“How the flock did they get there”
45cm x 45cm thick oil paint and beeswax
.
The country lane led past gum trees, their branches whispering stories in the wind, whilst cattle grazed lazily in golden fields. Babbling brooks wound through the paddocks like silver threads, always cool, always humming a tune.
Her childhood was a wonderland. She rode her horse bareback, laughing into the wind, her hair wild, her heart freer than the clouds overhead. She caught tadpoles in old jam jars, crouched by the creek until her knees were muddy and her hands smelled of river stones.
Out there, everything made sense.
Now, she closes her eyes and walks those country lanes again.she hears the kookaburras and feels the reins in her hands.
The country never left her. It’s stitched into her soul.
45cm x 45cm thick oil paint and beeswax
.
The country lane led past gum trees, their branches whispering stories in the wind, whilst cattle grazed lazily in golden fields. Babbling brooks wound through the paddocks like silver threads, always cool, always humming a tune.
Her childhood was a wonderland. She rode her horse bareback, laughing into the wind, her hair wild, her heart freer than the clouds overhead. She caught tadpoles in old jam jars, crouched by the creek until her knees were muddy and her hands smelled of river stones.
Out there, everything made sense.
Now, she closes her eyes and walks those country lanes again.she hears the kookaburras and feels the reins in her hands.
The country never left her. It’s stitched into her soul.
45cm x 45cm thick oil paint and beeswax
.
The country lane led past gum trees, their branches whispering stories in the wind, whilst cattle grazed lazily in golden fields. Babbling brooks wound through the paddocks like silver threads, always cool, always humming a tune.
Her childhood was a wonderland. She rode her horse bareback, laughing into the wind, her hair wild, her heart freer than the clouds overhead. She caught tadpoles in old jam jars, crouched by the creek until her knees were muddy and her hands smelled of river stones.
Out there, everything made sense.
Now, she closes her eyes and walks those country lanes again.she hears the kookaburras and feels the reins in her hands.
The country never left her. It’s stitched into her soul.