Big Bunny

Somewhere between a Las Vegas back alley and a gallery wall, Rocky Asbury asked himself a simple question: what if the most iconic image in the room wasn't a painting of something important — but something playful, blown up so large it becomes impossible to ignore? 'Big Bunny' was born from that instinct — that rebellious, beautifully messy impulse to take the familiar and make it feel genuinely alive again. The bunny sits — or perhaps crouches, braces, prepares — amid a swirling storm of graffiti tags, spray-paint drips, and fractured color. It has clearly been places. The wall behind it tells a hundred untold stories in orange scrawls, blue scratches, red drips, and black marks that feel borrowed from the streets Rocky walks every day in Las Vegas. And yet the bunny remains — centered, bold, coral-red and unmovable — a quiet anchor in glorious chaos. There is humor here, and tenderness, and a knowing wink at the culture that surrounds us all. This is Rocky's gift: finding the art hiding in plain sight and translating it into something that radiates love, light, and positive energy. 'Big Bunny' is not just a painting. It is a moment — the moment when the familiar becomes extraordinary, when the street becomes the gallery, and when a simple shape carries the weight of everything we feel but don't always say.