Natasha Edwards

  • David Nash

    Though organizations such as Common Ground and projects like the Forest of Dean Sculpture Trail have recently been promoting the work of young artists working in the outdoors and coaxing others out of their studios, environmental sculpture itself is nothing new. David Nash, often regarded as the father of it all, has been at it longer than the Green movement. Committed to nature, yet without obvious polemic, Nash’s work with fallen timber, and occasionally live trees, can stand alone as powerful sculptural heirs to the abstract work of earlier British artists such as Barbara Hepworth.

    There is

  • Deryck Healey

    A red carpet welcomes one from usually sedate Cork Street, with all the connotations of social pomp and flamboyance implied. Have I got Your Number, 1985–90, the title of both Deryck Healey’s show as a whole and of the exhibition’s centerpiece, poses a question to the viewer. In the center of the space, four planks painted in saturated red, blue, gray, and black, are supported on a pile of telephone directories from various countries. Each plank holds a papier mâché lozenge also formed from telephone books.

    The directories suggest communication—human contact even across international boundaries.

  • Calum Colvin

    Roland Barthes’ observation in Camera Lucida that “It is not . . . by Painting that Photography touches art, but by Theater” seems particularly apposite in relation to Calum Colvin’s photographs. Incorporating objects, architectural constructs, collage, paintings, and art-historical quotations, Colvin builds and photographs extravagant installations. Heightening the perspectival tricks and dislocations initiated within the “sets,” it is the glossy, sharply focused cibachrome print that constitutes the final work.

    Playing off the conceit that the camera does not select—that it captures all that

  • Jack Smith

    It is not very fashionable in England to produce paintings that are bursting with enjoyment, and so this vibrant exhibition of works by Jack Smith comes as something of a surprise—not for nothing are a group of paintings entitled “Celebrations.” This is even more surprising when one remembers that Smith was perhaps the archetypal Kitchen Sink painter of the ’50s, with his muted, browny-gray renditions of the monotony of everyday life, the stark reality of the angry young man. The pictures here—painted in the past five years—are far removed from the messages and imagery of social realism. Instead

  • Tom Phillips

    Tom Phillips is a writer, scholar, composer, and artist. He first came to public notice with the publication of A Humament, 1980, a self-described “doctored Victorian novel.” The book is a fascinating and colorful meander through various styles of language and art. The work’s title plays on the title of an obscure book called A Human Document. Phillips tampers with the original book, including some passages, leaving out or rearranging others, so that the final version is a playful amalgam of words and patterns.

    An important facet of Phillips’ work is its serial aspect. Both within and among works,

  • Helen Chadwick

    Take a hunk of graphically red meat, a light bulb, and you have the female body—this, at least, is one initial impression given by Enfleshings, 1989, two powerful pieces by Helen Chadwick and the centerpiece of this small exhibition. Beck Road, site of the exhibition, is itself a part of the mixed media Chadwick uses as a feminist/photo/video/performance/installation artst. A run-down street of small Victorian terraced houses in an area of London designated for redevelopment, its domestic character reinforces the personal aspect of the work. Several houses here have been rented to artists (

  • Hughie O'Donoghue

    Hughie O’Donoghue’s paintings succeed in being both vitally alive and calm, even somber. They are rendered with spontaneity and passion, as well as vulnerability. All are oil on linen, and their surfaces vary from smooth and polished to heavily impastoed. O’Donoghue pits the complex colors of nature against those of synthetic paint. He merges deep, complex blacks and subtle, cool green-grays, punctuating them with powerful flashes of fiery red.

    These recent works have more explicitly human references than many of his previous works. They are more ambiguous than, say, his studies of the bird and

  • Stephen Conroy

    Stephen Conroy is a young artist whose work evokes a strange sense of déjà vu. At first sight, walking into a show of his is like happening upon a show of 19th-century paintings . There, in plain black frames, are works showing elements of Georges de Ia Tour—the same limited color range and interest in lighting, but without the obvious religious content; a bit of Joseph Wright of Derby, right down to the depiction of archaic-looking scientific instruments; profile studies that recall Renaissance portraits; and cut-off figures emerging from bathtubs, which hint at Degas. There is no obvious