The Bundjalung and Gumbaynggirr woman turns the volume up loud - her hearing is impaired.

Roxy the dog barks to alert Wenberg to a phone ringing or a visitor at the door.

Few neighbours would know what happens inside this home; catharsis through art.

Also little-known, is Wenberg's incredible story of resilience.

The 81-year-old shared some of it at MAMA, where her latest painting is currently on display.

"I started off in a mission as a baby, then moved on to Cootamundra girls training home," Wenberg said.

"My sister and I, we were brought up as a European. You weren't allowed to mention the word Aboriginal in the home. The government said, 'You've got to teach the girls that they're European'. And we thought we were too, to tell you the truth, we thought we were white. [If an] Aboriginal person walking down the street, I used to cross over.

"The matron used to always say to us, 'You don't want to be like those other Aboriginal people, because they drink, they smoke, they get in all of the trouble'. And that stuck in our heads as a child.

"No relation of yours were allowed to visit the home, because they didn't want you to know who you were. And I still don't know, it's all gone.

"In the home, I used to draw, and the matron used to come and wash it away. It was a very terrible place.

"The deputy matron used to whip me ... I was only young then, you never forget all those things.

"We had a morgue in the home. They'd throw the girls into the morgue. A lot of the girls get thrown into the box room ... no mattress, no food or nothing. A lot of the girls haven't forgotten that. I don't forget it either. I don't like darkness, I'm terrified of the dark."

"When I left the home, I went to clean and all that, but when I was a bit older, I used to go to the museum and study art," she said.

"We went home one time, we just didn't fit in. My sister said 'I'm not going back up there again sis', and I said, 'I'm not either'.

"I don't want to know my people, that's how strong it is.

"I know it might be hard for me to say this, but that's the way it was. You [are] grown up as a European and you have to learn English properly, you have to speak proper.

"People who have got their parents with them now should be thankful, because we never had them.

"It's not our fault we were brought up the way we were, it's the government's fault. The government shouldn't have done that.

"I ended up with a bad ear, and had to go to Sydney Hospital to be operated on as a child; they had to remove the bone at the back of the ear. That's why I'm partly deaf."

"I went to a psychiatrist. He said, 'You've got to do sketches of what happened to you as a child. I know it's hard, but you've got to get through it'.

"I said to him, 'I'm not mad you know'. He said, 'It's all right Rita, we know, you've been through a lot in your life'. I said, 'I'm still going through it'.

"I started doing sketches of churches. I used to sit down looking at the gum tees, the only thing that sort of relaxed me was the gum tress.

"I used to give them a cuddle, which is stupid, listening to what they're saying.

"I feel really good when I do a gum tree or see a gum tree. I have a lot of gum trees at home I've done - all different types. White gum, red, blue and all that.

"I went to another doctor, he said 'Rita, you're going through what they call a breakdown'. I had a breakdown years ago, I said to him.

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"He said, 'No this is bad, you're not handling it'. I wanted to take some tablets and get it over and done with.

"I got out of that situation, the doctor got me out of it. So what I do now is paint, that keeps me going. My world, I call it."

The documentary Servant or Slave, telling the story of five Aboriginal girls taken from their families including Rita Wenberg and her sister, will be screened at MAMA on January 27, from 6pm - book line.