No season defines Australia more than summer. Australians are conditioned to cherish summer, to dream it, to love it, to drive around in it with the window down; to love it or leave it, to eat a snag in it and endure it with a smile on one's zinc-creamed face. I mean, it's frankly un-Australian to whinge and whine about summer, right? Just drink some more plonk and get on with savouring the heat and the possums and the cricket and the chiko rolls and the eye-candy and together we can forge the identity of a nation through....the weather. And if all this is too hard, you might just end up the subject of a photo like this one. And once you're in this photo you can actually reveal what might be closer to the truth i.e. that summer is for many a time of melancholic exclusion in a sparsely populated land whose inhabitants, insecure like a teenager, will tend to define themselves via notions of extreme weather, extreme animals and luckily, extreme shyness.
On fine art paper behind museum grade glass.
An exclusive image, meaning once only and never again.