Ricky Swallow

On the walls are reliefs that correlate time, process and death. Again they're bronze casts of cardboard: this time single sheets that have evidently been shot with a rifle, reversed so that exit holes pucker from the surface. Sometimes Swallow has aggressed his targets so fixedly that a whole region is gone from the centre. William S Burroughs might have copyrighted shotgun composition, but killing time here leads onto the time-consuming process of turning these casual things into little monuments, in a medium that will outlast the artist's own life. Considering that elliptical logic, what seems at first the slightest of gestures swells into something mutely poignant. (MH)