The new show under the garden bench has no paintings, no sculptures and no labels. What it has is a stretch of paving stone, a clear night and several hundred silver trails catching the moonlight.
The trails were left over the course of a single wet week, and the curators did nothing to them except stop anyone from sweeping. The result is a tangle of loops, crossings and long, confident lines, glittering faintly when the light hits them at the right angle.
Some visitors have called it the best thing the bench has hosted in years. Others have asked whether it counts as art if nobody meant to make it.
The curators declined to settle the question. “Come and look at it at two in the morning,” one said. “Then decide.”
The show runs until the next dry spell.