tolerably well executed.” Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834, p. 571. and ———, Jorgen Jorgenson and the Aborigines of Van Diemen's land: being a reconstruction of his "lost' book on their customs and habits, and on his role in the roving parties and the Black Line, p. 58. 63 ———, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, pp. 514-15. 64 Ibid., p. 542. 65 Ibid., p. 543. 66 Ibid., p. 204. 171 Robinson had looked forward to seeing them, and also that decorative paintings and incisions were often present in building interiors.

Captain Tobias Furneaux provides one of the most detailed accounts of the contents of an interior. His description illustrates the spatial role performed by such buildings fulfilling a purpose to internalise space. Furneaux recorded at Adventure Bay on Bruny Island entering several uninhabited buildings that he described as “several wigwams or huts, where we found some bags and nets made of grass…In one of them there was the stone they strike fire with, and tinder made of bark…We found, in one of their huts, one of their spears, which was made sharp at one end…”67 He goes on to say that these items were souvenired by the party and items rather prophetic of the colonisation process to come were left in their place. He says, “Those things we brought away, leaving in the room of them, medals, gun-flints, a few nails, and an old empty barrel with the iron hoops on it.”68 It should be noted that the account of the interior’s contents and the substitution of artefacts is also similarly recorded in the journal of Thomas Scott.69 The buildings entered were dome structures that were apparently not overly insulated against the effects of the weather, as Furneaux commented that the cladding of “fern and bark” would “hardly keep out a shower of rain.”70 The bedding was of “dried grass” and centrally located was the “fire-place, surrounded with heaps of muscles, pearl scallop and cray-fish shells…”71 Furneaux described seeing only clusters of three or four buildings and estimated that each could accommodate three or four people.72 This replacement of artefacts with colonial substitutions also similarly occurred on other occasions. On 2nd June 1830, near Sandy

67 Tobias Furneaux, "Captain Furneaux's Narrative of a Brief Visit to Van Diemen's Land, 9 March 1773 - 19 March 1773," in Captain Cook in Australia: extracts from the journals of Captain James Cook giving a full account in his own words of his adventures and discoveries in Australia, ed. A. W. Reed (Wellington: A. H. & A. W. Reed, 1969), p. 163. 68 Ibid. 69 In his journal Thomas Scott notes: “The brackish Lagoon had trout & other fish which they caught with lines - saw several fires 8 or 10 miles to the North - but no Natives came, but huts & their bags or nets were seen - in one bag was a stone for striking fire - & in a hut was a spear sharp at the one end. He left medals, flints & nails - an empty barrel with iron hoops on it - Their huts are covd. with bark & ferns - very poor. They lie on the ground on dried grass round their fires - never found more than 3 or 4 huts in a place.” Thomas Scott, "Thomas Scott- Account of Van Diemen's Land, 1822," (Sydney: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales. Digital image number a1497015, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemDetailPaged.aspx?itemID=430476, 1822). 70 Furneaux, "Captain Furneaux's Narrative of a Brief Visit to Van Diemen's Land, 9 March 1773 - 19 March 1773," p. 163. 71 Ibid. 72 Ibid. 172 Cape on the west coast, Robinson entered two large buildings “situated in a beautiful place near a fine stream of water.”73 One of these buildings was well constructed “lined with grass inside and covered with bark outside.”74 A large “excellent basket” filled with shellfish and “house-leek” hung from the roof.75 Robinson deposited some beads, buttons and knives in the basket before vacating the building.76 Such descriptions highlight the role of artefacts in internalising space beyond simply the interior formed by building. It also alludes to the gradual replacement of palawa spatial organisation with that of the colonisers. Interior spaces became vehicles where this change was enacted (a supporting narrative related to the re-inscription of spatial ordering is provided in the Appendix, although this does not relate specifically to Tasmania).

Resistance to this change occurred and interiors played a role as sites of protest. Near Anderson Bay on the north-east coast, Robinson described in his journal artefacts found in an interior (confirmed as being found within the interior in the following day’s entry).77 Robinson found the claws of an emu, red ochre and a number of pages from the Bible that were “covered with red ochre.”78 The “pieces of the leaves of the Common Prayer Book” contained parts of “psalm 3079, 31,80 32,81 3382 and 9683.”84 Emma Wilson, author of Traditional Villages, has suggested that this was a ceremonial site and the ceremony “was clearly intended to rid Tasmania of the invader.”85 Robinson does not note the exact

73 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 167. 74 Ibid. 75 Ibid. 76 Ibid. 77 In the entry dated 23 August 1831 Robinson confirms that the psalm pages were in fact obtained from within the interior of the shelter. He says “…the paper I had found in the wild natives’ hut was pieces of the word of God…” ibid., p. 411. 78 Ibid., p. 410. 79 Psalm 30 is A Prayer of Thanksgiving 80 Psalm 31 is A Prayer of Trust in God 81 Psalm 32 is Confession and Forgiveness 82 Psalm 33 is A Song of Praise 83 Psalm 96 is God the Supreme King 84 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 410. 85 Worawee, Traditional Villages, Revised 'Yes We Had Villages' ed., Aspects of Tasmania's traditional Aboriginal people series (Lindisfarne, TAS: Manuta Tunapee Puggaluggalia, 1999). p. 53. 173 verses contained on the pages (although describes reading verse 1-5 of Psalm 3186 and verse 14-15 of Psalm 3387 so presumably these portions of text were present). The following selection of verses is from the aforesaid psalms:

I felt secure and said to myself, ‘I will never be defeated.’88

From Psalm 96:

Sing to the Lord, and praise him! Proclaim every day the good news that he has saved us.89

Robinson too indicated that this was a ceremonial site, describing the place as a “celebrated spot.”90 Whether it was a site to “rid Tasmania of the invader” as posited by Wilson is not certain, but the content of the psalms, when viewed in this context, could certainly be interpreted in this light (although it raises questions regarding whether the text written in English was able to be read by the palawa residents). Robinson “collected some feathers of the emu and the claws, which together with the fragments of leaves of the Common Prayer Book I brought away with me as mementoes of the circumstance.”91 Again, this is another occasion when artefacts were souvenired by the uninvited visitors.

Further in regards to resistance of European settlement and the processes of colonisation, Robinson recounted in his meeting with the Big River and Oyster Bay peoples finding an armoury. Adjoining the recently constructed building, the interior of which was decorated

86 “I come to you, Lord, for protection; never let me be defeated. You are a righteous God; save me, I pray! Hear me! Save me now! Be my refuge to protect me; my defence to save me. You are my refuge and defence; guide me and lead me as you have promised. Keep me safe from the trap that has been set for me; shelter me from danger. I place myself in your care. You will save me, Lord;” Psalm 31 Verse 1-5, 87 “The Lord looks down from heaven and sees all mankind. From where he rules he looks down on all who live on earth.” Verse 13-14 of Psalm 33. 88 Psalm 30 Verse 6. 89 Psalm 96 Verse 2. 90 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 410. 91 Ibid. 174 with paintings, was “a huge hollow tree the cavity of which served as an armoury”.92 Robinson outlined that the weaponry consisted of “six stand of firearms consisting of three excellent fowling pieces and three muskets...In the hut I found a broken barrel of another fowling piece as [and] also some shreads of clothing.”93 Clearly by this point in time the roles of buildings were changing from being sites of inhabitation and domesticity, to instead sometimes being places of resistance, facilitating defensive actions.

The division of interior and exterior space not only operated in relation to domestic buildings but other building typologies, namely funerary structures. There are several accounts of funerary structures documented in the historic literature. The first is from 1802 when the French Baudin expedition documented a bark-clad burial mound on Maria Island, off Tasmania’s east coast, at Cape des Tombeaux and Shoal Bay (or Oyster Bay as Peron called it94). The representation adapted for and included in Voyage de découvertes aux terres Australes (Figure 12 is based on the image), comprises an assemblage of three scenes - the intact burial mound at Cape des Tombeaux95, some of the bark sheets removed with paintings on the inner skin of the bark and the exposed ossuary. Nicolas Baudin recorded the structure in his journal in the following terms:

92 Ibid., p. 571. 93 Ibid. 94 Brian Plomley, Christine Cornell, and Max Banks, Francois Peron's Natural History of Maria Island, Tasmania (Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery, 1990). pp. 11-12. 95 A map produced at the time indicates three tombs at the location. However, according to Brian Plomley, there was in fact just the one tomb, as shown in the vignette in its three stages of being investigated. Ibid., p. 32. 175 The two tombs that we found and dug up provided us with a most surprising sight. We had first to dismantle a type of hut in the shape of a sugarloaf. The strips of eucalypt bark, of which it was made, rested on four branches, each curved in a semi-circle and with one end planted in the ground. Under these four hoops, forming more or less an upturned basket, we found two or three layers of a type of fine grass very common on this island. It would undoubtedly make good pasture for live-stock. After lifting this off, we found a heap of ashes, amongst which were several human bones and even some pieces of flesh that the fire had not consumed. At one end of the piles of ashes there was a small channel, which was probably where the natives placed the body for which they were performing the burial rites.96

Elsewhere in his journal, Baudin describes the tomb as “the most skilfully and carefully- made thing that we have seen.”97 He also notes that two of these tombs were found (one by Citizen Péron and the other by Citizen Leschenault), concluding from this “there seems no doubt that the custom of burning the dead is practised amongst the inhabitants of this island and the mainland.”98 The “best and largest pieces of bark” were used for construction and decoration.99 N. J. B Plomley describes this kind of tomb as a “tent-like cover of greenery, called Mannalean or Neeninglinim.”100 Unlike the dome buildings intended for domestic habitation, these structures had no need to facilitate entry and therefore lacked apertures, creating a complete, although inaccessible, interior environment. The presence of paintings in these structures is testament to this spatial contradiction.

96 Nicolas Baudin, The Journal of Post Captain Nicolas Baudin Commander-in-Chief of the Corvettes Geographe and Naturaliste, trans. Christine Cornell (Adelaide: The Friends of the State Library of South Australia, 2004). p. 349. 97 Ibid., p. 341. 98 Ibid. 99 Ibid. 100 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, n. 101, p. 917. 176

Figure 12. Representation of tomb published in the 1807 Voyage de découvertes aux Terres Australes Atlas based on the image originally created by Lesueur. (Victor Pillement, 1807, Tasmanian Archive and Heritage Office, Australian Digital Resource Identifier AUTAS001126075837, http://catalogue.statelibrary.tas.gov.au/item/?id=641802.)101

It should be noted that the example of the funerary structure recorded by Baudin was not the only funerary typology that existed. As such, not all funerary structures necessarily illustrated an internalisation of space. Other kinds of funerary sites were documented on the Tasmanian mainland. On the east coast of mainland Tasmania, near the mouth of the Pieman River, George Robinson documented a funerary site. Unfortunately, no visual recording was made to support the description. This was a funerary pyre, a “neat mound” estimated to be “about a foot and a half high.”102 Funerary pyres on the east coast were generally covered over in a layer of foliage.103 Essentially this funerary structure seems to have been in the form of a midden, or an accumulation of material resulting in the

101 This image is a “(b) a rendition by a publisher’s artist from a sketch by an expedition artist”. Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. 362. 102 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 167. 103 Ibid., n. 87, p. 231. 177 formation of a mound. Another example, more clearly understandable as built structure, is a “sepulchre” recorded by Jorgenson.104 This burial site was located in a cave where “a heap of flag stones, round which were placed in a very compact manner pieces of gum bark, the whole appearing altogether as a small pyramid.”105 Like the funerary structure dismantled by the Baudin party, this burial was similarly opened. Human bones were discovered at the bottom of the burial and after inspecting these the burial was subsequently reinstated.106 What this brief overview of funerary structure highlights from the various structures described, is that similar functions or programmes do not necessarily result in similar built expression. In other words, buildings and sites with similar purposes, honouring the deceased or accommodating domestic life, might find physical expression in quite different ways. This is a reminder that the palawa peoples were not a homogenous group, which partly accounts for this variation. Domestic buildings also varied, some not internalising space in the same way as expressed by dome buildings.

Role of buildings in the non-internalisation of space Several building typologies of the palawa peoples did not internalise space in the manner expected from within western European architecture. Both windbreaks and open-sided dome buildings failed to complete the enclosing effect of an interior – first space – as is expected from within western European architecture, whereby buildings order space by presenting an arrangement between first, second and third space. These building types therefore played a different spatial role that was not concerned with the creation of interior spaces. It will be shown that such buildings instead operated as artefacts within a much larger first space. Despite the fact that it could be argued that western European buildings sometimes also present spaces that are non-internalised, such as in the form of verandahs, such design elements are supplementary spaces to the principal interior. A verandah, for instance, exists as an outside in relation to the building’s first space or interior, and thus is rendered irrelevant as expressing the non-internalisation of space in

104 Roth H. Ling, The Aborigines of Tasmania (Hobart: Fullers Bookshop, 1969). p. 118. and Plomley, Jorgen Jorgenson and the Aborigines of Van Diemen's land: being a reconstruction of his "lost' book on their customs and habits, and on his role in the roving parties and the Black Line, p. 68. 105 Ling, The Aborigines of Tasmania: p. 118. 106 Plomley, Jorgen Jorgenson and the Aborigines of Van Diemen's land: being a reconstruction of his "lost' book on their customs and habits, and on his role in the roving parties and the Black Line, p. 68. 178 the form of an interior. In contrast, it will be shown that windbreaks and open-sided domes demonstrate a non-internalisation of space. A brief mention will also be made of a building typology that used the branches of a fallen tree as structural supports to fold over bark cladding

Windbreaks, used in the “more open parts of the country” provided a lesser degree of protection from adverse environmental conditions than full dome buildings.107 In the words of Reverend T. Dove, windbreaks:

consisted of huge branches of trees firmly wedged together and supported by means of stakes in the form of a crescent, the convex side of which was so placed as to oppose itself to the wind. A fire was kept burning in the open space to the leeward.108

A description of the method of windbreak construction, provided by missionary George Washington Walker, highlights the ‘image’ of the windbreak, from within the lens of western European architecture, as one of rapid construction, quickly and roughly assembled:

We determined on a spot sheltered by wood, adjoining to the fresh water which was afforded by a lagoon or swamp ... Two slender trees were then fixed upon at a convenient distance from each other, in the forks of which a third stripped of its branches was laid across. A number of boughs and branches of trees were then laid obliquely against this support, which in the course of a few minutes, by dint of our united exertions, formed a tolerable break-wind.109

Walker recorded the construction of this windbreak by his palawa companions when visiting the new Wybalenna settlement on Flinders Island. In terms of the building

107 Robert Brough Smyth, The Aborigines of Victoria: with notes relating to the habits of the natives of other parts of Australia and Tasmania (Melbourne: J. Ferres, govt' printer, 1878). p. 389. 108 Dove, "Moral and Social Characteristics of the Aborigines of Tasmania, as gathered from Intercourse with the surviving Remnant of them now located on Flinder’s Island," p. 249. 109 James Backhouse and Charles Tylor, The Life and Labours of George Washington Walker, of Hobart Town, Tasmania (London: A.W. Bennett, 1862). pp. 104-05. 179 typologies of the palawa, windbreaks110 perhaps occupy the most tenuous position as a building when viewed from the perspective of western European architecture, framed as a collection of material with little refinement and functionality. Lieutenant George Mortimer, who published an account of the 1789 visit to Van Diemen’s Land by navigator John Henry Cox, describes a windbreak seen at Cox’s Bight as a “hovel, of a circular form, open at the top, and rudely constructed of branches of trees, and dried leaves, so as barely to afford a shelter from the inclemency of the weather.”111 Such descriptions reveal how early European navigators, and in later years colonialists, perceived windbreaks. This framing of windbreaks has continued to hold sway.

An example of a windbreak was visually documented in 1802 by the French Baudin expedition (Figure 13). The composition portrays a romantic ideal of the landscape inhabited by the ‘noble savage.’ This style of representation was common until 1850 after which time a more ‘realistic’ scene was depicted. As explained by archaeologist Rhys Jones (1941-2001), depiction changed from the ‘noble savage’ to “a simple soul awaiting salvation or cultural awakening” to a “a brute opposing progress…”112 In Figure 13 the inhabitants have been clothed in cloaks to meet European expectations of modesty and are squatting or standing in the space defined by the windbreak. Shells and remnants from meals are scattered on the ground in front of the windbreak. The inclusion of several burning fires is worthy of discussion. Whilst fires would have been important in the creation of a sense of interiority formed in conjunction with the windbreak, by inclusion in the painting they also form a link to Roman architect Vitruvius and the development of building in the minds of European viewers. Vitruvius describes fire as providing comfort and facilitating the “coming together of men.”113 From the initial gathering around fires or hearths this place of “assembly”, according to Vitruvius, resulted in people constructing

110 George Robinson also records seeing what he describes as “an open camp of bushes called by the natives PAR.LER.NOW.WEEN.NE (a bark hut they call LON.NUN.GAR, which is the name for bark)” near Mount Vandyke. Presumably, this ‘open camp of bushes’ described by Robinson is referring to a windbreak typology. Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834, p. 899. 111 George Mortimer, Observations and Remarks Made During a Voyage to the Islands of Teneriffe, Amsterdam, Maria's Islands near Van Diemen's Land; Otaheite, Sandwich Islands; Owhyhee, the Fox Islands on the north west coast of America, Tinian, and from thence to Canton, in the Brig Mercury, commanded by John Henry Cox, Esq. (London: T. Cadell, 1791). p. 15. 112 Rhys Jones, "Face to Face," in The Tasmanian Aboriginal in Art (Hobart: Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery, 1976), p. 5. 113 Vitruvius, Vitruvius: the ten books on architecture: p. 38. 180 shelters using various means.114 Thus Figure 13 depicts palawa building types as those from which a more sophisticated western European approach to building emerged (even if these buildings were not directly linked in a lineage as a result of being culturally and spatially distant). In other words, windbreaks are positioned to reveal a ‘primitive’ expression of architecture that does not yet fall within the category of building as conceived within western European architecture. In both Figure 13 and 14 the windbreak serves as little more than a passive backdrop to the palawa people in the foreground of the scene. As windbreaks did not have a roof, an element which Vitruvius pays some attention to in the chapter on The Origin of the Dwelling House, this was arguably the primary factor that set windbreaks apart as not fulfilling the spatial ordering role expected of buildings within western European architecture.

Figure 13. Print showing windbreak based on the image originally created by Lesueur. (Angelo Biasioli, 1822, Allport Library and Museum of Fine Arts, Tasmanian Archive and Heritage

114 Ibid. 181 Office, Australian Digital Resource Identifier AUTAS001136157013, http://catalogue.statelibrary.tas.gov.au/item/?id=97706.)115

Figure 14. Sketch of a windbreak by surveyor Thomas Scott. The text “Natives of Van Diemen’s Land sitting at their fire - in front of their bark hut” is pencilled below the drawing. (Thomas Scott, 1822, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW – Call no. B 215, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemDetailPaged.aspx?itemID=430476.)116

Open-sided domes extend the spatial enclosing expressed by windbreaks. Open-sided domes were documented in three of the nine Nations – in the country of the South West peoples, the South East peoples and the North West peoples. This typology has been termed “half circle houses” by author Emma Wilson in her text Traditional Villages.117 This nomenclature perhaps draws upon a description of an open-sided dome of the South West people provided by Robinson in 1830. He recorded:

115 This image is a “(b) a rendition by a publisher’s artist from a sketch by an expedition artist”. Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. 362. 116 This image is “(a) an in-situ rendition by an expedition artist”. Ibid. 117 Worawee, Traditional Villages: pp. 9-10. 182 Passed a neat native hut about three feet in diameter and in the form of a semi- circle. It was covered over with fine grass118 … and although very small was the neatest I had seen. This hut is called LINE.NE by the Brune natives and GAR.DOWN by those of Port Davey.119

The term open-sided dome is used in this thesis, aligning with the terminology employed by Paul Memmott for parts of continental Australia, in order to develop a cohesive picture of Australian Indigenous buildings across Australia, including Tasmania. As such, it is beneficial to subscribe to a consistent nomenclature. This building type does not create the sense of enclosure expected from within a western European approach to building, however it does go beyond that expressed by the windbreak as it includes a roof.

118 Robinson also records elsewhere in his journal a “large native hut made of stringy bark like the Brune natives. It was not very old and was built by the TOMMYGINNY [now spelt Tommeginne]…The hut was in the midst of a wood.” It is not clear whether this description refers to an open-sided dome or a full dome building. It could suggest that the Bruny Island people or Nuenonne, constructed both open-sided dome buildings and full dome buildings, when in conjunction with the account in the text above, or alternatively it suggests that the Nuenonne clad open-sided dome buildings with both stringy bark and fine grass. Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834, pp. 868- 69. 119 Robinson and Plomley (ed.), Friendly Mission: The Tasmanian Journals and Papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834, p. 136. 183

Figure 15. Watercolour of an open-sided dome at Adventure Bay. The text “In Adventure Bay, Van Diemen’s Land, 1792, page 97” is pencilled in the border. (George Tobin, 1792, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW – Call no. SAFE / PXA 563/18, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemDetailPaged.aspx?itemID=446623.)120

Two watercolours depict palawa open-sided dome buildings. These watercolours were executed by George Tobin on Captain Bligh’s 1792 voyage to Van Diemen’s Land. On this voyage Bligh anchored the Providence for a fortnight at Adventure Bay, during which time Tobin made “some twenty drawings and watercolors of Van Diemen’s Land- the earliest known landscapes of the island.”121 Within the watercolour titled In Adventure Bay Van Diemen’s Land (Figure 15), the Providence can be seen (in the centre background) along with its tender the Assistant (positioned to the right of the Providence).122 Five Nuenonne men/women can be seen standing at the water’s edge on a

120 This image can be considered “(a) an in-situ rendition by an expedition artist”, although it may have not been entirely completed on site. Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. 362. 121 Roslynn D. Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography, 1st ed. (Sandy Bay, TAS: Polymath Press, 2006). p. 9. 122 Ibid. 184 rocky outcrop looking and waving at the boats anchored in the Bay, while two members of the ship’s crew examine an open-sided dome building in the foreground. Scientist and scholar in environmental literature Roslynn D. Haynes has commented upon what she describes as the “irony of the parallels- the observers being observed – for he [George Tobin] carefully distinguished the attitudes of these two groups of voyeurs.”123 The British are investigating the building, while the palawa look on at the intruding vessels. Unlike Figure 13 and 14 the palawa peoples are no longer spatially separate from Europeans, instead occupying the same picture space.124 It is possible to consider the depiction of the building as relatively accurate in terms of scale and materiality, as Tobin showed close attention to detail in the rest of the image. His representation of the sclerophyll forest along the skyline on the hills in the distance for instance, is considered by Haynes to have been “captured very effectively.”125 The interior of the building is not shown in any great detail, although it is depicted in relation to two crewmembers that stand close by, thus enabling its proportions in terms of height and width to be discerned. In contrast, Tobin’s Native Hut (or Wigwam) of Adventure Bay (Figure 16) provides greater detail of the building or of a similar building.

123 Ibid. 124 Patrick Wolfe has commented in relation to the frontier that such “space is not shared – as observed, the Aborigines are always somewhere else.” Such a point is of relevance to the coexistence of both Europeans and palawa in the one painting, an occurrence quite unusual in the Tasmanian context. Patrick Wolfe, "Nation and Miscegenation: discursive continuity in the post-Mabo era," Social Analysis, no. 36 (October 1994): p. 105. 125 Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography: p. 9. 185

Figure 16. A more detailed watercolour of an open-sided dome with members of the British party seated inside. The text “Native Hut (or Wigwam) of Adventure Bay, Van Dieman’s Land, 1792, page 96” is pencilled in the border. (George Tobin, 1792, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW – Call no. SAFE / PXA 563/16, digital image number a1279023, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemDetailPaged.aspx?itemID=446623.)126

The second watercolour shows from a different vantage point the Providence and Assistant anchored in Adventure Bay, with a landing party coming ashore on the beach below. Three barrels can be seen floating in the harbour. In this composition, two crew members are actually inside the building, with a third man standing just nearby, watching the party come ashore and perhaps acting as lookout for the intruders within the home. Those in the building evidently felt safe in their setting as one of their guns can be seen laid outside the building, while another is propped up against a nearby tree. The two men are seated on the ground around a barrel with their legs crossed. They have enough headroom to keep their torsos erect. As such, the anthropometrics of the building suggests

126 This image can be considered “(a) an in-situ rendition by an expedition artist”, although it may not have been entirely completed on site. Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. 362. 186 that less time was spent inside, as opposed to the full domes documented in the western regions of Tasmania, which would have allowed residents to stand upright. It has been suggested by Haynes that they are cooking the meat of a kangaroo whose skeleton is on the ground in front of the building, although as the men are not using the existing hearth, this seems unlikely.127 A woven basket can be seen further behind the men in the interior, as well as a hearth. The construction method of the building is not clear, as no obvious structural beams are evident. However, the skin of the building is clad with bark in a type of shingle construction.

Arguably a variation of the open-sided dome typology is represented by landscape artist John Richardson Glover (1767-1849) in the oil painting The Last Muster of the Aborigines at Risdon 1836, which is held in the collection of the Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery, Launceston. This painting depicts an open-sided dome more conical in form than that depicted by Tobin, and with clear structural branches evident. The structural branches cross one another and are positioned at the front of the building. A hearth is in use inside the building and people are seated inside. A description in the historic literature seems to confirm the existence of such a building type. George Augustus Robinson for instance records seeing several buildings on the Middlesex Plains that seem to align somewhat with Glover’s painting. Robinson described the buildings in his journal entry of 22nd August 1830 as being:

large and rudely constructed, similar to those in the south part of the island, i.e. Brune Island, and made by placing a large crooked branch of a tree erect on the ground, against which they place the bark.128

Glover also records a further two building typologies in The Last Muster of the Aborigines at Risdon 1836. One of these buildings is a freestanding building with triangular cross-section and ridge-pole.129 The other of these building types makes use of a

127 Haynes for instance says that the men are “cooking kangaroo meat, the skeleton of which lies outside.” Haynes, Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography: p. 9. 128 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 204. 129 Glover, in another painting called Mills’ Plains, Ben Lomond, Ben Loder and Ben Nevis in the distance from 1836, again shows this building typology. Strangely, these two paintings seem to be the only record of this building typology of which the author is aware. Brian Plomley has also commented that the “reality” of the free-standing building with triangular cross-section depicted by Glover in Mills’ Plains… in the distance 187 fallen tree, using the branches as structural supports to fold over the bark cladding. The resulting building is triangular in cross section with the fallen tree forming the supporting internal ridgepole. George Bass provided a written description of a building on November 3rd 1798 in the Port Dalrymple region, which seems to align with Glover’s representation. He stated that:

Their huts, of which we frequently found seven or eight together (like a little encampment), they build of bark, torn in long strips from some neighbouring trees, after being divided transversely at bottoms in such breadths as they judge their strength will be able to disengage from its attachment to the wood, and the connecting bark on each side. It is then broken into convenient lengths and placed sloping-wise against the elbowing part of some dead branch that has fallen off from the distorted limbs of the gumtree, and a little grass is sometimes thrown over the top.130

This building type similarly does not create the sense of enclosure expected from within a western European approach to building, with open ‘ends’ to the building. It should be noted however, that both Robinson and Bass’ descriptions of the two building typologies were documented in more northern parts of the island. Jeanette Hoorn in Australian Pastoral: the making of a white landscape claims that Glover’s composition contains a number of “anomalies and contradictions”, including the three building types depicted that “were not known in the south-east and have been described by Brian Plomley as a ‘northern form.’”131 This suggests that the veracity of the compositions especially in relation to their supposed locations are open to question.132 A discussion of Glover was is “open to doubt because Glover showed his people [in the scene] holding shields and boomerangs, neither of which were made by the Tasmanians.” The unearthing of further historic material may shed more light on this building typology, and it is acknowledged that in the future a reassessment of this position may be required. Brian Plomley, The Tasmanian Aborigines (Launceston: The Plomley Foundation, 1993). p. 35. 130 George Bass, "Journal describing Two-Fold Bay in New South Wales, Furneaux's Islands in Bass's Strait and the Coast and Harbours of Van Diemen's Land, from Notes made on Board the Colonial Sloop Norfolk in 1798 and 1799," in Van Diemen's Land Revealed: Flinders and Bass and their circumnavigation of the island in the colonial sloop Norfolk 1798-1799, ed. Dan Sprod (Hobart: Blubber Head Press, 2009), pp. 88-89. 131 Jeanette Hoorn, Australian Pastoral: the making of a white landscape (Fremantle: Fremantle Press, 2007). p. 86. 132 Bill Gammage notes in relation to Mills’ Plains, Ben Lomond, Ben Loder and Ben Nevis in the distance that the palawa people shown in the painting were unlikely to have been there “for in 1828-30 they were shot or rounded up by bounty hunters like Glover’s neighbour John Batman.” See the footnote below for an important qualifier to this statement. Bill Gammage, The Biggest Estate on Earth: how Aborigines made Australia (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2011). p. 40. 188 also provided earlier in Chapter 2 in relation to the need to question the scenes depicted. It seems likely that the open-sided dome form, and building type making use of the fallen tree is likely to be a classical palawa building typology, as Glover’s image can be correlated against written descriptions. However, the triangular cross-section building with the internal ridgepole remains open to doubt and requires further corroboratory evidence before it is accepted as a palawa building typology.133 With this said, it is necessary to mention another account of a building documented by Robinson, which has some similarity in the use of a ridgepole supported on structural members. The use of cladding however appears to suggest a windbreak typology as opposed to the typology represented by Glover. Robinson provides a sketch of this building, which was constructed with “sticks stuck in the ground.”134 According to Robinson the cladding of this building used the “leaves of a fern tree, which were quite green.”135 Unfortunately, the lack of detail provided in Robinson’s sketch of 11 July 1834 makes it difficult to properly assess the building documented and verify it against that provided by Glover.136 As a result, Glover’s building typology must remain in doubt until further material comes to light.

Surveyor and amateur historian J. E. Calder recorded another description of an open-sided dome. This building was located at Painters Plains within the territorial boundaries of the North West peoples. His described that:

133 As previously mentioned in Chapter 2, John Batman had “at least ten ‘Sydney natives’ (as they were called) and several Tasmanian Aborigines” living with him in Mills’ Plains. About half a dozen ‘Sydney natives’ and probably some Tasmanians were living with him [Batman] in 1832, when Glover first got to know him.” Ian McLean, "Figuring Nature: painting the Indigenous landscape," in John Glover and the Colonial Picturesque, ed. David Hansen (Hobart: Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery and Art Exhibitions Australia, 2003), p. 125. 134 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 898. 135 Ibid. 136 George Augustus Robinson, "Series 02: George Augustus Robinson journals, 1829-1849," in George Augustus Robinson papers, 1818-1924 (Mitchell Library. State Library of NSW – Call no. A 7023 - A7041, 1834). 189 But the chef-d’-œuvre was a battle piece, a native fight- men dying and flying all over it. These huts were closed only on the weather side, and perfectly open in front, some large enough for several persons, others less; and the one with the elaborate designs was, I suppose, the residence of a single man, being the least of all.137

Within the interior of these buildings Calder describes the presence of paintings, with representations of animals and even a battle-scene. Calder describes drawings which utilised charcoal, one image a kangaroo of “unnatural appearance” due to its elongated forelegs, another image an emu and a final representation “that might have been either a dog, a horse or a crocodile, according to the fancy of the connoisseur.”138 Calder speculated that the building containing the elaborate ‘battle-scene’ was presumably “the residence of a single man...”139 This battle scene was found at Painter’s Plain, which Calder named in reference to the act of painting that had been carried out at the location as evidenced by the interior paintings.140 The paintings of the emu and two men spearing a kangaroo were souvenired by Calder and were presumably considered skilful enough to have been appropriate to end up in “His Excl’s possession.”141 A year later the building was revisited but considered to be in a much “dilapidated” condition.142 Thus it is clear that open-sided dome buildings were sometimes decorated with interior artworks, although this may not have always been the case (for instance, in the Tobin paintings there is no evidence of interior artwork present). As previously mentioned Paul Memmott suggests that “the semi-sedentary habitation of village domes in winter was conducive to interior art creation” and therefore more likely that artworks were created in these locations. 143 Thus the presence of paintings in open-sided dome buildings provide evidence of the internalisation of space, even though the buildings themselves do not

137 James Erskine Calder, Some Account of the Wars, Extirpation, Habits etc. of the Native Tribes of Tasmania (Hobart: Fullers Bookshop, 1972). p. 33. 138 Ibid. 139 Ibid. 140 J. Moore-Robinson, A Record of Tasmanian Nomenclature with Dates and Origins (Hobart: The Mercury Printing Office, 1911). p. 68. 141 David Burn, "David Burn - Overland expedition of Sir John and Lady Franklin and suite to Macquarie Harbour and the Western Division of the Island, 1842," (Sydney: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales. Digital image number a1501022, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/album/albumView.aspx?acmsID=447494&itemID=853543, 1842), p. 18. 142 Ibid. 143 Memmott, Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia: p. 103. 190 create the same separation between inside and outside as occurs within western European buildings. Both windbreaks and open-sided domes highlight that the spatial distinction of interior and exterior are not necessarily translatable into Australian Indigenous space and the associated artefacts that manifest those spaces. Instead, these buildings could be argued to operate as artefacts existing within a larger first space defined by a cosmological model. Such buildings with their limited internalisation would have provided access via the inhabitants’ senses, to the interiority created by the cosmological model, whatever this model might have been for the palawa people. It is not possible to determine whether the Nine Nations also subscribed to a variation of the sky-dome cosmology, as described in Chapter 4, due to the lack of ethnographic documentation.

The non-spatial role of buildings: health effects Whilst palawa buildings clearly fulfilled a spatial role (even though this role in spatial ordering may not have been the same as that fulfilled by buildings in western European architecture), buildings also played a non-spatial role in relation to health. As a discipline, interior architecture is particularly concerned with the health effects, both physical and psychological, of interior spaces. Issues such as colour psychology and indoor air quality are some of the prevailing concerns of contemporary interior architects and designers.144 As such, the discussion will now turn to consider how palawa building settings, building envelopes, and building furnishings promoted good health. In this respect, buildings also took on an additional role, which was non-spatial. The materials in and associated with the buildings may not have been actively used for medicinal purposes in the treatment of illness; however, it will be outlined how buildings may have played a role in palawa health strategies and maintenance of good health. The health properties of palawa interiors and their contents can be considered in relation to the building setting, building envelope, and furnishings. Some of the interiors’ contents or furnishings described here are ‘variables,’ understood as not being necessarily consistent within the interiors of buildings, dependent upon circumstance, individual inhabitants, kinship group, and length of occupation.

The health properties of materials are dealt with here in a two-pronged way. Firstly, when a flora or fauna was recorded as being traditionally used by the palawa peoples for

144 Clive Edwards, Interior Design: a critical introduction (Oxford: Berg, 2011). pp. 149-52. 191 medicinal purposes or in relation to health strategies this knowledge is described, and in this way validated. Unfortunately, a significant gap exists in the recording of palawa health strategies and medicinal knowledge by early colonials in Tasmania, as “the first British colonists were not ready to concede that any hunter–gatherer society could have well-developed systems for managing their health and wellbeing…”145. As such, it is acknowledged that some of the buildings and situations described do not have direct evidence of being used in palawa health strategies. However, these cases are still presented in the view that buildings could have indeed contributed to good health, whether or not ethnographic evidence exists to suggest that they were actively used in this way. Secondly, the health qualities of a material as understood from within the context of western health strategies and medicine are sometimes described. Although this is necessary because of the insufficient recording of palawa knowledge this is however, less than satisfactory. Consequently, no discussion of the health properties of palawa buildings can ever be conclusive or form a comprehensive picture. In addition, reference is made to the nine Healthy Living Practices146 in such cases where these health strategies reveal themselves as being implemented in relation to palawa buildings.

Prior to describing the health effects of palawa buildings, the relationship between health and housing will be described. Housing within western European architecture is generally understood to have an impact on health in a two-pronged way: through a combination of “hard” factors or what Dr Fred Hollows dubbed “health hardware” and “soft factors.”147 “Hard factors” are the physical elements of the building, whilst soft factors relate to the “social and perceptive dimensions of housing”.148 The body of literature that relates to Aboriginal housing, constructed by and for Indigenous Australians post-1970, is substantial and three design paradigms on how housing has been approached have emerged: Cultural Design paradigm; Housing as Process; and Environmental Health

145 Philip A. Clarke, Aboriginal Plant Collectors: botanists and Australian Aboriginal people in the nineteenth century (Dural, NSW: Rosenberg Publishing, 2008). p. 37. 146 For an overview of the initial UPK report in which the nine Health Living Practices originated, an update of how the UPK report was responded to and further developments that stemmed from the initial report see; Paul Pholeros, Stephan Rainow, and Paul Torzillo, Housing for Health: towards a healthy living environment for Aboriginal Australia (Newport Beach, NSW: Healthhabitat, 1993). p. vii. 147 Ross Bailie, "Better Health through Better Housing: this is no clockwork universe," in Which Way? directions in Indigenous housing (Alice Springs: Royal Australian Institute of Architects, 2008), p. 59. 148 Ibid. 192 Design.149 The Environmental Health Design paradigm relates to the relationship between health and housing design. An important document underpinning this housing approach is the 1987 UPK Report or Uwankara Palyanyku Kanyintjaku, an environmental health study that revealed health ramifications resulting from environmental and housing conditions. This study took place in relation to Indigenous Australians living on Anangu Pitjantjatjara Lands in South Australia. The findings of the UPK Report outlined nine key strategies, called Healthy Living Practices, in order of significance, that if implemented would help to lessen the spread of infectious diseases amongst the inhabitants. In order of their perceived importance the nine Healthy Living Practices comprise:

1. The ability to wash people, particularly children. 2. The ability to wash clothes and bedding. 3. Removing waste safely from the house and immediate living environment. 4. Improving nutrition: the ability to store, prepare, and cook food. 5. Reducing the negative effects of crowding. 6. Reducing the negative contact between people and animals, insects, and vermin. 7. Reducing dust. 8. Controlling the temperature of the living environment. 9. Reducing trauma, or minor injury, by removing hazards.150

The Healthy Living Practices rely on homes having functioning health hardware in order to “achieve good health outcomes at a household level”151 Although developed through a study of a specific remote mainland community, the broad nature of the Practices mean they have applications more widely, and today underpin the Australian National Indigenous Housing Guide. These nine Healthy Living Practices are framed within a Eurocentric approach to health strategies, with little consideration for Australian Indigenous health strategies or reference to Indigenous medicinal knowledge or pharmacopeia. The nine Healthy Living Practices clearly carry with them cultural values

149 Carroll Go-Sam, "Working With and Against Indigenous Design Paradigms," Architecture Australia vol. 97, no. 5 (September-October, 2008): p. 53. 150 Department of Family and Community Services and Standing Committee on Indigenous Housing, National Indigenous Housing Guide: improving the living environment for safety, health and sustainability, 3rd ed. (Canberra: Department of Family and Community Services, 2007). p. 13. 151 Ibid., p. 11. 193 that stem from a western European lifestyle. As such, it is necessary to recognise that “health hardware” and health strategies as embodied by the nine Healthy Living Practices only partially address the relationship between housing and health, as it fails to incorporate Indigenous health knowledge. In the following discussion of palawa buildings and health strategies, reference is made to the nine Healthy Living Practices due to their current prevalence in the health and housing paradigm, and as a supplement where gaps exist in the ethnographic literature regarding palawa health strategies. This emphasises that Australian Indigenous concepts of environmental health remain a significant gap in the literature.152 The traditional buildings of the palawa peoples seem to have utilised materials and building elements in a way that colonialists might have understood as constituting health hardware and fulfilling healthy practices – the very buildings themselves seem to have facilitated health strategies in their design and use of materiality.

The placement of villages in relation to the broader landscape, and in particular the aquatic environment, enabled good health strategies to be observed and facilitated the treatment of illness. The placement of villages close to the water by the North West, South West, and South East peoples enabled ease of access to marine foods such as shellfish, an important dietary resource. In addition, the marine environment also played an important role in the treatment of illness and disease. The palawa peoples swallowed powdered cuttlefish bone as a gastrointestinal “absorbent,” a technique also used by European medical practitioners.153 The inhabitants of Bruny Island drank salt water to relieve sickness and bathed as a treatment for disease.154 The nine Healthy Living Practices of the UPK Report lists the ability to wash people as the number one priority. Where coastal access was not so readily available, or where fresh water was scarcer, the palawa peoples located villages in proximity to wells and fresh water resources.155 One such well recorded in the historic literature was located in a valley, with steps leading

152 Stephen Long, Paul Memmott, and Tim Seelig, "An Audit and Review of Australian Indigenous Housing Research," (Queensland: Australian Housing and Urban Research Institute, 2007), p. 66. 153 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 457. 154 ———, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 377. 155 ———, Jorgen Jorgenson and the Aborigines of Van Diemen's land: being a reconstruction of his "lost' book on their customs and habits, and on his role in the roving parties and the Black Line, p. 58. 194 down to it and shells to use as drinking vessels.156 As previously outlined, Robinson described the locations of west coast villages in his journal as generally being placed in “healthy situations,” indicative of the careful site selection for villages.157

The construction of the buildings themselves utilised materials with health properties. The palawa peoples often used tea tree bark as a cladding for buildings, and in addition villages were generally described in the historic literature as being constructed close to copses of tea trees.158 The terms tea tree or paper bark are general names used to refer to species of “the genera Leptospermum and Melaleuca”. 159 Today, tea tree oil is commercially extracted from the leaves of the Melaleuca alternifolia, which grows on the Australian mainland, as the oil is considered to have strong antiseptic, antibacterial, antifungal, and antiviral properties.160 A variety of Melaleuca species are endemic to Tasmania. The two dominant species that provide suitable papery bark for building cladding are Melaleuca squarrosa, which is widespread across Tasmania, and Melaleuca ericifolia, that grows in the north and the east. While not all of the species of Melaleuca in Tasmania have had their medicinal properties scientifically investigated, the known positive qualities of the Melaleuca species generally have implications for future study. Although not documented specifically in relation to tea tree, the palawa peoples who have been described as “wood experts” would have developed detailed knowledge of the health properties of such flora. 161 In addition, the bark of the Eucalyptus resinifera was documented as being sometimes used for the cladding of windbreaks. 162 Western medicine supports that the Eucalyptus resinifera can be used for treating dysentery and venereal disease, although it is not known if the palawa peoples used the eucalyptus in this way.163

156 ———, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 170. 157 Ibid., p. 171. 158 ———, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 246. 159 E. V. Lassak and T. McCarthy, Australian Medicinal Plants (Sydney: Methuen Australia, 1983). p. 18. 160 The University of Western Australia, "Tea Tree Oil Research Group," accessed 3 November 2009 http://www.tto.bcs.uwa.edu.au/. 161 Worawee, Traditional Villages: p. 45. 162 Ling, The Aborigines of Tasmania: p. 108. 163 Lassak and McCarthy, Australian Medicinal Plants: p. 215. 195

An important part of the internal envelope of the building was the decoration of the cladding with paintings. Decorative paintings in the interiors of buildings required the use of ochre, a material also used for painting the body and other ceremonial purposes. When ochre could not be obtained on mainland Tasmania, the palawa peoples used the “red leaves of the peppermint and other trees” as a substitute.164 Presumably from Robinson’s comments, the palawa peoples used black peppermint oil in the absence of ochre for internal paintings, from which health benefits may have resulted. Black peppermint, as it is commonly known, or Eucalyptus amygdalina, is endemic to Tasmania and in particular is to be found on the east of the island. From the black peppermint an essential oil can be obtained that is purported to possess a variety of therapeutic benefits, and can be inhaled to ease difficulties in breathing. On Flinders Island at the Wybalenna settlement the practice of creating interior artworks appears to have continued to some degree. Robinson recorded in his journal dated 26 December 1835 the following description of wall murals in the palawa peoples’ accommodation: “In several huts are to be seen rude drawings on the walls of ships, others of letters and a variety of devices and hieroglyphics such as they have been accustomed to make in their own country.”165 Robinson does not describe the medium used to create these drawings. Paintings however were clearly an important cultural practice as they continued to be created at the settlement on Flinders Island, and they also acted as a tool used to personalise interior space.

Dome building typologies may have had an impact upon the health of residents as a result of their design. The burning of material on internal hearths for the cooking of food, and the mediation of the indoor air temperature may have released beneficial vapours depending on the flora burned. In the Macquarie Harbour and Port Davey region (possible beehive) dome buildings had apertures to serve as both an entry and chimney.166 Another historic description refers to the “door or entrance” serving a “threefold purpose of door, window and chimney”.167 The leaves of the Eucalyptus gunnii (sometimes called the cider

164 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 287. 165 ———, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 329. 166 Ling, The Aborigines of Tasmania: p. 109. 167 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 144. 196 gum), which can be found in Tasmania, contain “fungistatic substances”. 168 The eucalyptus has “cineole-rich leaf oils” that have the ability to “reduce the swelling of mucous membranes and assist in loosening phlegm, thus making breathing easier”.169 It is not possible to determine the preferred types of vegetation burned on internal hearths and how this varied geographically across Tasmania, as this information failed to be recorded. It therefore must be acknowledged that various types of vegetation would have been burned on internal hearths, although it is fair to assume that the palawa peoples would have developed detailed knowledge of the health ramifications from the burning of different species of flora.170 As a result, the placement of the hearth should be considered as presenting the potential to reap health benefits for the residents and as an integral part of palawa environmental health.

The walls of palawa buildings were often lined with feathers of native birds such as cockatoos and magpies, as previously described.171 Feathers used in this way helped to mediate the indoor air temperature, essentially acting as insulation. The ability to regulate the temperature is listed in the nine Healthy Living Practices, and would have been a health strategy particularly important in the cold western regions of Tasmania. It was specifically documented in the historic literature that the feathers of the parrot were used in an attempt to encourage the bird to visit the building. “The natives stick the feathers of the parrot inside their hut from the supposition that it will cause them to come to their huts”.172 It is not clear from the historic sources why there was a desire to attract parrots to buildings. It is possible to offer supposition that it may have been for collection of their brightly coloured feathers, or for food. However, what should also be considered is the contribution of the parrots to the auditory environment of the buildings.

Wattle blossoms are bright yellow flowers, some species of which are native to Australia. The palawa peoples believed that the wattle flower helped to induce sleep and thus placed

168 Lassak and McCarthy, Australian Medicinal Plants: p. 99. 169 Ibid., p. 46. 170 Furthering this, Worawee has said that “it is reasonable to assume” that wood would have been used “that was either smokeless or emitted very little smoke. There is no record which remarks on smoke stains on the feathers or paper bark which lined the houses” Worawee, Traditional Villages: p. 45. 171 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 722. 172 Ibid., p. 213. 197 them within the interior for this purpose. George Robinson recorded that “To-night the natives of the south gathered some blossoms of the wattle trees (which the Brune natives call dray.dee). They imagine this has the property of causing sleep and they stick it inside of my tent”.173 Thus the presence of wattle blossoms within the interior would not only have been decorative, but also useful for its health properties of promoting restful sleep. It should be recognised that this may not have been a practice employed by all of the palawa peoples, as this was attributed specifically in the historic literature to the Nuenonne or people of Bruny Island.174

Sometimes the leftovers of meals, or items used for ceremonial purposes or treatment of illness, were described as being found within interiors. In one dwelling, for instance, Robinson found kangaroo bones split open.175 The palawa peoples extracted kangaroo bone marrow for the treatment of illness. Robinson recorded that, “Tom this morning took the leg bone of a kangaroo, heated the marrow and poured it on his belly. He said he had a bellyache and it would cure it”.176 It is not clear if this description was intended to refer specifically to kangaroo, or if it also referred to wallaby, as the single umbrella term “kangaroo” was often applied by early European colonialists to describe both types of animals. In addition, the palawa peoples also consumed the blood of the kangaroo as a drink and ate the meat along with the roasted skin, and as such villages were often found close to favoured hunting grounds.177

Baskets and other implements were often described as items within interiors. One description referred to the presence of “2 or 3 baskets or bags made of a very strong grass” found in buildings on the south coast.178 What is possibly a palawa basket can be seen in George Tobin’s watercolour Native Hut (or Wigwam) of Adventure Bay (Figure 16). Usually fragrant grasses would have been used to make baskets, which would have

173 Ibid. 174 Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 16. 175 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 410. 176 Ibid., p. 172. 177 Ibid., pp. 366 & 419. 178 Beverley Hooper, ed. With Captain James Cook in the Antarctic and Pacific: the private journal of James Burney, second lieutenant of the Adventure on Cook's second voyage, 1772-1773 (Canberra: National Library of Australia, 1975), p. 38. 198 impacted upon the interior qualities of buildings. Thus, “the inside of the houses would have had the lovely earthy honey bush smell distinctive to Australia”.179 Baskets were used for storing food, such as shellfish and house-leek.180 Healthy Living Practice number four lists the ability to store food appropriately as important to good health, and the use of baskets is representative of this practice being performed.

Contemporary Aboriginal housing and environmental health is underpinned by such research as the Healthy Living Practices, which relies on the functioning of a building’s health hardware and the observance of particular routines or strategies to lessen the spread of disease. However, palawa buildings themselves were seemingly part of a broad set of cultural practices and health strategies. Thus, unlike the Healthy Living Practices in which health hardware and practices need to be managed and monitored to suit buildings, health strategies seem to have been integral to palawa buildings.

Conclusion This chapter has illustrated the role of palawa buildings in spatial organisation. A variety of building typologies were constructed dependent upon the need of the residents, material restraints and length of inhabitation. Buildings were spatially integrated into their broader environment, carefully sited in relation to a broader curtilage. Some building types, namely full domes and funerary structures, created a clear spatial division between inside and outside. This is an approach to spatial organisation that is expected from within western European architecture however not all palawa building types express this approach to the orders of space. Windbreaks and open-sided domes failed to complete the enclosing effect that is expected from within a western European lens. These building types did not create a clearly defined first space, highlighting that western European spatial distinctions of interior and exterior, or first and second space, are not directly translatable to all Indigenous buildings and how they order space. Despite this, it is in these terms that such buildings have been judged, as demonstrated in Chapter 5. This difference suggests that palawa buildings order space differently - on their own cultural terms. Buildings in this sense can be considered to operate as artefacts within a much

179 Worawee, Traditional Villages: p. 48. 180 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, pp. 167-68. 199 larger first space, describable as interiority created by cosmological concepts of the landscape. Although the sky-dome cosmology was not documented in Tasmania, it is reasonable to suggest that buildings operated within a broader cultural landscape. However, whether or not this corresponded with the sky-dome cosmology is unknown.

Finally, this chapter highlighted that palawa buildings also played a non-spatial role in relation to promoting good health. This material was presented in order to provide a more complete picture of palawa buildings and their functions. In the future, the discussion of palawa buildings in terms of health would be strengthened by additional research being carried out by those in other disciplines, however buildings have been illustrated here to move beyond functional mediation of environmental conditions which suggests a strong, yet previously unrecognised link between palawa buildings and health. The relationship between buildings and health has been an ongoing concern of western European architecture and remains an existing focus of Aboriginal housing, as is expressed by the National Indigenous Housing Guide. The health qualities of building interiors are a particular concern of the interior architecture discipline. The likely existence of palawa building health strategies reveals a likely non-spatial role fulfilled by buildings, which has previously been unrecognised. This provides a new means to engage with palawa buildings from within the context of western European architecture. Ultimately, this chapter has shown that the western European orders of space operate differently in relation to palawa buildings.

This chapter contributed to the hypothesis stated in the Introduction by discussing in detail examples of classical palawa buildings and considering their role in spatial ordering.

The next chapter will show what happened when western European spatial ordering was imposed on the palawa peoples at Wybalenna, and the resistance that was expressed in relation to the imposition of this spatial ordering.

200 CHAPTER 7 RESISTING WESTERN EUROPEAN SPATIAL ORDERING: THE BUILDINGS OF WYBALENNA

The role of palawa buildings in spatial organisation was discussed in the previous chapter. The discussion revealed that palawa buildings adopted an approach to spatial organisation that was different from that which is expected from within western European architecture. In particular, it was highlighted that western European spatial distinctions of interior and exterior are not directly translatable to Australian Indigenous space - instead a different approach to spatial organisation is required. This chapter will describe palawa resistance to western European spatial ordering, when such spatial ordering was imposed at the settlement of Wybalenna. The European-style accommodation provided for the palawa peoples, who were relocated from mainland Tasmania to the Wybalenna settlement on Flinders Island off the north-east coast of Tasmania, will be described, and how these buildings were utilised in unintended ways by the palawa occupants will be outlined. The Wybalenna settlement was occupied from February 1833 to October 1847. This chapter will also consider the effect of the built environment upon the inhabitants. It is important to note that genocide1 and the moral implications of the settlement will not be dealt with here, but instead the impact of the built environment and resistance to it by the palawa peoples.

Due to its complexity, it is not possible to recount much of the history of Wybalenna within the parameters of this chapter, beyond the history of its built environment. A more complete history of the settlement would be comprised of: British policy regarding

1 In relation to the question of genocide, historian Henry Reynolds has stated that whilst the number of deaths at Wybalenna did fall within the UN Draft Convention concerning genocide in death camps, where 30-40% of the camp population is reduced in number annually as a result of death, “there is no available evidence at all to suggest that it was the intention of the colonial government to effect the extinction of the Tasmanians.” Henry Reynolds, The Question of Genocide in Australia's History: an indelible stain? (Ringwood, VIC: Viking, 2001). p. 85. Although it may not have been the intention of the colonial government, it should be noted however that there are a number of accounts in oral histories documented by scientist Ernest Westlake, about both Wybalenna and the later settlement at Oyster Cover, which suggests that Doctor Milligan intentionally rendered women infertile and that poison was used to shorten the lives of the palawa. See Lyndall Ryan, Tasmanian Aborigines: a history since 1803 (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2012). p. 260. and, N. J. B. Plomley, ed. The Westlake Papers: records of interviews in Tasmania by Ernest Westlake, 1908-1910 (Launceston: Queen Victoria Museum & Art Gallery, 1991, Occasional Paper No. 4), pp. 113-14. 201 relocation of Indigenous Australians; the politics of the settlement in the broader context of the events taking place in Tasmania in the period; the historical figures involved in its establishment and running; the relations between the Europeans at the settlement; the relations between the palawa peoples; the relations between the palawa peoples and the Europeans; and the logistics of running the settlement in its isolated location. The numerous possible approaches to interpreting the settlement and its history result in either the centering or marginalizing of the “different parties, and different theoretical or ideological arguments.”2 As such, aspects of the settlement are unavoidably concealed by the discussion, and it is acknowledged that a complete picture is unable to be formed. In some respects there is something strangely appropriate about this, as the Wybalenna settlement was a place where the palawa peoples were hidden away from the eyes of colonialists and represented to the outside world by officialdom and invited visitors. Thus a carefully curated image was created both by what was on show and what was not.

Firstly, this chapter will outline why the palawa peoples were relocated offshore and why in particular Wybalenna was selected as the site for the settlement. Secondly, the two phases of building at the settlement will be outlined and the differences in accommodation provided for the palawa peoples in these two phases. Thirdly, various methods of resistance to western European spatial ordering displayed by the palawa peoples will be described. Fourthly, and finally, the link between the buildings and the extremely high mortality rate experienced at the settlement will be considered.

This chapter contributes to the hypothesis stated in the Introduction, that south-east Australian Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority; in addition, it is also hypothesised that colonising western Europeans failed to understand this occupation and that as a result, sought to impose western European spatial ordering in its place, by outlining the imposing of western European spatial ordering at the settlement of Wybalenna. This chapter thereby continues the narrative of spatial ordering engaged with by this thesis.

2 Anna Johnston, "The Little Empire of Wybalenna: becoming colonial in Australia," Journal of Australian Studies no. 81(2004): p. 20. 202 Why Wybalenna? European colonisation of Tasmania expanded during the 1820s into the “areas of open forest and grassland between Hobart in the south and Launceston in the north, resulting in the loss of Aboriginal hunting grounds and thus their means of living”.3 Storyteller Woorrady recounted to George Robinson his witnessing of the arrival of European colonisers in Hobart Town and the effect this had on altering the landscape and dispossessing the people of their land. According to Robinson, Woorrady explained that “when the first [European] people settled they cut down the trees, built houses, dug the ground and planted.”4 Conflict ensued, in which acts of violence were perpetrated by both sides, and the colonial government employed various measures in an attempt to quash the guerrilla war and keep the palawa peoples away from the European-colonised areas.5 In November 1828 Governor Arthur declared martial law and formed six roving parties to kill or capture palawa peoples (additional roving parties were also established by colonialists themselves).6 Several years later in 1830, the infamous “Black Line” sought to sweep the “most hostile Aboriginal bands” onto the Tasman and Forestier’s Peninsulas7. This military operation involved 2200 men who “assembled on the northern and western edge of the settled districts and marched across the colony with the objective of driving the Aborigines into the Forestier and Tasman peninsulas, which would become an escape-proof reservation.”8 This attempt to spatially isolate the palawa peoples from the European settled areas would later be achieved with the settlement on Flinders Island. The Black Line operation however proved a failure, as the palawa peoples were able to

3 Henry Reynolds, Fate of a Free People, Updated and rev. ed. (Camberwell, VIC: Penguin, 2004). p. 4. 4 N. J. B. Plomley, ed. Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834 (Hobart: Tasmanian Historical Research Association, 1966), pp. 375-76. 5 Deplorable acts of violence were regularly carried out against palawa women, revealing a particularly vicious aspect to the conflict. These acts were not always documented and as a result exist on the margins of the war as secondary events to the murders that were carried out by both sides. Robinson records a conversation with a European colonist in Oatlands who recounted that, “the natives had been shamefully treated; the stockkeepers had chained the females to their huts with bullock chains for the purpose of fornication. These grievances have become so numerous and common that any further comment than has already been made upon similar occasions would be useless. Such facts as these do certainly tend to raise an indelible blot on the annals of this colony, to remove which will require an extraordinary degree of future well doing on their behalf.” Ibid., p. 90. 6 Lyndall Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians, 2nd ed. (St. Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 1996). pp. 101-02. 7 Reynolds, Fate of a Free People: p. 117. 8 John Connor, "Recording the Human Face of War: Robinson and frontier conflict," in Reading Robinson: companion essays to Friendly Mission, ed. Anna Johnston and Mitchell Rolls (Hobart: Quintus Publishing, 2008), p. 178. 203 simply pass through the line at will. Historian John Connor has noted that Robinson’s Friendly Mission journal provides a valuable palawa perspective of the Black Line operation. 9 Following the failure of the Black Line, missionary George Augustus Robinson travelled through the west and northwest coast of Tasmania in an effort to negotiate 10 a settlement with the palawa peoples. 11 Robinson had previously been employed managing a mission established on Bruny Island where a number of the South East people were accommodated.12 At the start of December 1829 Robinson received a letter granting him permission to travel to Port Davey “for the purpose of endeavouring to effect an amicable understanding with the aborigines in that quarter, and through them, with the tribes in the interior.”13 This would commence Robinson’s so called Friendly Mission journeys that took place over four years, from 1830 to 1834. These journeys lead Robinson to be likened to “some Pied Piper” who “persuaded them [the palawa peoples] to give up the ten year conflict and follow him to Flinders Island.”14 Vicki Matson-Green, a current day palawa inhabitant of Flinders Island, has explained the relocation of palawa peoples from mainland Tasmania as “achieved through a process of broken promises which assisted in the emotional and physical demise of a majority of those concerned.”15 The degree to which negotiation actually took place with the palawa peoples is questionable, and it is clear that at times Robinson used intimidation to effect what he described as his “work of conciliation”.16 In whatever way it transpired, the ultimate outcome of these missions by Robinson was the establishment of the settlement at Wybalenna on Flinders Island in the Bass Strait. The palawa peoples from mainland Tasmania and a number of women residing on islands in the Bass Straits were gradually

9 Ibid., p. 179. 10 Historian Henry Reynolds has suggested in Fate of a Free People that a verbal agreement was struck that failed to be later upheld by the colonial government. Not honouring the verbal agreement lead to the palawa peoples sending a petition in 1847 to Queen Victoria. 11 Reynolds, Fate of a Free People: p. 5. 12 Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 124. 13 Colonial Secretary, ‘Colonial Secretary to Robinson, 1 December 1829’ in Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834, p. 89. 14 Steve Thomas, John Moore, and Open Channel Co-operative, Black Man's Houses, (Fitzroy, VIC: A Steve Thomas/Open Channel Production, 1992), videocassette (VHS), 58 min. 15 Vicki Matson-Green and Ida West, "In the Care of Spirits," Island (Sandy Bay, Tas) Winter, no. 79 (1999): p. 37. 16 N. J. B. Plomley, ed. Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839 (Sandy Bay, TAS: Blubber Head Press, 1987), p. 725. 204 relocated to the government mission at Wybalenna. These people all bore the “marks of violence perpetrated upon them by the depraved whites…Some have musket balls now lodged in them…Some of the natives have slugs in their bodies and others contusions, all inflicted by the whites.”17 The establishment of Wybalenna followed a number of failed settlements, first on Bruny Island as previously mentioned, then Swan Island,18 Gun Carriage Island,19 ‘The Lagoons’20 on Flinders Island and Green Island21 (off the east coast of Flinders Island). A settlement also existed on the Hunter Islands where Robinson temporarily moved palawa peoples from the Tasmanian mainland before consolidating the communities at Wybalenna.22 Table 4 provides a brief overview of the various settlements and their periods of occupation. There were a number of Commandants who managed Wybalenna for the colonial government during the period of its occupation: William James Darling, who began his period of command whilst the settlement was still at The Lagoons (March 1832 – September 1834)23; Henry Nickolls (24 September 1834 – November 1835)24; George Augustus Robinson (October 1835 – February 1839)25;

17 Ibid., p. 464. 18 In 1830 Robinson established a temporary settlement on Swan Island and by mid-December there were 33 palawa residents. A number of the women who had been residing with sealers were relocated there from other Bass Strait islands. Vivienne Rae-Ellis, Black Robinson: Protector of Aborigines (Carlton, VIC: Melbourne University Press, 1988). p. 66. Swan Island lacked vegetation and was deemed unsuitable for a permanent settlement. James Fenton and James Backhouse Walker, A History of Tasmania from its Discovery in 1642 to the Present Time (Hobart: J. Walch and sons, 1884). p. 114. 19 Following a recommendation from Robinson, a settlement on Gun Carriage Island located off the larger Cape Barren Island in the Bass Strait was established. Robinson set up a temporary camp on the nearby Preservation Island on 16 March 1831 for a few days before the move to Gun Carriage Island. Rae-Ellis, Black Robinson: Protector of Aborigines: pp. 68-71. 20 The Aboriginal settlement was moved from Gun Carriage Island to the Lagoons on Flinders Island because it was found to be too small and lacked wild animals. Fenton and Walker, A History of Tasmania from its Discovery in 1642 to the Present Time: p. 114. The Lagoons site was unsuitable for occupation; fresh water had to be dug from holes near the beach and supply ships docked at Green Island off the east coast some five kilometres away. Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 160. 21 After a skirmish occurred at the end of January, the palawa peoples were temporarily moved to Green Island but supplies ran out by the following month and they were then moved back to the Lagoons. ———, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 162. 22 Robinson described the Hunter Islands settlement in a letter dated 16 August 1832 to Henry Dowling. In a postscript to the letter Robinson noted the “situation is pleasant and the numerous conical huts with grass gives it the appearance of a populous village...” "Letter from George Augustus Robinson to Henry Dowling, Hunter Islands, Van Diemen's Land, 1832," (University of Tasmania Library. Available online http://eprints.utas.edu.au/7266/). 23 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, pp. 57 & 72. 24 Ibid., p. 78 & 88. 25 Ibid., p. 90. 205 Robinson’s son, George Robinson junior (February 1839 – April 1839)26; Malcolm Laing Smith (April 1839 – August 1841)27; Peter Fisher (August 1841 – June 1842)28; Henry Jeanneret (June 1842 – December 1843)29; Joseph Milligan (December 1843 – March 1846)30; Henry Jeanneret (March 1846 – May 1847)31; and Joseph Milligan (March 1847 –October 1847)32. Much of the discussion in this chapter focuses on the periods during which Darling and Robinson were Commandants at the settlement. More documentation is available from these periods than under subsequent Commandants in the later phases of the settlement. It was also under the commands of Darling and Robinson that the two phases of building that characterised the settlement took place. In later years, maintenance was either undertaken on the existing building stock or was not done, leading the buildings to fall into disrepair.

26 Ibid., p. 112. 27 Ibid., pp. 121 & 31. 28 Ibid., pp.131 & 33. 29 Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 200. 30 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 134. 31 Ibid. 32 Ibid. 206

Location of Aboriginal Period of Occupation Reason for Closure Settlements Swan Island 4 November 1830 – Only intended as a 16 March 183133 temporary settlement however, it also lacked sufficient vegetation. Gun Carriage Island 24 March 183134 – Considered too small and mid November 183135 lacked wildlife. The Lagoons 10 November 1831 36 - Supply ships docked some February 1833 5 km away, and fresh water had to be dug from holes at the beach. Wybalenna February 1833 – Economically inefficient. October 1847

Table 4. Tasmanian Aboriginal settlements in the Furneaux Island Group and their period of occupation, including brief notes regarding principal reasons for closure.

Various pragmatic reasons lead to the decision to select Flinders Island as the site for the Wybalenna settlement. Some valuable lessons had been learned from the previous settlements and their failures. Four main factors however influenced the decision to select Flinders Island. Firstly, and perhaps in the eyes of the colonialists most importantly, the island was considered inescapable, and in addition to this the palawa peoples would be protected from kidnap by sealers.37 The sealers or Eastern Straitsmen as they called themselves, although not discussed within the context of this chapter, were historically represented as a destructive force and a “homogenous group.”38 It should be noted that

33 Ibid., p. 30. 34 Ibid., p. 33. 35 Ibid., p. 35. 36 Ibid., p. 37. 37 Clive Turnbull, Black War: the extermination of the Tasmanian Aborigines (Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire, 1948). p. 138. 38 Patsy Cameron, Grease and Ochre: the blending of two cultures at the colonial sea frontier (Launceston: Fullers Bookshop, 2011). p. 120. 207 such a view is no longer considered to be representative of their role.39 Secondly, there was an adequate supply of food and water. Thirdly, Flinders Island was thought to offer opportunity for amusement, as the palawa peoples would be able to hunt for game.40 Fourthly, and finally, it was considered to facilitate communication with the Tasmanian mainland and provide suitable anchorage for vessels.41 The Aborigines’ Committee also considered Maria Island as a possible option for a settlement but these four factors swayed the decision in favour of Flinders Island.

Flinders Island is the largest island in the Furneaux Group of islands.42 Europeans originally referred to Flinders Island as Great Island, before it was renamed in honour of its cartographical documenter Matthew Flinders.43 The granite ridge Mt. Strzelecki cuts across the island in a north-east/south-west direction dominating Flinders Island’s topographical landscape.44 To the west of Mt. Strzelecki are coastal plains and to the east are “wider flats.”45 On the east coast of the island rise three hills called the Patriarchs, so named by Matthew Flinders.46 The coast, and in particular the east coast where the settlement of Wybalenna was established, is characterised by the presence of “sand dunes, lagoons, and off-shore shoals.”47 The predominant vegetation type is dry schlerophyll forest, “dominated by E. viminalis, E. ovata and E. amygdalina.”48 The less fertile soils along the coasts support the growth of eucalypt woodland and she-oak woodland.49 Matthew Flinders, the Commander of the Investigator, visited Flinders Island in February

39 For the most detailed account of the Eastern Straitsmen and their relationship with the North East Nation, or “Coastal Plains Nation” as historian Patsy Cameron terms the nation, see: ibid. 40 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 19. 41 Turnbull, Black War: the extermination of the Tasmanian Aborigines: p. 139. 42 The Furneaux Group of islands as they are collectively termed are named after Captain Tobias Furneaux, who named both Cape Barren Island and the Sister Islands while on Cook’s second voyage. R. M. Fowler, The Furneaux Group, Bass Strait : a history (Canberra: Roebuck, 1980). p. 3. 43 Ibid., p. 12. 44 Judy Birmingham, Wybalenna: the archaeology of cultural accommodation in nineteenth century Tasmania (Sydney: Australian Society for Historical Archaeology, 1990). p. 21. 45 Ibid. 46 Fowler, The Furneaux Group, Bass Strait : a history: p. 12. 47 Birmingham, Wybalenna: the archaeology of cultural accommodation in nineteenth century Tasmania: p. 21. 48 Ibid., p. 22. 49 Ibid. 208 1802 and described the island as “nearly a square, of which each side is from three to five miles in length.”50

The four factors that swayed the decision to select Flinders Island as the site for the settlement were put to the test once Wybalenna was occupied. The difficulty in maintaining an adequate supply of fresh water was one aspect of life that plagued both settlements on the island, first at the Lagoons and then later at Wybalenna. Rainfall on Flinders Island is significantly lower than that on the Tasmanian mainland.51 Average annual rainfall “brought by prevailing westerly winds ranges between 650-875mm.”52 The highest rainfall occurs on the Strzelecki Peaks in the south, while the east coast generally experiences less rainfall (725-750mm).53 Matthew Flinders commented on the lack of fresh water easily available on the island, saying that the northern region was carefully explored but to little avail as “the nearest approach to success was in finding dried-up swamps, in which the growing plants were tinged red, as if the water had been brackish.”54 Another factor that influenced the decision to select Flinders Island was the anchorage for supply vessels. Suitable anchorage exists off the west and south coasts of the island.55 However, it was found that strong winds would often importune supply vessels making their way from Hobart or Launceston attempting to reach the island to drop anchorage off the west coast. These supply vessels “were frequently unable to battle westwards through the Bass Strait south of the Furneaux group. When they could, they could often only beat north as far as Green Island, their cargoes being lightered on to

50 Matthew Flinders, A Voyage to Terra Australis; undertaken for the purpose of completing the discovery of that vast country, and prosecuted in the years 1801, 1802 and 1803, in His Majesty's ship the Investigator, and subsequently in the armed vessel Porpoise and Cumberland schooner. With an account of the shipwreck of the Porpoise, arrival of the Cumberland at Mauritius, and imprisonment of the commander during six years and a half in that island, Facsim. ed., 2 vols., vol. 1 (Adelaide: Libraries Board of South Australia, 1966). p. 124. 51 The Tasmanian mainland receives over 2700mm of rainfall annually on the west coast. Birmingham, Wybalenna: the archaeology of cultural accommodation in nineteenth century Tasmania: p. 21. 52 Ibid. 53 Ibid. 54 Flinders, A Voyage to Terra Australis; undertaken for the purpose of completing the discovery of that vast country, and prosecuted in the years 1801, 1802 and 1803, in His Majesty's ship the Investigator, and subsequently in the armed vessel Porpoise and Cumberland schooner. With an account of the shipwreck of the Porpoise, arrival of the Cumberland at Mauritius, and imprisonment of the commander during six years and a half in that island, 1: p. 125. 55 Birmingham, Wybalenna: the archaeology of cultural accommodation in nineteenth century Tasmania: p. 21. 209 Settlement Point or even carried overland.”56 Flinders Island was also selected as an appropriate site for the settlement as it was believed to afford a plentiful supply of game. The island is home to the Bennetts wallaby, pademelon, and potoroo.57 It is wallabies that are referred to when ‘game’ or ‘kangaroo’ on the island is discussed in the historic literature, not kangaroo, as is found on mainland Tasmania. Several species of mouse58 are native to the island, as well as echidna, several types of possum59 and rat60, among various other fauna. Hunts would be a regular occurrence referred to in Robinson’s journal, although eventually the game began to run out. After a period of occupation at the settlement, the shortcomings of Flinders Island began to be revealed. Whilst environmental factors on the island obviously presented their challenges, the building stock itself presented a different set of manmade trials for the residents.

56 Ibid., pp. 22-23. 57 Jean Edgecombe, Flinders Island and Eastern Bass Strait, 2nd ed. (Sydney: J. M. Edgecombe, 2007). p. 140. 58 New Holland Mouse and Tasmanian Pouched Mouse. Ibid. 59 Brush-tail Possum, Ring-tail Possum and Pigmy Possum. Ibid. 60 Eastern Water Rat and Eastern Swamp Rat. Ibid. 210

Figure 17. Map showing the location of Gun Carriage Island, Wybalenna and The Lagoons, as well as the anchorage at Green Island. (after “Land Information System Tasmania.” accessed 1 October 2013, http://maps.thelist.tas.gov.au/listmap/app/list/map).

211 Wybalenna was “erected upon the grassy plain contiguous to the shore” (Figure 17).61 The location of the settlement has also been described as “situated on a windswept, partially wooded undulating promontory.”62 It was occupied from February 1833 to October 1847.63 The name Wybalenna (it was referred to by the palawa peoples as Wyba- Luma64) translates to mean Black Men’s Houses, thus reflecting the centrally important role the buildings would play throughout the years of occupation of the site. Permanent buildings constructed to align with western European concepts of how a building should look, and the manner in which it should function, could be considered symbolic of the supposed amelioration of the palawa peoples who inhabited them. For instance, Robinson records being apparently told by Robert, or presumably Maul.boy.heen.ner65, that “prior to my [Robinson’s] arrival they had no houses fit to live in, and when they were in their own country they had only bushes and bark; now they have fine houses.”66 This statement in Robinson’s journal implies that the new buildings at Wybalenna demonstrated an ‘improvement’ on the classical buildings of the palawa (described in detail in Chapter 6). This suggests the inferiority of classical palawa buildings. Of course, it must be acknowledged that this statement is a paraphrased conversation between Robert and Robinson. We must remember that Robinson may have been selective in what was recorded, to present the settlement in a positive light. The comparison between palawa and European building types in the description relies upon emphasis in “only bushes and bark” (own emphasis here) – this of course may not have been perceived by palawa residents as an inferior building material, but could have been stated in contrast to the new use of stone as a construction element for habitations which was not used in the same way in classical palawa building. In a sense, occupation of the buildings at Wybalenna arguably provided a lens through which the palawa peoples were judged, in ways not necessarily related specifically to the buildings – virtues such as cleanliness, morality and

61 James Backhouse and George Washington Walker, ‘Backhouse and Walker’s Report, Summer 1833- 1834,’in Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 268. 62 Birmingham, Wybalenna: the archaeology of cultural accommodation in nineteenth century Tasmania: p. 15. 63 Reynolds, Fate of a Free People: p. 159. 64 James Erskine Calder, Some Account of the Wars, Extirpation, Habits etc. of the Native Tribes of Tasmania (Hobart: Fullers Bookshop, 1972). p. 38. 65 As identified by Plomley. Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 879. 66 Ibid., p. 553. 212 civilised behaviour became qualities entangled with, and revealed by, inhabitation of space. As such the buildings arguably played two roles. From the colonialists’ perspective the buildings were not simply inhabited by their residents, it was hoped or assumed that the buildings would bestow on, or permeate the palawa peoples with associated European qualities. For the palawa peoples the buildings became sites where they were expected to conform to a western European spatial organisation quite different from that which is revealed by palawa buildings such as open-sided domes. The dubious motivation of the settlement reflected in the nomenclature of the peninsula, Civilisation Point, where Wybalenna was built, was described in the controversial 1978 film The Last Tasmanian67 as focused on “changing ‘savages’ into ‘respectable’ citizens: clothes for the skin, agricultural food for the stomach, the English language for the tongue and Christianity for the soul”.68 Robinson described the purpose of the earlier settlement at Bruny Island as the “amelioration” of the palawa people, which would be achieved in two ways, by “Civilisation” and “Instruction in the principles of Christianity.”69 Wybalenna too had the same purpose. It was a place to transform among other cultural practices the nomadic habitus of the palawa peoples through the inhabitation of permanent buildings to be occupied all year around.70 Indigenous artefacts sent from the settlement became a sort of cultural capital that exhibited the ‘otherness’ of the palawa residents being ‘civilised’. From Wybalenna officialdom distributed palawa artefacts to visitors and officials. In the journal entry for 28 June 1836 for instance George Robinson records a promise to “send by next opportunity spears, waddies and shell necklaces.”71 Whilst, the palawa peoples were encouraged to adopt European ways at Wybalenna, they were at the same time kept at a distance from the European colonialists by being spatially separated from the

67 The controversial nature of this 1978 documentary is described in the text Archaeological Theory and the Politics of Cultural Heritage published in 2004 (see pages 180-183). The documentary attracted criticism from the Indigenous community for its perpetuation of the dying race myth due to its failure to acknowledge the existence of contemporary palawa peoples. The documentary also sparked criticism for raising the question of genocide in relation to the Wybalenna and Oyster Cove settlements. Laurajane Smith, Archaeological Theory and the Politics of Cultural Heritage (London: Routledge, 2004). 68 Rhys Jones in Tom Haydon et al., The Last Tasmanian, (Avalon Beach, NSW: Maxwell's Collection [distributor], 1978), videocassette (VHS), 104 min. 69 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 56. 70 It would be in a similar vein many years later in the 1960s, when a policy of ‘transitional housing’ began to be adopted in most states throughout Australia in response to interest generated in Indigenous housing following the 1967 referendum. See, Paul Memmott, "Aboriginal Housing: the state of the art (or non-state of the art)," Architecture Australia (June 1988). 71 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 362. 213 Tasmanian mainland. Wybalenna reveals not only a metaphorical dislocation where the palawa peoples were placed within the new strictures of colonial authority, but also their physical removal from traditional lands and building types.

The previous chapter outlined the variety of building types constructed across Tasmania, however at Wybalenna a ‘one-size fits all’ building solution was developed. In relation to the diversity of building types and cultural variance across Tasmania, it is important to note that the cultural make-up of the palawa population at the settlement was constantly changing, as new groups of people arrived with Robinson following his sorties to relocate additional people. Originally “the community consisted of two main groups, those from eastern Tasmania and those from the Big River/Oyster Bay region. In 1833, people from the west coast joined them.” 72 This cultural difference caused various pressures, however communication between the palawa peoples was one aspect evident to officialdom at the settlement. It was recognised that those from the east and west coast of Tasmania initially had some difficulties in communicating with one another because of their language differences, but developed a kind of “lingua franca.”73 The adoption of terms from different languages as a means to aid communication, is comparative to the mixing of practices that facilitated living in the western European buildings. In order to appreciate the adoption of European practices by the palawa peoples and their mixing with traditional practices, as well as the apparent resistance to western European spatial ordering, the two main phases of buildings constructed at the settlement will first be outlined.

Building phases Accommodation at Wybalenna was split into two phases. Until July 1837 the palawa residents “lived in dirt-floored, wattle and daub thatched huts.”74 When visiting the site of the new settlement at Pea Jacket Point75 (later renamed Wybalenna), missionary George

72 Johnston, "The Little Empire of Wybalenna: becoming colonial in Australia," p. 19. 73 Ryan, Tasmanian Aborigines: a history since 1803: p. 230. 74 Judy Birmingham, "Meaning from Artefacts: a question of scale," Australasian Historical Archaeology vol. 10, no. 1992 (1992): p. 31. 75 Plomley suggests that the renaming of Pea Jacket Point was as the result of a suggestion by the Governor that an Indigenous name be found for the site. Wybalenna, as previously mentioned, translates to mean Black Men’s Houses. Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 65. 214 Washington Walker noted that two of the huts were complete and “are constructed of turf and wattles lined with grass, and are superior to any in the old settlement” at The Lagoons.76 Walker also visited The Lagoons, noting that the palawa peoples at the settlement there resided in “three rude dwellings, called ‘Break-winds,’ which are merely sloping roofs reaching to the ground, formed of boughs, and closed at the ends. They are surrounded on three sides by a fence of boughs.”77 This description of the buildings at The Lagoons is perhaps a little misleading, for in the joint report to the colonial secretary that stemmed from the visit by Quaker James Backhouse and George Washington Walker, the ‘break-winds’ are described there as “thatched roofs sloping to the ground, open at the top, and closed at the ends, with the exception of one small aperture as a doorway.”78 These conflicting descriptions highlight the sometimes misalignment between the application of terms to buildings. The buildings inhabited by the palawa peoples at The Lagoons, were perhaps more similar to a pointed dome than a windbreak, although it is not possible to definitively determine this. At The Lagoons a “break-wind” was also used as a Chapel, although the use of the term ‘wind-break’ and ‘break-wind’ in the historic literature also presents a similar difficulty in understanding the typology actually employed.79 The descriptions supplied by Backhouse and Walker are unfortunately the only available descriptions of the buildings that existed at The Lagoons.80 The buildings at The Lagoons should not be confused as forming part of the two phases of construction work that took place at the next settlement at Wybalenna. However, a background understanding of The Lagoons helps to better frame the buildings of Wybalenna. N. J. B. Plomley has highlighted in relation to The Lagoons that “it was realised very soon that the site was totally unsuited for an aboriginal settlement”, and thus little energy was expended on construction.81 The first phase of building at the new settlement of Wybalenna revealed a commitment to the chosen location both in terms of labour and expenditure of funds,

76 James Backhouse and Charles Tylor, The Life and Labours of George Washington Walker, of Hobart Town, Tasmania (London: A.W. Bennett, 1862). p. 105. 77 Ibid., p. 97. 78 James Backhouse and George Washington Walker, ‘The report of a visit to the Penal Settlement of Port Arthur, and to the Aboriginal Establishment on Flinders Island etc. by James Backhouse and Geo. W. Walker’ in Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, pp. 250-51. 79 Backhouse and Tylor, The Life and Labours of George Washington Walker, of Hobart Town, Tasmania: p. 106. 80 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 58. 81 Ibid., p. 57. 215 and as a consequence of this, the imposition of western European buildings and spatial ordering upon the palawa peoples.

The wattle-and-daub cottages built at Wybalenna in the first phase of building under the direction of W. J. Darling were 28ft by 14ft with a central double fireplace dividing the space into two, each apartment accommodating approximately six people.82 The overall settlement consisted of the following buildings: “living quarters for civil staff, two cottages for the military, and huts for the convict labourers. There were nine double huts for the Aborigines, a large provision store…”83 Missionaries Backhouse and Walker visited the settlement in summer of 1833-34 and provided the following report to the colonial secretary:

The village consists of about twenty cottages, nine of which are occupied by the Aborigines…the buildings are of wattles and plaster, white-washed both inside and out, and with thatched roofs. Being of so slight a texture, several of those inhabited by the blacks are already undergoing repairs. These are placed a few yards from each other, extending in the form of a crescent, in front of which is a garden of about an acre and half in extent. There is an interval of at least quarter of a mile between the dwellings of the Aborigines and those of the assigned servants. The cottages of the Commandant and other officers84 are placed in such a position as to command a full view of both sections of the settlement, an arrangement on the whole judicious.85

82 Ibid., p. 65. 83 Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 183. 84 It should be noted that there were both civilians and military personnel stationed at Wybalenna and the settlements that preceded it. The role of the military detachment can be best “summarised by the word ‘guard’”, which encompassed stopping the escape of the Aboriginal population, “to guard the stores against robbery and the convicts against escape; to prevent the convicts attacking the civil officers and to control them generally, and so on.” Authority at the settlement rested in the hands of the commandant, who was a civilian appointed to the post by the Colonial Secretary, except in the case of Darling who was himself a military officer. General day-to-day decision-making was left in the hands of the commandant, however the colonial government in Hobart dictated the broad policies enacted at the settlement, and of course the initial establishment of the settlement. All dominions of the British Empire fell under British rule, however at the micro-level, the settlement was managed by the Colonial Secretary in Hobart, and in the immediacy of day- to-day life, by the civilian commandant appointed to the post by colonial authorities. Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, pp. 47-48. 85 James Backhouse and George Washington Walker, ‘Backhouse and Walker’s Report Summer 1833- 1834’ in ibid., p. 269. 216 This description highlights a panopticon86 effect in operation at the settlement. The village was carefully arranged to facilitate voyeurism of the inhabitants by those in command. The settlement was an “artificial society”, as one visitor later described Wybalenna, its configuration and elements, entirely conceived in the hopes it would achieve the Europeanisation of the palawa peoples partly through the constant scrutiny of their behaviour.87

The buildings constructed in this first phase of the settlement (Table 5) soon fell into a state of disrepair, and by 1836 one visitor to Wybalenna commented that “to induce these people to become domesticated you must provide them with the means of internal comfort…”88 A link was thought to exist between the ill health of the palawa peoples and their accommodation during this phase, prompting calls to the government to provide improved housing.89

86 Foucault describes the “effect of the Panopticon”, in a critique of Bentham’s Panopticon, as the ability “to induce in the inmate a state of conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power.” Michel Foucault, "Panopticism (Extract)" in Neil Leach, ed. Rethinking Architecture: a reader in cultural theory (New York: Routledge, 1997), p. 361. 87 Major Thomas Ryan, cited in Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 186. 88 Major Thomas Ryan, cited in Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 635. 89 Ibid. 217 Element Material Doors Timber Windows - Structure White-washed wattle and daub/plaster90 Roofing Grass thatch91 Flooring Dirt floors or brick (not all brick floors completed)92 Heating Fireplace93 Furnishings Timber bedsteads94

Table 5. Overview of apartments that housed the palawa peoples in phase 1 of the settlement.

90 James Backhouse and George Washington Walker, ‘Backhouse and Walker’s Report Summer 1833- 1834’ in ibid., p. 269. 91 James Backhouse and George Washington Walker, ‘Backhouse and Walker’s Report Summer 1833- 1834’ in ibid. 92 W. J. Darling, ‘Summarised appendix list of buildings on the settlement by W. J. Darling’ in ibid., p. 272. 93 Ibid., p. 65. 94 W. J. Darling, ‘Summarised appendix list of buildings on the settlement by W. J. Darling’ in ibid., p. 272. 218 Element Material Doors Timber doors numbered with black paint95 Windows Imported glass96 Lattice windows97 Structure Stone exterior Brick diving walls Mortar and Lime Roofing Grass and wattle thatch98 Flooring Brick / Timber floor boards Heating Fire place Furnishings Grass bedding Table 6. Overview of apartments that housed the palawa peoples in phase 2 of the settlement.

After Robinson’s arrival at the settlement in October 1835, terraced brick apartments were constructed, “an undertaking which he considered vital because he attributed their [the palawa peoples] poor health to bad housing.”99 Historian Lyndall Ryan also suggests that the building project was instigated as a diversion following the news that Robinson was unlikely to be offered the position of “protector of the Aborigines at Port Phillip” and be allowed to take the “Aborigines from Flinders Island” with him.100 According to Ryan, “the Aborigines at Wybalenna greeted his news with dismay.”101 This second phase of building did not commence until March 1837.102 Once the building works eventually took place, Robinson erected a brick L-shaped terrace containing twenty apartments, each

95 Ibid., pp. 488-89. 96 Birmingham, Wybalenna: the archaeology of cultural accommodation in nineteenth century Tasmania: p. 60. 97 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 468. 98 Ibid., pp. 492-93. 99 Ibid., p. 92. 100 Lyndall Ryan, "The Aborigines in Tasmania, 1800-1974 and their Problems with the Europeans" (PhD thesis, Macquarie University, 1975), p. 248. 101 Ibid. 102 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 92. 219 accommodating two families, with brick or wooden floors and a thatched roof (Table 6).103 The apartments were of a similar type to those erected in Britain “for rural labourers, with stone exterior and brick partition walls.”104 Walter George Arthur105 (c. 1820-1861), one of the palawa authors of The Flinders Island Weekly Chronicle, stated on 16 November 1837: “And now you see that all your houses are getting finished they will be done in a very short time.”106 Henry Reynolds has commented that Walter George Arthur was often positioned by commentators of the time as representative of the amelioration of the palawa peoples, and descriptions of building works such as that contained in The Flinders Island Weekly Chronicle would have contributed to this framing.107 In this second phase of building some existing buildings on the site were improved and new ones constructed, such as the bathing house108 and the chapel on which work commenced in 1837.109 Robinson estimated the value of the terraces, including labour and material, to be in the region “from ten to twelve hundred pounds, about £60 per house.” 110 Today, the chapel is the only building left standing at the site, reconstructed, some might say wrongly, by the National Trust of Australia (Tasmania) in the 1970s.111

103 Ibid. 104 Birmingham, "Meaning from Artefacts: a question of scale," p. 31. 105 Walter George Arthur was a Ben Lomond man although he became separated from his people in unknown circumstances. He spent time in an orphanage in Hobart where he learned to read and write. Walter resided at the Flinders Island settlement where he was one of the writers of The Flinders Island Weekly Chronicle. He was believed to have drowned in May 1861. For a more detailed account of Walter Arthur see Reynolds, Fate of a Free People: pp. 16-26. 106 Walter George Arthur, ‘The Flinders Island Weekly Chronicle the 16th of November 1837,’ in Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 1013. 107 Reynolds, Fate of a Free People: pp. 20-21. 108 “The bathing house is very strongly built of logs and wattled with teatree and thatched with grass, with rustic seats and table; is about 9 by thus-” Robinson follows this description in his journal with both a plan and perspective view of the bath house. Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 535. 109 Ibid., p. 92. There is a sketch by Robinson of an elevation of the chapel in his 27 December 1835 journal entry. Ibid., plate 26. 110 Ibid., p. 483. 111 From a heritage conservation perspective, the chapel was restored beyond what today would be considered appropriate conservation practice - it was essentially reconstructed using reused materials from other sites, as well as new materials. There is no distinction between the original fabric and the conservation work that was carried out. For instance, a new ceiling beam was treated to closely match the two extant beams. At times, artistic license was used to interpret what the chapel would have looked like from the Robinson period. A traditional-looking fan light was included above the door to the chapel, despite there being no evidence to support that such a window had existed. This is not however to cast judgment on the 220

Figure 18. Map of Wybalenna believed to be based on Robinson’s 1838 map. (F.S. Edgar, 1838, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW– Call no. Z / M4 889.1/1838/1, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/album/albumView.aspx?itemID=982574&acmsid=0.)

Robinson drew a map of the settlement in 1838, perhaps making use of the drawing board that had been constructed for him.112 The location of Robinson’s map is unfortunately unknown, however F. S. Edgar of the Survey Office made a copy of the map in that same year.113 The map drawn by Edgar is now held in the Mitchell Library of the SLNSW (Figure 18). The map distinguishes the construction material of the buildings at the settlement, with yellow indicating stone, red indicating brick construction and brown intentions of those involved in the work on the chapel, or criticize retrospectively what was considered appropriate heritage practice at the time. It is important though that the chapel is not mistakenly understood as being extant from the period that the Wybalenna settlement was occupied. Joan Mason, "Restoration of Wybalenna Chapel," (Flinders Island: FHRA Archives. Item no D281-5 2001). 112 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 565. 113 Don Ranson and Brian J. Egloff, "The Application of Earth-Resistivity Surveys to Australian Archaeological Sites," Australasian Historical Archaeology vol. 6 (1988): p. 59. 221 indicating mud. The terraces are indicated being entirely constructed of stone, despite the fact that the walls dividing the apartments were in fact constructed of brick. Archaeologist Judy Birmingham has explained that “the dominant feature of the Settlement plan, although not quite central, is the Native’s (sic) Square and Cottages, with its water casks, and the Chapel.”114 The map provides a good indication of the layout of the settlement including showing such detail as the fencing of gardens and the network of pathways, including the Serpentine Walk that lead to the landing place at the beach.115 According to Birmingham, serpentine walks were common features of government settlements from this period, and therefore this feature feeds into a larger story about the fashions and attitudes towards created landscapes at that time. 116 A proposed aqueduct is indicated on the plan, however this project is believed to have never come to fruition. What might be best described as ‘ephemeral elements’ are also indicated on the map. For instance, the locations of several events are also included on the map, such as the place of the marriage between Mary Ann and Walter George Arthur, which Robinson describes in his 16 March 1838 journal entry.117 This event was clearly considered an expression of the ‘civilising’ of the palawa peoples through the observation of Christian practices. In addition to this, the close proximity of the terrace and chapel is worth noting, as the relationship between the two buildings emphasises the prominent role the church was seen to have in achieving the ‘civilising’ of the palawa peoples. One aspect in relation to the design of the terraces that is communicated by the map is their orientation on the site. A majority of the terraces were not orientated so the interior would benefit from light penetrating from the north, which would have helped to warm the spaces. Such a failure indicates the incompetent application of western European building techniques. An architect did not design the terraces, George Augustus Robinson designed the terraces and they were constructed by

114 Birmingham, Wybalenna: the archaeology of cultural accommodation in nineteenth century Tasmania: p. 132. 115 There seem to be some discrepancies between the descriptions of the settlement contained in Robinson’s journal and the map. For instance he explains that the Serpentine Walk commenced “behind my quarters to the landing place at the beach through a teatree forest…” Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 308. 116 Birmingham, Wybalenna: the archaeology of cultural accommodation in nineteenth century Tasmania: p. 132. 117 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, pp. 542-43. 222 convict labour.118 Robinson refers to his architectural authorship of the buildings in his journal entry of 6 March 1838:

They are provided with every comfort, they are taught the principles of religion, and it is not among the least of the advantages that I have been enabled by my talent of architecture and building to add to this further by erecting them warm and comfortable habitations to live in.119

In this description, Robinson also seemingly distinguishes between architecture and building. Robinson however was not a trained architect. Thus the terraces were based on principles that the builders and instigators of the project were familiar with, or had acquired through their inhabitation of such spaces. The terraces were consequently arguably buildings without the application of architecture. Instead of providing a platform for the expressive interests of architects, the buildings reveal the cultural assumptions of western Europeans of the time – what they assumed a building was and did, including ideas about spatial ordering.

In an attempt to improve the existing accommodation until the new terraces were completed, Robinson undertook some provisional works in 1835, relocating the entrance doors to the buildings constructed by Darling, in an effort to stop westerly winds blowing directly into the interiors.120 Robinson believed that the establishment of gardens and erection of fences was beneficial in making the buildings “warmer and more convenient. These people in warm weather like to live in the open air, and by having these fences they could lay under them and could be screened from the wind”.121 It is fair to assume that the term “fences” implies a form of windbreak. Robinson also felt this improvement would help to reduce what he called the “herding together of people”.122 Robinson recorded in his journal, dated 18 December 1835, some of the alteration works undertaken, stating that; “The chimneys in the upper huts formerly occupied by the natives I had taken down,

118 Ryan, Tasmanian Aborigines: a history since 1803: p. 230. 119 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 539. 120 Ibid., p. 92. 121 Ibid., p. 320. 122 Ibid. 223 and with the bricks built up the front of the native huts, which makes them warm, dry and wind tight, and secure from dogs and rats”.123 In addition, Robinson had workmen adapt “the further native hut for a school and chapel” that would allow him to instruct the palawa peoples in Christianity and instigate European teaching pedagogy.124 The new chapel was completed on the 2 December 1835 and the first of the palawa peoples were moved into their renovated accommodation on this date.125

Resistance to the buildings The palawa peoples displayed various methods of resistance to European buildings and their spatial ordering. Several examples are selected here for discussion. Interiors of the terraces were painted, buildings were physically damaged, traditional practices were adhered to within the confines of the interiors, and exterior artefacts were brought into the interiors, thereby rupturing the interior/exterior division created by third space, as desired within western European building.

In resistance to the European buildings forced upon them, some traditional practices continued to be undertaken, such as the painting of interiors. Robinson recorded in his journal entry of 26 December 1835 seeing paintings on the walls of the palawa peoples’ accommodation. He recorded, “In several huts are to be seen rude drawings on the walls of ships, others of letters and a variety of devices and hieroglyphics such as they have been accustomed to make in their own country.”126 Unfortunately, Robinson does not describe the medium used to create these drawings. What his description does reveal is a mixing of visual content from both palawa and European cultures, and therefore an adaptation of this cultural practice. When viewed from within a European lens, the painting of the whitewashed walls could be considered a form of vandalism of the building, and therefore a method of resistance to the restrictions of the accommodation. What the undertaking of the practice better highlights though is the clear desire by the palawa residents to adapt the buildings to feel more familiar. This is arguably still a form

123 Ibid., p. 324. 124 Ibid., p. 309. 125 Ibid., p. 311. 126 Ibid., p. 329. 224 of resistance to the European buildings, as they had clearly not been embraced and inhabited as the European colonisers had intended.

Physical damage to the buildings reveals another form of resistance by the palawa peoples. In 1836 walls to the catechist’s house were knocked down by twelve of the palawa boys. Robinson recorded that “the boys broke the house and beat down the walls”.127 Was the destruction of the walls a desire to break down third space – the space of construction and building materials separating inside and outside - and consequently the spatial ordering employed by the building? This act could be framed as such, or simply be considered the result of rambunctious youth or, alternatively, as a symbolic attack on Christianity and its attempts to civilise. The catechist was unpopular at Wybalenna, with Robinson describing him as “very querulous and litigious.”128 It is possible the catechist had behaved in a manner that gave offence to the boys, resulting in the retaliation in the form of vandalism to his house. Whatever the reason that motivated the action of the twelve boys, the specifically selected target for the aggression was a building and its third space.

Some traditional practices continued to be undertaken by the palawa peoples while at Wybalenna, such as choosing while in their own accommodation to “sit in a state of nudity”.129 Traditionally, the palawa peoples coated the skin with a mixture of animal fat and ochre which acted as insulation. 130 Yet at Wybalenna this practice no longer continued and instead garments of “coarse woollen frock coats” were worn by the palawa men and “coarse woollen gowns with belts” were worn by the women.131 In later years, during his time as commandant, Robinson did not allow the use of ochre and even recorded in his journal confiscating ochre and other cultural artefacts stored by the palawa peoples. For instance, Robinson recorded in December 1835 being brought “a quantity of spears and red ochre…from the natives in the bush which they had concealed”.132 The buildings were intended to instil expected behaviour such as propriety and break down

127 Ibid., p. 371. 128 Ibid., p. 460. 129 James Backhouse, ‘Journal of James Backhouse Summer 1833-1834 – Journal 1833’ in ibid., p. 262. 130 James Allen, ‘Letter from J. Allen to G. A. Robinson, 10 September 1837,’ in ibid., p. 921. 131 James Backhouse, ‘Journal of James Backhouse Summer 1833-1834 – Journal 1833’ in ibid., p. 262. 132 Ibid., p. 312. 225 past practices, replacing them with a sedentary European lifestyle. However, as this example of nudity in the buildings reveals, cultural practices continued and the buildings in this way became sites of subtly expressed resistance.

Perhaps most revealing in relation to modes of space and their cultural specificity is the distribution of artefacts both inside and outside the terraces. Archaeological investigation took place at Wybalenna in 1971. Following the closure of the settlement in 1847, the land was used as a farm and the buildings on the site fell into a state of disrepair.133 The excavation in the 1970s revealed a number of artefacts, including a significant quantity of animal bone and shells and small amounts of European artefacts such as bowls, buttons and bottle glass.134 The finds reveal spatial implications from their distribution. As explained by archaeologist Judy Birmingham:

These [the artefacts] were scattered both inside and outside the two cottages, and it was their distribution which initially raised the spectre of the interpretive dilemma. In Eurocentric terms, while the finds were those familiarly found on nineteenth- century colonial sites globally, their distribution on investigation related oddly to the stone and brick cottages.135

The distribution of artefacts reveals a resistance by the palawa peoples to the European spatial constructs of public and private space; the inside-outside dichotomy as dictated by built forms. The palawa peoples were not governed by the buildings’ construction controlling inside and outside, for traditional ‘outside’ elements were uncovered during the archaeological investigation inside, including flora and fauna.136 As outlined in Chapter 6, accounts of classical palawa buildings note, “the bones of small animals, such as opossum, squirrels, kangaroo-rats, and bandicoots, were numerous round their deserted

133 Birmingham, Wybalenna: the archaeology of cultural accommodation in nineteenth century Tasmania: p. 134. 134 ———, "Meaning from Artefacts: a question of scale," p. 31. 135 Ibid. 136 Judy Birmingham refers to previous investigation of the faunal matter both in and around Cottage 7 and 8. This investigation unearthed quite an abundance of brush wallaby, pademelon and brush-tailed possum remains, and in lesser quantity, ring-tailed possum, wombat, brown bandicoot and potoroo remains. For more detail regarding their distribution see ibid. 226 fire-places.”137 Interiors were often decorated and insulated with feathers. In the journal Robinson kept during his travels around Tasmania he noted that, “the native huts are mostly covered with feathers on the inside, of magpies, cockatoos, crows, and feathers of different feathered animals which they catch or kill with waddies.”138 It is perhaps then unsurprising that according to Birmingham there was “no simple, European style recognition of the household contents’ paradigm visible in the overall distribution of artefacts”139 at Wybalenna. This reveals a resistance to western European spatial ordering, but also perhaps indicates a desire to incorporate western European and Indigenous forms according to the perceived usefulness of this within palawa culture.

Another form of resistance reveals itself in the abandonment of the terraces when the palawa inhabitants became ill. According to historian Vivienne Rae-Ellis in her text Black Robinson: protector of aborigines, “Robinson admitted in his journal…that the blacks camped opposite the new houses, not in them. When one woman died, the rest of the blacks moved to the bush.”140 Visiting the settlement in 1837, Dr A. Austin described the windbreaks to which the palawa people would move when ill. He said that they were constructed by placing “several sticks nearly upright in the ground and, after binding them together, covering them with blankets, skins or other covering…”141 The use of a variety of both traditional and non-traditional materials for the construction of the windbreaks reveals an adaptation of this practice, responding to the constraints and opportunities of the location. In relation to the settlement on Gun Carriage Island, Robinson noted in his journal entry of 30 April 1831 that “The reason Dr McLachlan assigned for the people not sleeping in the house was that they said if they slept outside the devil would cure them.”142 Thus, confinement within first space was thought by the palawa peoples to exacerbate illnesses, whilst on the other hand the colonists believed the interiors would

137 David Collins, cited in H. Ling Roth, The Aborigines of Tasmania (Hobart: Fullers Bookshop, 1969). p. 87. 138 Plomley, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 722. 139 Birmingham, "Meaning from Artefacts: a question of scale," p. 33. 140 Rae-Ellis, Black Robinson: Protector of Aborigines: p. 130. 141 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 919. 142 ———, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829- 1834, p. 347. 227 aid in preventing the onset of illness. Many years later on the Australian continent, following the 1967 referendum when ‘transitional housing’ was introduced in parts of Australia, transitional houses were sometimes abandoned “because people chose to return to living in a humpy which they found more comfortable.”143 This relationship with housing, which affects how it is engaged with as a result of cultural practices, further reveals the unrecognised health potential of palawa buildings and just how differently European housing stock approaches such matters. The procession of death at Wybalenna is perhaps best captured by one particular incident described by Robinson (and also retold by Rae-Ellis in her text).144 On 9th October 1837, Petuck, Tidderap, Tinnenoop and Ponedimeneep left their new homes, to which all the people had been relocated a month earlier, and went into the bush awaiting their deaths. The selected place was “well sheltered, and secure from wind and which the place where they had been was not.”145 The next day Robinson recorded visiting the women in “one hut or screen”, who were covered with blankets and lay around “expiring embers.” Truganini accusingly levelled the claim at Robinson that “there would be no blackfellows to live in the new houses.”146

Health impact of the buildings Due to the high number of mortalities at Wybalenna, the interiors of the terraces have been linked to the procession of death at the settlement. Lyndall Ryan has described the terraces as a place:

where the aborigines would privately become transformed into white Christian people. But of course in the terraces was where they became sick because they were closed in. Because they had no fresh air or very little fresh air, they became very damp. Many people died in those terraces and in a sense the terraces are a kind of death camp.147

143 Memmott, "Aboriginal Housing: the state of the art (or non-state of the art)," p. 35. 144 Rae-Ellis, Black Robinson: Protector of Aborigines: p. 130. 145 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 484. 146 Ibid., p. 485. 147 Lyndall Ryan in Thomas, Moore, and Co-operative, Black Man's Houses. 228 A death camp these terraces did indeed seem to become, for in the first year at Wybalenna 37 palawa died, and over the next five years another 73.148 In Robinson’s journals the deaths are recorded along with an indicative map of the burial locations.149 The interiors of the terraced houses whilst fulfilling physical needs from a European perspective, evidently failed rather dismally at satisfying the spiritual and psychological requirements of the palawa peoples. As described in the 1999 National Report for the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, “Aboriginal people do not necessarily equate ‘home’ with the built structure of a house.”150 Philosopher Simone Weil has stated that “to be rooted” and therefore presumably to be at home or in a place one belongs “is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul.”151 The notion of rootedness facilitated by ‘home’ in its many senses is “very much a function of geographic, cultural and socio-economic background.”152 This unmeasurable aspect of the buildings at Wybalenna must be acknowledged as being a contributing factor to the illness that resulted.

Whilst from a European perspective the interiors may have provided ‘comfort,’ confinement in such interiors produced undesired affects on the palawa inhabitants. Environmental-psychologist Joseph Reser has explained that when an individual lacks control over their space it “elicits anxiety and stress, and detrimentally affects a person’s competence to deal with other problems associated with a changing situation.”153 The interiors would have failed to facilitate socio-spatial relationships and other culturally specific practices thus resulting in psychological tension being aggravated by the buildings. Paul Memmott provided a summary of cultural influences impacting spatial

148 Haydon et al., The Last Tasmanian. 149 In the book Pride Against Prejudice Ida West explains that her generation were told about the Flinders Island settlement and alludes to the sale of the deceased, possibly for medical research stating: “We were told that the Aborigines were put into a big grave. Probably only half of them were put there; the others were not there at all. They were sold.” Ida West and Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies., Pride Against Prejudice: reminiscences of a Tasmanian Aborigine, Repr. with additions. ed. (Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies, 1987). p. 99. 150 Australia. Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. and Elliott Johnston, National report, 5 vols. (Canberra: Australian Govt. Pub. Service, 1991). Vol. 2, 18.3.4. 151 Simone Weil, cited in Michael Jackson, At Home in the World (London: Duke University Press, 1995). p. 3. 152 Australia. Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. and Johnston, National report: Vol. 2, 18.3.1. 153 Ibid., Vol. 2, 18.3.7. 229 considerations included in the 1991 report for the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. The four points were concerned with material possessions, kinship behaviour or socio-spatial relationships, privacy and crowding, and impact of mourning on the usage of spaces.154 All four of these points would have failed, to varying degrees, to have been properly managed during the period of Wybalenna’s occupation, due to the lack of cultural understanding by those in officialdom. This is not to level blame in relation to the buildings that were constructed at Wybalenna. The buildings, particularly those instigated by Robinson, were seemingly constructed in the hopes that they would improve the health of the palawa occupants. This aspect of the buildings at least was motivated by good intentions.

Despite the intention of the builders, deaths continued to occur amongst the palawa population at Wybalenna. Historian Henry Reynolds has commented that whilst “many writers have suggested that Flinders Island was a particularly unhealthy environment” a member of the medical staff residing there “judged it more salubrious than mainland Tasmania.”155 Reynolds’ observation is important as it suggests health ramifications did not necessarily result from poor western European standards of accommodation.156 Reynolds points out that during the period between September 1833 and May 1837 only one of seventy convicts on Flinders Island died from disease, whilst 40 palawa residents passed away.157 Due to this horrific number of deaths George Robinson’s eldest son apparently described Wybalenna rather graphically in his diary as a ‘charnel-house.’158

The notion that the accommodation was not necessarily constructed to a poor European standard, although it must be said that poor maintenance regimes resulted in dilapidation particularly in the later years of the settlement, points to the effect of western European buildings – both physical and psychological. A link between the health of the palawa peoples and the buildings at Wybalenna becomes most apparent when the mortality rate

154 Ibid., Vol. 2, 18.3.5. 155 Reynolds, The Question of Genocide in Australia's History: an indelible stain?: p. 84. 156 The cottages were swept twice daily and Robinson proudly noted the cleanliness and order of the buildings contents. George Augustus Robinson, cited in Calder, Some Account of the Wars, Extirpation, Habits etc. of the Native Tribes of Tasmania: p. 40-41. 157 Reynolds, The Question of Genocide in Australia's History: an indelible stain?: p. 84; ibid. 158 George Robinson junior, cited in Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 193. 230 and the relationship between where these people had resided on mainland Tasmania and their resultant building typology is considered. In 1833 “a great mortality occurred in the rainy season…chiefly among the males from the western side of Van Diemen’s Land, who had been the shortest time at the settlement”.159 In that year thirty-one palawa peoples passed away.160 It was on the west coast of Tasmania where the building of warm, well-insulated dome buildings was considered to be the dominant building typology. According to Backhouse and Walker, the majority of the deaths during this period at Wybalenna were attributed to “sudden and acute affections of the chest”.161 During the years between 1831 and 1835, the period of occupation of both The Lagoons and the Wybalenna settlements, little documentation was kept in regard to the cause of death of the palawa peoples at the settlements; however, some evidence suggests that pneumonia was the “principal cause of death” over this period.162 N. J. B. Plomley has noted that the palawa peoples from the eastern region of Tasmania had developed greater immunity to diseases generally “as a result of their longer contact with Europeans”.163 Yet a link between housing and health appears to have been recognised by the residents because later in 1836, Major Ryan noted that “the Western tribes scarcely ever enter their huts”.164 Robinson levels blame in his journal, albeit without going so far as to name names, at those previously in charge of the settlement. In December of 1835, he commented upon the situation he found the palawa peoples living in upon his arrival writing:

159 James Backhouse and George Washington Walker, ‘Backhouse and Walker’s Report Summer 1833- 1834,’ in Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 269. It should also be noted that in July 1833 a number of west coast palawa not residing on Flinders Island also similarly died as a result of “sudden and acute affections of the chest” ibid. This should be considered in the context of these people being placed at Grummet Island in Macquarie Harbour, originally built with the intention of housing female convicts but later used as a penitentiary —— —, Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834, p. 808. The palawa peoples whom Robinson had placed there temporarily, prior to their transportation to the Flinders Island settlement, were poorly treated and not properly provided for; “the prisoners did all they could to annoy them by pouring down water through the boards, urinating upon them and hammering on the floor.” Ibid., p. 770. As a result they became “terrified to stop any longer at the penitentiary as they said the devils were there…” ibid., p. 771. 160 ———, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 83. 161 James Backhouse and George Washington Walker, ‘Backhouse and Walker’s Report Summer 1833- 1834,’ in ibid., p. 269. 162 Ibid., p. 916. 163 Ibid., p. 75. 164 Major Thomas Ryan, cited in ibid., p. 635. 231

Again, the absurdity of placing the native huts in exposed situations is so opposite to what ought to have been the case, and so contrary to what they had been accustomed that any person endowed with the least discernment would not have so acted. It has been admitted by the medical men who have attended them that the prevailing diseases of the aborigines are catarrh, inflammation of the lung, etc, which originates in undue exposure to cold. Then why place them in bleak situations exposed to the prevailing winds? It is certainly the very height of inconsistency and folly, and I may add cruelty and injustice. Had the people been left to themselves they would have selected warm and sheltered situations, but it is very evident they had no choice in the matter…165

Beyond the environmental factors impacting the buildings, other health issues related to the accommodation was evident at the settlement. For instance, upon his arrival at Flinders Island Robinson found the accommodation, including his own, to be flea infested. He considered the thatched roofs to be “resorts for all kinds of vermin, the fleas in particular”.166 Thus Robinson considered material selection an overlooked aspect of the buildings’ construction that impacted the health of residents.

Even with the new housing project instigated by Robinson, who linked the affects of housing to health, as his above comment shows, Wybalenna remained plagued by disease and death. As expressed in the 1884 text A History of Tasmania from its Discovery in 1642 to the Present time:

Many perished…by that strange disease nostalgia, so often fatal to the soldiers and peasants of Switzerland, who die in foreign lands from regret of their native country. They were in sight of Tasmania, and as they beheld its not distant but forbidden shores, they were often deeply melancholy.167

In light of such portrayals by historians over the years, Henry Reynolds has highlighted the importance to also see the “adaptability and resourcefulness of the community, the

165 Ibid., pp. 326-27. 166 Ibid., p. 330. 167 Fenton and Walker, A History of Tasmania from its Discovery in 1642 to the Present Time: pp. 374-75. 232 continuing zest for life, the political passion” that still found expression.168 This also found expression in the observance of cultural traditions, such as ceremonial dancing at night, and hunting expeditions “for muttonbirds and shellfish.” 169 Henry Reynolds suggests that by 1846 “the surviving Aborigines knew they were exiles but they did not consider themselves prisoners.”170 Yet undoubtedly, the huge upheaval experienced by the palawa peoples existing in state of exile was compounded by the presence of the built environment within which they had to live, whilst still attempting to observe important cultural practices in the midst of spaces organised according to western European conventions.

168 Reynolds notes that writers often “tell a simple story- sentimental and sad- which has no room for complexity. It would be spoilt if it encompassed the view of Walter Arthur and his friends that the Tasmanians were a free people.” Reynolds, Fate of a Free People: p. 189. A key document in understanding this complexity and political activeness of the community finds expression in a petition signed by 8 of the palawa men in February 1846, written in an effort to prevent the return of the unpopular Dr Henry Jeanneret to Wybalenna. In this document they describe themselves as “the free Aborigines Inhabitants of Van Diemen’s Land” and outline that they had formed an agreement with Governor Arthur and George Augustus Robinson “which we have not lost from our minds since and we have made our part of it good.” Reynolds considers this important historic document in detail in his text Fate of a Free People. Petition cited in ibid., pp. 7-8. 169 Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: pp. 196-97. 170 Reynolds, Fate of a Free People: p. 159. 233

Figure 19. Watercolour view of Wybalenna by artist John Skinner Prout (John Skinner Prout, 1846, Allport Library and Museum of Fine Arts, Tasmanian Archive and Heritage Office, Australian Digital Resource Identifier AUTAS001131821225, http://catalogue.statelibrary.tas.gov.au/item/?id=100956.)

Perhaps the most damning view of the settlement is provided by the palawa peoples themselves, who according to Robinson presented the following view; “The natives complain and say why keep us here to starve. We don’t want to live here. Let us go to our own country and we can live. There is plenty of kangaroo in our own country.”171 These comments highlight the lack of provisions at the settlement, the desire of the palawa peoples to be allowed to leave Wybalenna, and their belief that Wybalenna was a place with no future. A watercolour produced in ca.1846 by colonial artist John Skinner Prout (Figure 19) captures the longing of the palawa peoples to leave Flinders Island. The painting shows the terraces constructed during Robinson’s time as Commandant at the settlement, with the scene being observed by palawa residents in the foreground. According to Lyndall Ryan, Commandant Joseph Milligan invited the artists John Skinner Prout and Francis Guillemard Simpkinson de Wesselow to visit the settlement in

171 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 326. 234 1845.172 This scene is painted from the vantage point of Mt. Franklin. Flagstaff Hill can be seen in the background on the right of the picture plane. Oral histories recount the palawa peoples retreating to the nearby Flagstaff Hill looking not to the settlement but instead their homelands across the water. As retold by Vicki Mason-Green:

Auntie Girlie remembers the story of some of the Palawa people climbing the hill behind the ‘settlement.’ Here they would sit and look longingly at their homelands, which were visible from the crest of the hill…Both these women [Auntie Ida and younger sister Auntie Girlie] remember being told of how some of the people made wings to attach to their arms to fly back to their country.173

In addition, Robinson recorded in his Flinders Island journal, on 21st December 1835, discussions with the “chiefs and other natives” related to a move from Flinders Island to “New Holland.” Robinson said, “The natives are extremely anxious for the change. I do trust the home government will remove the people from this place.”174 In an 1835 report to the Colonial Secretary, the then Commandant Henry Nickolls, reported that the palawa peoples were keen to learn to write, so they could send a letter to the Governor in the hopes they would be allowed to return to their Country. Nickolls explained “They all ardently wish to be removed…”175 Over 10 years later the palawa peoples were removed from Wybalenna, however they were not allowed to return to their own Country, instead being placed in another settlement, this time located at Oyster Cove on the Tasmanian mainland.

The eventual decision to abandon the Wybalenna settlement in favour of the Oyster Cove station was a result of not only the sickness at Wybalenna, but the abundance of kangaroo and wallaby at Oyster Cove, the prospect of saving costs and the protests by the palawa peoples of their cruel treatment by Commandant Dr Henry Jeanneret whose command at

172 Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 200. 173 Matson-Green and West, "In the Care of Spirits," p. 41. Historian Lyndall Ryan has also commented that “on a clear day a number of women would sit on Flagstaff Hill and look across to the north-east coast of Van Diemen’s Land ninety kilometres away and lament the loss of their country.” Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 196. 174 Plomley, Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835-1839, p. 326. 175 Henry Nickolls, ‘Report to the Colonial Secretary, 9 July 1835’ in ibid., p. 85. 235 the settlement was terminated in May 1847.176 Jeanneret became so disliked that Walter George Arthur wrote a letter of complaint in 1846 to the Governor, complaining of Jeanneret’s behaviour.177 In 1847, the remaining 47178 palawa at Wybelanna made the journey to an ex-convict probation station at Oyster Cove on the Tasmanian mainland south of Hobart, which had apparently been “abandoned because it was a health hazard.” 179 The accommodation at Oyster Cove however “differed little from the Aboriginal terrace at Wybalenna. The buildings formed a rectangle with a church and school house at one end and living quarters at the other.”180 A very similar formula was applied despite it having shown considerable negative consequences at Wybalenna.

Conclusion This chapter described palawa resistance to western European spatial ordering when European accommodation was built at the settlement of Wybalenna on Flinders Island. A number of commandants managed Wybalenna during its period of occupation from 1833 to 1847. The periods during which James Darling and George Robinson were commandants were focused on in this chapter because under their administration two phases of building took place. It is these two principal phases of building that most characterise the architectural history of the Wybalenna settlement. Until July 1837 the palawa peoples lived in dirt-floored buildings constructed of wattle and daub. These buildings soon fell into a state of disrepair. The second phase of building took place following Robinson’s arrival in October 1835, although construction work on the brick terraces did not commence until March 1837.

The built environment of the Wybalenna settlement provided European-style accommodation for the relocated palawa inhabitants quite different from the classical buildings described in Chapter 6. Wybalenna also presented a situation in which the

176 Geoff Lennox, Oyster Cove Historic Site: a resource document, National Parks and Wildlife Service Occasional Paper No.9 (Sandy Bay, TAS: National Parks and Wildlife Service, 1984). pp. 9-11. 177 For a copy of the document see Anita Heiss, Peter Minter, and Nicholas Jose, Macquarie PEN Anthology of Aboriginal Literature (Crows Nest, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 2008). pp. 12-14. or Reynolds, Fate of a Free People: pp. 7-9. 178 The group was comprised of 15 men, 22 women and 10 children. Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 203. 179 Haydon et al., The Last Tasmanian. 180 Ryan, The Aboriginal Tasmanians: p. 205. 236 diverse cultural groups of the nine Nations of Tasmania were brought together to co-exist in unfamiliar181 living conditions. Although the settlement has been subject to scrutiny by a variety of disciplines, the built environment of Wybalenna and its impact on the palawa residents has not previously been assessed from within architectural epistemology.

The name Wybalenna, which means ‘Black Men’s Houses’, alludes to the central importance of buildings at this site. This chapter has shown that the palawa peoples demonstrated a resistance to both western European spatial ordering and the buildings constructed at Wybalenna. Various forms of resistance were described in the chapter. The continuation of the traditional practice of decorating interiors with paintings is one such example of resistance. The continuation of this practice suggests that the buildings’ first space had not been inhabited as officialdom intended. Another example of resistance is the physical damage caused to buildings. Robinson recorded an incident in which twelve palawa boys “beat down the walls”. Whatever motivated the actions of the boys, the building’s third space formed the foci of the event. Another form of resistance was the continued adherence to traditional practices, including sometimes sitting in the buildings without clothing. Possibly the most compelling example of resistance to western European spatial ordering is revealed by archaeological finds in the 1970s at the Wybalenna site. The artefacts found did not reveal typical patterns of inhabitation, as expected on European building sites. Outside elements were found inside the buildings, indicating that spatial ordering, or first and second space, was not necessarily adhered to by residents. The final form of resistance described in this chapter was the abandonment of the buildings when the palawa peoples became ill. When illness struck the palawa peoples moved to inhabit classical buildings such as windbreaks. As previously described in Chapter 6, windbreaks demonstrate a different approach to the organisation of space.

An array of factors contributed to the mortality rates of the palawa residents at Wybalenna, including psychological impacts of separation from Country, change in diet and introduction of new diseases. However it seems that the imposition of western European buildings with their highly defined spatial ordering contributed to the decline of the palawa peoples residing there, due to the link that exists between health and buildings.

181 For many of those present. It must be noted that Walter Arthur for instance grew up in an orphanage in Hobart. 237 More than anything, this chapter has revealed that European spatial ordering is deeply embedded within attempts to design for Indigenous Australians, and highlights that there is an ongoing colonial approach which is today disguised within this model.

This chapter contributed to the hypothesis by outlining the application of western European spatial ordering at the settlement of Wybalenna and the resistance to it. This chapter thereby continues the narrative of spatial ordering engaged with by this thesis.

The next chapter will demonstrate an Indigenous spatial organisation method illustrated by Ring Trees. This will further illustrate that spatial organisation in Indigenous Australia is different from that of western European spatial ordering.

238 CHAPTER 8 A NON-ARCHITECTURAL SPATIAL ORGANISATION METHOD: RING TREES IN WADI WADI COUNTRY

Introduction Resistance to western European buildings, modes of inhabitation and consequently spatial ordering was described in the previous chapter in relation to the built environment of Wybalenna on Flinders Island. This chapter will now consider a spatial organising principle illustrated by Ring Trees, which supports the thesis that spatial divisions in Indigenous Australia are not ordered according to those of western Europeans. This chapter will show that Australian Indigenous spatial ordering has a very different, and to some extent far broader meaning than a colonial interior, and operates at a different scale. Ring Trees are designed elements that function as communicative tools, particularly for the purposes of identification and exchange. Ring Trees are culturally significant trees in Wadi Wadi Country that have had their branches purposefully fused together resulting in the formation of ring-shaped openings. This chapter will propose that Ring Trees present us with a fully occupied terrain in an interior-type way, harnessing a variety of social and cultural means of inhabitation of place. Thus Ring Trees provide an opportunity to explore spatial ordering within Indigenous Australia that has until now been little understood. Firstly in this chapter the validation of Indigenous knowledge will be described, coupled with the collection of empirical material for this chapter. Secondly, an overview of Ring Trees and their associated heritage issues will be provided. Thirdly, the broader context of the Ring Trees will be described, including their relationship with the river and forest. Fourthly, specific information will be given in relation to individual Ring Trees, including where appropriate describing their relationship to the river and waterways. The chapter will conclude by reiterating the implications in relation to spatial ordering that Ring Trees engender.

This chapter contributes to the hypothesis stated in the Introduction, that south-east Australian Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority; in addition, it is also hypothesised that colonising western Europeans failed to understand this occupation and that as a result, sought to impose western European spatial ordering in its place, by outlining a case study example of Ring Trees. This discussion will 239 demonstrate that south-east Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority. Ring Trees also enable spatial ordering to be made tangible without relying upon buildings with which to do so.

Validating Australian Indigenous knowledge and forming this chapter Many discussions of Australian Indigenous cultures begin with a description of the length of time that the Australian landscape has been inhabited by Australian Indigenous peoples. Anthropologist Michael Jackson has discussed this trend, and refuted the acceptability of such an opening, suggesting that it is a method of creating otherness and implies a continued primitiveness of Indigenous peoples.1 Artist Michael Riley’s film Quest for Country opens with a statement that seems to provide a remedy to such introductory models:

We [Indigenous peoples] know we have always been here, as opposed to the scientific view that we came from Asia.2

This statement encapsulates the notion that Indigenous knowledge and cultural beliefs need not require Western scientific corroboration – it is unnecessary and sometimes inappropriate. In light of such an approach, this chapter will discuss Ring Trees drawing upon discussion with Indigenous Traditional Owners. These Trees remain firmly in the realm of Indigenous cultural knowledge, and they have thus far not to any great degree been ‘validated’ by quantitative studies and assessments. The discussion of the Ring Trees takes places within a framework of Indigenous cultural knowledge, and as such no attempt has been made here to undertake quantitative scientific or horticultural based assessments of the trees, and it is argued that such an approach is not necessary if Indigenous knowledge is to be truly validated. Working within the context of an architectural and design paradigm and within a qualitative framework, this type of approach is possible and appropriate. Mr Nicholls has also highlighted that purely scientific investigations may fail to consider spirituality and wellbeing.3 For interior architecture, wellbeing of users in space is an important principle underpinning the

1 Michael Jackson, At Home in the World (London: Duke University Press, 1995). p. 62. 2 Michael Riley, "Quest for Country," (1993). 3 Doug Nicholls, personal conversation, 1 August, 2013. 240 discipline, as was described in Chapter 3. Ring Trees in this way provide a synergy with the concerns of interior architecture, offering an opportunity to consider inhabitation of first space that speaks of wellbeing.

Ring Trees are less well known than other methods of intervention of tree forms, such as ‘dendroglyphs’, also called ‘carved trees’, that had decorative patterns engraved for ceremonial purposes,4 and ‘scar trees’ that had sections of bark removed to make canoes, shields, message sticks, coolamons and for the construction of other timber items. Ring Trees have remained largely un-researched within the academic sphere. To date there exist just two published academic sources of information that discuss the trees, although Ring Trees do not form the primary focus of either of these articles.5 These two articles are Rights or Containment? The politics of Aboriginal cultural heritage in Victoria, by planner and geographer Libby Porter, published in the Australian Geographer, and A Story is Like a River: intercultural collaboration in weaving the Murray6, presented at the Selling Yarns: Australian Indigenous textiles and good business in the 21st century by art theorist Kay Lawrence and curator Nici Cumpston. Whilst these two publications are referred to in this chapter, much of the information about Ring Trees of which this chapter is comprised comes directly from Wadi Wadi Traditional Owners.

The gathering of information for this chapter occurred in a number of ways. A literature search was carried out to ascertain the information that could be obtained from primary and secondary source material. As previously stated, only two published sources were located. The author of one of these, Dr Libby Porter was contacted to request additional information about the Ring Trees. Dr Porter kindly provided a list of contacts to follow up and some suggestions regarding the initial hypothesis regarding the trees. As a result of Dr Porter’s direction, contact was made with Mr Doug Nicholls, a Wadi Wadi

4 The engravings into the trunks of dendroglyph trees would sometimes penetrate to a depth of one and a half inches. F.D. McCarthy, Australian Aboriginal Decorative Art, 3rd ed. (Sydney: Australian Museum, 1952). p. 22. 5 In addition, some limited information about the Koraleigh Ring Tree is available on the Wakool Shire Council website. "Koraleigh," Wakool Shire Council, accessed 30 May 2010 http://www.wakool.local- e.nsw.gov.au/about/23333/23337.html. 6 In this article it states that “dug-out canoes” were used to travel along the River. I quoted this information in my own article titled ‘Thrice: blurring demarcation between inside and out’ published in Design Principles and Practices: an international journal. Discussion with Doug Nicholls has subsequently revealed that this information is incorrect, and bark canoes, not dug-out canoes, were used in this region. Doug Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 August, 2012. 241 Community Elder with extensive cultural knowledge and, at that time, Murray Lower Darling Rivers Indigenous Nations (MLDRIN) Director. Mr Nicholls also suggested speaking with his sister Ms Marilyne Nicholls, who is a Community Elder and Wadi Wadi woman of the Nicholls/Karpany/Pinkie family line. Marilyne has a strong connection to the area; born in the area, raised her family in the area and continues to work there. She camps in the tracts of bush discussed, has performed ceremonies there and lives close to the area. She thus has a strong connection to place and is committed to the continued viability and preservation of the land and waterways in terms of both their environmental and cultural significance. Mr Doug Nicholls and Ms Marilyne Nicholls have formed the primary contacts and facilitators for the information in this chapter. There is limited knowledge about the Ring Trees even within the Wadi Wadi community. Mr Doug Nicholls and Ms Marilyne Nicholls are principal holders of this knowledge and as Community Elders their guidance was followed throughout the research process. It is for these reasons that they have formed the primary sources of information that this chapter is based on. Following telephone conversations and an exchange of information via email and post, a visit was arranged for the weekend of 27th and 28th of March 2010, with an as yet unspecified follow-up visit to occur in the future. During the visit I was shown the Ring Trees and other significant sites in the Wood Wood Flora and Fauna Reserve (F.F.R) and Nyah-Vinifera Park by Marilyne Nicholls. My father, Philip Power was also present and took many of the photographs of the Ring Trees contained in this chapter. During the visit it was important to “tune into the land”, as Ms Nicholls describes the process of engagement with place.7 Reflecting on the experience, Ms Nicholls reminds me that there was not simply a physical aspect to the visit - of seeing, talking and learning - but a spiritual context and state of mind.8

Following the visit, discussions continued. As previously mentioned in the Methodology chapter, draft copies of this chapter were sent back and forth to Marilyne and Mr Nicholls, discussion undertaken and edits made to the chapter based on our discussions. This discussion process was not formalised but was organic and collaborative in nature. Rather than positioning myself as the researcher gathering information, I would like to

7 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 8 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 242 suggest that the chapter is the result of close collaboration and discussion between research partners.

At the suggestion of Marilyne Nicholls, a copy of this chapter was also sent to Donna Gorey for her comments. Donna kindly distributed the chapter to Reverend Robyn Davis, Shelley Davis and respected Wadi Wadi Elder Aunty Shirley Davis, for their comment and input. Speaking with Donna by phone she indicated that the chapter had met their approval and there was nothing their family could add or change.9 This was an important validation of the research.

In addition to receiving information from Wadi Wadi Elders, it was also important to consider governmental channels and procedures. Diana Smith, Manager at Aboriginal Heritage Programs, Aboriginal Affairs Victoria, advised that it would be necessary to submit an application for a cultural heritage permit for the Ring Tree research. Once the Department reviewed the application, it was subsequently advised that due to the nature of the qualitative research, the permit would not be required. As advised in a letter dated 14th April 2011:

Further to your clarifying the nature of the proposed methodology in relation to the application, the research will not require any measurement to be carried out for the purposes of locating or describing the trees and will not have any impact or affect on the land. The Department has received advice and a cultural heritage permit will not be required for the purpose of your application.10

Whilst it was determined that a cultural heritage permit was not required for the research on this occasion, the request to submit an application highlights the increasing acknowledgement of the value of research in this field that is qualitative in nature. It indicates that research of this kind is therefore worth tracking within the larger research picture. It was outlined however that it would be necessary to lodge the final thesis with the Victorian Aboriginal Heritage Register. The depositing of the final thesis with the

9 Donna Gorey, personal conversation, 21 August, 2013. 10 Diana Smith, letter to the author, 14 April, 2011. 243 Victorian Aboriginal Heritage Register affords the Wadi Wadi community the ability to continue to document knowledge and understanding of Ring Trees, consolidating this in one accessible location. Written documentation of the Trees is considered to be beneficial, as it will add to their future protection and recognition. Doug Nicholls has said, “every bit of knowledge is needed” about the Ring Trees so that the local Indigenous community can have “pride of place.”11 In order to ensure their protection, the trees are referred to in this chapter according to their general location as agreed with Wadi Wadi Traditional Owners. No specific detailed information regarding their location is provided, such as GPS co-ordinates. This type of locative technique reduces the tree to a point on a map, a mere site isolated from its surrounds which not only presents a protection issue for the trees in terms of potential vandalism but also fails to align with Wadi Wadi episteme.

As part of this research into the Ring Trees, Ms Marilyne Nicholls and I co-presented at the Interstices: under construction symposium. The presentation was called Intertwined: Ring Trees in Wadi Wadi Country. The presentation consisted of a short talk accompanied by a series of photographs of the Ring Trees taken during the visit to the Ring Trees. The presentation stirred discussion from the audience, who were most interested in the Ring Trees and their significance.12 The photographs were shown in the Academy Gallery at UTAS. The photographs were printed at a large A2 scale and mounted on foam core. After the presentation, prepared text explaining the photographs was written in the border of the prints by Ms Marilyne Nicholls and I. Following the symposium, the photographs were posted to Marilyne for the Wadi Wadi community, as an artefact from the symposium. Marilyne has suggested that the photographs be housed for public viewing at Tyntyndyer Homestead in one of the meeting rooms.

What are Ring Trees? Ring Trees are culturally significant trees that have had their branches fused together to form ring-shaped openings. Within Wadi Wadi Country, Red River Gums are the particular tree species that were preferred as Ring Trees.13 As young trees, the supple

11 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 12 Some of the types of questions raised included: Is the grafting still being done?; Do the rings have an alignment?; Do Ring Trees only occur in Wadi Wadi Country?; and, When the Ring Trees are no longer alive, what happens to them in terms of heritage and environmental decay? 13 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 244 branches would have been tied together with “cumbungi string” to train the branches to grow in the form of a ring shape and eventually become fused in this position.14 Prior to European colonisation many of the Red Gums in the area would have been “huge old forest giants”, and the floodplain would have been “covered with tall reeds called cumbungi.”15 It was from these reeds that the string was made to bind the trees to form the rings. The cumbungi reeds would have once grown to a substantial height in the forests where the Ring Trees are located.16 The number of rings in an individual tree varied, and up to four rings in the one tree did occur.17 There are currently “up to 20 trees” in Wadi Wadi Country, which have thus far been identified.18 Although the Ring Trees described in this chapter focus upon those that occur in Wadi Wadi Country, it is believed that Ring Trees exist more broadly across continental Australia, although they have failed to be identified as significant to Australian Indigenous peoples.19 Of the known Ring Trees in Wadi Wadi Country, some are approximately 200 years old. 20 Marilyne Nicholls described the importance of Ring Trees in a submission to the Victorian Environment Assessment Council (VEAC). She described the trees in the following terms:

In the forest are some really old red gum trees that are known as markers and often can be seen near a heritage site. These huge old red gum trees have massive trunks and big branches that are joined together to make a ring. One of the trees had three rings formed in circles on its branches. Unfortunately some of these trees with [rings] had been ring barked around the bottom part of their trunk and have died.21

Ring Trees occur in significant locations, relating to both the natural and cultural landscapes. The trees are known to occur in particular at “river junctions” and in “wetland

14 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 15 Natural Resources and Environment and Friends of the Nyah/Vinifera Forests, "Nyah State Forest & Vinifera River Reserve Touring Map," (2000). 16 Bruce Baxter et al., Matakupat: the Aboriginal history of the Swan Hill area (Swan Hill: Matakupat, 1990). p. 3. 17 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 20 November, 2009. 18 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 19 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 20 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 21 Marilyne Nicholls, letter to Victorian Environment Assessment Council, 17 September, 2007. 245 landscapes.”22 Doug Nicholls has explained that Ring Trees demarcate boundaries and mark other “special areas within a boundary.”23 The Trees mark significant cultural locations in the landscape and have been found at “water junctions and inlets, campsites and burial grounds.”24 Knowledge of these important places which the Ring Trees mark could then be conveyed to visitors to Country involved in trade and ceremony.25 In other parts of Australia the relationship between Ring Trees and the landscape would have differed.26 Ring Trees clearly demonstrate a form of spatial ordering quite different from that expressed by western European buildings. The Trees not only act to demarcate an inside and outside in relation to Country on a landscape level, but do so in a multi-layered way by also marking important individual cultural places.

As living elements Ring Trees required ongoing maintenance. Trees change over time; they grow, may be damaged by adverse environmental conditions or pests, and may need to adapt to a changing landscape. As such, Ring Trees were cared for to keep them healthy. The “local expert would have monitored” and cared for Ring Trees and the places associated with them, to ensure the continuity of important cultural knowledge and practices.27 Healthy Ring Trees were symbolic of a thriving community and healthy ecosystem. This further emphasises that Ring Trees formed a nexus for communities, not only confined to the immediate here and now but across time and over generations. The role of Ring Trees in spatial ordering consequently operated in a spatiotemporal manner.

Early European colonisers, whose impact caused devastation to many of the trees, did not appear to recognise the significance of Ring Trees. European colonisation in the area of the Nyah-Vinifera Forest, where some of these trees can be found, resulted in ring barking and logging of the large trees in the forest for fuel. Trees were logged for the purposes of fuelling “the steam powered water pumping station, local hospital boilers” and for construction of the paddle steamers that were used along the River.28 In the nineteenth

22 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 23 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 24 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 25 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 26 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 27 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 28 Environment and Forests, "Nyah State Forest & Vinifera River Reserve Touring Map." 246 century “River Red Gum extraction was widely practiced to service the paddle steamer trade and other commercial interests. In terms of the trees being used for the paddle steamers, the trees were once again connected and associated with the life of the river, albeit in quite a different relationship transformed by the processes of colonisation.29 During the 1930s, ring barking was extensively conducted to eliminate trees deemed unsuitable for logging…”30 Ring barking is the term used to describe the forestry practice of cutting a “concentric groove” or alternatively removing a “concentric strip around the base of a tree trunk” with the purpose to kill the “central bole and any higher limbs” of the tree.31 In Scarred Trees: an identification and recording manual, prepared for Aboriginal Affairs Victoria by Andrew Long, the aim of ring barking is described as being undertaken to “kill the tree with a minimum of effort, thus increasing the carrying capacity of the land for pasture grasses.”32 The pasture grasses were desired for the purposes of cattle grazing in the area.33 Despite the fact that a number of the Ring Trees in Wadi Wadi Country have been ring barked, these trees remain highly significant for Traditional Owners of the area.

Ring Trees, which have been described as “magnificent,” continue to play an extremely significant role for today’s Indigenous community.34 According to Doug Nicholls, the Ring Trees in Wadi Wadi Country form a recognised place where important cultural ceremonies can take place.35 The recognition of these Ring Trees within state-based cultural heritage management is paramount. Within cultural heritage these trees have not been identified as being of significance to the Indigenous communities of the area, and

29 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 30 Julie Cusack, "Nyah State Forest; an Aboriginal heritage assessment of three proposed forestry coupes," (Melbourne: Andrew Long & Associates, 2000), p. 12. 31 Andrew Long, "Scarred Trees: an identification and recording manual," (Melbourne: Aboriginal Affairs Victoria, February 2003), p. 27. 32 Ibid. 33 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 34 Nici Cumpston and Kay Lawrence, "A Story is like a River: intercultural collaboration in weaving the Murray" (paper presented at the Selling Yarns: Australian Indigenous textiles and good business in the 21st century, Darwin, August 2006). 35 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 247 consequently are not currently heritage listed as individual items. Libby Porter has rightly described the fact that these trees remain unprotected as “a major oversight by the state”.36

Cultural heritage sites have been described as “the physical manifestation of human occupation and utilisation of the landscape, normally relating to cultural groups, processes and activities in the past.”37 Cultural heritage sites often have, as in this instance, continued importance and relevance to the community. They are living places. In the 1970s the Nyah Forest was surveyed and approximately 150 Indigenous sites were documented.38 These sites fell into four categories: “burials, shell middens, mounds and scarred trees.”39 As highlighted by these categories, Ring Trees were not recognised or understood beyond the Indigenous community at the time. In 2000 the Department of Natural Resources and Environment, as it was then known, had granted a license to “selectively log pre-determined forest coupes.”40 Within the boundaries of the coupes it was known that “a number of Aboriginal cultural sites” were “located within the boundaries of these proposed coupes.”41 An Aboriginal heritage assessment of the Nyah Forest was carried out and a subsequent report was prepared in June 2000 in the context “of the proposed forestry activity”, in order to determine to what extent Indigenous heritage would be compromised.42 The resulting document was the Nyah State Forest: an Aboriginal heritage assessment of three proposed forestry coupes. This report concluded that further archaeological investigation was required to resolve a number of issues relating to the Forest and its management. In relation to Ring Trees it contained one paragraph, which read as follows:

36 Libby Porter, "Rights or Containment? The Politics of Aboriginal Cultural Heritage in Victoria," Australian Geographer vol. 37, no. 3 (2006): p. 368. 37 Cusack, "Nyah State Forest; an Aboriginal heritage assessment of three proposed forestry coupes," p. 27. 38 Ibid., p. 42. 39 Ibid. 40 Ibid. 41 Ibid. 42 Ibid. 248 An arborist or botanist should be consulted regarding the formation of ring features within branch structures of mature red river gums and/or other mature native vegetation identified during the survey. This investigation was particularly requested by the Aboriginal community representatives so that issues relating to the identification of ring tree sites could be resolved.43

Apparently, Ring Trees were prevented from being recorded on the heritage register because, according to Libby Porter, there was “no set archaeological criteria for doing so.”44 Porter has highlighted that this reveals a “reliance of scientistic archaeological categorizations of heritage and its ‘significance’” instead of utilising the involvement and knowledge of the community to assist in determining sites of significance.45 Of course, an archaeological assessment of the trees is not needed to recognise their cultural significance - this significance is readily understood by those who hold a cultural association with them, and this does not require validation by scientific methodologies. In 1996 the prospect of potential logging in the Nyah State Forest, after its discontinuation some twenty years previous, spurred community action and Friends of Nyah-Vinifera (FoNV) was formed. 46 The FoNV sought to achieve the future community-based management of the Forest.47 In 2005, the Victorian Environment Assessment Council commenced a Red River Gum Investigation of forests along the Murray River, which included the Nyah State Forest and Vinifera Reserve where a number of the Ring Trees are located. These events occurred in the broader context of a movement by environmentalists and Traditional Owners along the Murray River for further involvement and management of natural resources.48 In 2008 the Victorian Environmental Assessment Council handed down its recommendations that included Indigenous co- management of the Nyah-Vinifera Forest and the reclassification and combining of the Nyah State Forest and Vinifera Reserve into the Nyah-Vinifera Park, in which logging coupes are unable to operate. It should also be noted that the previous Wood Wood Forest

43 Ibid., p. 34. 44 Porter, "Rights or Containment? The Politics of Aboriginal Cultural Heritage in Victoria," p. 368. 45 Ibid. 46 Jonathan La Nauze, "The History of the Barmah-Millewa Campaign," Friends of the Earth Australia, accessed 30 May 2010 http://www.foe.org.au/resources/chain-reaction/editions/105/the-history-of-the- barmah-millewa-campaign. 47 Ibid. 48 For more on this context see ibid. 249 has become redesignated as the Wood Wood Flora and Fauna Reserve, as noted on the Parks Victoria website.49 Despite the Government’s agreement to co-management by Traditional Owners, the Ring Trees continue to exist in a tenuous position although now protected from logging, they remain unrecognised and individually unregistered. The ability to recognise the Trees seems to rest on the existence of criteria that would enable the Trees to be understood within the current framework, rather than adapting the framework to incorporate new artefacts and methods. As a result, not only does this highlight the failure to validate Indigenous knowledge, but it also results in the concealing of a method of spatial ordering that these Ring Trees demonstrate.

In line with Wadi Wadi perceptions of place and landscape, it is necessary to consider the concept of ‘site’ and ‘place’ and how this notion impacts upon understanding Ring Trees, as well as spatial ordering. Julie Cusack, archaeologist and author of Nyah State Forest; an Aboriginal Heritage assessment of three proposed forestry coupes, has explained that “the term ‘site’ is somewhat arbitrary, being used to define limits or foci of activity for interpretational or management purposes. In fact they are elements of a wider cultural landscape which are representative of activities practised in the past.” 50 Sites are considered not as individual, discrete elements in isolation from that which exists around them, but part of a “wider sense of connection between people, place, ancestors and law [lore]” in Wadi Wadi understanding.51 As articulated by one Wadi Wadi Traditional Owner, “They are not sites, they are places of importance to us. They are landscapes, not just a site here and a site there and a site over there.”52 It seems somehow curious that sites are “conceptualized in archaeological and planning terms” as “‘dots on a map.’”53 This is clearly more a necessity of the instruments of planning, legislation and ownership, as articulated by Cusack, than in sympathy with how places should best be engaged with and conceptually understood. Furthering this notion, landscape theorist David Leatherbarrow has described a site as being “a hollow…that has opened under local

49 "Wood Wood F. F. R.," Parks Victoria, accessed 31 July 2013 http://parkweb.vic.gov.au/explore/parks/wood-wood-f.f.r. 50 Cusack, "Nyah State Forest; an Aboriginal heritage assessment of three proposed forestry coupes," p. 27. 51 Porter, "Rights or Containment? The Politics of Aboriginal Cultural Heritage in Victoria," p. 366. 52 Ibid. 53 Ibid. 250 topographical pressures, a fissure or fault that the designer attempts to ‘infill.’”54 A site when considered in this way through an architectural lens is distinctly different from its surroundings, and exists as a new insertion. Ring Trees of course are not new elements in the same sense that a building would be within its context, but rather are altered elements. They are perhaps best viewed as additive rather than subtractive in relation to the broader environment. What becomes clear when attempting to understand the Ring Trees of the Nyah and Vinifera Forest is that it is inappropriate to consider these trees as simply ‘sites’ in the forests. They represent a complex network of knowledge, history and culture. They do not simply demarcate inside and outside in the straightforward sense of a built wall, but instead relate to the specific place and connect other places in the landscape, whilst at the same time indicating boundaries and thresholds. Doug Nicholls has discussed the archaeological technique of implementing ‘buffer zones’ in relation to sites. A buffer zone is defined by the Department of Indigenous Affairs in Western Australia as “an area around a site that must be included inside its registered boundary to ensure the protection of a site.”55 This approach, whilst capturing the root network around trees for instance,56 still essentially treats a ‘place’ as a ‘site’ although extends the boundary of protection beyond the immediate artefact. According to Doug Nicholls, buffer zones do not appropriately recognise the relationship between places across the landscape.57 This illustrates that the spatial implications of Ring Trees are not properly understood, or the appropriate management tools do not exist to afford them the protection that Wadi Wadi Elders desire.

The context - the river and the forests The Ring Trees discussed in this chapter fall within the traditional territorial regions of the Wadi Wadi people in north-west Victoria. As shown on David Horton’s Aboriginal Australia Wall Map (see Figure 8), the Wadi Wadi lands are classified within the Riverine

54 David Leatherbarrow, The Roots of Architectural Invention: site, enclosure, materials (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). p. 19. 55 "Glossary Heritage and Culture," Department of Indigenous Affairs, Government of Western Australia, last modified 2 December, 2010, accessed 20 July 2012 http://www.dia.wa.gov.au/en/Heritage-and- Culture/Resources/glossary/#Bb. 56 Brad Duncan, Joanna Freslov, and David Clark, eds., "Standards for Recording Victorian Aboriginal Heritage Places and Objects Victorian " (Melbourne: Aboriginal Affairs Victoria, September 2008), p. 25. 57 Doug Nicholls, personal conversation, 7 July, 2012. 251 region.58 Wadi Wadi is a subgroup of the western Kulin language group.59 The Murray Lower Darling River Indigenous Nations60 website explains that the Wadi Wadi nation is “located just west of Swan Hill Victoria, extending westward towards Ouyen and south of Robinvale, straddling the Murray River. Wadi Wadi traditional Country includes the major River Redgum stand in Nyah Vinifera Forest.”61 A key feature of the Wadi Wadi landscape is the mighty Murray River (miilu is the Wadi Wadi term for river62), its tributaries, and associated floodplains. The Murray River is Australia’s second longest river of some 2570 kilometres, and acts to demarcate the geopolitical border between New South Wales and Victoria for approximately 1500 kilometres.63 It should be noted that the spelling Wadi Wadi is used in this chapter due to its prevalence in academic literature and Commonwealth publications 64 , however it is acknowledged that the alternate spelling Wati Wati is more generally employed by the people themselves. In addition, more specific language groups fall within the region inhabited by the Wadi Wadi people. In particular within the Wood Wood F.F.R area was the Wért Wért65 language group that fell within the larger Nation of the Wadi Wadi people.66

58 David Horton, "Aboriginal Australia wall map," (Acton: AIATSIS, 2000). 59 "Aboriginal Languages of Victoria - Resource Portal," Monash University, accessed 30 May 2010 http://ilv.usc.edu.au/kulin-language.

60 The website provides the following description of the formation and aims of the MLDRIN: “The Murray Lower Darling Rivers Indigenous Nations (MLDRIN) is a confederation of Indigenous Nations or traditional owners in the lower southern part of the Murray Darling Basin. The group currently compromises of delegates from the Wiradjuri, Yorta Yorta, Taungurung, Barapa Barapa, Wamba Wamba, Mutti Mutti, Wadi Wadi, Latji Latji, Wergaia and Ngarrindjeri Nations. MLDRIN was formed in 1998 during the Yorta Yorta Native Title Case. During this time the Yorta Yorta called for a gathering of all the Indigenous Nations along the Murray River to come together in solidarity of their cause. That first gathering of the Nations along the Murray resulted in the establishment of the Confederation, which further garnered strength and importance after the Native Title determination. However, it should remembered that MLDRIN is an expression of the way the Indigenous Nations have always done business – by caring for country and talking to their traditional neighbours upstream and downstream on the Murray and its sister Rivers, Creeks, Lakes, Billabongs and waterways.” MLDRIN, "About Us," accessed 30 May 2010 http://www.mldrin.org.au/about/. 61 MLDRIN, "Membership- Nations- Wadi Wadi," accessed 30 May 2010 http://www.mldrin.org.au/membership/wadiwadi.htm. 62 Baxter et al., Matakupat: the Aboriginal history of the Swan Hill area: p. 18. 63 Paul Geoffrey Sinclair, The Murray: a river and its people (Carlton, VIC: Melbourne University Press, 2001). p. 16. 64 See for instance, Victorian Environmental Assessment Council, "River Red Gum Forest Investigation," (Victorian Environmental Assessment Council, July 2008). 65 Although signage in the area erected by the Swan Hill Rural City Council employs the spelling Wort Wort, the correct spelling, and that preferred by the local Indigenous community, is Wért Wért, or alternatively Wurt Wurt. 66 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 March, 2010. 252

It is not possible to understand Ring Trees without first forming a picture of the river upon which they depend. The Murray River is, as previously stated, Australia’s second longest river.67 Its main tributary is the Darling River, Australia’s longest river.68 The river was given its English name by Charles Sturt in 1830, in honour of “Sir George Murray, Britain’s Secretary of State for the Colonies.”69 Yet the Murray River was known by various names to Indigenous Australians who lived on its banks, and told of its creation. The Wadi Wadi people call the Murray River Miilu70 (which is the first settlement spelling71) or, as the Wadi Wadi people alternatively spell it, Milloo, meaning “mighty.”72 It was a foci of life and “brought economic riches…, but also, in spring, brought water which flooded the low-lying land (although the flooding also increased the richness of the land).”73 The Murray River has been a protagonist assuming many roles; as a focus of Creation stories and cultural life, as a water source for drinking, as a habitat for riverine species, as a network facilitating communication between neighbours, such as between the Wadi Wadi and Wemba Wemba,74 and the Wadi Wadi and Latje Latje,75 as a major arterial of a network of rivers that enabled colonial explorers to access inland areas,76 as an aquifer supplying agricultural crops, and as a contested body of water whose control and management has become a hot political issue for both State and Commonwealth Governments in the past decade. The future management, protection and care of the River must involve and recognise the interests of the Wadi Wadi people and Indigenous Nations right along the waterways. As explained in the research discussion paper title Indigenous Rights to Water in the Murray Darling Basin:

67 Sinclair, The Murray: a river and its people: p. 16. 68 Ibid. 69 Ibid., p. 17. 70 Baxter et al., Matakupat: the Aboriginal history of the Swan Hill area: p. 18. 71 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 11 August, 2012. 72 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 11 August, 2012. 73 David Horton, "Wadi Wadi," in The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia, ed. David Horton (Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 1994), p. 1137. 74 Baxter et al., Matakupat: the Aboriginal history of the Swan Hill area: p. 5. 75 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 76 Jessica K. Weir, Murray River Country: an ecological dialogue with Traditional Owners (Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press, 2009). p. 30. 253 The Indigenous Nations are the first peoples of the Murray Darling Basin, the first managers, the first to earn their livelihoods, the first to congregate and recreate on the rivers. Because of their cultural connection through law and spirituality, they remain the contemporary custodians and they will likely be the last people of the Murray Darling Basin.77

The abundance that the River enabled has been described rather poetically as “like a string of pearls, because although the whole river contained food, particular areas (or pearls) were able to support intensive food production and Aboriginal habitation.”78 The River is of course intimately connected with the forests that grow along its banks and on its flood plains, examples of such pearls.

The Ring Trees described in this chapter are located in two forest areas: the Wood Wood F.F.R and the Nyah-Vinifera Park. The Nyah-Vinifera Park, previously two separate forests known as the Nyah State Forest and the Vinifera Reserve, is a portion of the River Murray Reserve. In July 2008 the River Red Gum Forests Investigation report recommended the re-categorisation and amalgamation of the Nyah State Forest and Vinifera Reserve into the Nyah-Vinifera Park, an area of 1375 hectares.79 The previous Nyah State Forest was comprised of 808 hectares and the Vinifera Reserve 547 hectares.80 The Nyah portion of the forest is located “30km north west of Swan Hill on a floodplain lying between the Murray River and the Murray Valley Highway and is dissected by an anabranch of the Murray River” called Parnee Malloo Creek.81 The term Nyah, a Wadi Wadi name, translates to mean ‘bend in the river’ in reference to the large bend on which this area is situated.82 Nyah, located on the bend of the river, with Wood Wood and Vinifera on either side, is the hub of ceremony.83 Thus, at a larger scale there is a careful spatial organisation operating in the use of spaces and their arrangement across the forest

77 Monica Morgan, Lisa Strelein, and Jessica Weir, "Indigenous Rights to Water in the Murray Darling Basin: in support of the Indigenous final report to the Living Murray Initiative. Research Discussion Paper #14," (Canberra: Native Title Research Unit, Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 2004), p. 18. 78 Colin Pardoe, cited in Sinclair, The Murray: a river and its people: p. 17. 79 Council, "River Red Gum Forest Investigation," p. 67. 80 Ibid. 81 Cusack, "Nyah State Forest; an Aboriginal heritage assessment of three proposed forestry coupes," p. 5. 82 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 March, 2010. 83 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 254 landscapes. Within the Nyah-Vinifera Park are 19 separate ecological areas (or ecological vegetation classes).84 In particular the landscape is characterised by “large areas of Riverine Swamp Forest and Sedgy Riverine Forest” including smaller areas of “Riverine Grassy Woodland, Spike-sedge Wetland and Riverine Chenopod Woodland.” 85 The previous Nyah State Forest is dominated by old Red River Gums, the botanical name for which is Eucalyptus camaldulensis.86 Red River Gums can reach up to forty-five meters in height and live for one thousand years.87 This possible lifespan is of course partly dependent on whether the trees receive access to the water they require.88 These trees have been described as the symbol of the Murray River.89 The different vegetative zones within the Nyah-Vinifera Park and the Wood Wood F.F.R are clearly distinguishable. In the Nyah-Vinifera Park not far from the road is a belt of box trees. Box trees are able to sustain longer periods without water and can be seen growing in the red soil. This species of trees was once prized for use as fence posts.90 However, Red River Gums require greater quantities of water and are found in association with the clay soil indicative of flood plain areas and thus located closer to the Murray River and its creeks.91 The Red River Gums are very much impacted by the changing health and flows of the river and its waterways. As is described in the 2012 report Preliminary Investigation of Floodplain Vegetation of Nyah-Vinifera Forest:

River regulation and water extraction from the Murray River has had major ecological impacts on the river floodplain ecosystems, reducing the frequency of flooding and altering sediment deposition and carbon transport.

84 Council, "River Red Gum Forest Investigation," p. 67. 85 Ibid. 86 Cusack, "Nyah State Forest; an Aboriginal heritage assessment of three proposed forestry coupes," p. 11. 87 Weir, Murray River Country: an ecological dialogue with Traditional Owners: p. 30. 88 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 89 Larkins and Parish cited, in Weir, Murray River Country: an ecological dialogue with Traditional Owners: p. 30. 90 Environment and Forests, "Nyah State Forest & Vinifera River Reserve Touring Map." 91 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 28 March, 2010. 255 Lack of floodplain inundation has seriously affected the health of many River Red Gums and Black Box, which due to the locality’s generally low rainfall, are dependent on additional watering provided by flood events.92

Figure 20. Scarred Tree in the Nyah-Vinifera Park. (Photograph by author, 28 March, 2010.)

The Nyah-Vinifera Park and Wood Wood F.F.R are culturally significant for Wadi Wadi people. The forest and surrounding area abounds with the history of Wadi Wadi occupation. It is necessary to understand the place as “structured by Wadi Wadi ancestral law [lore], Creator spirits, knowledge and continuing cultural practices…”93 The Park and

92 Damien Cook, "Preliminary Investigation of Floodplain Vegetation of Nyah-Vinifera Forest," Australian Ecosystems, accessed 31 July 2013 http://www.melbourne.foe.org.au/files/Preliminary%20investigation%20of%20floodplain%20vegetation%2 0web.pdf. 93 Porter, "Rights or Containment? The Politics of Aboriginal Cultural Heritage in Victoria," p. 357. 256 Forest abound with the presence of the Wadi Wadi people and the extant evidence of their use of the landscape. A fenced scar tree on the Murray Valley Highway near the Wood Wood F.F.R for instance, has had bark removed for the construction of a canoe. There is however much less obvious and unsigned usage of the Park and Forest that requires the sharing of knowledge by Wadi Wadi Traditional Owners. Figure 20 for example shows another scar tree, a Box Tree that has had a portion of bark removed for the construction of a coolamon. In this part of Australia the coolamon94 was predominately used as a shovelling device.95 It was also used for gathering food such as saltbush seed.96 This tree is un-signposted and thus requires knowledge of how the landscape and its elements were put to use. The tell-tale signs need to be read by those with the knowledge to do so. Marilyne Nicholls has highlighted that unlike the mid-nineteenth century European practice of ring barking that sought to kill the tree, in contrast the Indigenous practice of the removal of a portion of bark and timber thus forming a scar tree, allowed the tree to continue to live. During the visit to the Ring Trees, Marilyne also pointed out burls, the bulbous growths that are “prevalent on hardwood trees” such as Red River Gums.97 These growths were cut from trees and used as water carriers or bowls.98

94 “A carrying dish carved from the roots, trunks and branches of various trees. Coolamons vary in size from about 20 cm to 100 cm. Generally oval, longer than wide and with the long sides higher than the ends, their shape also varied according to use, which included holding food and water, carrying loads, digging, winnowing and cradling babies.” Ian Howie-Willis, "Coolamon," in The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia, ed. David Horton (Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 1994), p. 225. 95 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 28 March, 2010. 96 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 97 Greg Carver, "An Examination of Indigenous Australian Culturally Modified Trees in South Australia" (master's thesis, Flinders University, 2001), p. 95. 98 Ibid., p. 94. 257

Figure 21. The ‘Fruit.’ (Photograph by Philip Power, 28 March, 2010.)

Foods of the Forest and Park that would have traditionally formed dietary staples still grow in the area. Ruby Red Salt Bush, as seen in Figure 21, is a small pea-sized fruit with a seed inside. The green fruits ripen into either a ruby red or bright yellow colour. Marilyne explained that this is generally simply referred to as ‘The Fruit.’ Marilyne said that although these can still be enjoyed while camping or walking in the bush, the plants close to the roadside are avoided as these may be sprayed with chemicals.99 Another food seen during the visit to Nyah-Vinifera Park was ‘Bush Asparagus,’ as seen in Figure 22. The Bush Asparagus was found close in proximity to one of the Ring Trees. The Bush Asparagus is not a traditional food of the Wadi Wadi people. This plant has been introduced to the area and Ms Nicholls suggests that the river transported its seeds in times of flood.100 The Bush Asparagus is thus a contemporary food that is made use of.101

99 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 28 March, 2010. 100 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 101 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 258

Figure 22. Bush asparagus. (Photograph by author, 28 March, 2010.)

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Figure 23. Fragment of Clay Ball held by the author. ‘The Fruit’ can be seen in the background. (Photograph by Philip Power, 28 March, 2010.)

Marilyne explained that Wood Wood F.F.R is particularly associated with ovens102, middens from the river mussels103, and fire sticks that were produced by the Wadi Wadi people. Clay from the river was turned into clay balls (Figure 23) that were put into the fire (waanup in Wadi Wadi104) to be heated, in a similar manner to the Hangi used by the Maori peoples.105 The clay balls would be turned in the fire with the use of long sticks. The nomenclature of the nearby Scout Hall, Kulki Kulki (“meaning fire sticks in

102 “The Wadi Wadi…[constructed] earthen mounds. The mounds were deliberately built up using soil and, in addition, clay was brought in (by canoe during flooding) to make ovens. The clay held heat well and large stones were hard to obtain. Some of the clay was tempered (i.e. had other materials such as sand or grass mixed in), a process very close to the technology which would have allowed the production of clay pottery.” Horton, "Wadi Wadi," p. 1137. 103 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 104 Baxter et al., Matakupat: the Aboriginal history of the Swan Hill area: p. 18. 105 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 March, 2010. 260 Wadi Wadi language”106), reflects the importance of fire-stick production in this area.107 Fragments of clay balls could be seen in different parts of the Forest.

Figure 24. River Reeds growing along the Murray River. (Photograph by author, 27 March, 2010.)

River Reeds known as ‘Reed Spears’ could also be seen growing along the banks of the Murray River (Figure 24). Reed spears are described in Matakupat: Aboriginal history of the Swan Hill area as, “An implement with a hardwood or bone point hafted into the reed shaft” and could be some “2-3 metres in length. It was used for both hunting and offensive actions and could be used by a spear thrower.”108 A spear thrower is a designed artefact “used for propelling spears.”109 Reed spears are representative of layers of both

106 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 24 July, 2013. 107 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 March, 2010. 108 Baxter et al., Matakupat: the Aboriginal history of the Swan Hill area: p. 7. 109 Ibid., p. 8. 261 cultural and technical knowledge.110 Technical knowledge comprised such things as understanding the properties of the materials, their harvesting, and processing or application.111 The river reeds would have once been taller and thicker in size, but due to environmental changes are now much smaller. These plants would have traditionally been used as spears as described above.112 The river reeds would have been cut, cleaned up and had pointed flints fixed to the ends using kangaroo sinew. These river spears were an important commodity and were traded with peoples who did not have access to the necessary materials to make such spears.113 David Horton explains under the entry ‘Trade’ in The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia that, “Groups that owned valued raw materials, or had particular manufacturing skills, exchanged commodities for others which they lacked.”114 There were significant levels of trade across Indigenous Australia involving both “movement of goods (both raw materials and manufactured items) and extensive cultural exchange (ceremonies, songs, language, art, stories).”115

The importance of the Murray River permeated all aspects of traditional life. The Murray cod (Muccullochella peeli)116 is known as Och-Ocut who was the River Creator.117 The creation narrative of the Wadi Wadi people begins at Nyah where the river bends.118 As explained by Doug Nicholls, this storyline continues “all the way to the Darling and Murray junction.”119 Anthropologist W. E. Stanbridge documented Creation narratives associated with the stars held by the Booroung people around Lake Tyrrell (or Lake Tyrill120/Lake Tyrril121 as alternatively spelt by Stanbridge). Connections exist between

110 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 111 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 112 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 March, 2010. 113 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 March, 2010. 114 David Horton, "Trade," in The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia, ed. David Horton (Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 1994), p. 1097. 115 Ibid. 116 Sinclair, The Murray: a river and its people: p. 120. 117 Another version of the creation of the Murray River is given in A. W. Reed, Aboriginal Myths, Legends, and Fables (Chatswood, NSW: Reed New Holland, 1999). pp. 345-46. 118 Doug Nicholls, personal conversation, 23 August, 2012. 119 Doug Nicholls, personal conversation, 23 August, 2012. 120 W. E. Stanbridge, "On the Astronomy and Mytholoy of the Aborigines of Victoria," Proceedings of the Philosophical Institute of Victoria vol. 2(1858): p. 137. 262 Lake Tyrrell and Nyah, and similarities between the Creation narratives of the Wadi Wadi people and those documented by Stanbridge.122 Creation storylines connect the river and the stars above. An example of this is illustrated by Och-Ocut, both as a constellation form and a physical being. At certain times of the year the Murray cod could be eaten, but at other times would not be consumed. The stars were read in order to understand when the Murray cod could and could not be eaten. Marilyne explained that at Lake Tyrrell, a large salt lake to the west of Swan Hill:

different tribes would meet to do ceremony at different times of the year…When it had water flowing in it, at night you could stand in it and you would feel like you were standing amongst the stars… From that they used to read the stars and they knew the fish constellation…we call him Och-Ocut, we knew when he is in the sky, that is when you are not to eat him. That is when he is doing his business to create more.123

Och-Ocut124 is explained in another source as “the creator and guardian of the Murray River for this area and is also the father of other aquatic creatures.”125 The Murray cod is not only important culturally but the presence of this fresh-water fish, “conveys important symbolic and empirical truths about the river.”126 According to Paul Sinclair author of The Murray: a river and its people, “scientists now know that the condition of native fish, particularly those like Murray cod who live at the top of the aquatic food chain, is a good indicator of a river system’s overall health.”127 Doug Nicholls in The Murray: a river and its people explains that, “If you stop the Murray cod from flowing and doing his business up and down the river…[bad] things are going to happen. That’s what is happening now.”128 What this emphasises is that Creation narratives reveal important lived truths.

121 W. E. Stanbridge, "Some Particulars of the General Characteristics, Astronomy, and Mythology of the Tribes in the Central Part of Victoria, Southern Australia," Transactions of the Ethnological Society of London vol. 1(1861): p. 301. 122 Doug Nicholls, personal conversation, 23 August, 2012. 123 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 March, 2010. 124 This constellation is known in European astronomy as Dolphinus, the Great Fish. Stanbridge, "On the Astronomy and Mytholoy of the Aborigines of Victoria," p. 140. 125 Environment and Forests, "Nyah State Forest & Vinifera River Reserve Touring Map." 126 Sinclair, The Murray: a river and its people: p. 120. 127 Ibid. 128 Doug Nicholls, cited in ibid., p. 122. 263 The storylines however also capture a spirit, a right way of treating the River and a balance that must be maintained. This spirit is deeply important to Wadi Wadi people and underpins the concept of “cultural flows”, which is defined in Indigenous Rights to Water in the Murray Darling Basin as “sufficient environmental, social and economic water flows and volumes [which] must be allocated to the River and to Indigenous Nations to sustain the cultural economy of each Nation in the River system.”129 The ability to protect and maintain spirit requires sufficient allocation of water in the river system to enable cultural practices, and a harmonious balance in the river to exist. Ms Nicholls for instance notes that the weirs and locks along the river currently prevent the journey of the Murray Cod.130

The Ring Trees The Ring Trees visited in the Wood Wood F.F.R and Nyah-Vinifera Park in March 2010 will now be discussed individually. An additional tree located north of the Murray River visited at this same time will also be described. There are a number of commonalities across all of the trees – they are all Red River Gums, they are all of a substantial age and size, many of them have multiple trunks and they are each associated with cultural sites. The nomenclature adopted here for the trees was decided upon in consultation with Marilyne Nicholls during the visit. This technique allowed for future discussions of the trees to take place and to later interpret the photographs taken during the course of the visit.

129 Morgan, Strelein, and Weir, "Indigenous Rights to Water in the Murray Darling Basin: in support of the Indigenous final report to the Living Murray Initiative. Research Discussion Paper #14," p. 40. 130 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 264

Figure 25. Wood Wood Ring Tree 1. (Photograph by Philip Power, 27 March, 2010.)

Wood Wood Ring Tree 1 is located on the banks of the Murray River. This tree has a clear relationship to the river, as it gracefully leans out over the river to “mark and identify an entry point and boundary.”131 This living tree has a single, elongated ring (Figure 25). In juxtaposition to this Ring Tree, a stump nearby of a tree logged in the early nineteenth century stands as a reminder of the fragile nature of this environment and the effects that logging have had on this place. In fact since the early 1800s, an estimated 70% of Victoria’s native vegetation has been cleared in association with European colonisation.132 Wood Wood Ring Tree 1 is a prime example of a Ring Tree acting to demarcate a spatial

131 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 March, 2010. 132 The State of Victoria Department of Sustainability and Environment, "Regional Matters: an atlas of regional Victoria 2005," (Victorian Government Department of Sustainability and Environment, December 2005), p. 68. 265 boundary. The demarcation that the Tree creates is most legible from the river and suggests that it was intended to be read whilst traveling up the river in a canoe.

The second River Red Gum Ring Tree visited is Wood Wood Ring Tree 2 (Figure 26). This tree is located close to a burial ground. This burial ground would have had a dual purpose, both as a burial ground and for food cooking purposes.133 Ms Nicholls explained that many of the early historic accounts suggest that Indigenous peoples ate deceased Ancestors, a belief mistakenly developed by the dual use of the burial mounds. Marilyne has explained:

It was a place that Ancestors … could revisit their deceased Ancestors and to be with them; a spiritual connection relating to respect to the deceased. We still pay our respects today in a similar way.134

The burial ground is fenced, and a cultural heritage sign at the entry to the forest indicates the presence of such places in the forest. In addition, the tree has a close locative relationship to both Parnee Malloo Creek and the Murray River. Unfortunately, this Ring Tree is no longer alive. It has been ring barked, a practice employed in the mid-nineteenth century, as previously explained, to kill large trees and enable regeneration beneath. The particular ring barking technique used to kill this tree is known as a ‘V-cut,’ in which a continuous axe cut penetrates into the sapwood of the trunk.135 Marilyne Nicholls has highlighted that there are clearly two very different kinds of rings evident in the tree, “The two different rings – the one that destroys and the one that is there for centuries.”136 The ring is not visible from all directions. A branch bends over to seemingly conceal the ring from certain directions. This is similarly the case with Wood Wood Ring Tree 1, as well as a number of the other Ring Trees visited. Clearly, a predestined pattern of movement in the landscape informed the location of not only the Ring Trees but also how the individual rings themselves were to be approached and viewed. The trees could be ‘read’ when they were approached in the intended way.

133 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 March, 2010. 134 Marilyne Nicholls, letter to the author, 9 July, 2010. 135 Long, "Scarred Trees: an identification and recording manual," p. 27. 136 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 March, 2010. 266

Figure 26. Wood Wood Ring Tree 2. (Photograph by Philip Power, 27 March, 2010.)

Wood Wood Ring Tree 3 has two rings (Figure 27). This tree, like Wood Wood Ring Tree 2, has also been ring barked and is no longer alive. The two rings seem to face in different directions. This tree is considered to relate to the burial ground.137 Each of the Ring Trees described in Wadi Wadi Country is associated with water, middens and burial grounds.138 In this way, Ring Trees appear to be spiritually connected with key phases of life and culture, marking perhaps not just physical boundaries associated with the terrestrial landscape but boundaries that mark life and eventually one’s transition from it.

137 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 March, 2010. 138 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 27 October, 2010. 267

Figure 27. Wood Wood Ring Tree 3. (Photograph by Philip Power, 27 March, 2010.)

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Figure 28. Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 4. (Photograph by Philip Power, 28 March, 2010.)

A pair of ceremonial trees, which form points of entry to a large bora139 ground in the forest, are referred to here as Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 4 (Figure 28) and Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 5 (Figure 30). These Trees act like sentinels to the bora ground. Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 4 marks entry from the Murray River to the east of the bora ground, and the adjacent Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 5 marks entry from Parnee Malloo Creek to the west of the bora ground. The trees are located in an east/west orientation around the ground and in this way also seem to be associated with the passage of the sun.140 Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 4 is believed to relate to a sandbar at a point on the Murray River where canoes

139 A sacred circular ceremonial ground where ceremonies were performed. The ground was kept cleared of trees. The bora ground continues to be used for ceremonies by Traditional Owners. 140 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 269 would have entered on the other side of the bank in order to cross the river and disembark to then enter the nearby bora ground (the bora ground can be seen in Figure 29). Nyah Ring Tree 4 has a small ring that aligns with a burial ground associated with the bora ground. This tree has been ring-barked and many of its branches removed. This tree also seems to be a scar tree, and Marilyne raised the possibility that timber for a shield was removed from the tree’s trunk at one time. At the time the tree was ring barked, its significance as a cultural tree would not have been understood.141 Close inspection of the tree revealed a crushed aluminium can that had been left in one of its hollows, highlighting that today there remains an ignorance and lack of respect of cultural heritage, as well as of the landscape in general.

Figure 29. Bora ground. (Photograph by author, 28 March, 2010.)

The bora ground was a carefully maintained place. Saplings would have been removed to keep the area clear. Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 5 that acts to mark entry to the bora ground from the creek has also been ring-barked and is no longer alive. At this tree, as at several

141 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 28 March, 2010. 270 of the others visited, colourful bird feathers were found. Fiery red and yellow feathers were found at this tree. Marilyne suggested that these finds, signs given by the Ancestors, indicated we were engaging with the trees in an appropriate way.142

Figure 30. Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 5. (Photograph by Philip Power, 28 March, 2010.)

142 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 28 March, 2010. 271

Figure 31. Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 6. (Photograph by Philip Power, 28 March, 2010.)

Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 6 (Figure 31) was a tree previously unseen by Marilyne Nicholls, who noticed it while we were driving. This tree also has multiple rings some visible from certain directions. This tree had also been ring-barked and is no longer alive. This tree shows signs of being burned by fire at some time in its life, as evidenced by the photograph. This acts as a reminder of the many risks that the trees face.143

143 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 272 Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 7 (Figure 32) is a large tree with multiple rings and is considered to be a ‘healing tree.’144 The Ring Trees are each considered as having a different feel - a different presence, a different genius loci.145 Marilyne suggested this tree had a sense of sadness about it. It also appeared to be in stress from lack of water. During this time the area was in drought, and according to Ms Nicholls there were no plans in place to manage the water flow, thus impacting this tree and other vegetation in the forest.146 The 2012 report Preliminary Investigation of Floodplain Vegetation of Nyah-Vinifera Forest provides one of a number of recommendations, one of which suggests “A flooding regime similar to that which existed prior to river regulation must be re-instated to the floodplain and wetlands to ensure their long term health and survival.”147 This emphasises the connection of Ring Trees to the life of the river. This tree relates to a burial ground and stands on the banks of a creek that fills during times of flood. This tree has a large horizontal branch that extends over the dry river, like a bed. It has a very large ring, high up in the branches. Pacing out around the trunk it was estimated to have a girth of 13 meters. Ms Nicholls has highlighted that the Ring Trees all hold stories, for instance their “size relates to water stories” which they “hold in their [internal growth] rings.”148

144 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 28 March, 2010. 145 “Latin term meaning ‘the genius of the place’, referring to the presiding deity or spirit. Every place has its own unique qualities, not only in terms of its physical makeup, but of how it is perceived…” James Stevens Curl, A Dictionary of Architecture and Landscape Architecture, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). p. 310. 146 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 147 Cook, "Preliminary Investigation of Floodplain Vegetation of Nyah-Vinifera Forest," Australian Ecosystems, accessed 31 July 2013 http://www.melbourne.foe.org.au/files/Preliminary%20investigation%20of%20floodplain%20vegetation%2 0web.pdf. 148 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 11 August, 2012. 273

Figure 32. Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 7. (Photograph by author, 28 March, 2010.)

Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 8 was another new Ring Tree located during the visit. It has two highly pronounced rings as can bee seen in Figure 33. Nearby wild asparagus was growing. Close by to this Tree was a midden.

274

Figure 33. Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 8. (Photograph by author, 28 March, 2010.)

Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 9 (Figure 34) again has multiple rings. It is considered to have a happy presence. Unlike the other Ring Trees, this tree also has a shade area where the tree branches have been trained to arch over to form a protective canopy. The branches that form the shade canopy have a small ring where the branches have been grafted together (Figure 35). Much debris had built up in this area, as the floods had not come through to clean out the build up of fallen vegetation on the forest floor. The positioning of this shade area would have afforded protection from the sun during the whole of the day. The main trunk of the tree has four rings of varying sizes grafted into it, as can be seen in Figure 34.

275

Figure 34. Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 9. (Photograph by author, 28 March, 2010.)

276

Figure 35. Nyah-Vinifera Ring Tree 9 showing shade area with small grafted ring. (Photograph by author, 28 March, 2010.)

277

Figure 36. Koraleigh Ring Tree. (Photograph by Philip Power, 27 March, 2010.)

An additional Ring Tree is located beyond the boundaries of the Wood Wood and Nyah- Vinifera Park. Located on the northern side of the Murray River across the border in New South Wales is the Koraleigh Ring Tree (Figure 36). Koraleigh is a small township with a population of approximately 75.149 The local governing authority, the Wakool Shire Council described the Ring Tree located there as “Koraleigh’s claim to fame.”150 The tree even receives mention in the Wakool Shire Visitors Guide.151 Unlike the other Ring Trees

149 "Koraleigh," Wakool Shire Council, accessed 30 May 2010 http://www.wakool.local- e.nsw.gov.au/about/23333/23337.html. 150 Ibid. 151 This guide explains that Koraleigh is “most famous” for “its historical landmark the ‘Ring Tree,’ whose branches form a perfect circle. The ring is a result of bending and tying small branches of living trees together to indicate Aboriginal tribal boundaries many hundreds of years ago and makes for an interesting stop for the family.” Wakool Shire Council, “Wakool Shire Visitors Guide,” p. 13. 278 previously discussed, knowledge of this tree is within the public domain. This tree has a single, highly pronounced ring in its lower branches. The Koraleigh Ring Tree is described as marking “Aboriginal tribal boundaries.” 152 Sadly by March 2009 the Koraleigh Ring Tree had died.153 The death of the tree was predominately caused by the severe drought in the region where there had not been “any meaningful rain for about 8 years.”154 After the tree showed signs of stress, there was an effort made to save it. The Council was “requested and agreed to provide a truck load of water on periodic occasions whilst the drought conditions remain[ed].”155 In March 2009 there was a “massive termite infestation” in the trunk of the tree, and it was anticipated the tree would not continue to stand for much longer.156 A number of photographs of the Ring Tree were taken at the end of March 2009, when it was assessed from “a public liability perspective” regarding the large branch overhanging the road, as can be seen in Figure 37.157 The effort to save the Koraleigh Ring Tree demonstrates that the Council and the broader community have evidently recognised its value as a part of the town’s historic heritage. However, this recognition is predominately in relation to the tree’s use by local farmers. “The Koraleigh tree is a recognized gathering tree for farmers” in the local area.158 A small sign beside the road alerts visitors that they are 200 meters away from the Ring Tree (Figure 38), highlighting the recognition of its novelty and tourist potential. The contemporary existence of the tree has been recognised “for European purposes” however its continued significance to the local Indigenous community has not. This is highlighted by the lack of Indigenous consultation159 regarding the removal of branches and the continued future of the tree.

What differs significantly about this tree in relation to those that can be seen in the Nyah and Vinifera Forest is the disturbed context of the Koraleigh Ring Tree. This tree has had

152 Environment and Forests, "Nyah State Forest & Vinifera River Reserve Touring Map." 153 Geoff Barker, email to the author, 13 March, 2009. 154 Geoff Barker, email to the author, 13 March, 2009. 155 "Koraleigh," Wakool Shire Council, accessed 30 May 2010 http://www.wakool.local- e.nsw.gov.au/about/23333/23337.html. 156 Geoff Barker, email to the author, 13 March, 2009. 157 Geoff Barker, email to the author, 18 March, 2009. 158 Doug Nicholls, letter to the author, 16 October, 2009. 159 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 11 August, 2012. 279 its context destroyed by the processes of colonisation. The tree is flanked on one side by a road and on the other a fenced-off paddock. As a result, it is not possible to understand the intended relationship of the tree to the landscape and the cultural practices that would have occurred here. Due to the disruption of its context, this tree has become a ‘site,’ in the sense that it fails to exist in its proper cultural relationship to other places. It does of course hold a relationship with the Ring Trees of the Nyah and Vinifera Forest, yet the dislocation of this tree is apparent. It is now a stranger in an agrarian landscape. The Tree has been “blocked from water systems” as a result of farming and management of water resources.160 The levy bank constructed to stop the flooding of farming land, has also contributed to this Ring Tree missing out on water in times of flood.161 The relevance of the tree has consequently continued to be slowly degraded. Figures 36 and 37 were taken almost one year apart, and show the extent of dead branches that have had to be removed from the tree due to the risk that they may fall now that the tree has died. In the photograph taken in 2010 (Figure 36), the pile of recently removed branches can be seen just behind the tree. The heart-shaped162 ring itself remains intact, although sadly the life pulse keeping the tree alive has faded.

160 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 11 August, 2012. 161 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 30 July, 2013. 162 Marilyne Nicholls, personal conversation, 28 March 2010. 280

Figure 37. Koraleigh Ring Tree. (Photograph by Geoff Barker, 17 March, 2009.)

Figure 38. Signage that marks the Koraleigh Ring Tree. (Photograph by author, 27 March, 2010.) 281 Conclusion Ring Trees demonstrate more than a fusing of branches, they are an expression of highly developed cultural practice and demonstrative of unique spatial demarcation. Ring Trees are elements designed to fulfil specific roles. These Trees reveal an Indigenous approach to spatial ordering at a scale beyond buildings, which relates to the use and impregnation of the landscape with cultural meaning and inhabitation. Ring Trees demonstrate communication over time and distance particularly for the purposes of identification of places, to establish connection between places and to facilitate exchange. In this way, Ring Trees through their particular spatiotemporal approach to spatial ordering provide definition to an inhabited terrain or first space. This first space, or inside, is not reliant upon a built form, but is generated by the series of Ring Trees across the cultural landscape. Mr Nicholls describes the trees as acting as “signposts”, which identify “one big home.”163 In this situation interiority is revealed to exist at a macro scale within a larger cultural context. The orders of space have been shown here to operate quite differently in relation to Australian Indigenous spatial ordering. A first space, or inside, exists but is show here not to be reliant upon architectural third space to generate these notions of an inside.

Whilst this chapter has only dealt with Ring Trees located within Wadi Wadi Country, additional trees are thought to exist elsewhere. Future research may identify the role of Ring Trees in other locations and within possible different cultural contexts.

The investigation of Ring Trees has provided an opportunity for engagement with Wadi Wadi knowledge and highlights the continued need for careful management of the landscapes in which Ring Trees occur. Unable to be assessed within the criteria prescribed by the prevailing orthodoxy of the controlling disciplines, these Trees have not been afforded formal protection as individual elements. The altered status of the Nyah State Forest and Vinifera Reserve into a Park provides a safeguard against future logging of the area. With the decision by the Victorian Government in 2008 for Indigenous co- management of these areas, the future of these trees is now more assured, as the cycle of management starts to turn and come full circle.

163 Doug Nicholls, personal conversation, 1 August, 2013. 282 Little documentation is available about Ring Trees in the public domain, as historically Traditional Owners did not discuss these Trees because of their importance and connection with cultural sites. In recent times Ring Trees are increasingly being talked about, particularly in the hope that their significance will be understood, thus enabling these trees to be managed by Wadi Wadi people now and into the future. The processes involved with the collection of information for this chapter have been instrumental in forming a coherent picture of the Ring Trees. Consultation with Wadi Wadi Traditional Owners was an essential aspect of this chapter. It became apparent during the course of this research that the Wadi Wadi people themselves are the repositories for much of the knowledge associated with this area, and it is this primary source of information to which other documents and sources refer. It is clear from the information provided here that a complete picture of Ring Trees and their relationship to the landscape and cultural practices is unlikely to be formed. Some information is culturally sensitive and some has been lost as a result of the processes of colonisation. It is perhaps unnecessary to understand all of the nuances of these trees and the cultural practice of Ring Tree creation, but instead remember that all that was known has not been lost and remains under the continued care and custodianship of the Wadi Wadi people, who are actively involved in the continuation of their cultural knowledge.

This chapter has revealed that Ring Trees present us with a spatial organising principle. There are multiple spatial implications exhibited by Ring Trees, including facilitating communication across space and defining spatial zones. Ring Trees also provide long distance spatial effects operating at a variety of scales, both intimate in relation to places, and at a geographic level, creating networks across the landscape. They are designed responses to the occupation of place and how that place is inhabited both across space and time. Ring Trees present us with an interior-type inhabitation of place, drawing on culturally specific modes of inhabitation. This chapter in its discussion of Ring Trees reinforces that spatial divisions in Indigenous Australia are not ordered in the same way as those expressed by western European architecture.

This chapter contributed to the hypothesis stated in the Introduction by outlining a case study example of Ring Trees, to demonstrate that south-east Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority. Ring Trees enable spatial ordering to be made

283 tangible without buildings. This chapter showed that Ring Trees reveal occupation of first space as interiority.

284 CHAPTER 9 CONCLUSION

The aim of this thesis is to examine south-east Australian Indigenous spatial ordering, and explore where interiority belongs within this model. This thesis demonstrates a spatial ordering model that differs from that which appears in the western European tradition. The intention of the thesis is not to completely rupture the binary of western European inside/outside space but rather unsettle the binary, through the proposition that different versions of this model may operate and at different spatial scales. The central question that guided the research was -

How does south-east Australian Indigenous spatial ordering differ from the western European concept of spatial ordering?

This question comes from the initial and possibly controversial hypothesis from which this thesis began, that Australian Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority. The hypothesis also proposed that in addition, colonising western Europeans failed to understand this occupation and as a result, sought to impose western European spatial ordering in its place. The thesis provides a particular emphasis on Tasmanian Aboriginal or palawa buildings. Due to the absence of detailed information about palawa buildings and space, some case studies from elsewhere in south-east Australia are also incorporated, notably in Chapter 4 and Chapter 8, in order to supplement the main case study material.

The research is presented in six body chapters (Chapters 3-8). The research conducted for this thesis provides the evidence and argument for the hypothesis, and demonstrates how the hypothesis has changed and been refined to reflect discoveries made during the research. A recap of the individual body chapters and their findings will be now be provided.

Chapter 3 – Interiority and the Orders of Space Chapter 3 describes how the orders of spaces by which buildings operate within western European architecture belong to a broader Eurocentric discourse. The chapter commences

285 by outlining that the interior is usually associated with the inside of a building, and that the various uses of the term interior are entangled with issues of ownership, to whatever this ownership might apply. This provides the premise in Chapter 3 to suggest that it is more useful instead to consider the philosophical concept of interiority. Interiority, or a sense of ‘interior-ness’, provides a means to consider how engagement between interiors and exteriors can occur, from which thinking about interiors themselves might benefit. In Chapter 3, interiority is particularly defined through its liminality. Interiority framed in this liminal way is changeable. It comprises a social context and a time-based element. Liminality is a term originally derived from limen meaning threshold - the interstitial space in which transformation might occur. While an interior suggests a space inside a building, the concept of interiority is freed from architectural constraints. Buildings that constitute architecture create a separation between inside and outside. In Chapter 3 buildings and architecture are further differentiated, before highlighting that architecture has laid claim to all buildings. A building puts in operation the orders of space, whilst architecture imagines how the orders of space may operate using, representational methods.

Chapter 3 then contextualises the concept of space, describing its theorisation within interior architecture. It is illustrated that space in relation to interior architecture generates discussions round the following key issues –representation of space; occupation and use of space that can be applied to inform the design process; well-being of users in space; and behavioural settings that can inform the design process. Primarily, space is understood from within the lens of interior architecture, through its application to design and the potentiality of space to be manipulated in various ways through the built form. In this way, space is typically conceived of at an intimate scale - at the level of the individual and interaction between groups of inhabitants or users.

The orders of space as defined by the theorist Thomas Loveday are then outlined. The orders of space framework provides a point of reference throughout the remainder of the thesis, when discussing spatial ordering. Loveday derives the term third space from cultural theorist Edward W. Soja and philosopher Henri Lefebvre. With the modes of space defined by Loveday, first space aligns itself with inside, second space with outside and third space is the space of construction and building materials, which presents surfaces to both inside and outside. Chapter 3 shows with the use of this framework that 286 orders of space by which buildings present an arrangement of inside and outside, are a primary way the interior is understood.

Hunt’s three natures framework is then introduced and explained as being useful for conceptualising the ordering of space beyond buildings. The three natures employ a similar distinction between spatial types, as expressed in Loveday’s modes of space, in terms of degrees of familiarity and inhabitation. Through the comparative discussion with Loveday’s modes of space and Hunt’s three natures, the chapter seeks to show that the two models demonstrate essentially western European ways of thinking about landscape, the role of the building and the interior.

O’Brien’s spatial ordering model provides a conceptualisation of spatial ordering quite different from the model of either Loveday or Hunt, through its introduction of people as a key component. While Loveday’s model considers the spatial modes in relation to these orders being enacted by individual buildings, O’Brien’s approach considers these issues at a landscape level considering the relationship between the building as a whole, its landscape and the occupants. Thus O’Brien’s spatial ordering model transforms the scale by which spatial ordering can be understood in relation to buildings, unlike Hunt’s which relates purely to landscape.

This chapter reveals that spatial ordering can also be understood to operate at a variety of scales – from a personal scale, to a collective space that maybe used or conceived of as a group. However, as the modes of space might not necessarily be demonstrated by Australian Indigenous buildings in the same manner that the modes of space are thought of in their original form as described by Loveday, interiority becomes a method by which to consider first, second and third space when there may not be a physical building. Engaging with spatial ordering at a variety of scales therefore becomes even more important.

Chapter 4 – The Informing of Spatial Ordering: the Sky-Dome Chapter 4 explores how cosmology provides a foundation for physical spatial ordering and for understanding the role that buildings play. The concept of utopia or no-place is linked to cosmology, which provides a way of conceptualising the world. Like the literary utopias of the time, Australia was a new world ‘discovered’ by Europeans. Allowing the 287 continent to be viewed as terra nullius disregarded the cultural traditions that existed across the continent. While a great many language groups existed across Australia at the time of colonisation, cosmological models were thought to be similar among Indigenous Nations in south-east Australia. Although, elsewhere on the continent there are similar models of the sky-dome, a systematic comparative ethnographic study would be required to assess the extent to which this model is subscribed. The reason for investigating the spatial implications engendered by cosmology is because it provides a means to understand how the world is perceived in a conceptual sense, prior to investigating buildings that are a part of this broader cultural practice. The term sky-dome, as coined by anthropologist Dianne Johnson, is a key cosmological model that is subscribed to by Indigenous cultures in the south-east of Australia. In this cosmological model a spatial arrangement is clearly expressed with an inside beneath the dome, and an outside that exists beyond the dome. This cosmological spatial ordering operated in different ways in different places. An example of this is discussed in relation to the Tiwi people of Melville and Bathurst Islands.

The sky-dome provided defined limits to the world and has implications as to why European colonisers were conceptually considered as the returned spirits of deceased ancestors. There are several historical accounts of this occurring, such as in the cases of William Buckley and Barbara Thompson. William Buckley provided an early insight into how the cosmological model was impacted by the presence of European colonisers. Buckley recounted the fear among Indigenous peoples of the sky-dome falling and actions undertaken to remedy the situation. The breaching of the terrestrial world by Europeans rebounded to impact the cosmological model, highlighting that the model is more than a conceptual understanding, it is a clear and understood expression of spatial ordering.

The presence of a spatial region known as the sky world located beyond the dome, created a spatial effect across the landscape. The sky world was informed by the world below but could also influence the lives of those beneath. Johnson has noted that whilst there is a lot of information about celestial features in the sky and elements comprising the sky world, information about the sky itself and its materiality is lacking in the literature as this information failed to be documented.

288 Access to the sky world was obtainable at particular times and was facilitated by specific elements. The narratives that mention an aperture in the sky for providing access to the sky world highlights that the sky could be likened to a space of construction, or third space, presenting surfaces to inside and outside, thus providing an expression of spatial ordering. The residents of the sky world could also access the terrestrial world below. Thus movement through third space could occur in both directions. However, the understanding of where spirits go after death varied across Australia. Tony Swain has discussed the existence of both locative and utopian traditions in Australian Indigenous cultures and the possibility that the utopian tradition emerged as a result of the pressures of colonisation. A restructuring of the cosmological model in response to intruders could be viewed as an anomaly, as the concept is explained by anthropologist Mary Douglas, which causes a person to rethink their model of classification.

Were any visual representations made of the sky-dome? The so-called Man and Woman engraving at the Basin Bay Aboriginal Art Site is discussed in the chapter in the context of the sky-dome cosmology. The engraving group depicts a man and woman crossed- legged standing below a crescent form. The reason for the engravings or their intended meaning has been the source of speculation. The engravings could be interpreted as a sectional representation depicting the sky-dome, however we lack the ethnographic evidence to corroborate this. What the engravings do show is the metaphorical fall of the sky, as colonisation has been described by Keith Willey, which resulted in the transformation of cultural traditions, and in some cases these traditions being entirely lost.

The cosmology of Indigenous Australians can further an understanding of spatial ordering. The dome effect created by the movement of the stars, figured as part of the sky-dome, is expressed within western European architecture - the dome is a built expression of the sky. The chapter finds that the notion of the dome as an element within western European architecture can be conceptualised as essentially interior in nature. This is considered to be useful to further link sky-dome cosmological spatial ordering with interiority. The architectural dome therefore provides a way to begin to conceptualise and engage with Australian Indigenous cosmology from within western European architecture.

289 However Chapter 4, through its investigation of cosmology, reveals spatial ordering operating in a way that is unattached to a built form. In this cosmology the sky resides in a liminal role as does the cosmology itself, which transformed in response to colonisation. The sky-dome in this cosmology separates the terrestrial landscape from the sky world beyond. The sky-dome provides the terms on which buildings below operate. The buildings beneath do not create a private utopia for residents because this ‘no-place’ is repositioned to exist beyond the dome.

Chapter 5 – Cultural Encounters and Misunderstandings Chapter 5 sets the scene in which cultural difference leads to buildings of one culture being misunderstood by another. Language, with all of its complexities, is one of the causes of misunderstanding. This chapter finds that the descriptions of palawa buildings by navigators and early colonialists not only described buildings, but also acted as a critique derived from western European architecture. The contrast between palawa buildings and western European architecture results in a hierarchical power exchange. The semiotician Umberto Eco, in his essay Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society, highlights power relations at work when viewing a society or culture from within the lens of another, and emphasises that language plays a crucial role in establishing a sense of strangeness.

In the context of the discussion of language, an explanation of ‘order’ and ‘space’ is provided. As outlined by architectural historian Adrian Forty, the term space has changed in its application over time. Within this thesis the term ‘order’ is used to refer to arrangement and organisation of space, particularly the way categories of space are arranged – public/private and inside/outside. The use of the term ‘space’ in the thesis is used both in terms of physical and metaphysical space.

The decision to consider cultural exchanges in relation to palawa buildings is founded on the region requiring further in depth research, as outlined by leading researcher in the field of Australian Indigenous buildings and environments, Paul Memmott. From the seventeenth century Tasmania was visited by a wave of European navigators, the journeys largely founded on the hope of establishing new colonies and amassing wealth. Dutch Captain Abel Tasman is considered the first European to ‘discover’ Trouwunna, as it was known, in 1642. He renamed it Anthonie Van Diemensland, a first step towards 290 colonisation. This would not be the only occurrence of renaming. European names were also attributed to palawa language groups. The European terms for the nine Nations acted to simplify the social organisation of the hearth group, clan and Nation.

Over a century later in 1772, European visitors made the first observation of palawa peoples and their buildings.

The next year in 1773, the British Captain Tobias Furneaux recorded seeing buildings with bags and nets inside. He considered the buildings to be poorly built, as they were not weatherproof. Second Lieutenant James Burney also provided a description of buildings he witnessed and their contents. His choice of terms such as “huts” and “ill contrived” frames the buildings as poor. It is argued that the reading of the buildings in this way is based on the notion of how the orders of space should operate and that there should be a clear articulation between inside and outside. This understanding is implicit in Burney’s thinking rather than a self-conscious awareness of the issue of the order of space. However, it is also acknowledged that the perception of the division of space is also linked to possible cultural differences regarding building durability and quality that impacts the effectiveness of this spatial separation.

In 1777 Captain James Cook described the buildings he witnessed as “little sheds or hovels.” The terms shed and hovel are suggestive that Cook thought the buildings were not suitable for human habitation.

In 1792 French Rear-Admiral Bruny D’Entrecasteaux anchored in Recherche Bay. Naturalist on the expedition, La Billardiere, described a windbreak and an open-sided dome building seen by the party. He described the windbreak as a “fence.” The choice of the term fence partly stems from the need to form a visual image of the building in the minds of readers, however it also re-contextualised the building as not satisfying the requirements to be categorised as such. Felix Delahaye, a gardener on the voyage, described the building he saw as a “dovecot”. A dovecot is not a building for human habitation; language again frames the buildings as inferior or poor, in comparison to western European buildings and architecture. However, Delahaye’s description differs from earlier accounts, noting the proportions, construction technique and materials of the

291 buildings he saw. This is presumably partly a result of the scientific purpose of the expedition.

In 1798 surgeon and sailor George Bass and Lieutenant Matthew Flinders set out to circumnavigate Tasmania. Flinders described buildings seen near the Isle of Caves as “a few miserable huts.” It is again argued that this is a critique of buildings rather than an objective description, if indeed such a thing can exist. The framing of buildings as poor, highlighted by Flinders comment, can also be considered in relation to the notion of the origin of architecture. In the eighteenth century the term primitive meant original, but by the nineteenth century the term was used in a way to suggest an evolutionary development of architecture. Viewing buildings as belonging on an evolutionary scale continues to hold sway to a certain degree. Any speculation about the origin of architecture operates in two opposing ways – strengthening the western European architectural discourse whilst also threatening to undermine it. The location of an origin would put a halt to future speculation, whilst if an origin was located in the building traditions of Indigenous peoples, the dominance of western European architectural discourse would be threatened.

In 1802 a French expedition, lead by Captain Nicolas Baudin, visited Van Diemen’s Land and recorded not only descriptions of buildings but visual depictions, including a funerary structure and a windbreak. The problematic use of translations in the context of the discussion of language is also commented on in Chapter 5. It is recognised that a translation is not a facsimile of the original, and that the original accounts are also only representations of the buildings, not the buildings themselves. However, the role of observer-observed occurred bi-directionally. For instance, some years later Nuenonne man Woorraddy recounted seeing the French ships, noting the clothing worn by the men on board.

The historical accounts of buildings, once colonisation occurred, can be found in the journals of surveyors and missionaries. The journals of George Augustus Robinson are a particularly important source of information. Robinson arguably recorded more details in his descriptions of buildings than many of the earlier observers. In one of his descriptions Robinson uses the term “habitations.” His use of language clearly differs from some of the earlier observations. From this period one description of a building, by Jorgen 292 Jorgenson, stands out for its use of language. This description makes a direct comparison between western European architecture and palawa buildings. Jorgenson described the building as a “complete piece of Gothic Architecture”. Whether pejorative in its intention or intended as a means to elevate the standing of palawa buildings, it is very specific in its point of comparison to a style of western European architecture.

Although Chapter 5 focuses on the descriptions of buildings recorded by European observers, it is noted that the palawa peoples were observing the Europeans themselves. According to Woorrady the palawa peoples were frightened and European accounts often noted that the buildings were deserted. This highlights that European accounts were only a partial impression of the buildings, as they did not generally witness the buildings in use – inhabited by people.

Thus, Chapter 5 shows how language has been used to frame palawa buildings as failing to fulfil the criteria expected within western European architecture. The chapter shows that the descriptions in the historic literature conceal critiques of buildings. These critiques are often particularly concerned with the ordering of space – in the considered failure of the buildings, such as windbreaks and open-sided domes, to create a clearly defined interior space with their own controllable internal environmental conditions. Those buildings that did create a more traditional western European interior, full domes for instance, are sometimes described comparatively to western European architecture– as in the case of the ‘Gothic architecture’ example provided by Jorgen Jorgeson, and the ‘dovecote’ described by Félix Delahaye. Perception of spatial ordering is therefore demonstrated in the chapter to have a link to the types of language employed in the critiques recorded of palawa buildings. Thus this chapter finds that spatial ordering has in this way been influential, although unrecognised, in the judgement of Australian Indigenous buildings.

Chapter 6 – The Role of Buildings in Indigenous Spatial Organisation: classical palawa buildings Chapter 6 explores palawa building types and how these buildings also included elements other than abstraction of space. Buildings constructed by the palawa peoples were integrated into their environments responding to climatic conditions. These were seasonal villages sited in healthy locations. The villages and buildings existed as part of a broader 293 curtilage. The placement of villages afforded protection from both environmental conditions as well as hostile intruders. Archaeological investigations on the Tarkine coast have revealed middens associated with village sites. These middens would have played a role in the creation of the internalisation of space. Some palawa buildings types internalised space using the building’s third space – the space of construction and building materials - with which to achieve this physical separation between inside and outside. Full dome buildings, particularly those constructed in the western regions of Tasmania, fulfilled this role.

Full dome buildings were often large, their proportions facilitating interior living with the ability for residents to stand upright. One account that stands out in the historical literature is Jorgen Jorgenson’s “piece of Gothic Architecture”. It is possible that the “Gothic” form was made with the use of whalebone. This method of construction particularly supports the idea that the dome was indeed a full dome. It can be difficult when interpreting the historic accounts to discern whether a full dome or pointed dome building is being referred to. However, both of these building types would have facilitated the creation of an interior space that could be filled with artefacts. Paintings and incised images often decorated the interiors of full domes. This chapter argues that this is an example of how traces of occupation, in addition to the physical spatial arrangement, act to interiorise space.

Historical accounts also record the variety of artefacts found in and around buildings, such as baskets and nets. In several instances, colonisers substituted these items with their own artefacts. It is suggested that these acts reveal the gradual replacement of palawa spatial organisation with that of colonisers. Resistance to this change sometimes occurred and interiors of buildings played a role as sites of protest; George Robinson for example recorded a site with pages from the Bible scattered around. These pages contained text that indicated a desire to receive strength in the face of adversity. Another example can be found in the way the palawa peoples used interior spaces as armouries.

Funerary structures were another building type that created a clear division between inside and outside. These buildings created a hermetically sealed interior as there was no need for these buildings to facilitate entry. Other forms of funerary structures were also

294 constructed, quite different in their articulation. This difference highlights the point that similar functions do not necessarily result in similar built forms.

Windbreaks and open-sided domes did not internalise space in the way expected within western European architecture. Windbreaks occupy the most tenuous position as buildings when viewed from a European perspective, often framed as haphazard arrangements of material with little refinement or ability to mediate environmental conditions. Perhaps more than any other factor the lack of a roof distinguishes these buildings as operating on different spatial terms. These buildings do not operate in the same way as architecture or buildings in their spatial role, but become more like designed objects. Open-sided domes create a fuller sense of enclosure than windbreaks, although still operate on their own spatial terms. Two watercolours painted by George Tobin depict open-sided domes as seen at Adventure Bay in 1792. There are also written descriptions of open-sided domes, including one in which the interior was decorated with paintings.

This chapter also finds that palawa buildings played a non-spatial role in relation to health. Buildings facilitated palawa health strategies and maintenance of good health. The link between Australian Indigenous housing and health has been an area of detailed investigation. The influential 1987 UPK Report recommended nine key strategies to improve the environmental health of residents. Although highly worthwhile, these strategies seem to only partially address the relationship between housing and health, without reference to Australian Indigenous health strategies. However, it is acknowledged that the strategies are broad enough to be applied to many situations and avoid mention of European modes of inhabiting space. The placement of villages and buildings by the palawa peoples facilitated access to aquatic materials used in the treatment of disease, and provided access to clean water. The materials used in the construction of palawa buildings may have also promoted good health such as the interior decoration of buildings with ochres. The use of internal hearths on which various materials would have been burned, may have had positive respiratory effects depending on the selected materials. It is fair to assume that the palawa peoples would have had detailed knowledge of different flora, and thus made use of beneficial varieties. Feathers and wattle blossoms were also documented within buildings. The feathers acted as insulation and the wattle promoted sleep. The leftovers of meals or items used for ceremonial purposes, or in the treatment of illness, were also described as being found within or around buildings, emphasising the health 295 properties associated with buildings. Other artefacts such as baskets provided an olfactory component to the buildings, as well as facilitating the safe storage of food.

Chapter 6 describes a variety of building typologies and the role of these buildings in spatial organisation. Some of the building typologies did not complete the enclosing effect expected from within western European architecture, highlighting that these buildings did not operate under the spatial ordering arrangement of inside/outside but as artefacts on their own terms. Ultimately, this chapter finds that the western European orders of space operate differently in relation to palawa buildings. These buildings conceived of as artefacts, existed within a larger first space defined by a cosmological model. Such buildings with their limited internalisation, would have provided inhabitants a sensory connection to cosmologically defined interiority. It is not possible to determine whether the Nine Nations of Tasmania subscribed to the sky-dome cosmology as described in Chapter 4. The cosmological model may have differed.

Chapter 7 – Resisting Western European Spatial Ordering: the buildings of Wybalenna Chapter 7 describes palawa resistance to western European spatial ordering when European accommodation was built at the settlement of Wybalenna on Flinders Island. The settlement at Wybalenna was established following the violence that ensued when colonial expansion disrupted long established patterns of occupation and seasonal movements by the palawa peoples. Prior to the establishment of the settlement, a number of other measures to remove the palawa peoples had been attempted, including the formation of roving parties and the Black Line. George Robinson’s so-called Friendly Mission journeys took place over four years, from 1830 to 1834. On these journeys Robinson made contact with palawa peoples and facilitated their relocation from mainland Tasmania to Flinders Island. A number of commandants managed Wybalenna during its period of occupation, from 1833 to 1847, including George Augustus Robinson. The periods during which James Darling and George Robinson were commandants are of most interest in the context of this thesis because under their administration, two phases of building took place that most characterised the settlement.

A number of pragmatic reasons swayed the decision to select Flinders Island as a suitable site for relocation. These reasons included that it was escape-proof, afforded protection 296 from Eastern Straitsmen, provided food, water and opportunity for hunting, and allowed communication with the mainland by ship. The benefits of Flinders Island as a site for a settlement proved to be ill-founded once its occupation had commenced. Although the environmental factors on the island presented some challenges, the buildings of the settlement caused their own set of trials for the residents.

The name Wybalenna, which means ‘Black Men’s Houses’, indicates the central importance of buildings at this site. Buildings occupied by the palawa peoples had two differing roles – from a colonialist perspective they were vehicles to effect the ‘civilising’ of the palawa peoples, whilst from a palawa perspective they were culturally isolating. Accommodation at Wybalenna can be split into two key phases. Until July 1837 the palawa peoples lived in dirt-floored buildings constructed of wattle and daub. These buildings soon fell into a state of disrepair because of the poor quality of their construction and material selection. The second phase of building took place following Robinson’s arrival in October 1835, although construction work on the brick terraces did not commence until March 1837. Robinson drafted a map of the settlement in 1838. The map notes the construction material of the buildings and overall layout of the settlement.

This chapter found that the palawa peoples displayed various forms of resistance to the European buildings at the settlement. The traditional practice of decorating interiors with paintings is argued to be one such example. This practice continued to occur, to a limited extent, indicating that the buildings had not been inhabited as intended by the Europeans. Another example of resistance is expressed by physical damage caused to buildings. One such case is recorded in which twelve palawa boys “beat down the walls.” Whatever motivated the actions of the boys, the building formed the foci of the event. The event highlights the tension between two very different cultural forms of spatial ordering. Another form of resistance reveals itself in continuing to adhere to traditional practices, including sometimes sitting in the buildings without clothing. Buildings in this way became sites of subtle protest. The most compelling example given of resistance to western European spatial ordering is from archaeological finds in the 1970s at the Wybalenna site. The artefacts found did not reveal typical patterns of inhabitation, as expected on European building sites. Outside elements were found inside the buildings, indicating that spatial ordering, defining inside and outside, was not adhered to by residents. The final form of resistance described in Chapter 7 is the abandonment of the 297 buildings when the palawa peoples became ill. When illness struck the palawa peoples moved to inhabit the more familiar buildings - windbreaks.

Illness and death became a regular occurrence at the settlement. Although the buildings provided comfort from a western European perspective, the buildings would have caused psychological tension in their failure to facilitate Indigenous cultural practices. However the poor health of the palawa residents did not necessarily result from sub-standard quality of European accommodation, at least in the second phase of buildings; medical staff judged the settlement as better than accommodation on mainland Tasmania. This suggests that health impacts were caused, at least in part, by the effect of western European buildings. The chapter proposes that a link seemed to exist between the building typology of warm, well-insulated full domes, and the high numbers of death amongst these people at Wybalenna in 1833, when they no longer occupied these building types. Robinson recognised a link between health and housing, yet despite the building works he instigated, Wybalenna remained plagued by disease and death. The palawa peoples themselves provided the most damning view of the settlement, with Robinson himself recording their questioning as to why they continued to be kept at the settlement despite the fact that game on the island was running out. Eventually the palawa peoples were allowed to leave Wybalenna, although they were placed in the confines of yet another government run settlement at Oyster Cove, south of Hobart.

This chapter with its discussion of the Wybalenna settlement offers a case study of the inscription of western European spatial ordering on the palawa peoples, the effect that resulted from this and the palawa peoples’ resistance to it. The chapter also shows that European spatial ordering is very much embedded within attempts to build for Indigenous Australians, and that this reveals an ongoing colonial approach.

Chapter 8 – A Non-Architectural Spatial Organisation Method: Ring Trees in Wadi Wadi Country Chapter 8 describes Ring Trees in Wadi Wadi Country, presenting these as further evidence that spatial divisions in Indigenous Australia differ from those of western Europeans. The Ring Trees are presented within the framework of Indigenous cultural knowledge without use of scientific investigations, in this way circumventing the need to validate or authenticate the Trees by reliance on western quantitative methods. To date 298 there are few publications that describe the Ring Trees, meaning that knowledge of them remains within the custodianship of Traditional Owners. Consultation with Traditional Owners was a key undertaking in order to form an understanding of the Ring Trees in writing this chapter.

Ring Trees are culturally significant trees with branches that have fused together over time as a result of human intervention. Ring Trees relate to both the natural and cultural landscape. They assume multiple roles, acting as boundary markers as well as signifiers of significant cultural sites. Ring Trees were cared for over time highlighting that their role in spatial ordering operated in a spatiotemporal manner. Early European colonisers did not appear to recognise the significance of Ring Trees. Logging and the practice of ring barking impacted some of the Trees, as well as their broader context in the forest. Ring Trees continue to play an important role for the Wadi Wadi community, being places where ceremonies are undertaken. Despite this, Ring Trees have not been listed as heritage items in their own right on the Victorian Aboriginal Heritage Register.

Cultural heritage sites in the forests where Ring Trees are located have however undergone assessment. In the 1970s some 150 Indigenous sites were documented, and in 2000 a heritage assessment was undertaken to assess the impact of proposed forestry work. The report stemming from the 2000 heritage assessment made mention of Ring Trees, suggesting that an expert provide consultation to resolve concerns about their management. Unfortunately for Wadi Wadi Traditional Owners, Ring Trees were not listed on the heritage register because the assessment criteria could not recognise their existence.

In the context of the discussion of Ring Trees, the difference between ‘site’ and ‘place’ is outlined in this chapter. It is highlighted that it is inappropriate to reduce Ring Trees to mere sites, as they are not simply elements devoid of context but relate to their specific location, as well as connecting other places in the environmental and cultural landscape. A key feature of the landscape in which the Ring Trees occur in Wadi Wadi Country is the Murray River. The Murray River is not only a vital resource for the Wadi Wadi people but also forms the focus of Creation narratives and cultural life. The Murray River and its creator, the Murray cod called Och-Ocut, informs Indigenous cultural life and also provides an indication of the health of the river. Large Red River Gums dominate the 299 forests in which the Ring Trees are located. The forests abound with the history of Wadi Wadi occupation made manifest by such things as Ring Trees and scar trees.

Visiting the Ring Trees it became evident that a number of commonalities exist across the trees – they are all Red River Gums, they are all of a substantial age and size, and they are each associated with significant cultural sites. Wood Wood Ring Tree 1 leans out from the bank and is associated with the river. This Ring Tree is most legible when viewed from the river. Wood Wood Ring Tree 2 is located close to a burial ground. This tree was ring barked in the past and is no longer alive. Wood Wood Ring Tree 3 is also associated with a burial ground. The association of Ring Trees with water, middens, and burial grounds suggests that the trees are spiritually connected with key phases of life. Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 4 and 5 act as sentinels to a large bora ground, not only demarcating passage to the bora ground, but acting to map the movement of people through the landscape carrying out ceremonies at the bora ground. Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 6 is a tree seen during the site visit that was previously unknown by Elder Marilyne Nicholls. Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 7 is considered to be a healing tree. Each of the trees is believed by the Wadi Wadi people to have their own presence. Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 8 is another Ring Tree previously unseen by Marilyne Nicholls. A midden is located close to this tree. Nyah Vinifera Ring Tree 9 has multiple rings. Training the branches of the tree had also resulted in the formation of a shaded area. An additional Ring Tree located beyond the boundaries of the Wood Wood and Nyah Vinifera Park was visited. The Koraleigh Ring Tree is a gathering place for farmers in the area. This tree differs significantly to the others visited, having had its context completely destroyed by the processes of European colonisation.

Chapter 8 provides a discussion of Ring Trees with particular descriptions of individual trees. Ring Trees are an expression of a cultural practice but they are also a demonstration of a specific approach to spatial demarcation. Ring Trees are a spatiotemporal approach to spatial ordering, acting as artefacts making manifest the inhabitation of terrain, or first space, which is interior-like in its qualities. This first space is not reliant upon a built form, but is generated by the series of Ring Trees across the cultural landscape. Thus interiority is revealed to exist at a macro scale within a larger cultural context. The orders of space are shown in this chapter to operate quite differently in relation to Australian Indigenous spatial ordering. A first space, or inside, exists but is shown here not to be 300 reliant upon architectural third space to generate these notions of an inside. Instead Ring Trees reveal interiority. Thus this chapter reinforces the hypothesis that spatial divisions in Indigenous Australia are not ordered in the same way as those expressed by western European architecture, and instead Australian Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority.

Reflection on Criteria for Success of the Project As was previously outlined in Chapter 1, in order to focus the aims and objectives of the thesis, five criteria for success of the project were developed. These criteria are reflected upon below:

(a)The thesis contributes to the understanding and appreciation of Australian Indigenous cultural expression in the form of buildings, and assists in providing a small bridge towards conciliation.1

The thesis is considered to contribute to the understanding and appreciation of Australian Indigenous buildings, in particular by providing a detailed discussion of classical palawa buildings in Chapter 6. Furthermore, Chapter 5 provides a discussion of the perception and representation of these buildings by European navigators and colonists. The selection of case study material in the thesis, aimed to contribute positively to the discussion of Aboriginality and its production, as is outlined in Chapter 2. It is hoped that through both the positioning of the thesis, and the reassessment it provides of spatial ordering it makes a positive contribution in some small way towards conciliation.

The thesis contributes a new idea to the discipline of interior architecture in the rethinking of the spatial ordering of non-western European buildings. Importantly, the western

1 Richard Bell, "Bell's Theorem: Aboriginal art- it's a white thing," (2003), www.kooriweb.org/foley/great/art/bell.html. As previously explained, the term conciliation is used in reference to Richard Bell’s article Bell’s Theorem: Aboriginal art- it’s a white thing. He highlights the point that the reconciliation process indicates that ‘conciliation’ took place at some “prior date. It never happened.”

301 European inside/outside model is not entirely dispensed with when discussing Australian Indigenous buildings and their spatial organisation. This model is allowed to transform and variations of it, as expressed by Australian Indigenous buildings and space, are described within the thesis. Through its use of literature from across disciplines, the thesis also enhances connections with other disciplines, demonstrating ways in which interior architecture can contribute its disciplinary perspective to a broader discourse beyond that of the interior architecture envelope.

(c) The discussion of spatial ordering has the ability to inform analysis of non-western European building traditions beyond the context described here.

It is hoped that the discussion provided here of spatial ordering may inform future research projects that provide analysis of non-western European building traditions. The thesis demonstrates the need to question existing ‘classical’ spatial models that are used to judge the cultural production of non-western European cultures, and offers ways in which to do so. In particular the thesis presents a narrative, not in a methodological sense, but through its various case study focuses that enable the many facets of spatial ordering to be grappled with.

(d) The undertaking of the research extends the existing knowledge base of Australian Indigenous building and interiority.

This criterion needs to be assessed over a longer time frame than within the immediacy of this project. Importantly stemming from this research a number of publications and presentations have already been produced, as outlined in the Preface, demonstrating that this research is beginning to be made available more broadly. In many ways this forms the first steps in allowing the research to be critiqued, tested and to hopefully be made use of in the work of future researchers. This will reveal that the research has assisted, in some small way, in extending the knowledge base of Australian Indigenous building and interiority.

302 (e) The thesis acts as a springboard for further study of the subject of spatial ordering and interiority and encourages future research students to add to this research.

Like Criterion D, this criterion also needs to be assessed over a longer time frame. In coming years future researchers, perhaps even those from within the discipline of interior architecture, may contribute to this subject of spatial ordering and interiority with further research. This would form an important future validation of the research demonstrating the continued relevancy of the research area and its findings.

The Hypothesis and Implications of the Findings The hypothesis put forward in the introduction of this thesis is that south-east Australian Indigenous occupation of space can be understood as interiority; in addition, it is also hypothesised that colonising western Europeans failed to understand this occupation and that as a result, sought to impose western European spatial ordering in its place. This hypothesis is founded on the idea that Australian Indigenous buildings do not always create a clear division between inside and outside, and therefore operate differently to western European buildings and their approach to spatial ordering. Throughout the course of the thesis this hypothesis is put to the test. What becomes clear from the research is that although some Australian Indigenous buildings do indeed create a distinct interior defined by third space, this is not always the case. As such, Indigenous buildings can be viewed as artefacts within spatial divisions operating at a much larger scale, defined by cosmology and inhabitation of the cultural landscape. In this way buildings take on a different role; their primary concern is not as an interior environment separated from the broader landscape, but as an artefact residing within an already created interiority.

The findings drawn from this research have implications for the future education of interior architects and architects for whom spatial ordering is part of their core thinking. However, spatial ordering is disguised by both education and practice and it has, until now, not been questioned. By teaching how Australian Indigenous buildings have been framed in a particular way by the use of language, and the referential manner that cites western European architecture, graduates will have an understanding of the methods employed to critique buildings that do not traditionally sit within the ‘canon.’ In addition, revealing that a colonial approach has been disguised in the study of Australian 303 Indigenous buildings, in relation to judgements based on spatial ordering, will enable the concept of spatial ordering to be understood as a cultural construct.

This thesis also has implications for the future of design, both in terms of design with Indigenous Australians and when designing for cultural difference. Stemming from this thesis it becomes clear that spatial ordering principles cannot simply be accepted as a ‘given.’ Spatial ordering, as the term by which a building must operate, is culturally specific and needs to be recognised as such. Applying principles of western European spatial ordering perpetuates a paternal approach and an inscription of western European concepts on different cultures. By shifting the focus from the building as being the all- important artefact when designing with Indigenous Australians, the cultural landscape can assume its dominant role by providing the interiority necessary for the ‘foundation’ of buildings.

Spatial ordering in Australian Indigenous building requires further assessment and consideration from others. However, what this thesis has shown is an approach to spatial ordering that transforms the western European model. As the anthropologist Peter Sutton sums it up:

In traditional Aboriginal thought, there is no nature without culture, just as there is no contrast either of domesticated landscape with wilderness or of interior scene with an expansive ‘outside’ beyond four walls.2

Ultimately, this thesis reveals that a western European approach to spatial ordering has been concealed in both the critique of Australian Indigenous buildings and in the approach to designing for Indigenous Australians. The contribution that this thesis makes is to enable the western European spatial ordering model to transform and accommodate different cultural expressions of spatial ordering, as well as to contribute more broadly to the dialogue regarding Australian Indigenous buildings and space. It is hoped that the ideas presented in this thesis will provide a positive contribution to architectural practice, and the dialogue about Australian Indigenous buildings, and enable these buildings to be

2 Peter Sutton, South Australian Museum, and Asia Society Galleries., Dreamings: the art of Aboriginal Australia (Ringwood, VIC: Viking in association with the Asia Society Galleries, New York, 1988). p. 18.

304 valued on their own cultural terms, without the need to conform to the expectations of western European architectural discourse.

305 LIST OF REFERENCES

CHAPTER 1 - INTRODUCTION

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309 CHAPTER 2 - METHODOLOGY

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314 CHAPTER 3 – INTERIORITY AND THE ORDERS OF SPACE

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317 Merwood-Sailsbury and Lois Weinthal. pp. 54-77. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2012. Vitruvius, Marcus Pollio. Vitruvius: the ten books on architecture. Translated by Morris Hicky Morgan. London: Harvard University Press, 1914. Whatmore, Sarah. Hybrid Geographies: natures, cultures, spaces. London: Sage Publications, 2002.

318 CHAPTER 4 – THE INFORMING OF SPATIAL ORDERING: THE SKY- DOME

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Architecture from the Outside: essays on virtual and real space. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001. Gulpilil, Hugh Rule, and Stuart Goodman. Gulpilil's Stories of the Dreamtime. Sydney: Collins, 1979. Hart, C. W. M., and Arnold R. Pilling. The Tiwi of North Australia. New York: Holt, 1960. Haynes, Roslynn D. "Astronomy and the Dreaming: the astronomy of the Aboriginal Australians." In Astronomy Across Cultures: the history of non-western astronomy, edited by H. Selin. pp. 53-90. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 2000. Houston, Chloe. "No Place and New Worlds: the early modern utopia and the concept of the global community." Spaces of Utopia, no. 1 (Spring 2006): pp. 13-21. Howitt, A.W. The Native Tribes of South-East Australia. London: Macmillan, 1904. Johnson, Dianne D. Night Skies of Aboriginal Australia: a noctuary. Oceania Monographs. Sydney: Oceania Publications, University of Sydney, 1998. Leatherbarrow, David. Topographical Stories: studies in landscape and architecture. 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322 CHAPTER 5 – CULTURAL ENCOUNTERS AND MISUNDERSTANDINGS

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323 Duyker, Edward, ed. The Discovery of Tasmania: journal extracts from the expeditions of Abel Janszoon Tasman and Marc-Joseph Marion Dufresne, 1642 and 1772. Hobart: St. David's Park Publishing, 1992. Duyker, Edward. Francois Peron: an impetuous life, naturalist and voyager. Carlton, VIC: Miegunyah Press, 2006. Duyker, Edward. "A French Garden in Tasmania: the legacy of Felix Delahaye (1767- 1829)." In Explorations, edited by Ivan Barko, Patricia Clancy, Edward Duyker, Alastair Hurst, Wallace Kirsop and Colin Thornton-Smith. pp: 1-18. Melbourne: The Institute for the Study of French-Australian Relations, no. 37, December 2004. Duyker, Maryse, (trans.). "Translation of Felix Delahaye's 'Botanical Catalogue-Journal,' In Van Diemen's Land (Tasmania) January-May 1792." In Explorations, edited by Ivan Barko, Patricia Clancy, Edward Duyker, Alastair Hurst, Wallace Kirsop and Colin Thornton-Smith. pp: 33-36. Melbourne: The Institute for the Study of French-Australian Relations, no. 37, December 2004. Eco, Umberto. Misreadings. Translated by William Weaver. London: Jonathan Cape, 1993. Egenter, Nold. "The Deep Structure of Architecture: constructivity and human evolution." In Architectural Anthropology, edited by Mari-Jose Amerlinck. pp. 43-81. Westport, CT: Bergin & Garvey, 2001. "The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia." edited by David Horton. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 1994. Fanon, Frantz. "Black Skin, White Masks." In Modern Criticism and Theory: a reader, edited by David Lodge and Nigel Wood. pp. 127-39. Harlow: Pearson, 2008. Forty, Adrian. "Primitive: the word and concept." In Primitive: original matters in architecture, edited by Jo Odgers, Flora Samuel and Adam Sharr. pp. 3-14. London: Routledge, 2006. Forty, Adrian. Words and Buildings: a vocabulary of modern architecture. London: Thames & Hudson, 2000. Haynes, Roslynn D. Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography. 1st ed. Sandy Bay, TAS: Polymath Press, 2006. Hernandez, Felipe. Bhabha for Architects. Thinkers for Architects. edited by Adam Sharr London: Routledge, 2010. 324 Holm, Lorens. "The Primitive Hut: fantasies of survival in an all-white world." In Primitive: original matters in archiecture, edited by Jo Odgers, Flora Samuel and Adam Sharr. pp. 43-54. London: Routledge, 2006. Hooper, Beverley, ed. With Captain James Cook in the Antarctic and Pacific: the private journal of James Burney, second lieutenant of the Adventure on Cook's second voyage, 1772-1773. Canberra: National Library of Australia, 1975. Hvattum, Mari. "Origins Redefined: a tale of pigs and primitive huts." In Primitive: original matters in architecture, edited by Jo Odgers, Flora Samuel and Adam Sharr. pp. 33-42. London: Routledge, 2006. Jennings, Jan. "A Case Study for a Typology of Design: the interior archetype project." Journal of Interior Design vol. 32, no. 3 (2007): pp. 48-68. Johnston, Anna, and Mitchell Rolls. "Reading Friendly Mission in the Twenty-First Century: an introduction." In Reading Robinson: companion essays to Friendly Mission, edited by Anna Johnston and Mitchell Rolls. pp. 13-25. Hobart: Quintus Publishing, 2008. Jorgensen, Jorgen. "Jorgen Jorgenson - Journals, 2-29 Sept. 1826; 21 Jan.- 10 Apr. 1827." Sydney: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales. Digital image number a1656091, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemDetailPaged.aspx?itemID=447420, 1826. Labillardiere, J. J. H. Voyage in Search of La Perouse Performed by Order of the Constituent Assembly During the Years 1791, 1792, 1793 and 1794 and Drawn up by M. Labillardiere, Translated from the French. Illustrated with Forty-Six Plates. London: J. Stockdale, 1800. Langton, Marcia. "Prologue." In First Australians: an illustrated history, edited by Rachel Perkins and Marcia Langton. pp. XXIV-XXIX. Carlton, VIC: The Miegunyah Press, 2010. Leach, Neil, ed. Rethinking Architecture: a reader in cultural theory. New York: Routledge, 1997. Lehman, Greg. "Being Here: authenticity and presence in Tasmanian Aboriginal art." In Keeping Culture: Aboriginal Tasmania, edited by Amanda Jane Reynolds. pp: 33- 42. Canberra: National Museum of Australia Press, 2006. Ling, Roth H. The Aborigines of Tasmania. Hobart: Fullers Bookshop, 1969. Facsimile of the second edition, 1899.

325 Lodge, David, and Nigel Wood, eds. Modern Criticism and Theory: a reader. 3rd ed. Harlow: Pearson, 2008. Macfarlane, Ian. "Aboriginal Society in North West Tasmania: dispossession and genocide." PhD thesis, University of Tasmania, 2002. Markus, Thomas A., and Deborah Cameron. The Words Between the Spaces: buildings and language. New York: Routledge, 2002. Memmott, Paul. Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia. St. Lucia, Qld: University of Queensland Press, 2007. Merrill, Victoria. "Dovecot." Grove Art Online, accessed 11 January, 2013, http://www.oxfordartonline.com:80/subscriber/article/grove/art/T023510. Mortimer, George. Observations and Remarks Made During a Voyage to the Islands of Teneriffe, Amsterdam, Maria's Islands near Van Diemen's Land; Otaheite, Sandwich Islands; Owhyhee, the Fox Islands on the north west coast of America, Tinian, and from thence to Canton, in the Brig Mercury, commanded by John Henry Cox, Esq. London: T. Cadell, 1791. Plomley, Brian. "Foreword." In The Discovery of Tasmania: journal extracts from the expeditions of Abel Janszoon Tasman and Marc-Joseph Marion Dufresne 1642 & 1772, edited by Edward Duyker. p. vii. Hobart: St. David's Park Publishing, 1992. Plomley, N. J. B., ed. Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834. Hobart: Tasmanian Historical Research Association, 1966. Reed, A. W., ed. Captain Cook in Australia: extracts from the journals of Captain James Cook giving a full account in his own words of his adventures and discoveries in Australia. Wellington: Reed, 1969. Reynolds, Henry. "George Augustus Robinson in Van Dieman's Land: race, status and religion." In Reading Robinson: companion essays to Friendly Mission, edited by Anna Johnston and Mitchell Rolls. pp. 161-69. Hobart: Quintus Publishing, 2008. "Robinson, George Augustus (1791–1866)." Australian Dictionary of Biography, National Centre of Biography, Australian National University, accessed 12 April, 2012, http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/robinson-george-augustus-2596/text3565. Roe, Margriet. "Hayes, Sir John (1768–1831)." Australian Dictionary of Biography, National Centre of Biography, Australian National University, accessed 12 April, 2012, http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/hayes-sir-john-2173/text2789.

326 Ryan, Lyndall. The Aboriginal Tasmanians. 2nd ed. St. Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 1996. Ryan, Lyndall. "The Aborigines in Tasmania, 1800-1974 and their Problems with the Europeans." PhD thesis, Macquarie University, 1975. Ryan, Lyndall. Tasmanian Aborigines: a history since 1803. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2012. Rykwert, Joseph. On Adam's House in Paradise: the idea of the primitive hut in architectural history. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1997. First published 1972. Sprod, Dan, ed. Van Diemen's Land Revealed: Flinders and Bass and their circumnavigation of the island in the colonial sloop Norfolk 1798-1799. Hobart: Blubber Head Press, 2009. Sutton, Peter. Country: Aboriginal boundaries and land ownership in Australia. Aboriginal History Monograph Series 1995. edited by Diane Smith Canberra: Aboriginal History Incorporated, 1995. Sutton, Peter. Native Title in Australia: an ethnographic perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. "Voyage of Discovery." SL Magazine, April 2009, pp. 26-27. Worawee. Traditional Villages. Aspects of Tasmania's traditional Aboriginal people series. Revised 'Yes We Had Villages' ed. Lindisfarne, TAS: Manuta Tunapee Puggaluggalia, 1999.

327 CHAPTER 6 – THE ROLE OF BUILDINGS IN INDIGENOUS SPATIAL ORGANISATION: CLASSICAL PALAWA BUILDINGS

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328 Clarke, Philip A. Aboriginal Plant Collectors: botanists and Australian Aboriginal people in the nineteenth century. Dural, NSW: Rosenberg Publishing, 2008. Department of Family and Community Services, and Standing Committee on Indigenous Housing. National Indigenous Housing Guide: improving the living environment for safety, health and sustainability. 3rd ed. Canberra: Department of Family and Community Services, 2007. Dove, Rev. T. "Moral and Social Characteristics of the Aborigines of Tasmania, as gathered from Intercourse with the surviving Remnant of them now located on Flinder’s Island." The Tasmanian Journal of Natural Science vol. 1, no. 4 (1842): pp. 247-54. Duyker, Edward. Francois Peron: an impetuous life, naturalist and voyager. Carlton, VIC: Miegunyah Press, 2006. Edwards, Clive. Interior Design: a critical introduction. Oxford: Berg, 2011. Evans, George William. A Geographical, Historical, and Topographical description of Van Diemen's Land, with important hints to emigrants, and useful information respecting the application for grants of land; together with a list of the most necessary articles for persons to take out. Embellished by a correct view of Hobart Town; also, a large chart of the Island, thirty inches by twenty-four, with the soundings of the harbours and rivers, and in which the various grants of land are accurately laid down. London: John Souter, 1822. Furneaux, Tobias. "Captain Furneaux's Narrative of a Brief Visit to Van Diemen's Land, 9 March 1773 - 19 March 1773." In Captain Cook in Australia: extracts from the journals of Captain James Cook giving a full account in his own words of his adventures and discoveries in Australia, edited by A. W. Reed. pp. 159-64. Wellington: A. H. & A. W. Reed, 1969. Gammage, Bill. The Biggest Estate on Earth: how Aborigines made Australia. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2011. Go-Sam, Carroll. "Working With and Against Indigenous Design Paradigms." Architecture Australia vol. 97, no. 5 (September-October, 2008): pp. 53-58. Haynes, Roslynn D. Tasmanian Visions: landscapes in writing, art and photography. 1st ed. Sandy Bay, TAS: Polymath Press, 2006. Hiatt, Betty. "The Food Quest and the Economy of the Tasmanian Aborigines (Continued)." Oceania vol. 38, no. 3 (March 1968): pp. 190-219.

329 Hooper, Beverley, ed. With Captain James Cook in the Antarctic and Pacific: the private journal of James Burney, second lieutenant of the Adventure on Cook's second voyage, 1772-1773. Canberra: National Library of Australia, 1975. Hoorn, Jeanette. Australian Pastoral: the making of a white landscape. Fremantle: Fremantle Press, 2007. Jones, J. F. "Huts of Tasmanian Aborigines on the West Coast - July 1946." Launceston: Community History Centre, Queen Victoria Museum. Transcribed by Peter Sims. Jones, Rhys. "Face to Face." In The Tasmanian Aboriginal in Art. pp. 2-8. Hobart: Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery, 1976. Jorgensen, Jorgen. "Jorgen Jorgenson - Journals, 2-29 Sept. 1826; 21 Jan.- 10 Apr. 1827." Sydney: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales. Digital image number a1656067, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemDetailPaged.aspx?itemID=447420, 1827. Jorgensen, Jorgen. "Jorgen Jorgenson - Journals, 2-29 Sept. 1826; 21 Jan.- 10 Apr. 1827." Sydney: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales. Digital image number a1656091, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemDetailPaged.aspx?itemID=447420, 1826. Lassak, E. V., and T. McCarthy. Australian Medicinal Plants. Sydney: Methuen Australia, 1983. Leach, Neil, ed. Rethinking Architecture: a reader in cultural theory. New York: Routledge, 1997. Ling, Roth H. The Aborigines of Tasmania. Hobart: Fullers Bookshop, 1969. Facsimile of the second edition, 1899. Long, Stephen, Paul Memmott, and Tim Seelig. "An Audit and Review of Australian Indigenous Housing Research." Queensland: Australian Housing and Urban Research Institute, 2007. McLean, Ian. "Figuring Nature: painting the Indigenous landscape." In John Glover and the Colonial Picturesque, edited by David Hansen. pp. 122-33. Hobart: Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery and Art Exhibitions Australia, 2003. Memmott, Paul. Gunyah, Goondie + Wurley: the Aboriginal Architecture of Australia. St. Lucia, Qld: University of Queensland Press, 2007. Moore-Robinson, J. A Record of Tasmanian Nomenclature with Dates and Origins. Hobart: The Mercury Printing Office, 1911.

330 Mortimer, George. Observations and Remarks Made During a Voyage to the Islands of Teneriffe, Amsterdam, Maria's Islands near Van Diemen's Land; Otaheite, Sandwich Islands; Owhyhee, the Fox Islands on the north west coast of America, Tinian, and from thence to Canton, in the Brig Mercury, commanded by John Henry Cox, Esq. London: T. Cadell, 1791. O’Rourke, Tim. "Aboriginal Camps and ‘Villages’ in Southeast Queensland." In Proceedings of the Society of Architectural Historians, Australia and New Zealand: 30, Open, edited by Alexandra Brown and Andrew Leach, pp. 851-63. Gold Coast, Queensland: SAHANZ, 2013. Pholeros, Paul, Stephan Rainow, and Paul Torzillo. Housing for Health: towards a healthy living environment for Aboriginal Australia. Newport Beach, NSW: Healthhabitat, 1993. Plomley, Brian. The Tasmanian Aborigines. Launceston: The Plomley Foundation, 1993. Plomley, Brian, Christine Cornell, and Max Banks. Francois Peron's Natural History of Maria Island, Tasmania. Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery, 1990. Plomley, N. J. B., ed. Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834. Hobart: Tasmanian Historical Research Association, 1966. Plomley, N. J. B., ed. Jorgen Jorgenson and the Aborigines of Van Diemen's land: being a reconstruction of his "lost' book on their customs and habits, and on his role in the roving parties and the Black Line. Hobart: Blubber Head Press, 1991. Plomley, N. J. B., ed. Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835- 1839. Sandy Bay, TAS: Blubber Head Press, 1987. Ranson, Don. "A Preliminary Examination of Prehistoric Coastal Settlement at Nelson Bay, West Coast of Tasmania." Australian Archaeology, no. 8 (1978): pp: 149-58. Reed, A. W., ed. Captain Cook in Australia: extracts from the journals of Captain James Cook giving a full account in his own words of his adventures and discoveries in Australia. Wellington: Reed, 1969. Robinson, George Augustus. "Series 02: George Augustus Robinson journals, 1829- 1849." In George Augustus Robinson papers, 1818-1924, journal entry for 11 July, 1834: Mitchell Library. State Library of NSW – Call no. A 7023 - A7041, 1834.

331 Robinson, George Augustus. "Series 02: George Augustus Robinson journals, 1829- 1849." In George Augustus Robinson papers, 1818-1924, journal entry for 20 May, 1833: Mitchell Library. State Library of NSW – Call no. A 7023 - A7041, 1833. Ryan, Lyndall. The Aboriginal Tasmanians. 2nd ed. St. Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 1996. Scott, Thomas. "Thomas Scott- Account of Van Diemen's Land, 1822." Sydney: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales. Digital image number a1497015, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemDetailPaged.aspx?itemID=430476, 1822. Smyth, Robert Brough. The Aborigines of Victoria: with notes relating to the habits of the natives of other parts of Australia and Tasmania. Melbourne: J. Ferres, govt' printer, 1878. "The Tarkine, Waratah Rd, Savage River, TAS, Australia." Australian Heritage Database, accessed 30 May, 2012, http://www.environment.gov.au/cgi-bin/ahdb/search.pl. Vitruvius, Marcus Pollio. Vitruvius: the ten books on architecture. Translated by Morris Hicky Morgan. London: Harvard University Press, 1914. Wolfe, Patrick. "Nation and Miscegenation: discursive continuity in the post-Mabo era." Social Analysis, no. 36 (October 1994): pp. 93-152. Worawee. Traditional Villages. Aspects of Tasmania's traditional Aboriginal people series. Revised 'Yes We Had Villages' ed. Lindisfarne, TAS: Manuta Tunapee Puggaluggalia, 1999.

332 CHAPTER 7 – RESITING WESTERN EUROPEAN SPATIAL ORDERING: THE BUILDINGS OF WYBALENNA

Australia. Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody., and Elliott Johnston. National report. 5 vols Canberra: Australian Govt. Pub. Service, 1991. Backhouse, James, and Charles Tylor. The Life and Labours of George Washington Walker, of Hobart Town, Tasmania. London: A.W. Bennett, 1862. Birmingham, Judy. "Meaning from Artefacts: a question of scale." Australasian Historical Archaeology vol. 10, no. 1992 (1992): pp. 30-35. Birmingham, Judy. Wybalenna: the archaeology of cultural accommodation in nineteenth century Tasmania. Sydney: Australian Society for Historical Archaeology, 1990. Calder, James Erskine. Some Account of the Wars, Extirpation, Habits etc. of the Native Tribes of Tasmania. Hobart: Fullers Bookshop, 1972. Cameron, Patsy. Grease and Ochre: the blending of two cultures at the colonial sea frontier. Launceston: Fullers Bookshop, 2011. Connor, John. "Recording the Human Face of War: Robinson and frontier conflict." In Reading Robinson: companion essays to Friendly Mission, edited by Anna Johnston and Mitchell Rolls. pp. 171-80. Hobart: Quintus Publishing, 2008. Edgecombe, Jean. Flinders Island and Eastern Bass Strait. 2nd ed. Sydney: J. M. Edgecombe, 2007. Fenton, James, and James Backhouse Walker. A History of Tasmania from its Discovery in 1642 to the Present Time. Hobart: J. Walch and sons, 1884. Flinders, Matthew. A Voyage to Terra Australis; undertaken for the purpose of completing the discovery of that vast country, and prosecuted in the years 1801, 1802 and 1803, in His Majesty's ship the Investigator, and subsequently in the armed vessel Porpoise and Cumberland schooner. With an account of the shipwreck of the Porpoise, arrival of the Cumberland at Mauritius, and imprisonment of the commander during six years and a half in that island. Facsim. ed. 2 vols. Vol. 1, Adelaide: Libraries Board of South Australia, 1966. Fowler, R. M. The Furneaux Group, Bass Strait : a history. Canberra: Roebuck, 1980. Haydon, Tom, Rhys Jones, Leo McKern, Jim Allen, Ray Barnes, and Artis Film Productions. The Last Tasmanian. Avalon Beach, NSW: Maxwell's Collection [distributor], 1978. videocassette (VHS), 104 min.

333 Heiss, Anita, Peter Minter, and Nicholas Jose. Macquarie PEN Anthology of Aboriginal Literature. Crows Nest, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 2008. Jackson, Michael. At Home in the World. London: Duke University Press, 1995. Johnston, Anna. "The Little Empire of Wybalenna: becoming colonial in Australia." Journal of Australian Studies no. 81 (2004): pp. 17-31; pp. 199-203. Leach, Neil, ed. Rethinking Architecture: a reader in cultural theory. New York: Routledge, 1997. Lennox, Geoff. Oyster Cove Historic Site: a resource document. National Parks and Wildlife Service Occasional Paper No.9. Sandy Bay, TAS: National Parks and Wildlife Service, 1984. "Letter from George Augustus Robinson to Henry Dowling, Hunter Islands, Van Diemen's Land, 1832." University of Tasmania Library. Available online http://eprints.utas.edu.au/7266/. Mason, Joan. "Restoration of Wybalenna Chapel." Flinders Island: FHRA Archives. Item no D281-5 2001. Matson-Green, Vicki, and Ida West. "In the Care of Spirits." Island (Sandy Bay, Tas) Winter, no. 79 (1999): pp. 36-45. Memmott, Paul. "Aboriginal Housing: the state of the art (or non-state of the art)." Architecture Australia (June 1988): pp. 34-45. Plomley, N. J. B., ed. Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834. Hobart: Tasmanian Historical Research Association, 1966. Plomley, N. J. B., ed. Weep in Silence: a history of the Flinders Island Aboriginal settlement; with the Flinders Island journal of George Augustus Robinson, 1835- 1839. Sandy Bay, TAS: Blubber Head Press, 1987. Plomley, N. J. B., ed. The Westlake Papers: records of interviews in Tasmania by Ernest Westlake, 1908-1910. Launceston: Queen Victoria Museum & Art Gallery, 1991, Occasional Paper No. 4. Prout, John Skinner. "Residence of the Aborigines of Flinders Island." print: coloured lithograph ; sheet 27 x 39 cm, 1846. Rae-Ellis, Vivienne. Black Robinson: Protector of Aborigines. Carlton, VIC: Melbourne University Press, 1988.

334 Ranson, Don, and Brian J. Egloff. "The Application of Earth-Resistivity Surveys to Australian Archaeological Sites." Australasian Historical Archaeology vol. 6 (1988): pp. 57-73. Reynolds, Henry. Fate of a Free People. Updated and rev. ed. Camberwell, VIC: Penguin, 2004. Reynolds, Henry. The Question of Genocide in Australia's History: an indelible stain? Ringwood, VIC: Viking, 2001. Roth, H. Ling. The Aborigines of Tasmania. Hobart: Fullers Bookshop, 1969. Facsimile of the second edition, 1899. Ryan, Lyndall. The Aboriginal Tasmanians. 2nd ed. St. Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 1996. Ryan, Lyndall. "The Aborigines in Tasmania, 1800-1974 and their Problems with the Europeans." PhD thesis, Macquarie University, 1975. Ryan, Lyndall. Tasmanian Aborigines: a history since 1803. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2012. Smith, Laurajane. Archaeological Theory and the Politics of Cultural Heritage. London: Routledge, 2004. Thomas, Steve, John Moore, and Open Channel Co-operative. Black Man's Houses. Fitzroy, VIC: A Steve Thomas/Open Channel Production, 1992. videocassette (VHS), 58 min. Turnbull, Clive. Black War: the extermination of the Tasmanian Aborigines. Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire, 1948. West, Ida, and Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies. Pride Against Prejudice: reminiscences of a Tasmanian Aborigine. Repr. with additions. ed. Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies, 1987.

335 CHAPTER 8 – A NON-ARCHITECTURAL SPATIAL ORGANISATION METHOD: RING TREES IN WADI WADI COUNTRY

"Aboriginal Languages of Victoria - Resource Portal." Monash University, accessed 30 May, 2010, http://ilv.usc.edu.au/kulin-language. Baxter, Bruce, Dawn McCartney, Doug Nicholls, Shirley Nicholson, Lyn O'Bree, and Jill Pattenden. Matakupat: the Aboriginal history of the Swan Hill area. Swan Hill: Matakupat, 1990. Carver, Greg. "An Examination of Indigenous Australian Culturally Modified Trees in South Australia." master's thesis, Flinders University, 2001. Cook, Damien. "Preliminary Investigation of Floodplain Vegetation of Nyah-Vinifera Forest." Australian Ecosystems, accessed 31 July, 2013, http://www.melbourne.foe.org.au/files/Preliminary investigation of floodplain vegetation web.pdf. Council, Victorian Environmental Assessment. "River Red Gum Forest Investigation." Victorian Environmental Assessment Council, July 2008. Cumpston, Nici, and Kay Lawrence. "A Story is like a River: intercultural collaboration in weaving the Murray." Paper presented at the Selling Yarns: Australian Indigenous textiles and good business in the 21st century, Darwin, August 2006. Curl, James Stevens. A Dictionary of Architecture and Landscape Architecture. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Cusack, Julie. "Nyah State Forest; an Aboriginal heritage assessment of three proposed forestry coupes." Melbourne: Andrew Long & Associates, 2000. Duncan, Brad, Joanna Freslov, and David Clark, eds. "Standards for Recording Victorian Aboriginal Heritage Places and Objects Victorian ". Melbourne: Aboriginal Affairs Victoria, September 2008. Environment, Natural Resources and, and Friends of the Nyah/Vinifera Forests. "Nyah State Forest & Vinifera River Reserve Touring Map." 2000. Environment, The State of Victoria Department of Sustainability and. "Regional Matters: an atlas of regional Victoria 2005." Victorian Government Department of Sustainability and Environment, December 2005. "Glossary Heritage and Culture." Department of Indigenous Affairs, Government of Western Australia, last modified 2 December, 2010, accessed 20 July, 2012, http://www.dia.wa.gov.au/en/Heritage-and-Culture/Resources/glossary/ - Bb. 336 Horton, David. "Aboriginal Australia wall map." Acton: AIATSIS, 2000. Horton, David. "Trade." In The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia, edited by David Horton. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 1994. Horton, David. "Wadi Wadi." In The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia, edited by David Horton. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 1994. Howie-Willis, Ian. "Coolamon." In The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia, edited by David Horton. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 1994. Jackson, Michael. At Home in the World. London: Duke University Press, 1995. "Koraleigh." Wakool Shire Council, accessed 30 May, 2010, http://www.wakool.local- e.nsw.gov.au/about/23333/23337.html. La Nauze, Jonathan. "The History of the Barmah-Millewa Campaign." Friends of the Earth Australia, accessed 30 May, 2010, http://www.foe.org.au/resources/chain- reaction/editions/105/the-history-of-the-barmah-millewa-campaign. Leatherbarrow, David. The Roots of Architectural Invention: site, enclosure, materials. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Long, Andrew. "Scarred Trees: an identification and recording manual." Melbourne: Aboriginal Affairs Victoria, February 2003. McCarthy, F.D. Australian Aboriginal Decorative Art. 3rd ed. Sydney: Australian Museum, 1952. MLDRIN. "About Us." accessed 30 May, 2010, http://www.mldrin.org.au/about/. MLDRIN. "Membership- Nations- Wadi Wadi." accessed 30 May, 2010, http://www.mldrin.org.au/membership/wadiwadi.htm. Morgan, Monica, Lisa Strelein, and Jessica Weir. "Indigenous Rights to Water in the Murray Darling Basin: in support of the Indigenous final report to the Living Murray Initiative. Research Discussion Paper #14." Canberra: Native Title Research Unit, Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 2004. Porter, Libby. "Rights or Containment? The Politics of Aboriginal Cultural Heritage in Victoria." Australian Geographer vol. 37, no. 3 (November 2006 2006): pp. 355- 74.

337 Reed, A. W. Aboriginal Myths, Legends, and Fables. Chatswood, NSW: Reed New Holland, 1999. First published in 1982 by Reed Books Pty Ltd. Riley, Michael. "Quest for Country." 1993. Sinclair, Paul Geoffrey. The Murray: a river and its people. Carlton, VIC: Melbourne University Press, 2001. Stanbridge, W. E. "On the Astronomy and Mytholoy of the Aborigines of Victoria." Proceedings of the Philosophical Institute of Victoria vol. 2 (1858): pp. 137-40. Stanbridge, W. E. "Some Particulars of the General Characteristics, Astronomy, and Mythology of the Tribes in the Central Part of Victoria, Southern Australia." Transactions of the Ethnological Society of London vol. 1 (1861): pp. 286-304. Weir, Jessica K. Murray River Country: an ecological dialogue with Traditional Owners. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press, 2009. "Wood Wood F. F. R.". Parks Victoria, accessed 31 July, 2013, http://parkweb.vic.gov.au/explore/parks/wood-wood-f.f.r.

338 CHAPTER 9 – CONCLUSION

Bell, Richard. "Bell's Theorem: Aboriginal art- it's a white thing." In, (2003). http://www.kooriweb.org/foley/great/art/bell.html. Sutton, Peter, South Australian Museum, and Asia Society Galleries. Dreamings: the art of Aboriginal Australia. Ringwood, VIC: Viking in association with the Asia Society Galleries, New York, 1988.

339

APPENDICES

"#$!! APPENDIX 1 THE RE-INSCRIPTION OF SPATIAL ORDERING1

Introduction This appendix provides a discussion of three ‘Aboriginal arches’ erected on the east coast of Australia, drawing upon archival research to present a previously untold story. The arches are associated with transitional space, both actually, and as a metaphoric expression of the re-inscription of Australian Indigenous spatial ordering. Thus this appendix illustrates a consequence of the core idea contained in the thesis, and for this reason it was decided not to include this research in the main body of the thesis but instead provide it as a separate, yet related, narrative.

In the three ‘Aboriginal arch’ examples provided2, Indigenous buildings and artefacts are repositioned as a type of colonial communitas, thereby collective ‘owned’ by the colonisers. Communitas is a Latin term for community.3 It is described by anthropologist Victor Turner, in The Ritual Process: structure and anti-structure, as being more appropriate when discussing liminal states because it helps to distinguish between community as an “area of common living” and “society as an unstructured or rudimentarily structured and relatively undifferentiated comitatus, community”.4 The term communitas is adopted here in reference to the focus of this chapter on transitional space and the reframing of Indigenous buildings and artefacts throughout the arches described. As previously mentioned, this appendix will show how Indigenous buildings and artefacts were repositioned as being ‘owned’ by the colonisers, which reshapes their spatial meaning. This acts to reduce the cultural power of the artefacts within their own cultures and ultimately transfers that power to the colonial empire. This appendix therefore shows that this repositioning effectively acts to establish a dominance of western European

1 Material from this appendix has been presented at the Architecture at the Ragged Edge of Empire symposium, and a variation of it at the Art Association of Australia and New Zealand annual conference, as noted in the thesis Preface. 2 The selection of the arches is not based on their geographic comparability but rather their expression of the one design tradition – ‘the triumphal arch’ – its incorporation of Australian Indigenous subject matter and how this has changed over time. 3 Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: structure and anti-structure, ed. Victor Turner, Symbol, Myth and Ritual Series (New York: Cornell University Press, 1979). p. 96. 4 Ibid. 341 culture, and consequently to usurp the spatial ordering of Australian Indigenous cultures. These issues are explored in relation to three domestic ‘Aboriginal arches’ – the 1901 Aboriginal Arch constructed in Brisbane (to celebrate the visit of The Duke of York), the 1920 arch constructed in Maryborough (for the visit of The Prince of Wales), and the 1954 Boomerang arch constructed first in Sydney and then Melbourne (for the visit of Queen Elizabeth and The Duke of Edinburgh).

The discussion that follows also touches on issues of representation. Representation plays a crucial role in the creation of what Edward W. Said describes as “universalizing cultural discourses.”5 Representation is power through which this occurs. As Said describes:

There is a convergence between the great geographical scope of the empires, especially the British one, and universalizing cultural discourses. Power makes this convergence possible, of course; with it goes the ability to be in far-flung places, to learn about other people, to codify and disseminate knowledge, to characterize, transport, install, and display instances of other cultures (through exhibits, expeditions, photographs, paintings, surveys, schools), and above all to rule them.6

The use of living people as part of the arches acts to create colonial communitas - a universalised and carefully curated cultural image. This image acts to establish a dominance of western European culture, and consequently usurp the spatial implications of the Australian Indigenous artefacts and inturn spatial ordering.

The Arches, 1901; 1920; 1954 The erection of temporary triumphal arches by councils and officialdom took place in cities across Australia to mark Federation celebrations in 1901.7 Appendix Figure 1 is a photograph of a street arch erected in Brisbane to celebrate the visit of The Duke of York to Australia in 1901. This pointed arch, as well as the others described, alludes to the tradition of triumphal arches. A triumphal arch is a “formal gateway set over an axis to

5 Edward W. Said, Culture and Imperialism (London: Vintage, 1994). p. 130. 6 Ibid. 7 Arches were erected in Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Perth, Hobart, Adelaide, Albury and Ballarat. Robert Lewis, Tim Gurry, and David Arnold, "Life at the Time of Federation: exploring a 'time capsule' of evidence from the National Museum of Australia," (Melbourne: Ryebuck Media for the National Museum of Australia, 2001), p. 5. 342 commemorate a victory or individual.”8 Traditionally there are a number of architectural variations of the triumphal arch. They generally have a presence of scale, a sense of permanence and application of decorative surface quality in the form of mouldings or rustication. This arch and the others described are imported western European attempts to create unity using an architectural device. The incorporation of Australian Indigenous peoples as part of the arches reveals pride. Pride in that the empire had expanded and encompassed these cultures. In some respects what Homi Bhabha would term ambivalence is at work here.9

The 1901 arch was located on the route travelled by The Duke of York to Government House in Brisbane.10 The procession travelled along “Queen and George Streets to South Brisbane, and back to Parliament House, under triumphal arches”.11 The arch was festooned with native foliage, animal skins, boomerangs and other weaponry, and along the springing-line12 as well as on the crown of the arch itself, stood sixty13 Australian Indigenous men, women and children, many carrying spears and wearing painted body designs.14 Beneath the arch strings of shells were hung and the arch’s apex was topped by a large grass-tree.15 One newspaper article contemporary with the time reported that, “On the road to Government House the aboriginal arch, with its pyramid of living natives, decked out in emu feathers and red and white ochres, proved a striking feature of the day’s show, and interested the Royal party greatly.”16 Another account described the arch

8 James Stevens Curl, A Dictionary of Architecture and Landscape Architecture, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). p. 790. 9 Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London: Routledge, 1995). p. 149. 10 The photographic documentation of the arch appears to show it located on George Street with the Lamington Hotel in the background. However, a newspaper from the time says that it was decided to place the arch “from the vacant allotment near the Lamington Hotel, George-street, to the Government Printing Office yard.” "The Aboriginal Arch," The Brisbane Courier, Saturday 13, April, 1901. 11 Harry H. Perry, "When the King Came," Sunday Mail, Sunday 28, January, 1934. 12 “Horizontal plane from which an arch begins to leave its impost by rising upwards…” Curl, A Dictionary of Architecture and Landscape Architecture: p. 733. 13 Although 60 participants are listed in the newspaper report, it seems likely that there were actually 75 participants. This is assumed as an itemised account titled ‘Aboriginals at Woolloongabba, 23rd and 24th of May 1901’ lists the cost of feeding 75 for 2 days, not 60. "Archibald Meston to Under Secretary, 30 May, 1901," (Brisbane: Queensland State Archives. Item ID 17983, Special Batches Page No. 259). 14 Helen Irving, "Introduction: a nation in a day," in Becoming Australians: the movement towards Federation in Ballarat and the Nation, ed. Kevin T. Livingston, Richard Jordan, and Gay Sweely (Kent Town, SA: Wakefield Press, 2001), p. 9. 15 "The Royal Arch," The Queenslander 25 May, 1901, p. 977. 16 "At Brisbane: another speech by His Royal Highness," The Mercury, Thursday 23, May, 1901, p. 3. 343 as being covered with “ti-tree bark, with here and there aboriginal gunyahs, adorned with aboriginal weapons, staghorn ferns, grass-trees, and other typical Australian foliage.”17 In the photographic documentation it is difficult to discern the buildings displayed. They are enveloped by nature, indistinguishable as being produced by the hands of humankind. The buildings, described in one newspaper article as “typical aboriginal gunyah[s]”, were located on the top of each buttress and were “occupied by gins and piccaninnies with emu and kangaroo skins, mats, boomerangs, spears, dillybags, etc. displayed before them.”18 Referred to as the ‘The Aboriginal Arch’ in newspaper reports of the time, it proved to be a popular feature of the many elements that decorated the city for The Duke of York’s visit. In the planning phase for the creation of the arch, Achibald Meston (1851-1924) decided that the final design would possess “in all details a distinctive aboriginal character.” 19 As such, the arch provides a unique large-scale representation of Aboriginality crafted to suit perceptions of the time. Construction on the timber frame for the arch commenced on Monday 30th of April 1901.20 The decoration of the arch took place under the direction of Archibald Meston, who was at the time Protector of Aboriginals.21 Meston was assisted by Harold Meston, the Superintendent of Durundur, Mr Iyins, the Superintendent of Deebing Creek, and a number of Australian Indigenous participants.22

17 "The Queensland Visit: Brisbane decorations, an Aboriginal arch," The Advertiser, Monday 20, May, 1901, p. 6. 18 "The Royal Arch," p. 977. 19 "Archibald Meston to Chief Secretary, 23 March, 1901," (Brisbane: Queensland State Archives. Item ID 17983, Special Batches Page No. 259.). 20 "Brisbane Preparations: the Aboriginal arch," The Queenslander, Saturday 4, May, 1901, p. 872. 21 Ibid. 22 "Archibald Meston to Under Secretary, 30 May, 1901." 344

Appendix Figure 1. Aboriginal Arch on George Street in Brisbane in 1901. (Photographer unknown, 1901, Royal Commonwealth Society Library, Cambridge University Library, Classmark RCS Y3085J/11, http://www.dspace.cam.ac.uk/handle/1810/1417.) Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library.

Rather unusually for this period, we know the names of at least two of the people on the arch, although it is not possible to identify where they stood in the various photographic documentation recorded of the occasion. One of the men was singer Paddy Perkins23 and the other sprinter Charlie Samuels (1864-1912).24 We could surmise that Charlie Samuels is one of the men standing at or near the apex of the arch. As explained in an obituary for Charlie Samuels published in The Brisbane Courier in 1912:

23 "Death of 'Paddy Perkins'," The Queenslander, Saturday 10, January 1903, p. 68. 24 "Death of Charlie Samuels: noted Aboriginal champion," The Brisbane Courier, Friday 25, October, 1912, p. 3. 345 When their Royal Highnesses were driven under the arch, on the day of their arrival, a number of aboriginals were grouped upon and about the arch in native attire, and carrying their aboriginal arms. The tall athletic figures of Samuels was sufficiently striking to induce his selection to occupy the most commanding position on the apex of the arch, where his appearance attracted the attention of their Highnesses.25

In articles written about both Charlie Samuels and Paddy Perkins upon their death, the journalists specifically mention their participation in the arch.26 On the right and left side of the apex, representatives from New South Wales, Victoria, South Australia and West Australia manned the arch.27 This further reveals that Australian Indigenous cultures were being used to further colonialist agendas, as these cultures were not delineated by politically defined state boundaries. In addition, the people on the arch “carried weapons from all parts of Australia”, creating an image in which cultural distinctiveness exhibited by such artefacts became blurred and homogenous.28 Of particular value would be participants’ reminiscences about the experience in their own words, which would provide a reversal of the observer-observed role.

Careful planning was undertaken to accommodate the participants in Brisbane city in a controlled manner. As planned, the Indigenous participants were taken “to Brisbane on the Saturday before the Royal party” arrived and camped at the Woollooongabba Sports Ground.29 Arrangements were made for use of the Sports Ground on both Thursday 23rd May and Friday 24th May.30 The Gabba sports ground was considered a desirable location because it afforded “camping facilities for the whole of the aboriginals”, as well as suitable facilities “for first class displays in the daytime and effective lighting at night.”31

25 Ibid. 26 See for instance: "Death of 'Paddy Perkins'," p. 68. and "Death of Charlie Samuels: noted Aboriginal champion," p. 3. 27 "The Royal Arch," p. 977. 28 Ibid. 29 "Brisbane Preparations: the Aboriginal arch," p. 872. 30 "D. Currie to Archibald Meston, 25 March, 1901," (Brisbane: Queensland State Archives. Item ID 17983, Special Batches Page No. 259). 31 "Archibald Meston to Home Secretary, 12 March, 1901," (Brisbane: Queensland State Archives. Item ID 17983, Special Batches Page No. 259). 346 Despite proving popular with the public, the ‘Aboriginal Arch’ was not the centrepiece of the decorations. The arch intended to form the focal point of the decorations, described here as ‘The Royal Arch’ (Appendix Figure 2), was located on Queen and George Streets. This arch was “a huge lantern formed in the shape of a crown, supported on a serried ribs springing from four angle towers.”32 The towers had windows decorated with royal portraits and mottoes above “suggestive of welcome to the Royal visitors.”33 Of particular interest in regards to this arch, is again the incorporation of Indigenous subject matter. In this case, “the centre feature above the arch will be a device representing Queensland, supported by two reclining aboriginals.”34 It is possible to read a raft of interpretations into this subservient position chosen by the designers for the representation of Australian Indigenous peoples. Unlike the ‘Aboriginal Arch’, the figures were merely representations not living people, they were not upright, they were not armed and they no longer appeared to display cultural adornments in the form of body painting etc. These people, who were positioned in close proximity to images of the royal family, were stripped bare. This denuding reveals doubt is present in the effectiveness of the empire in the need to disempower objects and people. The represented figures lack their cultural identity and artefacts because they pose a threat to the collective communitas. To further highlight the desire to reinforce the power of the empire, the arch was decorated with predominately agrarian produce, species introduced by the colonisers such as “wool, corn, wheat, pineapples, tobacco, and tropical greenery.”35 As described in a contemporary newspaper article published in The Queenslander:

From all parts of the State tribute had been sent to make the arch representative of Queensland products and industry. Wool was the foundation so to speak and with it were all kinds of products distinctive of the colony. Corn sheaves surrounded the four domes…and everywhere was the relief of green pineapple leaves.36

The four columns supporting the arch also displayed “samples of the products of the State”, with such things as “rows of corn cobs” and “wheat stacks” on display, along with

32 "Brisbane Preparations: decorations in Brisbane," The Queenslander, Saturday 4, May, 1901, p. 872. 33 Ibid. 34 Ibid. 35 Ibid. 36 "The Royal Arch," p. 977. 347 “palms and staghorns.”37 The importance of introduced livestock is emphasised by wool, which covered the ribs supporting the gilded crown.38 One key factor that promoted colonialism was the lure of profit from these regions.39 Whilst the crops that adorned the arch are examples of introduced rather than native crops, this points to the fact that the colonialists hoped to exploit the local conditions, implementing their own familiar crops, and receive high yields. Both the people and land (which appears to be turf, see Appendix Figure 2) have been altered and subject to the effects of pastoralism and colonial enterprise in this image.

Appendix Figure 2. The Royal Arch located on George Street. Note the Australian Indigenous figures at the top of the image beneath the crown. (Photographer unknown, 1901, State Library of Queensland, John Oxley Library Neg. 85954, http://hdl.handle.net/10462/deriv/77217.)

37 Ibid. 38 Ibid. 39 Said, Culture and Imperialism: pp. 9-10. 348 Despite the intention that the ‘Royal Arch’ would form the centrepiece of the decorations, the ‘Aboriginal Arch’ proved far more popular with Brisbanites, as had been anticipated by the organisers of this arch.40 In a report contained in South Australia’s The Advertiser it was stated that, “Thousands of people yesterday visited this arch [The Aboriginal Arch], which has attracted more attention than the elaborate and more costly one at the intersection of Queen and George Streets.”41 The Brisbanites perhaps felt assured by the ‘Aboriginal Arch’ that their own culture was the dominant one. This notion is furthered by the auditory component that accompanied the arch. After the Royal party drove beneath the arch the women “started to sing an old song of welcome on the return of a successful war party, the chorus being taken up by the men on the arch.”42 This choice of a welcome song for the occasion is thought provoking, as it suggests the embracing of the colonisers’ presence by Indigenous Australians, and therefore absolves the colonisers of the transformative processes that they had initiated.

Following the royal visit, the Aboriginal Arch was to be auctioned, with the intention to “donate the proceeds to the aboriginals.”43 The sale of the decorations from the arch fetched £2. 8. 9, and the proceeds were distributed equally “amongst the Aboriginals who assisted in the decorations, namely Brutus, J. Agnew, Fraser Island Bob, Conbah Tommie and Bulgi, all of Durundur…”44 Clearly, the use of the term ‘donate’ as used in The Brisbane Courier article is inappropriate, as it seems the men were being remunerated for their labour (although of course their remuneration should not have relied upon the auction of the arch).

Ultimately, the Aboriginal Arch conveyed a carefully crafted scene of Aboriginality for consumption by colonial onlookers (Appendix Figure 3). The people were depicted as being close to nature, thereby implying primitiveness. This acted to reinforce the cultural

40 Meston stated in a letter to the Under Secretary of the Home Office that the “display by Aboriginals is not only likely to be the most interesting but also the most economic part of the programme.” "Archibald Meston to Home Secretary, 25 February, 1901," (Brisbane: Queensland State Archives. Item ID 17983, Special Batches Page No. 259.). 41 "The Queensland Visit: Brisbane decorations, an Aboriginal arch," p. 6. 42 "The Royal Arch," p. 977. 43 "The Aboriginal Arch," p. 4. 44 "E. H. Abell to Archibald Meston, 28 June, 1901," (Brisbane: Queensland State Archives. Item ID 17983, Special Batches Page No. 259). 349 superiority of the colonial onlookers. As part of this arch, buildings were displayed in the form of artefacts adorning the structure. This distorted the spatial role of buildings, rendering them ineffective and able to be repositioned within a western European spatial framework.

Appendix Figure 3. Aboriginal Arch and crowds welcoming the Duke of York to Brisbane in 1901. (Photographer unknown, 1901, State Library of Queensland, John Oxley Library Neg. 149581, http://hdl.handle.net/10462/deriv/150432.)

350

Appendix Figure 4. Aboriginal Arch in Maryborough, Queensland in 1920. (Photographer unknown, 1920, State Library of Queensland, John Oxley Library Neg. 195235, http://hdl.handle.net/10462/deriv/138975.)

In 1920 in Maryborough, Queensland, another ‘Aboriginal Arch’ was constructed for a royal occasion, this time to celebrate the visit of the Prince of Wales (Appendix Figure 4).45 Three “massive arches” were erected for the occasion “manned respectively by aborigines, returned soldiers, and cadets, and school children.”46 This arch was much less elaborate than the one erected in 1901, with fewer people and a more simple arrangement of foliage. It is likely this arch received less funding, and newspaper articles of the time note that the Mayor of Brisbane had sought “the co-operation of the Government in the erection of an aboriginal arch, but…had been turned down.”47 It is uncertain from where funding was eventually sourced. A freestanding triangular building, clad with foliage within which were seated two women, formed the apex of this arch. Referencing the Australian coat of arms, a kangaroo and emu are positioned on either side of the building.

45 "Proposed Aboriginal Arch," The Brisbane Courier, Monday 5, July, 1920, p. 7. 46 "Queensland Tour: warmth of welcome unabated," The Sydney Morning Herald, Wednesday 4, August, 1920, p. 11. 47 "Proposed Aboriginal Arch," p. 7. 351 The abutments48 of the arch are decorated with portraits of an unknown man. Compared to the 1901 arch, the utilisation of people was quite different. Men stood on the street as well as on the structure itself. Each man, decorated with body paint, carried a weapon and adopted an aggressive stance. Representation of a traditional scene and Aboriginality was as important in this arch as the 1901 arch. One newspaper article, for instance, described the men manning the arch as “coal-black.”49 In addition, there is also something gendered about the construction of this scene; the men stand outside the representation of home, whilst the women sit passively inside. Lynnette Russell in ‘Wellnigh impossible to describe’: dioramas, displays and representations of Australian Aborigines comments that in relation to dioramas, women were generally represented in a submissive role.50 It is evident that a similar approach has been adopted here. Of course the notions of gender that are conveyed are European concepts of gender that are presented as though they are in fact Indigenous.51 Artefacts, including the building, and people are used in the display to reformulate Indigenous cultures in a manner that promotes colonial communitas. Perspective plays a role in also alluding to gender roles and primitiveness, with the dominant male figure in the foreground and the subservient female in the background. This is a method adopted from diorama-making in which animals are actually presented in this gender arrangement.52 In this respect, the arch not only presents European gender roles but also creates a subtle connection between people and animals by picking up on this diorama tradition.

48 An abutment is the “solid structure from which an arch springs, and which resists the outward thrust…” Curl, A Dictionary of Architecture and Landscape Architecture: p. 34. 49 "Welcomed at Several Towns," The Argus, Wednesday 4, August, 1920, p. 9. 50 Lynnette Russell, "'Wellnigh Impossible to Describe': dioramas, displays and representations of Australian Aborigines," Australian Aboriginal Studies, no. 2 (1999): p. 38. 51 In Tasmania for instance, George Augustus Robinson recorded that “It is the business of the women especially of the inland tribes to build the hut and also to fetch wood for the fire.” N. J. B. Plomley, ed. Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834 (Hobart: Tasmanian Historical Research Association, 1966), p. 531. 52 Ivan Karp and Fred Wilson, "Constructing the Spectacle of Culture in Museums," in Thinking about Exhibitions, ed. R. Greenberg, B. W. Ferguson, and S. Nairne (London: Routledge, 1996), p. 264. 352

Appendix Figure 5. Boomerang Arch in Sydney in 1954 as viewed towards Hyde Park. (Photographer unknown, 1954, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW – Call no. GPO2 - 04278, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemLarge.aspx?itemID=227126.)

353

Appendix Figure 6. Boomerang Arch in Sydney in 1954. Note the appropriated decorative designs on the timber arches. The street banners for the occasion are also visible. Two of the seven varieties of banners were decorated with “aboriginal symbols.”53 (Photographer unknown, 1954, image number SRC799, City of Sydney Image Library, City of Sydney Archives, http://www.photosau.com.au/cos/scripts/home.asp.)

By 1954 Indigenous Australians were entirely absent from the arch constructed in Sydney to coincide with the visit of Queen Elizabeth and The Duke of Edinburgh.54 The absence

53 "Royal Banners Furled, 24 January, 1954," (City of Sydney Archives. Item no 759/8/023a). 54 Indigenous Australians were not an integrated component of the arch however a number of Indigenous Australians appeared to perform below the arch when the Royal Party procession passed through. Contemporary film was taken of this event for the film The Queen in Australia that documented the royal visit. Stanley Hawes, The Queen in Australia, (Australian National Film Board, 1954), videocassette (VHS), 67.6 mins. 354 of people as an integral part of this arch aligns with the emergence of self-doubt in western European cultures. This self-doubt takes the form of abstraction as is illustrated by the 1954 arch. An arch of four boomerangs and decorated with bunting (clearly not in line with minimalist modernist design), as seen in Appendix Figure 5 and 6, was designed and constructed for the royal visit. The city council’s ‘Boomerang Arch’ was designed in 1953 by Beauvais Associates of Sydney and constructed by Ralph Symonds and Co., of Rosebery, the arch (one of a number of different arch designs around the city for the occasion) stood on Park Street in Sydney.55 In Appendix Figure 6 and 7 it is possible to obtain a sense of scale of the arch that crossed over “the tram and trolley bus wires and six lines of vehicular traffic” and spanned “over 130 feet.”56 The four boomerangs of timber construction had “decorations of an Australian and aboriginal design.”57 The City of Sydney Council crest decorated the shield hanging in the centre.58 Both the form of the arch and the decorative surface design applied to it were firmly grounded in the tradition of cultural appropriation. Official records note that the designs on the arch were to be “left to the designer” and therefore the intention is clear that the arch merely needed to look Indigenous.59 In keeping with the modernist aesthetic of the time, there is a degree of minimalism in the construction and decoration of the archway. A letter to the editor published in The Sydney Morning Herald expressed dismay at the arch and its chosen aesthetic. The letter as published read as follows:

Sir, - Decorated boomerang arches! To what lengths can our inept parochialism lead us?

The graceful and decorative arches built in London for the Coronation were symbolic of nothing more than joy and gaiety for the great occasion. There were no futile attempts to make the arches imitate, say, the long bow which might be regarded as the traditional English primitive weapon.

55 "Royal Visit Arch!," Dawn vol. 2, no. 11 (November 1953): p. 7. 56 Ibid. 57 Ibid. 58 "City Engineer to Acting Town Clerk, 15 October, 1953," (City of Sydney Archives. Item no 3525/53). 59 "City Engineer to Town Clerk, 17 November, 1953," (City of Sydney Archives. Item no 3525/53). 355 Surely Sydney can do better than try to turn a boomerang into an arch in the manner of cheap commercialism.

Richard Johnson, B. Arch, Sydney.60

This letter to the editor highlights the notion of self-doubt raised previously – ‘ornamentation is crime’ and minimalism and simplification reveal rationality and clarity. The need for rationality is linked to the notion of self-doubt. The writer of this letter was criticising the ‘Boomerang Arch’ for its use of precedents. The writer indicates that the stylising of the arch and use of representation lessened its value and sense of importance, suggesting that by so doing it was being employed as a marketing device. The fact that this arch is modernist in its ‘feel’ and has sought novelty in one of the oldest continuous cultures on earth is very ironic, as modernists desired to break free from past historical traditions and styles. The approach adopted by the designers of the 1954 arch seeks to link the colonialist’s culture to that of Indigenous Australians, and implies at once both a cultural development and a bolstering of the importance of the empire by forging links with such cultures. In this era, designers generally were making a more concerted effort to engage with Indigenous cultures, rather than simply disregarding them for the ‘old orders’ that had governed design. Previously in the nineteenth century, Australian designers and architects generally drew upon the repositories of pattern books and classical approaches for design precedents, such as the use of Greco-Roman motifs.61 The design ideas of French exile and artist Lucien Henry (1850-1896)62 presented a shift from this tradition in the late nineteenth century and proposed in lieu of the classical Tuscan, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian and Composite orders, a departure from tradition that was instead uniquely Australian.63 A number of his drawings, such as the Waratah Capital, depict the Classical orders supplanted by iconic Australian flora emblems. The work of Henry and other like- minded designers of the time strove to achieve “an authenticity in their work that could

60 "Design of Arches," The Sydney Morning Herald, Friday 23, October, 1953, p. 2. 61 Michael Bogle, Design in Australia, 1880-1970 (Sydney: Craftsman House: G+B Arts International, 1998). p. 45. 62 A 2001 exhibition (4th April to 14th October 2001) at the Powerhouse Museum entitled Visions of a Republic: the work of Lucien Henry presented for the first time his 100 watercolour paintings. Powerhouse Museum, "Visions of a Republic: the work of Lucien Henry," accessed 19 December 2008 http://www.powerhousemuseum.com/previous/visions_of_republic.asp. 63 Bogle, Design in Australia, 1880-1970: p. 45-47. 356 only be satisfied with Australian images such as the wattle.”64 Indeed, as outlined by Henry in an essay published in Australian Art in 1888, the Decorative Arts had up till that point utilised elements “quite foreign and alien” to the Australian landscape and the milieu of experience of the people.65 However, by the 1920s artists and designers such as designer Margaret Preston (1875-1963) asserted that the use of native flora “will never give a national decorative art” and turned instead to Australian Indigenous art and material culture as a source of precedent for design.66 The work of Preston, particularly her work produced during the 1920s, has been associated with the appropriation and exploitation of Australian Indigenous cultural traditions. Thus, the Boomerang arch represents a broader changing design ideology occurring in Australia. In the case of this arch, people and their buildings are entirely absent, perhaps highlighting the effective implementation of colonisation - civilisation resulting from the complete removal of competing cultures that might disrupt colonial communitas.

64 Ibid., p. 52. 65 Henry Lucien, cited in ibid., p. 47. 66 Margaret Preston, "Art for Crafts: Aboriginal art artfully applied," in Art and Australia by Margaret Preston: selected writings 1920-1950, ed. Elizabeth Butel (North Sydney, New South Wales: Richmond Ventures, 2003), p. 57. 357

Appendix Figure 7. Boomerang Arch in Sydney in 1954. The tramlines beneath the arch are clearly visible. (Photographer unknown, 1954, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW – Call no. GPO2 - 04278, http://acms.sl.nsw.gov.au/item/itemLarge.aspx?itemID=227125.)

The Boomerang Arch was dismantled and later erected in Melbourne, at the corner of Bourke and Exhibition Streets, in celebration of the Queen’s visit to Melbourne.67 Media reports of the time claim that artist Albert Namatjira (1902-1959) filmed the arch.68 It is not known whether this colour footage still exists. Like the Aboriginal Arch of 1901, the end-of-life of the city council Boomerang Arch was also considered. Several requests were made to Sydney City Council in an attempt to purchase the arch. The Cronulla Chamber of Commerce for instance desired the arch for the Cronulla and Kurnell area believing it would be an appropriate location in its “associations with the landing of Capt Cook.”69 Despite such requests, the Boy Scouts’ Association acquired the ‘Boomerang Arch,’ “through the generosity of a ‘well-wisher.’”70 At the end of the following year it

67 "I Like Here!," The Argus, Saturday 27, February 1954, p. 18. 68 Ibid. 69 "B. A. Shaw to Town Clerk, 13 February, 1954," (City of Sydney Archives. Item no 3525/53). 70 "Scout's to Get Arch as Gift," The Argus, Saturday 13, March, 1954, p. 3. 358 was, as scheduled, “erected at the entrance of the Pan Pacific Jamboree in Melbourne.”71 The ‘well-wisher’ was Lewis Clifford the owner of the Wonga Park property who “made it available to the Victorian Boy Scouts’ Association” for the Jamboree.72 According to one newspaper at the time, “The arch was officially opened by the Governor, Sir Dallas Brooks on Sunday, October 23.”73 The author of the article anticipated that, “It should be a stirring sight on Reception Hill, not only for its immensity but its totemic decorations and its symbolism of the Australian land and its original people.”74

The desire to acknowledge Australian Indigenous cultures as part of the Jamboree is also revealed by the design of the badge used for the occasion. The badge appropriated elements from Central Desert art, such as the dot and concentric circle.75 The use of ‘Australiana’ created an identity for the event. Yet the use of the arch by the Scouts at the Jamboree is of interest here not merely because it enables the history of the arch to be mapped. More importantly, the Scout movement is closely tied to imperialist notions. Edward W. Said explains that a “close reading of Baden-Powell’s career reveals, his Boy Scout movement may be directly traced to the connection established between empire and the nation’s health (fear of masturbation, degeneration, eugenics).”76 Said explains that imperialism was considered necessary to facilitate British “well-being.” 77 The arch facilitated a civilising narrative in representing the ‘past’ whilst suggesting the future embodied in the next generation of Boy Scouts present at the event. The authority of the arch in apparently representing Australian Indigenous cultures was further cemented by a model version of the arch being gifted in 1954 to Australian Indigenous javelin-thrower Billy Larrakeyah from Melville Island. According to a newspaper article from the time, the arch “greatly impressed him” and he was subsequently given a “model of the arch to take home to his mates.”78

71 Ibid. 72 "Scout Jamboree at ‘Clifford Park,’ Wonga Park," The Lilydale Express, Friday 2, December, 1955, p. 8. 73 Ibid. 74 Ibid. 75 Ibid. 76 Said, Culture and Imperialism: p. 129. 77 Ibid. 78 "Model for Native, 4 February, 1954," (City of Sydney Archives. Item no 759/8/024b). 359 The 1954 arch with its lack of people and buildings presents somewhat of a contradiction. Artefacts in the form of boomerangs are absorbed into the western European architectural vocabulary, whilst these same artefacts are concealed from view with only a representation visible. Artefacts are both at once confirmed and denied existence. Buildings and spatial ordering have no presence. Instead modernist architectural space has been inscribed on the landscape – the universal space of ‘everywhere.’ Thus the replacement of Indigenous spatial ordering with that of western European architecture is made complete.

Conclusion The 1901, 1920 and 1954 arches, although possibly viewed as a continuing trajectory of the same design tradition despite their different construction dates, reveal philosophical differences in their articulation and the interaction of the design disciplines with Indigenous cultures. Representations of Indigenous Australians, whether specifically by the design disciplines or others involved in public spectacle and promotion, create a carefully designed image of Indigenous cultures. Although interior architects or architects did not design the arches discussed here, they provide a means of exploring the one design expression and the development of this design expression over a fifty-year period. In both the 1901 and 1920 arches, Australian Indigenous buildings were displayed as part of arches. By 1954, both people and their habitations had become invisible in the ceremonial arch. Weaponry is an enduring image and in the arches described, it is continually present. In the 1901 arch there is an array of weaponry, yet in the 1920 arch this weaponry has become much more hostile. The 1954 arch is itself a weapon. It is embedded in the ground and seems less threatening. The arches considered are primarily concerned with representation. Edward W. Said explains in Culture and Imperialism:

All cultures tend to make representations of foreign cultures the better to master or in some way control them. Yet not all cultures make representations of foreign cultures and in fact master or control them. This is the distinction, I believe, of modern Western cultures.79

79 ———, Culture and Imperialism: p. 120. 360 Representations when considered in relation to imperialism are undertaken for purposes of control, as Said articulates. The representations such as those that occurred in the arches are operating in multiple ways in relation to power – on one level acting to control through the collective psyche of the rest of the population who viewed the exhibition, whilst also presenting the artefacts with a lineage linking them to western European architecture and design, thereby reducing the power of these artefacts within their own cultures. Thus power is operating in a two-pronged manner in several directions but with the one purpose, “to master or in some way control”.80

80 Ibid. 361 LIST OF REFERENCES

APPENDIX 1 – THE RE-INSCRIPTION OF SPATIAL ORDERING

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352 "Death of 'Paddy Perkins'." The Queenslander, Saturday 10, January 1903, p. 68. "Death of Charlie Samuels: noted Aboriginal champion." The Brisbane Courier, Friday 25, October, 1912, p. 3. "Design of Arches." The Sydney Morning Herald, Friday 23, October, 1953, p. 2. "E. H. Abell to Archibald Meston, 28 June, 1901." Brisbane: Queensland State Archives. Item ID 17983, Special Batches Page No. 259. Hawes, Stanley. The Queen in Australia. Australian National Film Board, 1954. videocassette (VHS), 67.6 mins. "I Like Here!". The Argus, Saturday 27, February 1954, p. 18. Irving, Helen. "Introduction: a nation in a day." In Becoming Australians: the movement towards Federation in Ballarat and the Nation, edited by Kevin T. Livingston, Richard Jordan and Gay Sweely. Kent Town, SA: Wakefield Press, 2001. Karp, Ivan, and Fred Wilson. "Constructing the Spectacle of Culture in Museums." In Thinking about Exhibitions, edited by R. Greenberg, B. W. Ferguson and S. Nairne. pp. 251-67. London: Routledge, 1996. Lewis, Robert, Tim Gurry, and David Arnold. "Life at the Time of Federation: exploring a 'time capsule' of evidence from the National Museum of Australia." Melbourne: Ryebuck Media for the National Museum of Australia, 2001. "Model for Native, 4 February, 1954." City of Sydney Archives. Item no 759/8/024b. Museum, Powerhouse. "Visions of a Republic: the work of Lucien Henry." accessed 19 December, 2008, http://www.powerhousemuseum.com/previous/visions_of_republic.asp. Perry, Harry H. "When the King Came." Sunday Mail, Sunday 28, January, 1934, p. 11. Plomley, N. J. B., ed. Friendly Mission: the Tasmanian journals and papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829-1834. Hobart: Tasmanian Historical Research Association, 1966. Preston, Margaret. "Art for Crafts: Aboriginal art artfully applied." In Art and Australia by Margaret Preston: selected writings 1920-1950, edited by Elizabeth Butel. North Sydney, New South Wales: Richmond Ventures, 2003. "Proposed Aboriginal Arch." The Brisbane Courier, Monday 5, July, 1920, p. 7. "Queensland Tour: warmth of welcome unabated." The Sydney Morning Herald, Wednesday 4, August, 1920, p. 11. "The Queensland Visit: Brisbane decorations, an Aboriginal arch." The Advertiser, Monday 20, May, 1901, p. 6. 353 "The Royal Arch." The Queenslander, 25 May, 1901. "Royal Banners Furled, 24 January, 1954." City of Sydney Archives. Item no 759/8/023a. "Royal Visit Arch!". Dawn vol. 2, no. 11 (November 1953): p. 7. Russell, Lynnette. "'Wellnigh Impossible to Describe': dioramas, displays and representations of Australian Aborigines." Australian Aboriginal Studies, no. 2 (1999): pp. 35-45. Said, Edward W. Culture and Imperialism. London: Vintage, 1994. First published 1993 by Chatto & Windus. "Scout Jamboree at ‘Clifford Park,’ Wonga Park." The Lilydale Express, Friday 2, December, 1955, p. 8. "Scout's to Get Arch as Gift." The Argus, Saturday 13, March, 1954, p. 3. Turner, Victor. The Ritual Process: structure and anti-structure. Symbol, Myth and Ritual Series. edited by Victor Turner New York: Cornell University Press, 1979. "Welcomed at Several Towns." The Argus, Wednesday 4, August, 1920, p. 9.

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