I have always found the humble chicken wishbone an enigmatic symbol; a life past, a curious piece of anatomical design and of course the object central to games of sibling rivalry. The custom of drying the wishbone from the Sunday roast on the kitchen sill was common to many Australian childhoods. Some bones ended up being munched by a mouse or layered with dust and forgotten. Others were inadvertently smashed by the drop of the venetian blinds before the ritual game of luck could be played out.
The game involves two opponents who each form a secret wish, and then tug apart the wishbone using hooked little fingers. Only the person holding the sternum centre after the wishbone is splintered into two (the victor), will have their secret wish come true. The secret wish of the vanquished player will remain unfulfilled. This game of luck seldom considers the life of the hen whose life and death have enabled both the meal and the game. In recognition, I have made several major works featuring the humble chicken wishbone.
