You don't just stumble across the Tanks Arts Centre in Cairns by accident. I mean, we did, but we’re dorks. We were actually headed to the Cairns Botanical Garden (a topic for a different post!) when we bumped into these colossal concrete structures that looked like they were designed to outlast the apocalypse. Which they actually were, I guess.
Built in 1943 to store fuel for the Royal Australian Navy during World War II, the Tanks were carved deep into the side of Mount Whitfield just north of Cairns as part of a secret wartime supply chain and camouflaged beneath the rainforest canopy to hide them from enemy planes. Back then they held oil and diesel to keep Australia’s naval operations in the Pacific afloat.
Of course, the war ended, along with the need to keep vast fuel reserves sitting in the rainforest anymore. The Tanks were completely decommissioned by 1987, and the first of the steel tanks was demolished to make way for a parking lot. But some in Cairns—and the City Council—had the idea to turn them into a venue for the arts. I mean, if you’re going to build a creative space, why not start with a structure tough enough to survive war, neglect, and time itself?
It took years of lobbying and creative vision from the council and local advocates to save the remaining tanks and turn them into an arts center, which opened in 1995. These days, the Tanks hum with art and music instead of machinery, and they’re a space for stories, art, and creative energy as old and raw as the rainforest itself.
When we visited, they were hosting a small exhibition that was part of the 15th Cairns Indigenous Art Fair (CIAF). The exhibition’s name, Not Selling Cake, comes from an incident in the early 2000s when Torres Strait artist Billy Missi stood in the Kubin Print Studio on Moa Island and said, “Tell them we’re not selling cakes here. We’re printing money.”
He was calling out the idea that Indigenous art was a simple, low-value craft—like selling cookies at a bake sale—rather than a legitimate, valuable industry. And he wasn't wrong. The cultural, social, and economic value of First Nations art in Queensland had been overlooked for too long. This exhibition was a reminder of what happens when investment meets talent—artworks that are priceless in more ways than one.
The exhibition itself was a collision of tradition and innovation. Not Selling Cake was a cornerstone of CIAF 2024, bringing together works from 20 distinguished First Nations artists. This smaller, focused exhibition honored key cultural leaders and the legacy of artists who have shaped CIAF's journey. It sat alongside the more extensive CIAF program, which spanned multiple galleries across Cairns over several months and featured more than 300 artists across Queensland.
While the broader fair showcased a wide spectrum of contemporary and traditional Indigenous art, Not Selling Cake offered a more introspective, legacy-focused narrative—anchoring the past, present, and future of Queensland's First Nations art. The collection honored artists who’d helped build CIAF’s foundation and celebrated new voices pushing it forward.
These are names you might find in the National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Art Awards (Australia’s longest-running and most prestigious art awards dedicated to Indigenous artists), on the global stage at the Venice Biennale, or in major exhibitions like Tarnanthi and the Sydney Biennale. But on the day we wandered in, you could see them right there in little ol’ Cairns.
Walking through the Tanks—and this show—was a reminder of survival. Survival of the places, the stories, the communities. I'm glad the Tanks weren't completely flattened to make way for something as mundane as more parking.
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