Imagine discovering a piece of history hidden away for decades, a silent testament to a painful chapter in Australia’s past. That’s exactly what happened when a long-lost Indigenous artwork, created over 70 years ago by a child from the Stolen Generation, was found in the trunk of a regional Western Australian museum. This isn’t just a story about art—it’s a story about resilience, memory, and the enduring power of creativity in the face of adversity.
Drawn in 1947 by 12-year-old Claude Kelly, the artwork emerged from the Carrolup Native Mission School near Katanning, south of Perth. What’s striking is that the museum where it was discovered is nearly 200 kilometers away from Carrolup, raising questions about how it ended up there. Steve Brown-Smith, curator of the Corrigin Historical Society, revealed that the piece was donated to them about 25 years ago. But here’s where it gets intriguing: the original curator who received the donation passed away years ago, taking with her any knowledge of its origins. “It’s been sitting undisturbed in an old trunk for most of the last 25 years,” Brown-Smith explained. This isn’t an isolated case—hundreds of Carrolup artworks have been scattered across the globe, their journeys as complex as the history they represent.
Take, for example, the story of Florence Rutter, a British woman who visited Australia in 1949 and was gifted hundreds of Carrolup pieces to exhibit and sell in London. Or Herbert Mayer, an American who amassed a private collection of 127 artworks, which he later donated to Colgate University in New York. These pieces remained in storage until 2004, when they were rediscovered by chance. In 2013, the collection was finally returned to Australia and entrusted to the John Curtin Gallery in Perth. And this is the part most people miss: these artworks aren’t just relics of the past—they’re windows into the lives of children who experienced the trauma of the Stolen Generation.
Patricia Ryder, senior Carrolup adviser at the John Curtin Gallery, emphasizes the profound significance of these works. “For the families of the artists, these pieces could be the only tangible evidence of their loved ones’ stories,” she said. “We need to view these artworks through the lens of what those children experienced, not from our modern perspective.” The fragility of the pieces adds another layer of urgency. Lisa Liebetrau, Carrolup collections officer, notes that many were created with subpar materials provided by the mission school, making them vulnerable to damage. “Claude Kelly’s piece, for instance, suffered significant insect damage and was covered in debris and dust,” she explained. Paper conservators are now working tirelessly to restore these delicate treasures.
The search for more Carrolup artworks continues, but it’s an uphill battle. Out of 127 pieces in the Herbert Mayer collection, only 17 artists have been identified. “We’re pushing for more research and education to fill these gaps,” Ryder said. In 2022, an exhibition of Carrolup artwork toured the United Kingdom, aiming to uncover pieces that might be hidden in homes or galleries. But here’s the controversial part: while the goal is to bring all these artworks back, Ryder admits, “The reality is, this may not be possible.” Instead, the focus is on attributing more pieces to their creators or their families, ensuring their stories aren’t lost to time.
This discovery raises a thought-provoking question: How do we balance the preservation of cultural heritage with the complexities of its history? Should these artworks be returned to their communities, or do they belong in global collections where they can reach a wider audience? We’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below. After all, the story of Carrolup’s art isn’t just about the past—it’s about the conversations we’re having today.
