a colossal pine cone standing on end repeated down a receding line, twelve, diminishing, every copy identical and fluted the same way with the flutes converging as the perspective takes them, a path running beneath them to a vanishing point. The near ground is saturated orange, deeply coloured and saturated and high-chroma, the repeated forms pale and achromatic against it. hard high sun from one side, an empty cobalt sky deepening to the top edge, and one long black shadow bar thrown clear across the open ground, each copy throwing its own shadow across the path. The bloom ground dense, the sky and the form surfaces calm. one person alone in a white robe, walking away from the lens, tiny — about one fiftieth of the frame's height, too small to read a face, low and off centre, on the path itself. Ceremonial, as though the procession has always been there.