Looking at Lewis Hammond’s deeply introverted works online before I ventured out of the house earlier this summer to see his show “Still Life,” I could imagine the oil paint recoiling from the overhead fluorescent lights, suspecting their glare would cover entire sections of the canvas with a flat, pale sheen. In the flesh, however, the paintings are fleshy, or flesh-threatening: cuddles, thorns, knives, bites, and spikes. The British artist’s works are big, their depictions intense. His images looked out of place in a tiny gallery that mostly specializes in small-format works.

In Kyur (all works