Phosphorescent globes of celestial proportions recede in perspective and lead us towards an open pavilion or bandstand. A brick paved path lined with trees and simple bench seating is bathed in soft light. In the distance, through the trees some buildings and storefronts can be seen. Mist hangs in the summer night. In the foreground stands an enigmatic trio of impassive forms. Jones Park has never looked more mysterious. The stage is set and what happens next may not be nice. A lost key, a discarded glove, the sound of approaching footsteps, a barking dog and a muffled scream; all part of the hidden tragedy in the secret postcard universe. This night belongs to Edward Hopper, Fritz Lang, Jacques Tourneur and John Alton, masters of nocturnal poetry.
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