As a kid, I would often venture into the neighbouring vacant blocks to dig up ‘dinosaur bones’ with my brother. We would clamber over mounds of sand, armed with paintbrushes, and dust off rocks and various bits of litter. On other occasions, we would take our toys with us and pretend to be on a safari in some sweltering desert. Hence, we were rather disappointed when the blocks finally sold and were replaced by brick houses. 

Many of the places where my imagination used to run wild have since changed or disappeared, but Laurel Nannup’s The Lolly Tree (2001) reminds me that I can still return to them through my memories. When viewed beside her other works, The Lolly Tree also demonstrates how our memories can console us during more challenging times.

I first encountered The Lolly Tree when I began my internship with the curators of Murdoch University’s Art Collection, packing selected artworks for their exhibition: An Enduring Exuberance. I was riddled with nerves that I might make a terrible impression by saying something silly or accidentally dropping a painting. However, when I caught sight of the colourful candy wrappings Nannup had used to adorn her woodcutting of a tree, above a cart of smiling children, I felt oddly reassured. Perhaps because it reminded me of my own childhood adventures, when I had not a care in the world.

My appreciation for this piece only grew over the course of my internship, as I learned from Murdoch curators Mark Stewart and Dr Baige Zylstra about the story behind Nannup’s work. Its innocent imagery captures a moment from Nannup’s childhood when her Uncle Lionel took his nieces and nephews out bush for a cart ride. On their journey, the children were excited to find a particular tree growing lollies instead of fruit. They had no idea that their uncle had gone out earlier to tie the lollies to the tree. What I love so much about this story is the way it reflects the magic of childhood, especially Uncle Lionel’s devotion to safeguarding that magic for his young nieces and nephews. It reminds me of the efforts my family made to ensure that the holidays were memorable occasions for my brother and I as children, hiding chocolate eggs and biting cookies so that we would believe the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus had paid us a visit. 

The Lolly Tree usually hangs beside a series of Nannup’s woodcuts and etchings in Murdoch’s Chancellery Building. Each of these artworks is a window into Nannup’s childhood, reflecting her experiences as a young Nyoongar girl. Some reveal happy memories, like the Sliding Sister (2001), which captures the moment one of the nuns at the Wandering Mission, where Nannup lived, slipped on a watermelon seed. Fearing that they would get into trouble for spitting the seeds on the floor, the children remained quiet, until the nun smiled up at them and then they all burst into laughter. Other works reflect sadder moments, like Big Black Car (2001), which depicts the day Nannup, and her sister were taken from their parents to live at the Wandering Mission. 

Nannup would spend the next eight years of her life there, being raised by German Catholic nuns and working on and around the Mission, until she was sent away to work for a family in Karlgarin, Western Australia. Set against these black and white images, The Lolly Tree, with its shimmering collage of candy wrappings, is a beacon of light. It symbolises how the memories of our childhood and loved ones can be a source of hope and comfort in more troubling periods of our lives. More importantly, it encourages the viewer to follow in Uncle Lionel’s footsteps, creating a world that nurtures and protects the imaginations of future generations.