Altered images

Yesterday evening saw the pretty much packed launch of new art show Reflexive Landscapes & Cutting Machines by Bruce Thompson at the Beggars Bush bar on Beech Road in Chorlton. Before we go any further, I'd better come clean: Bruce is my friend and lodger. He feeds my cats and I don't want to get on the wrong side of him.

Nonetheless, I show no bias when I advise you to check out the exhibition over the next month or so. Treat yourself to a drink while you're there. Go on. Here's the exhibition poster, influenced by Bruce's interest in decorative screens:


The works on display, however, are each an image in themselves and the show encompasses two series Bruce has been working on over the last few years. I was already familiar with Reflexive Landscapes, a colourful, dynamic oeuvre (did I just say "oeuvre"? Ha!), with more than a few sci-fi threads. The pieces from the Cutting Machines series, however, were new to me, and I really enjoyed their pared-down compositions, subtle cream and garlic pink shades, and rich textures.

Bruce has studied both art and architecture, and was working on very fine airbrush automatic abstract paintings when I first met him a number of years ago. In his latest work, he reconsiders these spontaneous pieces by rendering them using a computer-based 3D modelling package, and adding more colour, light and depth. This second stage is then further transformed by manipulating points of view and fragmenting and recombining elements of the original canvas to produce a totally new image.

Says Bruce: "This body of work is concerned with the unconscious mind in relation to space and perception, expressed through art and architecture. The work can be viewed as a departure point from painting and a move towards a cybernetic, pataphysical and alchemical world."

Unsure what pataphysics are, I consulted Wikipedia and discovered that it's a pseudophilosophy that parodies modern science often through the use of nonsensical language. Well, if it's good enough for Bruce and French author Raymond Queneau, it's good enough for me...

Hostess with the mostest*

So earlier this evening I bobbed by Cornerhouse for the preview of the new art show Unrealised Potential, which starts properly tomorrow and runs until 12 September. It takes up all three galleries, but it seems in the wrong order. Not back to front; more muddled up, really. Normally, I approach things from a rational, logical point of view, and, in the case of the Cornerhouse galleries, if a show is over three floors, I work my way up to the very top where I expect the climactic moment to be had (recently, there were nudey pictures and a sign at the door to warn the faint-hearted). As usual, therefore, I wandered into the first gallery because that makes sense in the scheme of things. It's also where you pick up your drinks token at such events, which is important.

So, in the first floor above the cafe (technically, therefore, the second floor, but let's not confuse things), pinned to the gallery wall are basically lots of nice neat cards printed with ideas for art projects. You know what? I can't be arsed reading them. I've got an aching head from where I banged it on the fridge door earlier this morning and I've had a dog of a week. I didn't come here to squint at 12-point type in a low level of light. I just happen to look at one about Star Wars, but only because I feel I ought to at least try and then the lady next to me whispers to her boyfriend that he'd like it. Underwhelming isn't the word. Sod this, I think, and head straight to the top. For that, apart from anything else, is where I can trade this ticket in for some cold hard liquor. Having snaffled a glass of the rose, I glance around at the work, and I just don't get it. It's like a student art project. Or something in a cutting-edge Berlin creative squat. I can't even be bothered telling you about it. It's not for me; it might be for you - if that's the case, work it out for yourself.


So, I go back down to the middle gallery. I noticed on the way up that it's dark there. I can probably hide in a corner and neck the wine without anyone noticing. When I walk in and the first thing I see is the weird negative video image of a face on the right-hand wall, I even start grimacing. It's like having my teeth pulled out, and I've not had enough of this plonk yet for it to work as an anaesthetic.

But then, THEN, I spot the crazy mesmerising air hostess ladies going about a choreographed routine to really slow cheesy cha-cha-cha music, and all is forgiven. I can't get away; it really pulls me in. And I'm not alone. Well, I was to start off, but by the time I leave, after perusing the maddest display of components (from "bell only" and "cranked handle" to "pressure gauge" and "wafer valve"), the space in front of the screen is heaving. Yes, the "mock business fair pavilion" is a bit bollocks; no, I don't understand the purpose of the chain curtain; but the film is brilliant, and that's really something coming from someone who generally can't stand video installations. It even makes me understand how the rest of the show fits together. See? Not all negative. I might even go back one day to work the rest out.


*Well, what else did you expect?