More than One Tree

Ghenoa Gela

Archive: a place in which public records or historical materials (such as documents) are preserved.

This definition in the Webster edition,

Really made me think,

About preservation and what preservation means to me.

I never really had an idea of what an archive was, is, or how…

Hoarding precious things from other living beings, came to be something in reflection of power.

Of course, preservation and archive are two sides of the same coin, They do the same thing, I guess,

And sometimes in conflict…

Of each other – that’s for sure.

Like culture and colonial organisation.

See, I don’t like the term colonisation – because the effects this nation, and every other nation received in terms of INVASION, is something that is… Well, let’s just say it really unsettles me.

For me, colonisation gives a sense of ‘this was an organic evolution to the planet’ when in fact…

It was just an ORGANISED TERRORIST ACT.

But alas, I digress, lets talk about something less…

Confronting.

After all, white fragility, is the norm.

Let’s go back to preservation, allow me to start again,

And yarn about how I find ‘Archive’ in the western definition…

Disturbing.

See for a blakfullah like me, archive and the body is one and the same thing.

After all, I am the ‘latest model of my ancestry’ – big shout out to Hot Brown Honey! OOUSS! OOUUSS!!

When I first landed here in the arts industry, I was confused beyond all belief,

Why are people storytelling without any singing and dancing?

Why are people dancing without any story?

It made absolutely no sense to me, this… this ‘Art’.

“What the heck am I getting myself into!” I thought with proper deep concern.

So straight away I picked up that phone (when phone booths still existed) and called mum and dad back home.

See for me, storytelling is our identity.

Identity is our culture.

Culture is our history.

Which holds and carries all the mysteries,

Of our bloodlines.

Let’s be honest with ourselves, coz if there’s one undeniable truth in the world…

Blood. Never. Lies.

No matter what you try to do, or even try to say,

The blood that runs deep in your veins, will give you away,

Every time.

Again, I digress, lets talk about something less…

Confronting.

After all, the colonial organisation’s idea of the ‘Australian’ identity, is flawed. And again, our first nations voices will be ignored.

Let’s go back to preservation, allow me to continue, E

ven though we got high skills with all sorts of materials,

Writing our history, just wasn’t something we were ever into.

But our minds…

Was, were and are, NEXT LEVEL.

So next level in fact, all the colonisers are now trying to get in on the act,

But slow your roll Rachael Dolezal,

This is not just information,

This is ingrained within our bloodlines,

It is deep within our cultural identification.

This knowledge IS US, and we are our knowledge,

This knowledge beyond western understanding,

Expanding,

Across vast distances and even transcending time,

Is encapsulated, enclosed, and encased in our bodies,

The very same body, that protects our bloodlines.

I am preservation and preservation is me.

Okay, I guess it’s time to wrap up,

What I’m trying to say is,

Art and Life aren’t two separate branches on the same tree,

For me, they are the same thing, just one big tree.

And even though I am me, I am made up of more than me,

More than one tree.

I am an accumulation of all of those who came before me,

And my tree will be invested in those who will come after me,

My blood history…

Makes me a living, breathing,

walking, talking, definition of Archive in that Webster dictionary. Therefore, I am preservation and preservation is me.