Oil on wood, ready to hang.

Signed on the front.

A few years ago after a summer of rain and vegetation growth (a rarity in the desert), we had a season of fires. Nothing that seriously threatened life or property but many of the fires cut a swathe through the land in central Australia. Destructive, necessary, beautiful at times. This fire was creeping along the range of the road to our rural block home, just outside Alice Springs, when I was driving home from work. The dusk made the flames starkly bright against the darkening hills and the slowly moving line of flame was mesmerizing. The next morning the hillside was blackened and stark, waiting for the next rain to sprout new life.