In the courtyard of the 1888 building, framed against powdered concrete and scaffolding, cartoonist Sam Wallman’s A student rubbed their eyes presents an unconventional historical narrative. Ten prints on aluminium discs, 1.2 metres in diameter, are installed in sequence. Like porthole windows, they offer glimpses into moments of cooperation, mobilisation and division between students, workers and unionists.

Viewed separately, each frame depicts a moment where the pre-existing social landscape is either challenged or laid bare, prompting shifts in its underlying structures, assumptions and foundations. Viewed in succession, they represent the shaping of a collective history. Each encounter, from mundane to monumental, is part of a wider cultural context that traverses social, generational and temporal borders.

The flexibility of borders and boundaries is mirrored by the environment of the work. The area surrounding the New Student Precinct construction has become a labyrinth of shifting passageways (like Hogwarts, but with more temporary fences). The ten discs have been mounted, dismounted and remounted according to the fluctuating boundaries of the construction site. It seems an appropriate location for a work dealing closely with change, and the reconstruction of social and historical foundations.

Although the stories are set in and around the University campus, they are not (necessarily) about the University itself. Instead, the University acts as a point of intersection between people of varied occupations, interests and social backgrounds. Personal paths cross on political boundaries, converging and diverging in unexpected ways. In one frame, the University’s cafeteria workers stage a successful protest against the homophobic expulsion of Terry Stokes, a graduate student. In another, student rallies lead to the release of a Union leader imprisoned for industrial action. These interventions traverse social barriers, emphasising that no event within a community occurs in isolation. Although students, workers and unionists occupy vastly different roles within (or outside of) the University framework, the effects of discrimination and political silencing are universal.

The idea is not that the institutions or current structures are inherently oppressive, but that they tend towards stagnation. Their force lies in upholding values, not generating new ones. When changes need to be made, momentum must come from the people that populate them¬¬. Through Wallman’s ten frames, the University is presented as an institution in a constant state of revision. It is regenerated by extraordinary feats of activism, collective mobilisation and positive social change. In 1856, stonemasons working on Melbourne University’s Quadrangle marched in defiance of poor working conditions and unreasonably long hours. The University listened, and the notion of the 8-hour working day was born. Likewise, the backlash following the expulsion of Terry Stokes prompted a successful re-evaluation of archaic institutional values, drawing attention to issues of discrimination and inclusivity.

The cartoon format itself is an extension of this message. A signature quality of Wallman’s work is its accessibility; there is no Artspeak, abstraction or meta-reference. The language is clear and unambiguous, acting as a guide to the narrative. It forms part of a long historical lineage of cartoons as a means of visual communication intended to reach the widest population possible, irrespective of education, literacy or privilege.

Although enormous in scope, A student rubbed their eyes is not a history in the traditional sense. It is nonchronological, offering an alternative concept of narrative where time is no longer the organising principle. Past shoulders present, and a dialogue is established between disparate time periods. The vignettes are organised along compositional lines, emphasising interrelationships rather than subscribing to the view of history as a series of points along a scale.

Among historical moments of protest and revolution is a frame depicting a more recent encounter. A construction worker bumps into a student, who calls him a “bogan”. This classist insult is an act of separation, a psychological barrier used on both the individual and societal scales to dehumanise and divide. When placed in the context of a historical narrative, it is evident that this exchange reflects wider prejudices. Wallman acknowledges the elitism that still manifests itself in aspects of University (and intellectual) culture, despite a modern ethos of inclusivity. The event resonates with unsettling familiarity in these surroundings, where the paths of countless students and workers have crossed, and continue to cross, as the New Student Precinct is constructed.

Interweaving the ordinary with the extraordinary is typical of Wallman’s narrative style. Speaking about his process, Wallman describes taking a musical approach to creating comics: loud moments, quiet moments and resonances between the two. This ebb and flow is part of the nature of change itself. Periods of complacency follow periods of enormous change, and revolution follows long periods of inaction when a breaking point is reached. Human action is an orchestra of forces, and protest is more than noise.

A student rubbed their eyes realises the potential in the everyday as much as it draws attention to earth-shattering, foundation-shaking moments of upheaval. It draws our attention to the fault-lines which scar the social landscape, and the ruptures that offer opportunities for change. It is a testament to the agency we have, as individuals and as a collective, to unsettle and redefine the spaces we inhabit.