It’s often referred to as the beating heart of Australia. Located roughly in the centre of a country that spans over seven million square kilometres, its dry red earth feels alive under the sun. But there’s more than just its location and colour that makes Alice Springs feel core to Australia. It’s a place of stories, soul and history. It’s a place where Indigenous Australian culture shines bright, but the heartbreaking effects of colonisation, at times, outshine them. And while there are tourist buses, websites and signs that talk about the town being founded by W.W. Mills in March 1871, there are also numerous people and organisations working extremely hard to ensure the true history, stories and culture are kept alive. And the truth is, the stories of Alice go back thousands of years before 1871. Its name is actually Mparntwe and it’s the traditional land of the Arrernte Aboriginal people.

In my short one-week visit to Mparntwe earlier this year, I met many people working to keep the culture alive. I learnt about the Dreaming story, where the region was created by giant caterpillars, which now form the rugged ridges of the surrounding Macdonnell Ranges. I went to a film night and heard a group of local women speak, who had been gathering weekly to develop solutions in anticipation of the ten year anniversary of the Northern Territory Intervention (which has now just passed). And then I visited the Yarrenyty Arltere Learning Centre, where I met a group of Arrernte, Luritja and Walpiri people telling stories in a different way.

Located at the Larapinta Valley Town Camp, the centre was established in 2000 in response to the severe social, economic and wellbeing issues in the area. Driven by the local people, the aim was to develop programs that respected the culture and empowered the community. Set up as an inter-generational educational model, where both kids and adults could learn, the programs covered everything from health to social issues, culture and art. There was Batchelor College, where they could do their Certificate 1 and 2, and here they learnt ceramics, painting, jewellery-making.

In 2008, a small group of people from the town camp, decided they wanted to put these newly-attained creative skills to good use and create an enterprise, a business. They sourced $5000 of philanthropic funding, and with this, the Yarrenyty Arltere Artists were born.

Their final class at Batchelor College was sculpture, and according to Sophie Wallace—the Art Coordinator who joined at this time—“that’s what stood out”. So for the last nine years, in a small room packed with blankets, dyes and threads, men and women come every day and make soft sculptures. They casually wander in and out at various hours of the day, carrying baskets overflowing with yarn and half-finished stuffed native animals. The room is filled with them: endearing and somewhat eccentric soft sculptures of men, women, birds, porcupines. Young children potter about the space and dogs hide under the main table to escape the outdoor heat.

But the art is just one very small part of a very big and complex picture. These artists don’t just come here to sew, they come here to heal, to share stories, to connect. “It was a really bad time for people and there was a lot of trauma,” Sophie explains. “And it’s still a place like that [for healing]. But people have healed and things have improved for people on many levels. People are really marginalised in Alice Springs, so having a community centre where people can come and learn and access other services… And families can come… It’s a safe place for people to be. I think that’s made a huge difference to people’s lives.”

Right now, there are twelve core artists. It’s an open door policy where anyone from the town camp is welcome. Over the years, people have come, others have gone and some have passed away. Marlene Rubuntja, one of the artists, tells me, “I come everyday because I like it. I like it because I don’t stay home. When you sit at home you’re not doing anything. It keeps me busy. We don’t go wandering around town because there’s nothing to do.”

When I ask each of the artists how long they’ve been coming here, the answer is usually the same: “a long time.” For some that means a couple of years, for others it means fifteen years. And over that “long time,” the sculptures have developed and changed, and so have the artists. What were once simple figures of women, men and native animals made from old woollen blankets dyed from native plants and rusty bits of metal, are now intricately embroidered collectibles. “We do workshops to try and develop the sculptures,” Sophie explains, “but really people just develop on their own and from each other. The idea is that it should always be driven by the artists.”

Today, this small group of artists from the small town of Mparntwe are regularly winning major national art awards and have an impressive year-round calendar of exhibitions at esteemed interstate galleries. In October, a documentary about the artists and their community will screen at the Tarnanthi Festival of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Art in Adelaide, and in December, they will collaborate with Brazilian brothers Fernando and Humberto Campana for the NGV (National Gallery of Victoria) Triennial. Marlene proudly tells me about the awards she’s won, her recent appearance on ABC (Australian Broadcasting Channel), and speaks passionately about the importance of it all: “We got to do something while we’re still living. We got to do something while we’re alive. To show our people we’re strong.”

There’s a certain sadness in Mparntwe as the relentless effects of Australia’s shameful past face you at every turn. But when you take a left, as you head out of town and you meet people like the Yarrenyty Arltere Artists, you can’t help but feel humbled by their strength. While the damage caused to Mparntwe (and all over Australia) can never be undone, for me, this centre symbolises hope. And so, under a constant soundtrack of a ceiling fan, boiling kettle and layers of conversation in a mix of Arrernte, Luritja and Walpiri, these artists—with their wild native creatures and wild spirit—show their resilience and share their culture.

Marlene tells me, “I always share my stories with my art. When I do my art, I share my stories with my art. I don’t hide it—my things that I’m doing—so people know we’re artists. We can’t hide the things in the pocket; we’ve got to let it out, what we do. Because we want people to know. People want to know there’s Yarrenyty Arltere Artists in Alice Springs, Northern Territory. In the red desert country, we are in the middle of Australia. This is where we live; it’s our heart.”