32 33 ARTLINES 3 | 2025 a moment of pure blak splendour. I like to think its darkness is not an absence of light but rather the presence of peace, a moment away from the cultural continuums that label Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples as ‘subhuman’. I’m reminded of how, in times of stress, when I really need to kick into gear, I might listen to Donna Summer’s ‘On the radio’ from 1979. Suddenly, I’m not a subject or an identity to be debated, simply a body in motion. Much of Deacon’s artistic charisma derives from the masterful tension in her scenes, often fuelled by deadpan humour. In Being there 1998, a duo of dolls sits against a darkened corner wall, evoking the image of two cheeky children sitting curbside. One stares deep in thought to the left of frame, while the other looks as though it’s chuckling at a passerby. To their right sits a haphazard scattering of matchsticks. Are these babies in imminent danger? Perhaps they’re the ones in control here. Either way they seem to be having fun, and the artist does love a good bit of mystery. After all, these plastic actors have deceptive range: they can masquerade as anything from players in an Aboriginal tragicomedy to lovable, self-aware little brats. Like Rorschach tests, their perceived motives can change tone with multiple visits. There’s an admitted agony to Deacon’s works, but also the potential for finding something precious in the hurt. Her vignettes remind me to maintain a dialogue with my inner child and to reclaim the immutable optimism the world so easily steals away.1 There’s something heartening about the ability to pick up conversations with artists across time. Destiny Deacon’s artworks feel like precious inheritances that unravel a plethora of visual, material and cathartic blueprints to withstand the crushing weight of life in this country. Across her almost 40-year practice, she generated an unapologetically blak canon, which has inspired so many First Nations artists. I never had the privilege of meeting the artist myself, but I’m immensely Childlike things thankful for her teachings. I often wonder what the studio she toiled away in would look like, or what she would get up to with an impassioned visitor. I like to think we would have boogied. Keemon Williams is Assistant Curator, Indigenous Australian Art, QAGOMA. ‘Snap Blak: Contemporary Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island Photography from the Collection’ is on display in the Margaret Mittelheuser AM and Cathryn Mittelheuser AM Galleries (3.5), GOMA, until 13 September 2026. Endnotes: 1 Natalie King, ‘Episodes: A laugh and a tear in every photo’, in Destiny Deacon: Walk + don’t look blak [exhibition catalogue], Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, Sydney, 2004, pp.19–20. Above Destiny Deacon / Kuku & Erub/Mer people / Being there 1998 / Purchased 1998. QAG Foundation Grant Opposite Destiny Deacon / Kuku & Erub/Mer people / Dance little lady 1993 / Gift of Timothy Morrell through the QAGOMA Foundation 2020
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