There's a woman running. She's not running from exactly, she's running to. She has a message. She's running to tell someone. She's running to let others know. She's a witness and it's a warning. She's in the foreground and can be seen clearly. There's a sense of urgency on her face. She's in the foreground of the street and we are unseen looking at her. She's alone in the street. Like a scene from the film of A Tale of Two Cities . She's dressed in period costume - a full length gathered skirt with a full petticoat under it, a black lace-up bodice and a full blouse with a gathered neck and puff sleeves.

She's running down the street away from the square, a large space we can see into behind her. The square is bounded on all 4 sides by low 2 or 3 storeyed buildings but this street she's running down continues in both the direction she's running and away in the opposite direction. The square is huge and open like those old squares in European cities. It's a cool overcast day with no wind. The sense of drama is created not only by the expression on the woman's face which is relatively composed but by the events taking place in the square. There might be a million people in there, maybe only a few hundred thousand, it's hard to tell. The most eerie thing is that everyone is extremely quiet.

There are several gallows erected in the square and the crowd flows around them. This is the day when the hangings are taking place. There are a number of people to be hung. The hangings have begun already. They are a disciplinary measure against the whole population and are intended to provide an example.

The woman is running to tell someone or some people but we don't know who they are. She's different from the people in the crowd, she has some kind of independence from them, she isn't one of them, she isn't bound by their laws, she can see the square and the situation from the outside. We don't know if she's in the future or the past. This could be a picture from a previous era or it could be someone dressed in period costume in the present or the future.

To the side there's a large leaf among dark tropical vegetation. Part of a beautiful plant, one which has a single exotic and brightly coloured flower when it's in bloom. The warm humid air and the tropical foliage surround the square, butt up against it. The woman is larger than life-size, more colourful than the grey mass of the people in the square. She's animated while they're paralyzed. But how can she run from the square into the street into the jungle? The street drops sharply away and seems to end outside our view while the jungle starts to invade from the side.

The woman is repeating her message to herself over and over inside her head so she can memorize it, so its urgency can give her energy. CRASH! She breaks into the normal city night. Now we can hear her footsteps and her breathing hard. The quiet has become the quiet of the night, replacing the hush in the square. The tropical foliage flows around the buildings surrounding the square. Vehicular sounds reach us. The gallows, the drama, like the whippings at Old Sydney Town, two dimensional, cardboard. So why is she still running and who would she tell among the corrupt bureaucrats and sleek businessmen. What was her message that once seemed so clear and straightforward - like life and death.
The woman running in the black night, the street lights shining on the wet road, the neon lights of the city behind her, the fenceless front yards with large dark bushes. The men in the black cadillac cruising towards her, heading down Ocean Boulevarde. She runs for her life, tripping over in her stilettos and tight skirt, lying flailing on the ground, as the cadillac pulls up smoothly and in the same motion, the over-dressed men slide out towards her. Hey back up, wrong country!

The woman running in the black night, the trunks of the tropical palms are moving and creaking under the expressway and the fronds are rustling. The glitter of the lights from the glass harbourside buildings reflected in the same water as the city towers on the ridge above us. The water is the most beautiful thing, it breathes. The other water in the fountains smashes itself against bits of metal and concrete drowning out the words the woman is screaming at us.

The woman is running towards us but she can't move outside the frame. At the edge of the picture, the street drops away and seems to end outside our view while the jungle starts to invade from the side. The sense of harshness and punishment lingers in the empty square. It moves outside the frame into its latest metamorphosis while the individuals from the grey mass stand paralyzed and petrified in honeycombs of rooms where only the movement of their frightened eyes reveals the presence of organic life forms inside the casings of wood and dried mud. Only the movement of their frightened eyes reveals the presence of harshness and punishment. The latest metamorphosis is an invisible form.