Nocturne is the coda, and it is the only movement in the exhibition where nobody is performing.

There is no camera here. No audience, no key light, no one to hold a position for. The bathers are in moonlight, which is the one light in this entire exhibition that was not arranged by somebody for a purpose. Everything else on these walls was lit by a professional to produce an effect. This was not.

That makes it the quietest room and, I think, the most necessary one. The exhibition spends five movements demonstrating that glamour was manufactured — by departments, by machinery, by systems that used women and discarded them. The risk in that argument is that it reduces the women to the thing that was done to them.

This is the correction. Not an escape from the machinery, and not a happy ending — simply proof that there was always a person inside it, who existed before the lights were switched on and goes on existing after. It is the last image the viewer carries out of the building, and it is deliberately the one with no apparatus in it at all.