“Black Gum” doesn’t so much twist Margaret Preston’s view of Aboriginal design so much as, for me, serve as an ironic comment on the nineteenth-century classification of Aboriginal people as native fauna, or in this case flora. From my perspective in America, where the hoodie is an emblem of contemporary black youth culture, the multiple puns on hood as an article of clothing, the ‘hood as the locus of gang activity, and the echoes of West Side Story era juvenile delinquents known as “hoods” all load this set of portraits with an air of menace. Together these three images form a secular triptych of an anonymous gangsta who remembers the emblems of past degradation and dehumanization.
Menace and the hood play a big role in Destiny Deacon’s latest collection of photographs, artifacts, and photographs of artifacts, Whacked, which was on view in October and November of 2007. In many of the photographs, Deacon’s customary cast of characters, including the dolls, are masked with longjohns that are then painted with false faces in marker and lipstick.
The masks are obviously meant to make these characters look sinister; in combination with the Australian flag backdrop, the suitcase prop, and the references to fences and hoods in the titles of the photos, they remind us at one and the same time, as John Howard often did, of terrorists and immigrants. Deacon’s humor immediately deflates the threat, however, as these creatures seem ludicrous. Unlike the distorted and thus fear-provoking effect of the stocking mask, the masks in these photographs have the effect of reminding us–well, they remind us that these are people with underwear on their heads. The crudely drawn faces become comic when a nose pokes through a lipsticked mouth. They look more like comic strip rabbits than terrorists.
But some images in the series, the masks bring an air of poignancy to the comedy. The two light-skinned women in “Waiting for the bust” appear as ordinary and suburban as one can possibly imagine, with their Australia shopping bags, sandals, and painted nails. They seem unaware that they are masked and thus identified as dangerous. The people in “The goodie hoodie family,” though, seems all too well aware of the precariousness of their position: the masks are masks of fear and their dark skin and the black dolls also mark them as marginal people (does the beer can do that too, despite the Aussie flag stubbie-holder?) awaiting some terrible judgment.
Deacon’s work harks back to one of the earliest photographic genres, that of the tableau vivant, itself derived from a popular form of theatrical presentation dating back to Victorian England. In more modern times, the tableau vivant finds its commonest form of expression in fashion photography, where models are posed in “everyday” situations, except of course for the fact that they are wearing fabulous clothes.
Often overtly pedagogical in intent, the tableau vivant has become, I think, the premier mode of expression for Indigenous photographers, an argument I plan to take up and extend to other artists in a subsequent post here.