The language of the telling rustles like dry grasses, crackles like bones shifting in the windblown sands. Emerging from it, the Bone Woman herself, bent over her stick like an arch of stone, searches this way and that across the wide, scoured distances outside her cave. On the ground, she's assembled the bones she needs, all but "that tiny piece at the tip of the tip of the tail." That one is still unfound. She looks further. Finally triumphant, she "dances with one side of her body, waits with the other." Yet it is a while before her creation stirs, shakes itself, stands. What will it be? A wolf. The paintings powerfully suggest the Bone Woman's intent, her dramatic context, her nature a crone. Inspired by creation myths from many desert cultures, words and artwork (some of which appear to be made of bone itself, or of bronze) cast an indelible spell.
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