Subodh Gupta

On stately marble plinths, vast metal platters offer tokens of everyday Indian life: international coins set in piss-coloured resin, steel cooking utensils and a collection of fetid old shoes. A sculpture of life-size jungle tree roots sprouts from a ruptured gallery wall, while in a private room upstairs, two person-sized spoons spoon one another, beneath black-and-white swastika-shaped fans.

Who else could have produced this work but Indian art's frontrunner Subodh Gupta? Typically, he is at pains to signal, in the most simple terms possible, both his 'Indian-ness', and the work's status as big ticket (for which read Hirstian or Koonsian) contemporary art. Gupta's reductive icons are, of course, a knowing spoof of Western attitudes to exoticism and elitism, albeit a blunt one: stories of impoverishment reconfigured into gleaming objects with a hefty price-tag.

However, at Hauser and Wirth's second space Gupta extends his play with symbols and spectacle in new directions. Duchamp's famed moustache scribble on a Mona Lisa postcard has been blown up into a monster-sized bronze bust of the bearded lady, reminiscent of Koons in its lavish material and scale. Koons himself is given the reverse treatment: his eye-popping 'Puppy' is reconfigured as a heap of storage boxes. As Gupta has his way with Western art's highfliers, the show's grating title, 'Common Man', becomes even more ironic. Yet the manoeuvring, from the casual brilliance of Duchamp's doodle to an elaborately realised bronze, seems obscure, except perhaps to point up an artistic position marooned in pomp.