In Martin Naylor’s work meaning emerges from the gaps between words, objects, and paintings. His has been a lengthy pursuit, with a repertoire of symbols—a chair, a knife, a black cloth, the outline of a house, an embracing couple—employed time and again in a series called “Between Discipline and Desire,” 1977–86, so long a series by now that sub-, even sub-subtitles are employed to distinguish separate works. The stiffness of the drawing; the clumsy translatorese of the sentences, with their jerky, unliterary quality at odds with their poetic intent; and the insistent disjunction between parts

In Sisters of Menon, 1972–79, writing slips across the pages, in and out of legibility; “We three sisters are one sister / You are one sister / You are the sister / Menon is this one.” Our thoughts drift with the rhythm of this script that recalls, perhaps, the Oresteian chorus summoning the Furies in response to a crime (matricide).

Sisters of Menon was the first Susan Hiller work to materialize from her experiences with automatic script, the theme around which her present exhibition circulates. Automatic writing here does not reveal the autobiographical self, but instead unmasks the limits of