Documentary photographers they’ve traditionally aspired to inform other people’s stories. Artist Raphaela Rosella and girls near her have been creating their very own complex visual narratives for 15 years, despite frequent interventions by the criminal justice system.
Rosella is an Italian-Australian documentary artist committed to long-term, socially engaged collaborative projects accomplished with participants from Nimbin, Casino, Lismore and Moree in regional New South Wales.
Knowing that photos can foster stereotypes and mislead viewers, decided early in her profession that the people she photographed must have constant control over their representation. This means actively collaborating in the creation of photos and a body of work, in addition to consistently obtaining consent to make them available to the public.
You’ll understand it once you feel it at the Brisbane Institute of Modern Art evolved through these relationships.
Rosella and her co-creators sought to get better and counteract the narratives created by state records, as an alternative telling stories about the love they felt for his or her family and the challenges they faced: each together and separated by the geography of detention.
Welcome home
Rosella is near the women she works with and knows that they’re routinely marginalized and denied their freedom.
Part of the audiovisual archive was created by participants while in prison in response to the legal system they encountered at a young age. Women see their collective work as a “place of resistance” where they will separate their identities from the procedures and labels imposed by bureaucracy.
Rather than awarding exclusive storytelling to at least one artist or organization, these women play a key role in communicating their very own stories and perspectives.
Photo: Louis Lim.
The show appears like you are being welcomed into someone’s home: there are fabric curtains, handwritten cards, family photos, and the calming sound of nearby voices.
This cordial intimacy contrasts with the dehumanizing language of the official documents presented: “At no time may photographs of any inmate be taken.”
Each part of the exhibition is accompanied by a brief text that reads like the first sentence of a non-public letter. They entrust us with intimate moments and cordial correspondence. Most photos and videos are untitled and dateless, as if this contradicts the classifying legal documents interwoven inside them.
The first painting we see upon entering is a portrait co-authored by Kamilaroi/Biripi woman, Nunjul Townsend. She looks at us with an intensity of emotion that reflects the deep bond she shares along with her friend and artistic partner Rosella.
Courtesy of the artists.
Next to it, a fastidiously made photograph of Nunjul and her son in an embrace is placed in a sterile grid of blank pages.stating the truth“court documents”.
The juxtaposition is moving: the love between mother and son can’t be reduced to written transcripts – and even captured on camera. However, throughout the series, the kinship that binds the group is palpable.
Photo: Louis Lim.
Key questions
Each participant has an individually chosen space in the gallery, including Rosella and her similar twin. Rosella is not afraid to disclose her own history to the viewer in self-portraits, videos and wall texts, in addition to critical reflection on her process (“the camera made addiction possible”).
Courtesy of the artists.
Many of the people we work with on the show are Aboriginal and have all experienced violence.
One of the contestants, Tammara, died in 2020 after the pair had worked together for ten years. The image of an empty Jim Beam bottle embedded in the wall speaks of the terror of domestic violence disgustingly constant In Australia.
Courtesy of the artists.
The space dedicated to Kathleen “Rowrow” Duncan is one of the most moving. Text on the wall and a small handwritten note from a mother to her newborn child tell us that Rowrow is under prison guard. She gave birth and can soon return to her cell.
Most of this space, from floor to wall, is taken up by a transcript showing Rowrow’s transfers from prison to prison over a four-year period. I counted 30 removals. It’s hard to assume the impact this could have on one’s sense of home; or hope.
In a note Rosella wrote to co-creator Tricia, Rosella laments that Tricia’s partner “has only spent three birthdays outside since the age of nine.”
One large wall of the exhibition is filled from floor to ceiling with a mosaic of photos, contact sheets, handwritten notes, drawings, redacted documents and letters (many of them sent from behind bars). Formal portraits are combined with kid’s drawings and intimate correspondence.
There is no visual hierarchy in the installation: each element speaks about life, shared experience, and interpersonal bonds.
As an audience, we’re forced to ask questions. Why are Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women women? imprisoned in such a disproportionate way? Why there are a lot of of them handicapped children who come into contact with law enforcement caught in “cycles of imprisonment”? Why don’t we cope with it properly intergenerational trauma?
The power of You Know It When You Feel It is that it allows us to attach with real stories that transcend statistics and theoretical debates.
Cooperation dialogue
Historically, documentary photographers have sought to show problems and inequalities in the world, driven by a desire to impress change.
Lewis Hine he famously played a task in reforming child labor laws in the US through his photos of young children at work. Visual storytellers document the effects climate change.
Courtesy of the artists.
But documentary practice does criticized by scientists for too often benefiting privileged photographers and institutions, advancing their careers under the guise of concerned activism at the expense of their heroes.
Rosella, on the other hand, engages in true collaborative dialogue. Exhibition and publication should not the driving force.
This project is a rare example of art catalyzing practical change. These photographs have been used to influence legal outcomes similar to the length of prison sentences and the granting of parole. Participants’ voices are heard and retained.
Photo: Louis Lim.
The last room of the exhibition accommodates Home truthsan immersive, three-channel video installation that interweaves collaborators’ home videos with cinematic depictions of family and country.
It is an absorbing, hopeful work that highlights the reference to family members and essential places across generations. We experience an ancient landscape of which artists are an element. The life of newborns inspires fresh optimism.
Photo: Louis Lim.
