Photographer Rex Dupain was in a town in Western NSW and the locals were warning him not to go near the local Aboriginal reserve. Your car will be damaged, they said; you’ll be robbed or beaten up. But then Dupain met an Aboriginal man in the street who offered to take him there and show him around. “Don’t worry bro,” the man said. “If you’re with me you’ll be OK.”

So they went, and the first place they visited was the spot where a house once stood. It had been burnt to the ground. A brass bedstead and a few pots and pans lay among the old embers, and in the driveway were the rusting hulks of three cars and a bus. The man told Dupain it was his mother’s property; her de facto had torched the place after an argument.

Just then, the man’s half sister turned up. It was a cold day and she had on a bright blue jacket. Dupain asked her if she’d pose for a picture on a car – and would she mind removing the jacket, because it clashed with the sky? She hopped up there and shrugged off the top – to reveal a T-shirt that spoke volumes in just three words. “I couldn’t believe it,” says the photographer. “It seemed to sum up the whole story.”

Dupain had many serendipitous moments while shooting images for his new book on the theme of national identity, Australia (Penguin Lantern, $59.95) – but this was a stand-out. He loves the way the girl is surrounded by a sea of rust and ash, yet manages to look strangely beautiful and poised, like a statue on the prow of a ship. He calls her The Pheonix.