Found this article the other week about the Desert Mob show in Alice Springs. I have recently become really interested in finding articles about Indigenous art in newspapers and non-art periodicals to see what the different views are like.

An excerpt from the article:

"With so great a wealth of paintings and sculptural pieces on view, the spectator rushes to compare and judge. But the sheer profusion of the works, the totality of the exhibition, is its core message. The desert art centres are a managed, artificial archipelago, but the rich variation in the tapestry of the artworks they harvest makes a simple point. All through the desert inland, the show seems to murmur, this is going on. These multiple ways of conceiving and picturing the country still thrive. Along with the income management, poverty and abjection, this is also present. Make of it what you will. The remote communities are not just zones of crisis, then; they are also home to a strange, persisting renaissance. Consider Amata, a small collection of houses in the heart of desert range country and in years gone past a byword for petrol-sniffing chaos. It is now the home of Tjala, one of the region's most successful art centres. Large works by its painters dominate the main gallery of Araluen, and the key canvas is an elusive, hieroglyph-like emblem in reds, blues and deep orange and yellow colours by Wawiriya Burton, an old woman born in the bush and steeped in her traditions. She says next to nothing about the core subject matter of her work; there it hangs like a veil of beauty, something to be astonished by as much as something to gather up and own. It is striking how many of the most potent paintings in the exhibition are by men and women of senior standing in their ceremonial religious realms; how many, too, are by prominent healers. The most lyrical canvas in the show, Wati Ngintaka Tjukurpa (lizard man dreaming), by Harry Tjutjuna from Ninuku Arts is one example: a wash of loosely intermeshing colours -- reds, pale shades of ochre, pinks, purples and deep night-sky blues, in the midst of which the lizard figure, half-hidden, can be made out.

Here is both the wonder and challenge of the desert art-making tradition, caught by this show in its evolving flight. It embodies a distinct way of apprehending the landscape and this difference, which lends it consummate value for outside eyes, is what makes it almost impossible to decode and grasp. It is a tradition under dreadful threat: even the fact that it needs to be husbanded and preserved speaks of its weakness.

Can it be prolonged, and renewed? Can the tradition be passed on to younger artists, through instruction, workshops and all the other courses outsiders love to provide? Should it be? The masterworks with immediate appeal in Desert Mob 2011 are almost all by elderly artists -- figures such as Lily Hargraves from Lajamanu in the Tanami Desert, or Tommy Mitchell and Carol Golding from Warakurna Arts in Western Australia -- and this association of artistry with age is natural.

Painting, in Aboriginal communities with surviving deep culture and language, is linked with ceremonial knowledge systems that are passed on slowly through decades of instruction. Much of the work of cultural transmission goes on far beyond the realm of art centres and publicly funded schemes. Yet the art centre movement is widening its bid to preserve desert life-ways and a symposium held in concert with the opening of the exhibition reviewed the range of programs that have sprung up as part of this campaign."