The Night of Masks, suitably named for its endeavour. The edge of anonymity cuts the social fabric and all glistens with a rawness not seen in daylight. A sense that anything could happen with anyone. But not to her eyes, too long practised in identifying a person by their gait, the set of their shoulders, the inclination of their head. To her, the carnival may well have been naked, their secrets laid bare.
Paddy Dobson
2nd February 2024