Nati Frinj 2019: opening parade
A poem by D’Arcy Molan
Black Hole Theatre, Mary French
and Wotjobaluk Elder Uncle Ron Marks
animate the opening parade surge
with an array of Les Medus puppets
electrified by volunteers-
Here they come! leads and launches
the 2019 Nati Frinj festival
on a muggy Friday afternoon
Tchingal the giant emu heads first
and stares at the crowd on both sides,
ember-eyes point and enquire-
Food? Friend? Foe?
Tchingal sways and extends his neck,
while to the side, coarse three-toed feet land
on Natimuk Main Street service road
the wings of Bunjil expand
beyond the bitumen,
the blue-glow vision of the wedge-tailed eagle
track Tchingal’s wake
Waa the crow
flies behind
calling out at a safe distance.
The Wotjobaluk community
use their hands, feet
and cultural grip
to manoeuvre these ancestral beings
and interact with the streams
of onlookers
at play
via the Listen up! audio tour
Uncle Ron and Aunty Nancy Harrison tell us
Natimuk[1] is a Jadwadjali word
said to translate
as ‘little lake’
further back
luminous Jellyfish lick and dance the air
their tentacles fresh with sting,
the umbrella-swing and agile steps below
propel the 500-million-year-old swarm
into the Wimmera Mail-Times
online edition
a school of fish appears
to float on by-
they’ve escaped identification
from the Nati lake dry-
a day release with no intention
to return
until water conditions summon
a rainbow trout revival
the theme of pollination attracts
children, adults, dogs-
look, there’s a ute with a bee-woman
reclining on the slow-moving bonnet-
all wear black and gold clothes, or hold designs,
signs, or material puppets in line
with Rae Howell’s Bee-sharp honeybee
silo show theme
there are prams,
zimmer frames,
wigs and paint,
roller-skates and bright clothes
a pair dress in black leather masks
and add belts, buckles, and trinkets,
their style suggesting a masquerade ball
with bondage overtones
and a side-serve of nuclear fall-out
the Real Hot Bitches are in town
with sequin banner and blush-reserves,
these lycra-clad and shoulder-pad ambassadors
for 80s lip-sync and thrust
embodying an elegance
beyond wordplay
Thomas & Wells glide on like a botanic circus
in a flower-strewn bicycle and cab,
the ringmaster and mime of Cyclo Illuminato
graft tunes and pitch-shift commentary from a speaker-
meeting the adult crowd as a playdough-master would
their carpal tunnel relatives,
and the kids as contemporary relics
young performers in the Jillian Pearce-led
Styckx Theatre playground shows-
Time,
Space,
Gravity-
float on a length of bamboo,
these playmakers balance and ride the saggy-strength
slung across taut shoulders and the legacy
of Bambuco’s Simon Barley,
his Styckx Theatre design
assembled for Frinj
by local workers
on Nati Primary School’s oval
(the Styckx structure is a self-seeded
rhetorical question-
its material, curve, shapes, height
present a pliant amphitheatre
of possibility-
aerial choreography, movement, sounds from bamboo hits-
with WorkSafe rope rigging compliance
from the Y Space performance company
in the lead-up months to Frinj
Styckx drips with workshops, rehearsals
precipitous community conversation
and skills development-
terrestrial minds
climb the bamboo exoskeleton
and frame the Milky Way
light-years closer
to the Wimmera
sunrise)
after the Styckx contingent pass
we are met by the clipboard-apparition
of Elaine Uebergang-
registration marshal and volunteer coordinator-
who populates the time and space continuum
with disregard for the laws
of physics
Anthony Pelchen weaves the median strip.
Camera close,
he remarks on the public Saxual healing I must commit
to meet the festival program
artistic obligations,
then drifts ahead
while permission forms dance
with bureaucratic submission.
I join the parade
with my three-year-old niece
Matilda,
offering a comment
on ukulele and saxophone,
grammar which requires
the use of a colon:
to amplify the musical quote,
and address the acoustic height differential
she strums joyful open chords
until the Uke is hurled
into the nectar wave of callistemon
singers, near the community garden bed.
Tilda holds my hand for a year
and then returns to sister Anna
in the gathered crowd.
Mum receives a bee-sting opportunity
from Mary French
and wings-in for photo ops,
while Mary saves the projectile Ukulele
from the sticky throng of thongs
the humidity rises
and thunder is heard west
over Dyurrite/Mount Arapiles
here we come
towards the NC²* building
for a welcome to country
and smoking ceremony
by Uncle Ron Marks
Ron uses firelighters
to ensure swift and constant
eucalyptus ignition,
with a Jiffy-grin he claims the ancestors
have long used this method
a long line passes through
the smoke
with rapid hand movements
and breath control
festival director Hannah French
speaks to the Frinj Republic-
artists, volunteers, attendees-
and her personal support crew
the Nati brass band silently
wait for their turn
to blow,
their blue uniforms and gold tassels flutter
in the barometric pressure
local members and other representatives
add their voice
to the concrete steps
of NC²
the talk ends,
the brass band begins
the rain starts,
the crowd evaporates
the brass band flee their tunics and regiment position
their embouchure not yet wet
the Frinj has a way
of ending droughts
[1] Listen Up! 2019, audio guide, Black Hole Theatre & Uncle Ron Marks & Tracey Rigney, Nati Frinj festival.
* Natimuk Community Centre