John Coen's works consist almost entirely of small bronzes, but in this latest exhibition there is one considerable departure, or surprise - a group sculpture of lifesize fibreglass figures, hooded and anonymous and decidedly sinister.
Whether it is a once-off stylistic venture or a portent of changes to come, it makes a direct, instant impact and the figures appear to be indulging in some strange, perhaps otherworldly colloquy. And in spite of their far greater scale, somehow they manage not to throw the remainder of the exhibition out of gear.
The bronzes themselves remain small, eloquent, faintly surreal, often suggesting stage sets in miniature, or the kind of imaginative scenario first created in certain early works of Giacometti, such as The Palace at 4 am. Though Coen deals almost invariably with the human figure as his basic vocabulary, he does not seem to be interested in it as an end in itself, or as a vehicle for monumental effects or poses.
His figures are minuscule, often faceless or veiled, and all appear to have a role to play and to fit into the dramatic or dreamlike mini-ensemble which the sculptor has imagined for them.
That ensemble sometimes seems to evoke Italian baroque, at other times classical drama. It is varied considerably, however, and Coen displays a surprising range of imagery and ideas inside his almost miniature world.
His figures may suggest actors or mimes rather than bona-fide people in the normal sense, or even an operatic ensemble or puppet theatre, but they are permeated by a genuine romantic-cum-humanist spirit.
In his own way Coen is genuinely a visual poet, with a flair for finding an appropriate form for his fantasies and (sometimes rather literary) images. In certain aspects, I should judge this exhibition to be his most original and accomplished to date.
Until May 2nd
