Burning Holes

Venue

Surface Gallery

Location

In the darkened basement of the Surface Gallery, islands of detailed miniature artwork awaited inspection. The pieces were beautifully displayed on piles of old books, rejecting the tradition of bringing the work to correct viewing level and, instead, inviting the viewer down to the "kingdom of ants and ladybirds." This demanded that, in order to fulfil their inquisitiveness, the viewer had to return to the undignified positions of childhood curiosity; sprawled across the floor to peer through a magnifying glass, nose almost touching the work, perhaps occasionally shuffling around an island like an excited toddler. This unbecoming exploration instantly recalled childhood memories of a time before I became conscious of my actions; something that was highlighted when I suddenly remembered the security cameras recording my every move as I scurried from piece to piece. I took the decision not to care how I looked and hoped that no-one else chose to retain their dignity over (re)gaining this experience.

As one would hope from an exhibition like this, the attention to detail was immaculate. The lighting, an influential detail so easily forgotten, framed the pieces perfectly, as well as allowing the viewer to use their magnifying glass to full effect. However, this lulled me into a false sense of security: just as I was about to the leave the gallery, I noticed two "hidden" pieces on the floor plan, prompting another wave of child-like orienteering around the space. In my hurry to continue adult life, I had proved the curators right; I had failed to look properly, blindly following my assumed gallery-viewing rules. Lauren O'Grady's tiny creatures had been secreted in two corners of the gallery and, in finding them unexpectedly, became the most intriguing, rewarding artworks. Particularly in contrast to my lumbering actions, the delicacy of the craftsmanship was astounding, finally giving the magnifying glasses a purpose which was more than simply aesthetic.

Many of the pieces were fabricated with materials associated with childhood (plasticine, coloured card, farm yard animals, felt) but dealt with much bigger issues. Hugh Dichmont's July, a surreal park landscape cleverly enhanced by the use of a tape player, reflected the much darker side of childish behaviour. A pigeon-headed child was surrounded by junk food on a lawn of obituaries as another received a dunking in the lake, beneath which lay a skull. The fragile barrier between the living and the dead was made clear whilst hinting at the effect that adolescent experiences can have on an adult. Although the exhibition reminisced on the lost delights of being a child, this piece seemed to be reminding the viewer of the negative aspects of adolescence, as if suggesting together that we should not begrudge our adult lives but enhance them by recapturing the wide-eyed curiosity of our infancy.