Along a windswept coast, where tall grasses bend and fences trace the edges of human order, a white table stands draped in linen. Chairs wait neatly arranged, as if for a gathering. Upon the table lies a saltwater crocodile - the Billabong King - his scaled body gleaming beneath a vast, spectacular sky.
The scene feels both ceremonial and absurd: nature invited, conquered, displayed. It asks the silent question that hums beneath our rituals of comfort and control - from farm to table, eat or be eaten?
In this meeting of beauty and disquiet, the horizon itself seems to hesitate - between feast and offering, dominion and surrender.