Michael Craig Martin has selected the work for a room in the Summer Show. I really like Humphrey Oceans painting called windscreen in there. The Richard Wilson homage to the Italian Job is nice too. I particularly like it as he sets the coach atop the Delaware pavilion and I was born in Bexhill-on Sea which is my own Eden from which I was expelled at the tender age of four. This room is nice enough and Bill Woodrowe has a brilliant sculpture on display. However the overall effect I found was stasis. Like a Batsman playing forward defence ad infinitum. THunk thunk. All thunk up. Michael Craig Martin says he wants to combine words and images in startling ways (or words to that effect) but his fate/gate is nice like a funny postcard on a retro fridge. It's all on the surface. No depth i.e. profundity. He talks the talk and presents a good case but it left me feeling hollow. My face set to drool.  Martin Creed's chairstack is more minimal and yet more resonant. He is somehow not asking for a medal. He's not trying to be clever in an overtly "left brain goes whacky" kind of way.
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