Subtlety can get you into trouble. I once described an artist’s work as being ‘about as interesting as structuralist film theory’, only to be cornered in a pub by someone who found structuralist film theory really interesting and thought they’d found an ally. James Coleman’s art is subtle – almost too subtle at times. It’s also steeped in film theory. But, as this concise survey of the seventysomething Irish artist reveals, it’s genuinely absorbing, as well as deeply beautiful and, at times, heart-poundingly visceral.
The show is bookended by two new works. Well, new-ish – Coleman’s the sort of artist who can spend four years looping a few seconds of footage. In the first gallery, ‘Still Life’ (2013-16) is a continuous projection of a plant, a poppy. It’s doing nothing, except living (and dying) imperceptibly before your eyes. Coleman has projected it wallsize as if to emphasise the limits of our perception. Upstairs, though you’ll hear it long before you get there, is ‘Untitled’ (2011-15) a seamless loop of Technicolor thrillseekers on a fairground ride. This is accompanied by a faintly sinister soundtrack, a low, mechanical pulse that could, you fear, loosen bowels or trigger a techno sleeper cell. In between these two films, you’ll see historical re-enactment (people playing dead) in ‘Ligne de Foi’ (1991) and a kind of conceptual coming-of-age drama (displayed as a slideshow) in ‘Photograph’ (1998-99). So, it’s about how we perceive time, about love, dread, life, death. The existential biggies that tax us all, even film theorists. Especially down the pub.