A great house pulsating with secrets and stories, each room with its own tangible identity gave off sound into long hallways: the swaying songs of refugees, sisters singing to each other from television screens, the hearty laugh of Willy, the rumbling gusty sound of a windy day, a conversation between two people. It was enchanting. It was like sitting in your flat hearing your neighbours bickering next door, and wishing you could walk through the wall and see it all. Here you could.

I moved into artist Eija-Liisa Ahtila's ten screen piece about schizophrenic Aki's search for his imagined lover Anne and heard her say : I will show myself to you in 3D like flesh.

And she did. They all did in that room, the multitude of faces and bodies in rooms on screens saying the same things and then because they were different faces and bodies in different rooms they were saying such different things. They told a fiercely delicate tale of hope, of preparation, confusion, and passion. And in the middle all those televisions telling one story and the bedlam of many voices, there sat a bed, with sturdy legs. And over it, a clean white doona, awaiting the body of Anne.