62cm x 82 cm
Oil on Ply
Meranti timber frame (made by me at no additional cost- please seek professional framing for guaranteed product)
Dad had bought a chiller truck, and was contracted to shoot rabbits to sell for meat. I would go out shooting with him. The spotlight lighting up an arc over the rocky ground, dotted with mulga and spinifex. The lever pressed through the ceiling, steely cold in my little hand. My eyes became experts at sighting their little galloping movement before they froze like statues. Glowing eyes would catch the light. I ran to pick up the bunnies, still kicking with nerves. I was terrified- but brought them back to the truck like a dog with a ball- waiting proudly for a pat on the head. I would drive to Yunta with Dad where he would deliver the rabbits. It was 8 hours return. There was servo, a pub, a handful of houses with no lawns, and a peppercorn tree whose feathery leaves swept the red dust. Yunta smelled of sheep and dead rabbits. Brett, at the roadhouse- with his long ponytail, and thumbs tucked into black jeans- made real good chips and eggs. The drive was long and boring. But the time with my Dad- listening to tapes, watching him steer with his knees while rolling Dr Pat, and eating pies and mars bars- was sacred.
62cm x 82 cm
Oil on Ply
Meranti timber frame (made by me at no additional cost- please seek professional framing for guaranteed product)
Dad had bought a chiller truck, and was contracted to shoot rabbits to sell for meat. I would go out shooting with him. The spotlight lighting up an arc over the rocky ground, dotted with mulga and spinifex. The lever pressed through the ceiling, steely cold in my little hand. My eyes became experts at sighting their little galloping movement before they froze like statues. Glowing eyes would catch the light. I ran to pick up the bunnies, still kicking with nerves. I was terrified- but brought them back to the truck like a dog with a ball- waiting proudly for a pat on the head. I would drive to Yunta with Dad where he would deliver the rabbits. It was 8 hours return. There was servo, a pub, a handful of houses with no lawns, and a peppercorn tree whose feathery leaves swept the red dust. Yunta smelled of sheep and dead rabbits. Brett, at the roadhouse- with his long ponytail, and thumbs tucked into black jeans- made real good chips and eggs. The drive was long and boring. But the time with my Dad- listening to tapes, watching him steer with his knees while rolling Dr Pat, and eating pies and mars bars- was sacred.
