Kuramanunya | Thomas E.S.Kelly
Whenever I see props that look like our rugged landscapes and lush forests, memories of sitting around a fire and talking with mates linger. It’s a familiar feeling for those that love camping and having a yarn, yet this show takes those almost simple moments and transports you back a couple of hundred years when destruction and colonisation paired up to decimate a culture and steal its agency.
The invasion comes, the guns fire, Thomas E.S.Kelly, actor and performer and a Yugambeh/Wiradjuri/Ni-Vanuatu man speaks in language and moves from a place of gathering to anguish as the room melts into a sea of red. The droning sounds wash over you; the circle of stones anchors the story whilst an alter in the form of a large monolith transforms itself into a portal of emotions for the next 50 minutes.
Kuramanunya skirts around stories of making making paint from ochre, how fire is used to cleanse and heal and the parallels of gentrification taking aim at the banality of Cross River Rail. The lyrical dance moves, the belittling and increasing self-harm, the wisdom of ancestral knowledge and black humour coalesce between traditional dance, breathwork and interpretive movements to form what I see as birds and other totem guides. I love these segways filled with the most atmospheric soundscapes which make me think of the many corrobborees and bora ring sites for initiation and ceremony and this is where I feel the true story begins.
There are places you can't be welcomed which are full of ghost ceremony, filled with memories of guns, rope and disease. This is a strong message, and it reminds us of our bloody past and the many branches on ours and the actors family tree that have fallen like deadwood. This missive is explored further as the bones of his ancestors are gathered in a makeshift cast representing a coolamon. Holding such precious remnants dissolving into a sunset where the smoke fills the theatre. A powerful message to think on the many ancestors who did not have their song sung for them and as the keeper of songs in this story, you are shown what it is like to have no-one mourn your loss waiting for the song that no one sings.
Yet there is solace, an invitation to write a name on a leaf placed in the coolamon. I felt raw and exposed because this was so unexpected and real. I also was able to identify that the branches on my trees may not have had the ceremony and the song they deserved, and I walked out feeling a pinch of grief but also deep gratitude for revealing that part of myself to me I didn’t know was there and am very grateful to experience that.
Kuramanumya is a beautiful and poetic piece of theatre and I highly recommend you check this work out!
