Shadow Lines

Sangeeta Sandrasegar explores the issues of racism and contemporary slavery through deep, meaningful shadows, writes Shivangi Ambani-Gandhi


Shadows are ephemeral, but the shadows of Sangeeta Sandrasegar’s works will linger in the mind, long after her solo exhibition at Gallery 4A closes on December 12, 2009.

Her sustained research and development of a visual language consisting of shadows has led to White Picket Fences in the Clear Light of Day Cast Black Lines, an exhibition comprising of one new work of the same title and some older works created between 2007 and 2009.

The cacophony of the busy Hay Street of Sydney's Chinatown dissipates in the dark and quiet enclave that the artist has created in the gallery. On the upper level, White Picket Fences... consists of two groups of two-dimensional, white acrylic sculptures of a soldier's silhouette, standing about a foot-tall on the floor. Light bulbs lie alongside to give the work a second dimension—or rather a second life—through the shadows cast on the pristine, white walls.

Within the silhouettes, lie a range of seemingly disconnected images--the Buddha, the Indian deity of Krishna, Melbourne's Flinders Street Station, idyllic landscapes from miniature paintings, hennaed palms, police squads and protesters upholding placards condemning racism. And here the narrative emerges. Those who followed the frenetic media coverage of racial attacks on Indian students in Australia recently, will immediately identify these images of police and protesters.

Sandrasegar was in Spain as part of an Australia Council residency when the attacks were reported. The constant bombardment of images by the media seems to have left a mark on Sandrasegar's psyche. The hysteria is recreated for the viewer in this work through the multitude of sculptures and in turn, their many shadows. The images of the protesters and police are copied from news clips that Sandrasegar saved at the time.

The viewer, drawn in by this part of the story, must now walk around, into and through the work, to piece together the rest of the story. Krishna is an iconic image of India and Indians—pointing towards the home of the immigrants. The idyllic landscapes--are they the homeland that the immigrants have left behind, or is it the new land they sought, but cannot find in Australia? The Buddha, is a symbol of contemplation and looking again--and that seems to be Sandrasegar's primary motive: to encourage viewers to reconsider the issues and read between the lines.

The title of the work brings further layers of interpretation to the work. White picket fences are the symbols of ideal middleclass suburbia—one that many Indian immigrants to Australia aspire. Picketing also has the alternate reading of protests—alluding to those staged by the Indian community in Melbourne after the attacks.

Sandrasegar says that the motif of Black Lines came to her after reading Tasmania's history. The Black Lines refer in part to the infamous period of conflict between European settlers and local indigenous inhabitants known as the Black War. During the 1820s, a human chain of male colonists—convict and free—was formed in northern Tasmania, in a failed attempt to move southwards for six weeks, pushing the Indigenous population into the Tasman Peninsula.

“This sounded like modern detention centres--these stranded spaces in Australia that they start creating,” she says. “Although we have apologised, how we deal with people hasn't changed—whether those people were here first, or they are coming in now.”

Even with the storm over the Indian student issue subsiding, debates have been raging over the 'boat people'. For Sandrasegar, this labelling of the 'UnAustralian' and the 'Other', has been a continuing area of exploration.

The second part of the exhibition—older works displayed on the lower level—give voice to other minorities—people caught on the margins of society. Among these, are three works from the series of seven, titled The Shadow Class, depicting the myriad forms in which slavery exists today. A carpet-weaver, a sex worker and a domestic—each a silhouette of Sandrasegar cut out from felt and then embellished with mixed media—are the Shadow Class.

Unlike her usual practice of objects that cast shadows, these works of black felt are shadows themselves—the slaves are gone; only their shadows remain.

Tasmania - a journey into yourself

Shivangi Ambani-Gandhi

When convicts were shipped from England to Australia to serve a sentence of eternal banishment and estrangement, the worst of the offenders, went to Tasmania—an island of the island continent, thus twice isolated. Today, visitors come here looking for this very isolation and the natural wilderness it has helped preserve.

The Franklin-Gordon Rivers gush through the World Heritage protected national park in wild abandon, making for an excellent multi-day rafting experience. Gigantic waves come crashing to Tasmanian shores all the way from Antarctica, and you can take in the unending vista at the Wineglass Bay Lookout in Freycinet National Park. Seal colonies rest lazily, as seagulls swoop down on dolphins going hunting off the rugged coast of Bruny Island. And for those who like to discover the adventure on their feet, the Overland Track and the Bay of Fires walk offer arduous, but unprecedented experiences.

Hobart

I began my introduction to Tassie, as the Aussies call it, in the coastal city of Hobart, which is protected from the icy winds of the Roaring ‘40s by the towering Mount Wellington. Just a short 10-minute drive out of the city centre, there is a trail leading to beautiful springs in Mount Wellington Park, and the views over the city from its peak are gorgeous.

Meanwhile, a stroll through the carefully preserved Georgian cottages of Battery Point and the original cemetery in the historic St David’s Park will reveal the city’s historic significance. By the waterfront, the row of tastefully restored Georgian warehouses form the famous Salamanca Place which houses restaurants, cafés, shops and an excellent arts centre. The mellow sandstone buildings come alive every Saturday when the open air Salamanca Markets bring local produce—jams, pickles, condiments, fudge, home-baked breads and biscuits—and crafts to the city.

Fresh produce, including excellent seafood, also makes its way into Hobart’s restaurants, many of which have a decidedly bohemian atmosphere. You can’t walk into the Sirensrestaurant wearing any form of militia regalia. However, for peace-loving vegetarians like me, the place is a gem serving up melt-in-your-mouth dumplings in an oriental broth, perfectly grilled tofu with unbelievably sweet, fresh greens and a desert of the creamiest chocolate mousse with crunchy pistachio short bread and Turkish delight fingers.

Hobart is also home of Cascade brewery and wine trails abound in the surrounding areas. There are several other day trips starting from Hobart—including the popular convict sites of Port Arthur—and most visitors tend to restrict their Tasmanian holiday to the Hobart base, but Tasmania has a world to offer if you are willing to step out of the comfort zone.

Bruny Island

The half-hour ferry from Kettering to Bruny Island seems like a journey to another time-space continuum. The bush lies undisturbed, the waves crash in undeterred, the wind untamable and you seem to be floating in the ocean, in the middle of nowhere.

A narrow isthmus called the Neck, links North and South Bruny. The Neck Lookout offers breathtaking views of the isthmus, the wild ocean and the South Bruny National Park. At the base of the lookout, are mutton bird rookeries and a spot to view fairy penguins return home to the beach at dusk.

You can also take cruises around the coast to view wild dolphins and seals. I decided to drive through the renowned national park inst

ead and began with a leisurely lunch at the Hothouse Café at Adventure Bay. The excellent views over the isthmus, canopied picnic tables, local wines and delicious focaccias and wraps freshly prepared make this a perfect spot for a relaxing lunch.

Then I head to the southern edge of the island—Cape Bruny Lighthouse, the second-oldest manned-lighthouse in Australia, built using convict labour. Looking south, is the seemingly unending Southern Ocean that stretches down to Antarctica. Turn north and you can see the rugged edges of Bruny Island fighting a loosing battle against the icy wind and powerful waves that erode its cliffs into dramatic rock formations.

The Rivers Run

The Derwent River snakes across western Tasmania from the snow-capped peaks of Lake St Claire National Park, and I drove upstream through the fertile towns along its banks. This route is dubbed the Rivers Run by the travel brochures—not without reason.

Although a state highway, the road is mostly a two lane road and extremely quiet—I could hear the gentle flow of water in the river alongside almost all along. This road trip created a sense of gentle pace, of stillness and of a world without deadlines for a city-dweller like me. Tasmania is an escape into eternity, and this is just the beginning.

Lake St Claire

Arriving at the grand Lake St Claire, I know I have made it into the heart of the high country. The lake is at the southern end of the six-day walk on the famous Overland Track, and you will see the ferry bring in bushwalkers—their clothes and shoes caked with mud, and an irrepressible smile brought by the experience.

However, you don’t need to walk too far to see the region’s natural beauty. The viewing platform just across the visitor centre offers a fantastic view over the still waters of the lake, which perfectly reflect the snow peaks on the other end.

A short walk to Watersmeet, takesme to the cascading rivers that feed the lake. Further into the national park, the brochure says, I may spot the elusive platypus. Here, the boardwalk disappears into a narrow mud path. From here on, I am intruding into nature, and I want to leave as small a footprint as possible. The walk is beautiful, the trees buffer me from the world outside, and the lake goes golden under the setting sun.

Tiny sand beaches line the walk—they seem like postcards from a Robinson Crusoe adventure. Dusk is the best time to view the platypus, and I wait patiently by the designated viewing spot. Tasmania teaches you to wait, quietly. The view over the lake is so breathtaking that I almost forget I still have to tick the platypus off our agenda. And then I realise that I need to drop that ‘to-do list’. I spend a few more minutes in quiet contemplation, taking in the real beauty of the place. In the end, I did not find the platypus, but I did find myself.

However, this does not mean that Tassie will disappoint—it is rather that surprise gem you find when you least expect it. On the walk back, I encounter the friendliest wallabies—half a dozen of them, gently grazing away. No brochure had told me about them.

The West Coast Wilderness Way

In the twilight, I journey further towards the west coast. The snow-capped mountains lie just ahead and the moon is pinned up on a purple sky, the lakes glittering silver in its light.

Approaching the mining town of Queenstown, the trees disappear suddenly. The hillsides of Mt Lyell have seen the upheaval of a mining frenzy, leaving this town looking like a bare, dramatic lunar landscape. Although the original open cut copper mine is long gone, underground mining continues till date, with the ore being exported to India. You can journey underground in a mine tour to see its thunderous crusher reduce gigantic rocks to football size in seconds.

Apparently, residents are quite protective of this landscape and don’t want the trees to grow back. However, environmentalists who are looked upon with disdain at Queenstown, are heroes just a few miles west.

The Green movement successfully campaigned against flooding the wild Franklin River for a hydro-electric scheme. The West Coast Wilderness Railway traverses this pristine wilderness between Queenstown and Strahan. River cruises and sea planes from Strahan take you into the further reaches of this World Heritage Area. Strahan’s harbourside is pretty, but quite commercialized, and after a quick bite, I escape to the one-hour walk though rainforest into Hogarth Falls.

Near Strahan is the impressive 33-km stretch of Ocean Beach. Behind the beach, the sand stretches into the 30-metre high Henty Dunes. I climbed up one of these dunes for some great views and came tumbling, rollicking down. You can also rent sand boards at Strahan, or take a quad bike ride through these beauties.

Cradle Mountain National Park

I walked into my rustic cottage at the Cradle Mountains Highlander and welcoming me in, were wallabies just outside the door. Once you are in Cradle Mountain, you don’t really need totravel any further, or take any tours—nature’s gifts lie all around you, waiting to be explored. And the many walks in the area are an excellent way to do that.

Among the short walks starting at the visitor centre, the Pencil Pine walk takes you through the magnificent native Pencil Pine trees, which can be seen only in Tasmania. The Enchanted Walk takes you through the rainforest, past a beautiful stream and is littered with interpretation tents that your kids will love.

At Dove Lake, the circuit around the lake takes you beneath the towering spires of Cradle Mountain. As you walk walked around the lake, with the shifting perspective, the mountain peak seemed to transform.

However, in Tasmania, you can’t really stick to plans—and this time the rain clouds took over. The craggy peaks disappeared, and the rain pelted down. I hurried indoors for a warm bite,and curled up by the crackling fire for some time to reflect on this holiday.

I know I have to return here—not to tick those remaining boxes, but to journey further. There is no itinerary of highlights that you can tick off; only soothing moments for soul searching. There are no souvenirs to buy; only moments to cherish. Tasmania is not the holiday of instant gratification—but rather a journey into yourself.

A very Indian brekkie on an iconic Aussie bridge

Zooming through the Harbour Bridge, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to stop and stare at the magnificent iron arches of the Coat Hanger. As if reading my mind, Nathan Rees rolled out an emerald-green grass carpet, and invited 6000 Sydneysiders to indulge in a leisurely breakfast, and watch the sun rise over our glorious harbour, atop our most iconic bridge. Yours truly and three friends were among the lucky ones.

On the morning of October 25, 2009 we began our journey towards Milsons Point with some anticipation: a forecast of stormy rains threatened to ruin the day. At 5am on the train from Town Hall, the atmosphere was similar to taking a train to Olympic Park for a major play-off: crowds eager for the event to begin and the excitement palpable in the air.

Once at Milson’s Point, we knew we were part of something special—the station underpass was swarming with volunteers and crew dressed in Breakfast on the Bridge regalia; families, couples and friends lined up to get onto the bridge; helicopters hovering above capturing the moment for posterity; roving entertainers building up the mood; and of course the Harbour Bridge looming over the scene, almost within reach.

As we made our way along the two kilometre walk up to the bridge, the stage was set—we were in a charming country town. The fiddler played his gentle tunes from an antique car, folk musicians welcomed guests from a dusty truck, floral garlands were strung across the bridge, cows in their stables were waiting to be fed by the guests, shiny red apples lay at the base of trees, and finally we could feel the freshly damp grass under our feet.

We were given our token for allocated picnic spots—at number 6, we were bang in the centre of the bridge, the sails of the Opera House suspended just behind us. Hungrily we unpack our picnic bags—walnut bread, muffins and yogurt. Then our friends open up their goodies: spicy moong, crisp Gujarati khakhras, peppered puris and the Indian elixir of life—steaming masala chai. It turned out to be a very Indian nashta on an iconic Aussie bridge.

And then the goodies began pouring in. First off, the tempting Bartalow apples we weren’t allowed to pluck earlier. Then the rich, organic Yalla yogurt, fresh bread from Abbott’s Village Bakery and real fruit Cuttaway Creek jam—a delicious display of local NSW produce.

Our group chattered away, eating the delicious brekkie. Our cameras clicked madly trying to capture this awesome event and this new perspective of the bridge which looks so different from underneath, even if you’ve done the Bridge Climb.

As if these memories weren’t enough, the lovely volunteers get into action again—this time distributing Breakfast on the Bridge 2009 souvenirs! It was our very own piece of history to take home. For now though, we put on the caps and badges. The helicopters fly around, and the crowds rise in undulating waves. This is the moment—a moment in Sydney’s history, where many of her residents—across age, religion and race—came together to regale in her beauty.

After all the excitement, comes the moment of silent contemplation. The sun shines brightly and the clouds have parted, and the true majesty of this imposing piece of architecture dawns on me. In the midst of this crowd of 6000+, for a moment I was alone with the bridge—she spoke to me, her massive iron arms seemed to extend in a gesture of friendship. Thus far, I had been a stranger in a strange land. Today, I know her a little better, and perhaps she knows me a little too.

Breakfast on the Bridge was a highlight event as part of the month-long festival Crave Sydney 2009 and will be back next year.