Mother-tongue
Rayleen Forester
I wrote this essay on Kaurna land. I acknowledge the ongoing work of First Nations artists, academics and communities who still struggle to have their language, and its connection to Country, recognised and respected. This essay, discussing the art of Aida Azin, a Filipina-Iranian artist, seeks to find commonalities between the mother-tongue languages of diaspora communities and my writing practice, linking language to place and to art criticism.
language – wika
colour – kulay
memory – ala-ala
mouth – bibig
Studio Portrait of Aida Azin, 2020.
Photo: Thomas McCammon
As a descendent of the Philippines and born and raised in Australia, my sense of transcultural fluidity is interweaved by Tagalog and English. While Tagalog remains at arm’s length in my every day, exercising its words and phrases acts as a natural extension of self.
Aida Azin works on Wurundjeri land. Her art addresses experiences of displacement, segregation, diaspora, linguistic identity, and cultural acquisition through painting, installation, murals, live events, and community work.
As a viewer of Aida’s work, I bear witness to her process of unlearning: she pulls back the layers of socio-political conditioning that enforces a particular notion of identity. What remains, and what I can see in her art, is a true sense of optimism, empathy, and curiosity about culture, history, and identity. Her practice opens up linguistically-fluid possibilities for art criticism.
SALUHAN: pearl diving report, 2019, Manila, Philippines.
Photo: Aida Azin
Recently, through a series of collaborations with co-creator Lou Javellana and Negative Space — a collective based in Tartanya-Adelaide and Manila — Aida programmed a series of events titled S A L U H A N. This translates from Tagalog as ‘to eat together’ or ‘join in eating’ and, when pronounced slightly differently, means ‘provide support from below’. These events involved artists from both Australia and the Philippines exhibiting artworks, sharing food, knowledge, language and ancestry, trading zines and providing a platform for activism. By creating a platform that engages with language through arts and culture, audiences and participants can embody the spirit of a place, rather than simply viewing it within the constraints of the white cube gallery. These exchanges work to connect us not just linguistically but also culturally, a bridge across the transient oceans of language and of culture.
language – salita
home – bahay
community – pamayanan
art – sining
Aida Azin, Brown Pillars, installation view Firstdraft, 2019.
Photo Zan Wimberley
Aida’s loosely suspended paintings emulate an unknown and material spirit. Brown Pillars (2017), includes a collage of imagery from crass clipart to spirited drawings of Gauguinesque female figures — exoticised and reimagined to cater for contemporary taste. By mocking painterly processes of European masters and inserting her own visual language through paste-ups of food ads or 1980s mail-order bride listings, Aida’s composition questions cultural representations of people of colour and strongly expresses the disposition and anxiety of a person misunderstood by both home and foreign land. This painting included a small photograph of the artist’s mother, proudly smiling while washing an ‘AUSTRALIA’ t-shirt under a pump hose — a familiar image of feminised Filipino domesticity. Confronting the ‘white gaze’ is an important tactic in Aida’s practice to encourage audiences to recognise the deeds of ‘othering’ in colonised countries. Now, upon reflecting on these works Aida comments that the urge to speak to this gaze remains strong, yet her connection to community and desire to make space for their voices is paramount to her work.
conflict – salungatan
home – sariling
idea – bayang
history – kasaysayan
Aida’s practice is one of memory and another of taste. Filipino snack food packaging, visions of tropical fruit, rice sachets and the humble calamansi are layered and woven into Aida’s work through direct or indirect representation. The essence of sari-saris —a sometimes makeshift family-run DIY convenience store — permeates the canvas, illuminating the diverse imposing influences on the Philippines; a colonised land, made visible by its assorted culinary options.
Over email, Aida and I revisit this discussion in September 2022. She tells me, ‘It wasn’t obvious then that food was a great place to start looking at my cultural heritage. But now, I can see a throughline between banana ketchup, a Filipino food revolutionist, and food sovereignty. Including food as a symbol of my identity in my artwork became a building block for conversation with the community. Food is healing for us. I feel so much pride in our community for demonstrating how we nourish each other. Filipinos are creative. We use our platforms to bring stories to light about food culture. When we come together over food, we celebrate who we are; we can be political, honest, nostalgic, humorous, and healing. Our individual stories make up a shared experience of love for who we are.’
Aida Azin, Table, 2015, acrylic and mixed media on canvas,
50 x 60cm. Courtesy of the artist
I too now recognise the value in Filipino cooking as a tool for connecting with community and motherland culture. As our calamansi tree fruits each season, a range of visitors come by, sharing their time, their memories and new recipes. Its bitterness is forever marked on my palate; its sheer mention is enough for me to recite its taste.
Aida’s art navigates the complex terrain of linguistic and cultural connection and disconnection. Maternal languages — beyond mainstream representation, with all their biological and geographic complexities — can begin a negotiation of selfhood. Aida’s work claims space for these words and phrases; our mother-tongue is materialised and is, once again, within reach.
My home is my language
My language is a shadow
The word is an ocean
Ang tahanan ko ay ang aking wika
Ang aking Wika ay isang anino
At ang salita ay karagatan
Rayleen Forester is a Tartanya-Adelaide based, independent arts worker and writer. Rayleen’s curatorial interests focus on intergenerational story-telling and cross-cultural engagement through experimental curation, programming, performance, and writing.
This article was originally commissioned and published in un Magazine, Issue 14.1: Care. Sections have been recontextualised for this publication.