Someone wrote a piece on Thérèse Oulton and titled it Fairy Craft; there have been others in a like vein: Painted Dreams, Marketing Magic, In the Dark Wood. No one, let alone a babe, could possibly find a path through the metaphorical thickets, the choked vegetative folds of Oulton’s painterly world. They would die for lack of air. Ambitious early works like Space for Leda, 1983, and Old Gold, 1984, were fit for the gods, or rather goddesses. The kind of thing a latter-day Artemesia Gentilleschi might have painted were she not compelled to do Judith topping Holofernes. Since then Oulton seems

At the Saatchi Collection Bill Woodrow exhibited 12 works that were made by excising sculptural images from found matrices of scrap steel. Connected by umbilical cords of metal, the sculptural forms generally contradict the nature of the found car hoods and doors from which they are derived. The original form appears to have been captured at the moment of its transformation into another counterform. Often the new forms seem natural and implicitly criticize the encroachment of culture (especially automobiles) into the domain of nature. In the earliest work, Red Squirrel, 1981, the animal appears