William Yang, like many of his fellow Australian photographers, cannot help but be fascinated with the beach. In 1969, Yang left Brisbane for the bright lights of Sydney, and he fell in love with the city. At a distance from his family and Queensland’s conservatism, Sydney provided an opportunity for reinvention.
It was here that he combined his two photographic passions — landscape and people. Yang embraced the bleached allure of the city’s eastern beaches and took many iconic photographs of Bondi, Tamarama and Clovelly.
Australian photography and the beach ultimately calls to mind Max Dupain’s Sunbaker 1937 (illustrated). Yang regularly took portraits of photographers in order to champion the artists behind the camera that Yang felt were often overlooked. Yang photographed Max Dupain (illustrated) in 1991 one year before Dupain’s death.
Yang’s beach images present a refreshingly different framing of the typical Australian beach scene. The usual shots of bronzed female bodies or recreational pursuits take a backseat. Instead, Yang takes immense joy in the male figure, and his works represent a desirous male gaze on desirable male bodies.
The beach captured Yang’s eye from early in his career. At the time he started exploring the beach in his new Sydney home, Yang was also a jobbing social photographer, capturing celebrities and the ‘beautiful people’ behind the scenes at A-list parties for magazines. His approach to this work was in the photo-journalist style of capturing the unguarded moment.
Of his passion for taking images of the beach, Yang is a romantic at heart and has said:
There’s an impulse in me that makes me go for the runny make-up, the unguarded moment, the Freudian slip. I mean I could photograph the plastic bags in the water, the rolls of fat, but the beach brings out the romantic in me. I’m overwhelmed by the beauty of it — the space, the surf, the sand and all that flesh. I’ve never gotten beyond the obvious.
Rosie Hays is Associate Curator, Australian Cinémathèque, QAGOMA, and Curator of ‘William Yang: Seeing and Being Seen’
The accompanying publication William Yang: Seeing and Being Seen explores the artist’s prolific practice. The 220-page hardcover monograph features reproductions of over 200 photographs, tracing Yang’s career from his heady early days as a social photographer in the 1970s documenting Sydney’s queer scene, family ties, sexual and cultural identity, and the Australian landscape. It also examines his deep connections to Queensland / RRP $49.95 / Special limited edition with signed print RRP $300.00 / Available from the QAGOMA Store and online
While a student at the University of Queensland in Brisbane, William Yang wrote and directed theatre productions and began taking photographs. He started photographing architecture, and then turned his camera to people, which is when he found his true passion.
In order to make a living as a photographer, Yang began his career taking candid shots of ‘beautiful people’ at parties and events for the social pages of newspapers and magazines. Yang rubbed shoulders with celebrities, artists and performers, and discovered that the camera was an entry pass to an exclusive backstage world populated by kindred spirits, with whom he formed close bonds.
Yang’s prolific social portraiture includes some of the most prominent people in Australian theatre, film, art and literature, with more than a few international cameos. A much-loved and trusted figure who is embedded into Sydney’s social fabric, Yang’s images are taken with the razzle-dazzle of celebrity, but little of its conceit.
William Yang with his social portraits at the opening of ‘Seeing and Being Seen’
Within the show is a salon hang ‘social wall’ which long predates Instagram. The selection of faces is reflective of Yang’s friendships and his abiding passion for the arts — they embody both the glamour of celebrity and provide behind-the-scenes insights into the lives of artists from a range of backgrounds. With a camera around his neck, Yang came to understand that he could ask his subjects a series of personal questions, and they would reveal more of themselves than they would during the course of casual conversation.
Representing only a fraction of Yang’s social photography, these images capture the almost compulsive nature of his passion for recording people and places. His gift for eliciting the essence of his subjects through portraiture — whether candid or posed — has been apparent his entire career.
Rosie Hays is Associate Curator, Australian Cinémathèque, QAGOMA, and Curator of ‘William Yang: Seeing and Being Seen’
The accompanying publication William Yang: Seeing and Being Seen explores the artist’s prolific practice. The 220-page hardcover monograph features reproductions of over 200 photographs, tracing Yang’s career from his heady early days as a social photographer in the 1970s documenting Sydney’s queer scene, family ties, sexual and cultural identity, and the Australian landscape. It also examines his deep connections to Queensland. / RRP $49.95 / Special limited edition with signed print $300.00 / Available from the QAGOMA Store and online / Limited edition
‘William Yang: Seeing and Being Seen’ is in Gallery 4, Queensland Art Gallery (QAG), from 27 March to 22 August 2021.
Acknowledgment of Country The Queensland Art Gallery | Gallery of Modern Art (QAGOMA) acknowledges the traditional custodians of the land upon which the Gallery stands in Brisbane. We pay respect to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander elders past and present and, in the spirit of reconciliation, acknowledge the immense creative contribution Indigenous people make to the art and culture of this country. It is customary in many Indigenous communities not to mention the name or reproduce photographs of the deceased. All such mentions and photographs are with permission, however, care and discretion should be exercised.
Featured image detail: William Yang Cate Blanchett. The Star in Her Dressing Room. After Hedda Gabler. Wharf Theatre, Sydney 2004
In these times of uncertainty and staying in, let’s be honest, we’re all watching more of our guilty pleasures. My comfort viewing often steers towards films or TV that include some kind of food element. Here are 5 films that have me dreaming of food.
Eat, Drink, Man, Woman 1994 and Babette’s Feast 1987 are the ultimate elaborately prepared shared meals, The Lunchbox 2013 has the delight of an unexpected human connection through food, Chef 2014 is all about making food that you feel passionately about and I dare you to watch Tampopo 1985 and not crave ramen down to your bones!
Dip into our Cinema blogs / View the ongoing Australian Cinémathèque program
QAGOMA is the only Australian art gallery with purpose-built facilities dedicated to film and the moving image. The Australian Cinémathèque at the Gallery of Modern Art (GOMA) provides an ongoing program of film and video that you’re unlikely to see elsewhere, offering a rich and diverse experience of the moving image, showcasing the work of influential filmmakers and international cinema, rare 35mm prints, recent restorations and silent films with live musical accompaniment on the Gallery’s Wurlitzer organ originally installed in Brisbane’s Regent Theatre in November 1929.
Known for his reflective and joyous depictions of Australia’s LGBTIQ+ scene in the late 1970s and 80s through to the present, Queensland-born, Sydney-based artist William Yang’s work is the subject of a major survey exhibition ‘Seeing and Being Seen’. This exhibition traces Yang’s career from documentary photography through to explorations of cultural and sexual identities and his depictions of landscape —integrating his photographic practice with writing, video and performance.
William Yang embraced the bleached allure of Sydney’s eastern beaches and took many iconic photographs of Bondi, Tamarama and Clovelly. These works combine his love of people with the landscape, and many of Yang’s beach images present a refreshingly different framing of the typical Australian beach scene, in which female bodies or recreational pursuits are often the focus. Instead, Yang’s beach works take immense joy in the male body, and represent a desirous male gaze on desirable male bodies.
The power of being seen
William Yang’s work, intimate and considered, draws on the artist’s own lived experience. Yang’s personal stories inform his spoken-word performances and photography, and he often scribes these stories directly onto his photographic prints. Drawn to people, Yang’s work reveals unsettling narratives in his own life, in the lives of his subjects, and in society. Adept at uncovering the unvarnished beauty and hidden foibles of our lives, storytelling is intrinsic to his practice. The artist spoke with exhibition curator Rosie Hays.
Rosie Hays Are there stories you feel must be told? What draws you to the stories you tell from your own life?
William Yang I [was] brought up as an assimilated Australian. Neither my brother, Alan, or my sister, Frances, or I learned to speak Chinese. Partly because my father’s clan was the Hakka, so he spoke Hakka, whereas my mother’s clan was the See Yap, and she spoke Cantonese, so English was their common language and that was what we spoke at home. My mother could have taught us Cantonese as it was generally left up to her to do that sort of thing, but she never did. She thought being Chinese was a complete liability and wanted us to be more Australian than the Australians. So, the Chinese part of me was completely denied and unacknowledged until I was in my mid-30s and I became Taoist. It was through my engagement with Chinese philosophy that I embraced my Chinese heritage. People at the time called me Born Again Chinese, and that’s not a bad description as there was a certain zealousness to the process, but now I see it as a liberation from racial suppression, and I prefer to say I came out as a Chinese.
William Yang ‘Chinese New Year Party Year of the Rabbit’ 1999
My first big success was my show ‘Sydneyphiles’ at the Australian Centre for Photography in 1977. It was mainly about my social life in Sydney, with portraits of people I had met. Besides my own set of artistic types (I knew Brett Whiteley, Martin Sharp, Jenny Kee and Linda Jackson), I brushed with celebrities on the social rounds working for magazines. The exhibition caused a sensation. I knew then that people were my subject. I found that they wanted to see themselves on the gallery walls, they wanted representation. A compromising photo might cause annoyance, but it was better than being left out. There has always been an appetite for celebrities, well, that was to be expected. A vicarious interest in celebrity life still fuels the media. But I showed many photos of the emerging gay community as well. Australian photos of this type had not been shown in institutions before and it got a mixed reaction. Some said that these works shouldn’t be shown at a public institution, but mostly the pictures were accepted, especially by the gay community. A few were angry with me for outing them, but mostly I was hailed as a hero and was metaphorically given the keys to Oxford Street. I sensed that the mood of the gay community at the time was this: throughout history our community has been invisible. These photos may not be pretty, but we recognise them, and we accept them. We want our stories told.
These days I don’t take as many photographs. I’m sorting through my collection, trying to get it into some sort of order, and trying to digitise the negatives and the colour transparencies [. . .]. I don’t want to be a photographer who dies leaving a pile of mouldy negatives for someone else to sort out [. . .]. Every time I look through my collection, I am surprised because I have largely forgotten what happened in the past. Photography is a major aid to memory and the photographer a witness to the past. A photograph captures a moment in time. You don’t have to do anything special for this to happen, just press the shutter. There is something in the nature of the camera to freeze these moments in time, and there is something in the nature of the world to change and move on, so these moments never occur again.
In the early 1980s I started to do slide projection. It started off as a way to show my colour photography. At the time the colour printing process, Cibachrome, was expensive, and projection was a cheaper way showing my colour images. In 1980 in Adelaide, I met Ian de Gruchy, who did slide projection as his main art form. I was interested in his dissolve unit — a device using two projectors where the projected images dissolved into each other. Music was used, usually minimal music, and the result was known as an audio-visual. When one projects slides, as in a living room slide show, there is a tendency to talk with the slides, explaining them, and I started to do that. I worked with audio-visuals for seven years during the 80s until I had nine photographic essays, or short stories, to string together into a one man show. It was called ‘The Face of Buddha’ and I presented it at the Downstairs Belvoir Street Theatre in 1989. I lost money on that show, but still consider it a success. Everyone liked the form, story-telling with images and music.
The most popular story was called ‘About My Mother’. I told the story about my mother’s family, how they came to Australia in the 1880s from Guang Dong province in China. My mother’s sister, my Aunt Bessie, married a rich landowner, William Fang Yuen, who was murdered by the white manager on his cane farm at Marilyan in north Queensland in 1922. I got an Australia Council grant to do my third performance piece, ‘Sadness’, in 1992. There were two themes: the first involved the AIDS pandemic in Sydney where many gay men, some of them my friends, were dying; and the second was a trip I took to north Queensland to talk to my relatives about William Fang Yuen’s murder. The two themes formed a powerful story about death and legacy. It was an immediate hit and toured Australia and the world. International entrepreneurs wanted my performance pieces, which they considered unique, not my exhibitions, so I kept doing more performance pieces and they became my main artistic expression.
The performance pieces changed my photographic practice. Before the 1990s, I made my living from freelance work. I would do whatever jobs people would pay me money to do. Then I found I could make a living doing my performance pieces, so I didn’t have to work for other people. I was able to channel all my energy into my own work and I became more productive. My performance pieces were about stories and I realised that many of my photos had stories behind them. I started writing the text directly onto the photo with a pen. My first series was about men with whom I had had encounters. All those photos had good stories. I have continued to do written works, as I call them, and the pictures with my handwriting have become the signifier of my work. Now I often choose images because they have a story.
Rosie Hays Do you ever feel you’re telling other people’s stories, or are they your stories that happen to intersect with other people?
William Yang When I ran out of my own stories, I wanted to tell an Aboriginal story because I felt the Chinese and the Aboriginal people had something in common: both had suffered under British colonialism. In my commissioned piece ‘Shadows’, I tried to tell an Aboriginal story about a community in Enngonia in north-western New South Wales, and it was successful in that I made myself part of the story, but I felt a little uncomfortable telling their story. Later I found someone, Noeline Briggs-Smith, who could tell her own story, and we did a story-telling duet on stage [called] ‘Meeting at Moree’, where we told alternating chapters of our stories on stage. She [. . .] had a much stronger story than me. She had suffered more and worse injustices than I had, but there were interesting intersections in our stories.
Rosie Hays Something we highlight in the exhibition is your connection to landscape. How would you describe your relationship to nature/the landscape, and has it changed over time?
William Yang Most photographers have a go at nature. Everyone has photographed a sunset. I had my first serious encounter with photographing nature when I was recovering from a bad case of hepatitis at Frogs Hollow, Maleny, in 1979. I felt fragile from the illness and taking photos made me feel I could still do things. Looking at the photos now, the pictures are a beginner’s view. That’s the thing about nature: it’s been done a billion times before, and it’s difficult [to] escape cliché, but I had to start somewhere and I got a few good ones.
When I became Taoist, I took on a whole new philosophy. I came to appreciate nature, in the form of landscape, as a source and a driving force behind everything that exists. It was constantly changing and renewing itself. Everything about nature was beautiful because it was essentially always itself. I found I could apply a concept of beauty to nature, at least compared to the human nature I was photographing at the time. Later I began to see nature as a titanic struggle for survival [. . .].
I came to realise that the landscape which moved me the most was the country around Dimbulah in north Queensland (on the Atherton Tableland), where I had grown up. It was part of my identity, part of my idea of home. I had absorbed it, it had imprinted itself upon me, and, although I did not realise it at the time — this was before I had articulated an artistic consciousness — it was there in my consciousness and I could draw upon it. So, in the early 90s, I made several trips up to Dimbulah, checking out the country that I remembered from my childhood. Nothing quite fitted my memories, but perhaps that’s a thing about childhood and memory. Nevertheless, I photographed a series on a medium format camera, trying to recapture memories. Now I enjoy returning to Dimbulah and seeing the landscape. It still triggers off emotions, but I feel they have become more distant. This text is from my print William at Thornborough, 2006:
I have left these places and I have changed. These places still hold me but I move around these hills like a ghost. It is the motherland which formed and nourished me, from where I came, but to which I can never return.
William Yang ‘Return to the place of childhood. Dimbulah’ 2016
Rosie Hays What are your aspirations as an artist? What is the aim for your work in the larger sense?
William Yang Two of my most important realisations were, firstly, that I was not white but Chinese, and secondly, that I was not straight, but gay. I probably realised these at an early age, but it took me a long time to articulate the condition and to come to terms with it. Personally, I suffered more pain being a closeted gay than being Chinese. These are both big themes in my work. When I started including gay work in my exhibitions, some photographers told me it [was] a phase I was going through and I’d be better off dealing with universal issues. They were right, in a way, because by continuing to deal with marginalised issues, my audience base is much smaller. I would probably have made more money sticking with celebrity lives and continuing the status quo, but it is important for me to talk about being gay and to talk about racial difference, even if they are commercially unpopular subjects. Nowadays, there is more acceptance of being gay here in Australia, and likewise, there is more awareness of racial difference, but in the wider world this is not always the case. It is a cause worth pursuing, and documentary photography with a personal story thrown in is a good way of doing it. I want to acknowledge the activists around the world that have made social change happen.
I want my work to embrace my life. I’ve managed to live to a mature age — I was fortunate not to die young as many of my colleagues did during the AIDS pandemic. One lives a life, and I am not the same person as I was when I was younger. Then I had more energy, had more opinions, some of them obnoxious — in short, I had many of the traits of a young person that old people like to complain about. But one learns from life, and I have lived to this age and can see there is a shape to one’s life. It has to do with the things you believe in and the choices you make (I always knew being an artist would be a hard road), it is shaped by external forces beyond your control, and it is also shaped by luck. Still, I consider my life a fortunate one.
I think I like stories because they are about people and the world. They somehow embrace humanity. I would like my art to convey feelings, emotions, what it is like to be a sentient human: experiencing joy, laughter and sadness, to realise we are vulnerable, that we have our failings, we do bad things, but we are capable of forgiveness, kindness and love.
Rosie Hays is Associate Curator, Australian Cinémathèque, QAGOMA She spoke with the artist in 2020. This is an edited excerpt of the original interview, which appears in the exhibition publication William Yang: Seeing and Being Seen, available at the QAGOMA Store and online.
‘William Yang: Seeing and Being Seen’ / Gallery 4, Queensland Art Gallery (QAG) / 27 March to 22 August 2021.
‘Life’s a Drag’ is a riotous celebration of drag in cinema. Come and join us for the sequins and the shade in the free film program at the Australian Cinémathèque, Gallery of Modern Art (GOMA) starting Friday 23 October and slaying it until Sunday 22 November 2020. Here’s my Top 5 to whet your appetite.
The Cockettes 2002 documents this highly influential and wildly creative drag troupe who began performing in the 1970s in San Francisco. You can’t get many more glowing reviews that The Cockettes receives. In his review for Film Threat, Chris Gore states: ‘It’s one of the few times that I have witnessed an eruption of applause from an audience consisting solely of jaded press people. That never happens.’
No drag program would be complete without Divine. John Waters’ twisted cult film Pink Flamingos 1972 is essential and filthy viewing, and who could forget Divine’s 1984 hit ‘You Think You’re a Man’ .
Production still from Pink Flamingos 1972 featuring Divine / Director: John Waters / Image courtesy: Roadshow Entertainment
Decades ahead of its time and recently restored in 2013, Viktor und Viktoria (Victor and Victoria) 1933 is a gender bending comedy from Germany. Made at the beginning of Hitler’s rise to power, the film is anti–authoritarian, charming and cheeky. It inspired the 1982 Blake Edwards’ remake Victor/Victoria 1982 with Julie Andrews also screening in the program.
The thong dress, ping pong balls and a bus with a giant stiletto streaming across the Australian landscape — The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert 1994 is an Australian masterpiece and a must-see on the big screen.
A heart-warming, joyous and surprisingly wholesome doco about four kids and their loving, supportive parents who believe self–expression is key to a good life. Drag Kids 2019 is a whole lot of fun.
Special Mention
This Top 5 includes a few gems that might be overlooked but of course Paris is Burning is a consummate classic. It’s screening one-time only on Friday 13 November at 6pm.
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1. The Cockettes
The Cockettes 2002 / Director: Bill Weber, David Weissman
2. Pink Flamingos (John Waters introduces the film’s trailer)
Pink Flamingos 1972 / Director: John Waters
3. Viktor und Viktoria
Production still from Viktor und Viktoria 1933 / Director: Reinhold Schünzel / Image courtesy: Murnau Stiftung
Victor/Victoria
Production still from Victor/Victoria 1982 / Director: Blake Edwards / Image courtesy: Roadshow Entertainment
4. The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert
The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert 1994 / Director: Stephen Elliott
5. Drag Kids
Drag Kids 2019 / Director: Megan Wennberg
Special Mention: Paris is Burning
Paris is Burning 1990 / Director: Jennie Livingston
Dip into our Cinema blogs / View the Cinémathèque’s ongoing program / Watch and Read about BIFF / Subscribe to QAGOMA YouTube to go behind-the-scenes
‘Life’s a Drag’ is a free, curated cinema program that considers the varying portrayals of drag in cinema. Moving between themes of illusion, performance and masquerade, this selection of documentary and feature films contrasts the extravagance of drag and the empowerment of self-expression with the difficulties faced by the individuals behind the make-up.
Viktor und Viktoria 1933 / Director: Reinhold Schünzel The Queen 1968 / Director: Frank Simon Multiple Maniacs 1970 / Director: John Waters Cabaret 1972 / Director: Bob Fosse Pink Flamingos 1972 / Director: John Waters Victor/Victoria 1982 / Director: Blake Edwards Paris is Burning 1990 / Director: Jennie Livingston The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert 1994 / Director: Stephen Elliott Hedwig and the Angry Inch 2001 / Director: John Cameron Mitchell The Cockettes 2002 / Director: Bill Weber, David WeissmanKiki 2016 / Director: Sarah Jordeno Drag Kids 2019 / Director: Megan Wennberg Wig 2019 / Director: Chris Moukarbel
Seating is general admission and our ushers will ensure all patrons in the cinema follow COVID-safe seating arrangements. As seating is still limited, we recommend arriving early to avoid disappointment.
QAGOMA acknowledges the generous assistance of the National Film and Sound Archive, Canberra in providing materials for this program. Program curated by Victoria Wareham, Australian Cinémathèque
QAGOMA is the only Australian art gallery with purpose-built facilities dedicated to film and the moving image. The Australian Cinémathèque at the Gallery of Modern Art (GOMA) provides an ongoing program of film and video that you’re unlikely to see elsewhere, offering a rich and diverse experience of the moving image, showcasing the work of influential filmmakers and international cinema, rare 35mm prints, recent restorations and silent films with live musical accompaniment on the Gallery’s Wurlitzer organ originally installed in Brisbane’s Regent Theatre in November 1929.
Feature image: Production still from The Cockettes 2002 / Director: Bill Weber, David Weissman / Image courtesy: David Weissman Films
William Yang’s work, intimate and considered, draws on the artist’s own lived experience. Yang’s personal stories inform his spoken-word performances and photography, and he often scribes these stories directly onto his photographic prints. Drawn to people, Yang’s work reveals unsettling narratives in his own life, in the lives of his subjects, and in society. Adept at uncovering the unvarnished beauty and hidden foibles of our lives, storytelling is intrinsic to his practice.
Watch | Director Chris Saines discusses ‘Self portrait #1’
William Yang
William Yang’s unflinching photographic gaze draws from the documentary tradition. Since the 1980s, Yang has displayed an unyielding persistence in unearthing stories that society, or even his subjects, might prefer to remain hidden. His instinct and passion is to present the whole, flawed story, not just the glossy surface.
With stories such as his uncle’s murder, Yang courts his family’s disapproval by airing hidden family stories, balancing potential indiscretions with the importance of telling real stories that reveal experiences or communities often left out of public discourse.
Yang grew up in a family who disavowed their Chinese heritage in pursuit of assimilation and acceptance in Australian society, he recounts that it wasn’t until a primary school classmate cruelly taunted him with the racist rhyme ‘Ching Chong Chinaman’ that he realised he was Chinese. Of this time, he has said:
[My mother] thought being Chinese was a complete liability and she wanted us to be more Australian than the Australians. So the Chinese part of me was completely denied and unacknowledged until I was in my mid-thirties and I became Taoist.1
In the mid 1980s, Yang met Yensoon Tsai, a young Taiwanese woman who would become a close friend. Tsai taught Yang the tenets of the Chinese philosophy of Taoism, which led him to explore his Chinese–Australian identity.
Throughout the late 1980s and 90s in Australia, multicultural stories emerged across various art forms. Yang was part of this wave of artists rejecting a suppression of their cultural histories, and who instead wanted to highlight and celebrate diversity. Yang travelled throughout regional and urban Australia documenting the lives of Chinese–Australians, and the landscapes reflecting the legacy of the Chinese in Australia, such as religious shrines and mining sites. At this time, Yang also visited China regularly and started to interrogate his identity. Of this period, Yang observed:
People at the time called me Born Again Chinese, and that’s not a bad description as there was a certain zealousness to the process. But now I see it as a liberation from racial suppression and I prefer to say I came out as a Chinese.2
Self Portrait #1 is a landscape work (in the way Yang talks about landscape which is often rooted in people and place and memory) as much as it a portrait work. Capturing the landscape is part of Yang’s somewhat diaristic approach to processing his social and physical environment.
When Yang returns to the Queensland landscape from his childhood, he characterises it as a site to escape from. He needed to escape from racist school bullying, constrictive family expectations, and the dread that his sexuality may be met with disapproval. Yang revisits his childhood home regularly, and some of his most potent performances and photographs come from connecting family and place. The series ‘My Uncle’s Murder’ — and its recounting of an injustice borne of racism dating from 1922 — resulted from such a trip. In his later works, he makes an uneasy peace with these past experiences that are embedded in the landscape of his youth.
Rosie Hays is Curator of ‘William Yang: Seeing and Being Seen’, and Associate Curator, Australian Cinémathèque, QAGOMA
Endnotes 1 William Yang, email interview with Rosie Hays, 2020 2 William Yang, Life Lines #11 – William in scholar’s costume (1984) 1984/2009.
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We acknowledge the Traditional Owners of the land on which the Queensland Art Gallery | Gallery of Modern Art stands and recognise the creative contribution First Australians make to the art and culture of this country.
