The Bendigo Art Gallery’s Piinpi – Contemporary Indigenous Fashion exhibition is unmissably marvellous, a revolution shot through with politics, ancient history and peekaboo portholes into fashion’s future. Get a wiggle on if you’ve not seen it (after Sunday it’ll be packed to travel to Canberra’s National Museum) and be sure to polish your hashtags before you go: #blaklivesmatter, #climatechange, #sustainablefashion #economicactivism, et. al. Add #aussiepride too, if your heart swells as mine does, to think First Nations’ ancient continuous culture could be That One Thing, the only vast and galvanising historical fact we all have in common on this eccentric and fractious multi-cultural continent. (This feature first appeared in Nine Media/The Saturday Age/Sydney Morning Herald.)
By Janice Breen Burns
I’m stretched to recall any fashion exhibition in the past 30-odd years loaded with such hope, or the object of such curious debate and anticipation, as Piinpi/Contemporary Indigenous Fashion. (Named for the seasonal rhythms of indigenous land.)
Twice in 2020, Bendigo Art Gallery had to cancel this small first-in-the-world harvest of contemporary garments and accessories by Australia’s indigenous fashion designers before it finally got the all clear to open in November. Twice my heart jumped, and twice it sunk. And before you scoff at such melodrama for a mere fashion show; Piinpi ain’t.
Model: Magnolia Maymuru. Photographer: Bronwyn Kidd.
It’s unique and precious, layered with meanings way beyond the skillsets and detail of its 100-odd handcrafted frocks and objects by 70-odd country and urban artists and designers. At its core is a brain teaser you don’t often come across on Planet Fashion: 60-odd thousand years of continuous culture, 200-odd years of mixed culture culminating in several generations of indigenous designers plugged into just about every political, social and environmental issue and protest currently bubbling around the planet.
“Anything you do in the public space as an indigenous person is inherently seen as political,” says Bendigo Gallery’s First Nations curator, Southern Kaantju woman Shonae Hobson. “That goes back to the broader views of the general public and about what took place in Australia. But Piinpi is a really powerful, positive statement (because) despite the atrocities and the history of colonisation, our culture has continued to grow from strength to strength and we share those links we have with country, we share our stories and narratives through our fashion and our art.”
Piinpi is innately political but don’t expect any splat-slogan T-shirts or anything as unsubtle, particularly in its “Blak and Deadly” space dedicated to urban artists. “Fashion’s such a wonderful way to tell our stories and a very clever way to connect with people,” says Gunditjmara, Torres Strait Island artist Lisa Waup, “But a lot of my work is embodied in symbols, so unless you read about it you might not fully understand.”
“Continuity” overalls by Lisa Waup X Verner 
“Tracing History” necklace by Lisa Waup X Verner
Waup’s fashion is elegant, but loaded with the fallout of cultural disconnection and recovery – her grandmother was a child of the Stolen Generation – and the eye-watering pride and strength she now feels in her aboriginality. “A lot of my work has heavy content,” she says. “That’s our history; you can’t sugar-coat it. But, I guess I can encapsulate the beauty, wherever it is. I’m a fairly positive person so I’m able to see two sides. That’s the monochromatic in my work; the negative and the positive.”
Waup collaborated with Melbourne designer Ingrid Verner on her black/white patterned “Continuity” jumpsuit and thick cotton and emu feather disc earrings and neck sculpture. They’re also grouped with designs by Shannon Brett and Teagan Colishaw in Piinpi’s Blak and Deadly section reserved by Hobson; “For a new wave of urban storytellers pushing into mainstream fashion, taking those narratives and conversations to a wider audience.”
Here the works are wildly different, from Brett’s bright and beachy Marrimekko-esque cotton separates, to Cowlishaw’s often photographed sequinned jumpsuit with its poignant and pointedly misspelt “Deadly Kween” picked out across its back.
“Deadly means awesome, cool,” says the young Bardi Ardyaloon designer. “It’s our word. It belongs to this (young indigenous) generation, like new language. (Some of us) lost our native language; my nana was from the Stolen Generation then she got dementia so I was never able to get that native tongue but, there are these words now, common in the community.”
Cowlishaw “speaks” to her young target market in this off-beat language of empowerment. “My last print design was called Urban Warriors because that’s what they are,” she says of her Gen Z followers. “They’re so politically aware; always about the ethics of my brand whether its upcycling or recycling, natural dying, utilising sustainable fabrics.”
Hobson says she picked Cowlishaw and others for their “pushing and blurring of the boundaries between art and fashion” and because their messages are potent, but delivered by slow skills and meticulous, often traditional hand-crafts. “We’ve always thought ethically and consciously about sustainability and waste,” she says of her ancestors. “For thousands of years we’ve only used the resources we need. Now the rest of the world’s catching up…”
Piinpi reads like an organised protest against fast-nasty fashion. Its timing is impeccable, smack in the middle of the global industry’s crusade to right wrongs and, especially, refocus on the craft and meanings of clothes.
Story-loaded hand-made fashions such as the handpainted pod collection by Brisbane-based artist, curator, writer and proud Wakka Wakka, Butchulla, Gurang Guran woman Shannon Brett’s, are essentially, the New Blak. They’re eyepoppingly vivid, utterly gorgeous, and also rife with the designer’s political touch points and personal heartbreak.
“Almost every aboriginal person knows someone who has died because of racism,” she says. “And it’s normal everyday life for me to be the receiver of racist behavior. I want to create a sense of beauty out of pain. I have a way of applying thinking to fashion. I want to constantly question; ‘Why are people discriminated against because of what body parts they happen to have, or who they choose to love, or what colour they are…?'”
The bright energy of Brett’s designs belies the weight of their hidden meanings, a contrariness common among many Piinpi artists’ work. “Who says wearing a statement (garment) can’t be political and beautiful at the same time?” she asks. “I want everybody who wears my garments to feel proud of their body, their sexuality, and proud of their colour whatever that may be.”
Piinpi travels to Canberra’s National Museum after the season finishes here this Sunday, January 17. Bendigo Art Gallery director Jessica Bridgfoot also waived entry fees for its season here to enable as many people as possible to experience what she described as “a significant moment in Australia’s cultural history, a must-see for every Australian.” Amen to that.
PS: Tracking back into the artists and designers’ politics, life stories and modus operandi via their websites and social media feeds is a wonderful part of the Piinpi experience. Here’s your click start to the three you met here:
Teagan Cowlishaw of Aarli
Shannon Brett of Lore, Instagram @lore.the.label
Lisa Waup of Lisa WaupXVerner, Instagram @lisa.waup, @thisisverner
Main image: Designed by Grace Lillian Lee, Body Armour – A Weave of Reflection in Pink and Orange 2018. Photography by Wade Lewis. Image courtesy of the Artist.
