THERE is an obvious connectivity between Austen's work and that showing on the floor above - Indian Botanical Drawings. Both shows have a delicacy of touch and a sureness of line as well as their organic starting points; but where the botanical drawings are restricted by their subject and style, Austen takes this as a reference for his own imagination.
Curiosity is at Austen's centre. Looking round this show we see a vast variety of pieces in different media and on different subjects. To call Austen an abstract artist is to limit him severely. On one wall 27 drawings, gouache on paper, examine limitless possibilities using backgrounds ranging from pale mauve to brightest gold. Seed heads wave, red bamboo leaves fall, sea flowers pulse, lamp and jug light shapes hover, floating in colour. Somewhere in all this is a memory of all those 1950s fruit-and-vegetable curtains and tablecovers - quite likely, for Austen has a rich library of influences.
On another wall, a line of female body drawings cavorts - crude, quick studies full of humour and appreciation. On another, two studies display multicoloured eyeballs like so many pool table balls.
One large blue sheet painting, with pieces of text randomly placed and connected by thin black lines, is part of an ongoing theme Austen began with his Alphaville series. Phrases such as The Burning Man, Invisible Garden, and Giant Parachute seem part of some huge mystery board game where you plot dangerous moves.
A series of small watercolours, circles of differing colours, has typewritten text, text drawn from a number of literary sources. Accidental spots of red appear as the typewriter ribbon jumps, giving a sinister edge to the pieces. One solitary red light-bulb hangs in its sparse drawing, enamel shining brightly; in another room orange ovals cascade down a sheet, red circles march across a further sheet while, in a third, blackness is sliced by off-kilter white lines. Nothing is what it seems with Austen, the great manipulator.
Until June 7.
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