though they're not, not least because they often made the pictures. In the drawing she inscribed 'The costume of the Australians' Sophia Campbell showed them as integral to New South Welsh society. And there is abundant material evidence of what the post-Macquarie policy of reestablishing New South Wales as a place of punishment and retribution actually involved or the convicts themselves. In Tasmania Thomas Bock dispassionately represented bushrangers before and after execution, and revealed how, during the 1820s, racial science was turning its attention to the criminal skull, while at the same time Augustus Earle brought home the pointlessness of keeping men ironed. In W.B. Gould's distant image of Macquarie Harbour, on the north-east coast of Tasmania, and one of the remotest and least hospitable places I have ever experienced, if we look closely, we may discern a convict being flayed at the triangle, while officers stroll past while walking their dog.
These images articulate the conflicted character of the colony. Around 1788 various writers mooted the idea that the invasion of New South Wales represented an opportunity to build something that might aspire to all the ideals of civilisation as then understood. Although this notion was modified under the impact of the French Revolution and subsequent war, it never entirely went away. The surveyor, George William Evans was a highly competent draughtsman – some of his work from Oxley's expeditions of 1817 and 1818 calls into question the Gombrich thesis that we cannot represent something without adapting a pre-existing pictogram – and his work is pretty distinctive. Watercolours of the hut at Cowpastures, or Governor Bligh's farm at Blighton are obviously from the same hand, as we art historians say, and carefully record topography, particular details. Evans's 1804/5 view of Sydney from the South Head comes, therefore, as something of a