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Book review by Giles Hugo IN most Western societies mourning is fairly private and restrained - the depths of emotion are kept out of the public eye. Given the prejudices surrounding the worldwide AIDS epidemic, one can understand how difficult it is for those who are mourning AIDS victims to express their grief fully and openly. That is why the AIDS Quilt projects are such a remarkable movement - they combine an opportunity to share in the mourning process and a celebration of the life of the deceased. 'Unfolding: the Story of the Australian and New Zealand AIDS quilt projects' is a beautifully produced large-format paperback illustrated with Ponch Hawkes' photos of quilt panels and the people who created them. The text is mostly transcribed interviews with those who created individual pieces of this remarkable memorial. It makes illuminating reading. Those celebrated and remembered in the panels cover the full spectrum - mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, children and streetkids - a cross-section of the community that reflects the indiscriminate impact of AIDS. Quilt contributor Phil Carswell, first president of the AIDS Council of Victoria, reflecting on the enormity of the tragedy, says: 'I want the Quilt and Vigil itself to achieve the same status as Anzac Day. We've lost more people than we ever did in Vietnam, four times as many to AIDS. Five hundred soldiers in Vietnam. We've had 2,500 deaths now. ...Because of the power of denial, people deny this disease exists and we just can't have that. Most people in the suburbs now know somebody.' Noting that the Quilt Project is the largest community art project in Australia, he adds: 'Every person who goes to the Quilt workshop is a committed person. They will go and they will argue with their friends and their families and their neighbours, and put forward the point of view that everybody should take notice of this disease. They become the best educators. No amount of Grim Reaper advertisements and million dollar campaigns can take the place of that genuine commitment.' The quilt panels selected for the book show a huge range of styles and statements - each epitaph says much in the choice of images, words and materials about the subject and the panel makers. In describing the panel she made for Glen Evans, her big brother, audio engineer Sue Clark writes: 'I just wanted to make a very simple statement - Glen Evans, 1955 to 1990. He lived, he existed and the sheer fact that he has a panel means that he was loved.' Her design is a crimson background with an inset black border and black lettering - the black is leatherette, 'to signify that he was a leatherboy'. A leatherboy who was loved by his sister. Describing her own reaction to seeing the panel alongside hundreds of others, she touches on the cathartic aspect of the project: 'The first showing, it was bizarre, bawled my eyes out, just cried and cried and was very embarrassed at first because I was just sobbing, and then I looked around and so many other people were too - it was such a relief that you could openly sob and no one would look at you strangely.' Margaret Mines, of the Sisters of Charity order, is a pastoral carer with St Vincent's Hospice, in Darlinghurst, Sydney, and she has worked with AIDS patients since 1984. Her panel, a vibrant rainbow, commemorates over a dozen names: 'Some of the people who I decided to make a quilt for are people whose families never could acknowledge publicly that they were HIV- positive. ...As I went to the Quilt unfoldings and realised how many people there were who had never been acknowledged, and never would be by those who were closest to them, I decided that I would honour their memory in this way.' Vincent Lovegrove, a Sydney music industry manager, writer and AIDS awareness educator has made two panels - for his wife Suzi and his son Troy. Suzi died just before Troy's second birthday. Troy died almost six years to the day after his mother. Suzi's panel - in pink, black and green - shows dancing figures; she had been a professional dancer and teacher in New York. He says: 'I guess at first I may have been a bit scared that she was the only woman represented, and that she was going to on this block with all the men. It was the first block so it was sort of a pioneering situation on two counts. The process of going through that and thinking about it became part of the grieving process. ...Having the Quilt is something that we can touch, that we can feel and talk about.' Troy had seen his mothers panel in the Quilt and was able to help in planning his own. It features the same colours as his mother and superhero figures The Flash, Superman, the Ninja Turtles, a karate expert, Batman and Luke Skywalker. His father recalls: The last two times that we went (to see the Quilt) he wanted to know whether I could promise to him that he would have a panel next to his mum's, which I did and that pleased him. ...He could see from the way we treated his mother's memory that she didn't go away, and therefore that he wasn't going to go away in our minds.' Troy will be remembered through two panels - his school mates are also working on one. Brian Earl, a tailor who has worked for the Australian Opera costume department, has worked on over 30 Quilt panels. On two occasions he was working on a panel and only realised when he saw a photo of the subject that he had known that person. His panel for Stuart Challender reflects the conductor's elegant flamboyance: green slipper satin, silver lame and crystal organza, the words 'Der Rosenkavalier' and the image of a silver rose. Having been involved in the creation of so many Quilt memorials, Earl knows the impact making panels has on the makers: 'We have an example here in Melbourne of a woman who made a quilt and came to present it six times and took it home every time before she could give it up. Some things like that happen with the Quilt. You can't always let yourself go. They're very personal. Apart from having clothing and other personal things, sometimes some of them have actually got sachets of the deceased's ashes. They're lovely things. They wear me out.' Joe, a young Aborigine is remembered in a panel created by three friends. It features a porcupine, the Koori flag and 25 hand prints - like the traditional images painted on cave walls in Australia for thousands of years. The rites of death are deeply respected in Aboriginal society and his friends explain why they did not put his full name on the panel: 'Because we didn't ask his permission and we haven't got that right, you know. ...He was an extremely private person.' Private or not, the name Joe will be remembered as a man who was loved and respected in his community. In fact, the Quilt represents a huge family of people who have been brought together by the AIDS tragedy. And the book will actively promote this process - publishers McPhee Gribble will donate royalties from the sale of this book to the Australian and New Zealand AIDS Memorial Quilt Projects. The Australian AIDS Quilt Project is largely voluntary - the only salaried position is the National Coordinator/Executive director. As of June '94 the Australian Quilt was composed of 72 12x12-foot blocks, with each block made up of eight 6x3- foot panels - 576 graphic memorials representing thousands of people whose lives have been affected by AIDS, the quick and the dead. On average, a new panel is added each week. The toll rises, but the message spreads, bringing comfort, awareness and hope through involvement in grieving. Reviewer: Giles Hugo
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