Tabi tabi po…
Before I had even arrived in Mparntwe, people bombarded me with warnings of the place. I tried to research accommodation and places to visit, but biased media with all sorts of nonsense saturated the search engines. Sensationalist online papers screamed danger, unqualified click bait vloggers fuelled the headlines with mindless brain rot.
It’s important to acknowledge the complex issues behind what makes the headlines. And that, just like any other place you visit, the people and the community deserve your respect. It is their home, and you’re just visiting.
I met the WTS team on a Wednesday afternoon, straight from my flight. It was also the new WTS director Jet's first day, fresh from her move from Naarm. Jes, the admins' support, who has lived in Alice their whole entire life and holds it with such high regards, greeted us with a full smile and introduced us to the space.
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When I was researching concepts and themes to work on, I wasn’t sure what to actually do. What kept coming up is the fact there’s a large multi-cultural community in Alice Springs, and I was curious as to the reasons for that.
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In the Philippines, wherever you go somewhere new, you are told to introduce yourself to the space.
When I was a young girl visiting my grandmother’s family up in the mountainous regions, you’d say “Tabi tabi po, tao po", which loosely translates to “Excuse me, person arriving”. It is used to show respect or reverence to spirits or supernatural beings that are believed to live in certain places, especially in rural areas.
It’s a way to acknowledge the presence of spirits and sometimes, ancestors, to ask for permission to be able to pass through. It's believed that spirits, known as “engkanto” or “diwata”, live in forests, mountains, rivers, and large trees or rocks. These spirits are said to control the natural elements and are respected by local communities.
I’ve always believed that the land carries ancestral histories and stories of the place.
And on stolen land, as settlers, we must continue to acknowledge the people that have come before us.
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I set up my studio on a Thursday morning, passing the bright dry red river bed of the Todd River or known as Lhere Mparntwe.
Whilst walking on my way there, I was instinctively whispering under my breath, “Tabi tabi po…”
A local family gathered under the trees, laughing and exchanging stories. One of the aunties called out to me and asked me where I’m from.
As an Asian Australian, this question can sometimes feel like a double edged sword. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. It presents a pretence, as if you couldn’t possibly be ‘from here’, because you don’t look like the typical Anglosaxon ‘Aussie’ that some people think all Australians are, that you need to have been from ~somewhere else~ and you end up feeling inclined to defend your right to be called ‘Australian’. At the same time, we all have to come from somewhere, so it makes sense to be curious and learn about your roots. Depending on the context and the nuance of the question, my answer is always varied.
In this particular instance, I say that I’m a Filipino Australian, that I grew up on the east coast, but now based in the south. I say that I’m in town because I want to learn more about our continent and what it’s like living here.
“The Philippines have good singers,” one of the younger kids said. “Can you sing?”
I laughed and shook my head. “Not very well, sorry, that gene missed me.”
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I met Rose* at one of the op-shops in town. I was sourcing materials for the textile work I was planning to do for my exhibition back in SA. She is one of the retired volunteers that now spend their time organising and planning events for seniors to attend. A Filipina, she has lived in Alice for over 30 years, having moved to Australia as a 20 something year old. We bonded almost immediately and she told me that she had heard about me.
Prior to arriving, I called up a few organisations that catered to the multicultural communities of NT. I explained that I was undertaking a residency and wanted to spend my time in town meeting up with as many people who’d like to talk to me and host me. I was really surprised to find how fast word got out about my arrival, as it was just my second day, but that’s the beauty of living in a small town — everyone knew each other, or is a degree or two away from that.
We ended up scheduling lunch together, where she tells me that a few other Filipinas are eager to meet me and talk to me.
I looked around the op-shop, spending a moment by the big collection of tablecloths and sheets neatly stacked on top of one another. It’s rather beautiful and random that human beings find each other serendipitously, and how sharing a meal is often our first call to action when we want to connect further.
I purchased an old white bed sheet and immediately decided I wanted to turn it into something multi-functional. A blanket? A tablecloth? Maybe it can be whatever people need it to be.
Days went by, and I met even more community members. A prominent figure in the multicultural community, Leonie ended up inviting me to various community events she ran. I met a lot of new and old migrants, and spent time hearing about — and understanding — their reasons for choosing to call Alice home.
One of them, a young teacher originally from Manila, Jasmine*, wanted to work in a major Australian city, dreaming of the hustle and bustle of the big smoke. However, with the competitiveness of places like Sydney, she found it too difficult to find work in her field. She worked various jobs until she found an opportunity to work as a teacher in rural Australia. Within just a few days of moving to Alice, she found a job at a local school and now teaches full time, but still hoping to move to a bigger city in the next year or so.
I met more people like Jasmine who only moved to rural Australia in order to find work, or to fulfil their Visa requirements. I found their situation to be a stark contrast from Leonie, who intentionally decided to permanently stay in Alice to live, and start a family, and is still based there after more than four decades.
When I’m not in the studio, I spent a lot of time visiting Leonie, drinking tea, tending to her garden, and we even ended up cooking various Filipino foods from her province. I also got a chance to help with organising archives, meeting people from the many different community groups she was a part of… which led me to meeting even more people that I wanted to meet.
It was pure coincidence in some ways, but also so kismet.
‘Cerulean Polyphony’ (2024) emerged from this time in Alice Springs, where I was invited into local homes and communities, sharing meals and stories.
This work takes the form of a large, multifunctional sheet — an object that can be used as a picnic blanket or tablecloth — designed to invite interaction and shared experience.
It is a metaphorical exploration of the communal activities I encountered, reflecting the ways in which individual stories and voices come together through the simple act of gathering.
When I was conceptualising this multifunctional ‘object’, I really wasn’t sure what medium to work on. I was working with clay, attempting some textiles… and I had just started experimenting with cyanotype, which is something I had been really excited to do for a while but haven’t had the time and space for. However, of course, the really fun thing about being in the Northern Territory, was there was a lot of sun (most of the time).
It was one of the most fun mark making experiences I had, and what made it even more fun was that the WTS team helped me with it.
The cyanotype process relies on sunlight to expose the image, so it felt important to capture and bring the very essence of the NT sun into my work. The harsh, brilliant light of the desert, so distinct in this part of the world, became an integral part of the piece itself. By using the sun as both a medium and a subject, I aimed to create a direct connection between the land and the artwork. It was my way of embodying the energy and presence of this place.
We used everyday items straight from the WTS kitchen — objects that are familiar, but also hold deep symbolism in the context of shared meals and community.
The kitchen items, arranged in a way that suggested the shapes of food and gathering, were meant to convey that there is always a seat at the table. We worked out some of the placement before starting, but ended up just trusting our intuition when it came to exposing the sheet. Kind of just placing wherever the pieces feel like they would fit.
Through food, we come together, and it’s a universal way to connect with others, regardless of background or history.
I wanted this piece to reflect the power of food to bridge divides and foster relationships, all while capturing the distinct, warm light of Mparntwe, which made it feel like the land itself was part of that communal experience.
Drawing on Victor Turner’s concept of communitas, the work celebrates the power of shared rituals to strengthen social bonds and create spaces of belonging.
Mikhail Bakhtin’s theory of polyphony also underpins the piece, highlighting how multiple, diverse perspectives can harmonise to form a deeper understanding of community.
‘Cerulean Polyphony’ (2024) invites viewers to participate in a collective space where cultures and histories intersect and resonate.
I’m also eager to see where this piece could be featured in the future. I really encourage community members to borrow it and use it in their community events, which will add the extra dimension of experiencing the piece in a new way.
Close up of 'Cerulean Polyphony' (2024) cyanotype on repurposed cotton fabric. Photo by Alyssa Powell-Ascura.
The days went by and before I knew it, my three weeks residency came to a close.
I had the great privilege of immersing myself in daily life, attended local events and was invited to simply hang out, connect and eat, which gave me a chance to hear people’s stories and foster relationships.
My time was spent not only learning about the migrant experiences that have shaped this region but also honouring the strong connection and reverence that Aboriginal people have with their country. Through these conversations and moments of shared understanding, I developed a deeper appreciation for the complexities of identity, history, and belonging in this landscape. My multidisciplinary practice, rooted in conceptual and socially engaged community-based works, seeks to extend beyond the confines of the institution, embracing personal engagement with people and place. I am so grateful for this residency opportunity, as I was able to continue my ongoing research on pre-colonial connections of Asia Pacific with Indigenous Australia, as well as learning more about parts of history that need to be highlighted to wider audiences.
I was also able to experiment on creating with cyanotype, something I was really excited about. I enjoyed creating different variations of the sensitiser liquid, and although I could’ve made it simpler by following direct instructions — I wouldn’t have it any other way. The different shades of blue in ‘Cerulean Polyphony’ (2024) reflect this. I was also surprised to witness a few desert thunderstorms — it made art making with the sun a fun dance, allowing me to let go and work with the weather.
I want to thank WTS for graciously hosting me and to FELTspace for holding this exhibition. Truly appreciated the level of support — and openness, to showing previous works alongside new works, bridging stories together and giving space to experimental ways of art making.
Thank you for acknowledging the transformative ways of process driven works.
My mind is buzzing with so many ideas on how to take these works further, and particularly looking forward to returning to Alice Springs in the future, continuing on building the connections I have made and learning more about this unique part of our continent.
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Jet and I spent some time visiting watering holes, going on long walks, world building and talking about what it means to grow up as Asian Australians. I felt a sense of comfort –– and maybe even relief –– mostly because I found out that I am not alone in some of the challenges that younger me felt.
And despite only knowing each other for a short period of time, I also felt a sense of familiarity and ease, the kind you only feel with family or close friends. It’s as if we’re kindred spirits.
During my last couple of days in Alice, I spent the early mornings sitting on my balcony, overlooking the Todd River from my hotel room. I journaled, although sometimes I would simply sit in silence, sipping my tea and just listen to the native birds and the wind. I would gaze at the river, resting my eyes momentarily. It’s ephemerality a reminder of those who came here during a transitional period in their lives, existing only briefly.
Some of the new friends I have made here, who are working hard to carve a new life for them in Australia, will probably move on to the bigger cities by the time I come back to Alice. Some of them though, like Leonie, will still be here, smiling and welcoming newcomers and old community members alike, probably inviting them over for a cuppa.
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A few days after I arrived back home, I was going through my notes as I reminisced on my time in Alice —
I am grateful to meet new people.
For the ability to hold space, interact with those with differing opinions, to be able to eat together.
I want to add love into this life in every way possible — some not even imagined yet.
I want to make life beautiful.
I want to have the capacity to make room for mistakes, to learn and to grow.
The future feels uncertain.
The injustices and disparities overwhelm and pain us.
At times, the world often feels unbearable.
It’s important we make intentional efforts to connect.
I remind you to share and care for each other and our earth. To remember those who came before us.
No one left behind.
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*Names have been changed for privacy
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About Alyssa Powell-Ascura ––
Alyssa Powell-Ascura is an award winning emerging multi-hyphenated creative, or a “slashie”, as she calls herself. She is primarily known as a visual artist and a writer, working in the intersections of food, culture and identity. Projects that she is drawn to usually have an element of community. As the first Delima Residency recipient (2023), she worked and lived in Malaysia for 3 months. Her first solo exhibition, ‘Halo-halo’(2024) won The City of Adelaide Award. If she’s not talking to the local Aunties and writing about food and culture, she can be found by the beach.
Instagram–– @apowellascura
Youtube–– https://www.youtube.com/@alyssapowellascura
Website–– www.roseandcitrus.com/aly/
Substack–– https://apowellascura.substack.com/