Goobalathaldin (Dick Roughsey) (1924-1985)

Bottom, Dick's older brother Lindsay Roughsey, at work.  Top, portrait of Dick Roughsey.  In 2003 when I first moved to Tasmania, I met a very small woman called Anka.   Back then, in conversation, she mentioned Dick Roughsey and I thought I must surely be hearing things.  I'd been involved many years earlier in helping primary schools buy multiple copies of the best books available for children.  And Dick Roughsey's books were right up there in the top 5 for 7 to 11 year olds.  

I knew Dick had died many years earlier - without much hoopla - just quietly disappeared from my world of children's literature.  I knew little else about him.  Except that Percy Tresize, a white man, wrote the Dreamtime (Creation) and other Aboriginal stories that Dick told him and Dick painted them.  After meeting Anka again in her own home, I was awed by the huge painting hanging on her wall.  She told me a part of his story.

Goobalathaldin was born and grew up, a full-blood traditional Aborigine living on his family's country near the sea but in a place still very remote today.  He loved to return to his country but his art and his publishing meant that it was necessary for him to travel to cities in Australia.  He got very sick and was hospitalized for a long time.  There is a newspaper photograph of him sitting at a table, a tiny stick-figure of the man that was  I only have a poor photocopy so I won't use it.

He said, "Take me home!"  But the doctors had said no he won't last a week.  "I don't care.  Take me home."  Fortunately Percy had his own small aircraft and together they flew home to Dick's country.  Living from the land, and absorbing his love of country, Dick's spirit was once again nurtured and he grew strong and healthy.  The next newspaper photo told the story - a big and shining black man with white hair and beard standing tall and strong just a few months later.  If I didn't understand the importance of *country* to the indigenous peoples of the world before seeing these two pictures, I certainly know it now.

Anka is an artist, too.  It was Dick who taught her about traditional Aboriginal art and the very practical nature of much of the art.  Never purely decorative.  Always with a purpose.  Every dot and line in the traditional older paintings meant more than mere symmetry.  They had a message.  And that's why those historical cave painting archives recording Aboriginal history and recently revealed, are so important.

Maps yes - certainly - survival depended on them.  Poisonous foods were revealed.  Water sources, often invisible to western eyes.  And a tribal history, all recorded.  Dick took to painting in a more contemporary way for his books and other paintings.  One of the paintings on my friend's wall has a scene of white settlers camped with horses tied to a wooden fence they've made.  Surrounding themselves.  Laying claim and fencing it off, to property they considered free for the taking.  If it wasn't fenced, it wasn't owned!  

Off in the distance, watching this are the naked Aborigines blending so beautifully into the natural surrounds that it's easy to miss them.  And on this wooden fence hangs a range of perfect rectangles - blankets.  He has painted them white.  The stark contrast is a real jolt to the brain.  None of the foreground belongs to the place.  It's this conflict in the picture that turns me off the painting.  And yet, the painting is brilliant in being able to show this utter contempt of white occupiers in such a dramatic way.  The whole foreground does not belong to the serenity of the surrounds.

As children they experienced the coming of the missionaries and their attempt to smother their language and customs.  Lindsay has been an elder statesman for his people, a brilliant artist, dancer and songman.  He was born in 1913 and to my knowledge is still alive!  Amazing family.