Yulumbang
Artist: Lyn-Al Young
Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: H 35 x W35 cm
Price: $ 150
Story: Yulumbang means wattle in Wiradjuri. The background patterns honour our Wiradjuri markings, and my connection to Country, to kin, and to my Nan. Wattle blooms in winter. It’s that bright, golden burst of joy, hope, and life in the middle of grey and gloomy days. That’s one of the reasons I painted it — because wattle carries a light that cuts through heaviness. But there’s another, more personal reason. When my nan was living with dementia and had reached a stage where names and faces were slipping away, we went to visit her. We had just been to a family members funeral on the Sandhills where she grew up, by the Murrumbidgee River. While we were there, we gathered wattle from the Sandhills — her Country — and carried it all the way to Echuca, where she was living at the time.
She was asleep when we arrived. When she woke, the very first thing she saw was the wattle. And immediately she said, “That’s wattle from the Narrandera Sandhills by the Murrumbidgee River.” She knew it straightaway. Even when memory had faded, her spirit recognised her Country. Because we are our land, and our land is us. That connection is deeper than memory — it’s song, it’s spirit, it’s who we are. We burst into laughter — that pure, unexpected joy that wattle brings. It was such a beautiful moment, and a powerful reminder of how deeply we are woven into the land, how we are part of the same story, the same song.
Artist: Lyn-Al Young
Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: H 35 x W35 cm
Price: $ 150
Story: Yulumbang means wattle in Wiradjuri. The background patterns honour our Wiradjuri markings, and my connection to Country, to kin, and to my Nan. Wattle blooms in winter. It’s that bright, golden burst of joy, hope, and life in the middle of grey and gloomy days. That’s one of the reasons I painted it — because wattle carries a light that cuts through heaviness. But there’s another, more personal reason. When my nan was living with dementia and had reached a stage where names and faces were slipping away, we went to visit her. We had just been to a family members funeral on the Sandhills where she grew up, by the Murrumbidgee River. While we were there, we gathered wattle from the Sandhills — her Country — and carried it all the way to Echuca, where she was living at the time.
She was asleep when we arrived. When she woke, the very first thing she saw was the wattle. And immediately she said, “That’s wattle from the Narrandera Sandhills by the Murrumbidgee River.” She knew it straightaway. Even when memory had faded, her spirit recognised her Country. Because we are our land, and our land is us. That connection is deeper than memory — it’s song, it’s spirit, it’s who we are. We burst into laughter — that pure, unexpected joy that wattle brings. It was such a beautiful moment, and a powerful reminder of how deeply we are woven into the land, how we are part of the same story, the same song.