Neil Hollingsworth: Bulb Vase no. 2

This is a very ironic image -- breakable objects inside a breakable object. The theme by itself seems rather contrived, as it is difficult to imagine someone actually storing light bulbs inside a vase but, the irony redeems it. There is something theatrical about this display, or perhaps something acrobatic. These bulbs pile up similarly to circus performances where athletes load themselves with improbable amount of weights. The only difference is that this scene appears to be more stable, and no foreboding drumming is heard; it may be seen, however, symbolically, in the heap of glass, which by itself may signify the moment of peril -- that may last much longer than a single circus act. There is no visible breaking point, but the sheer amount of fragile material forms one such mentally, in the viewers' perception.

The scrutiny of light effects also falls under the aegis of irony: natural light illuminating light bulbs... that's got to be funny -- and it is. Still, there are some fascinating refractions to be examined here, particularly at the vase' bottom. A rich concentration of white lines and seemingly random blots demonstrate how thick glass can distort light, and, make it the center of attention, despite the fact that the event takes place quite far from the center. The highest positioned bulb reflects what appears to be the hint of a window frame, an interesting detail. Since the background remains decidedly black, one can imagine the space as an attic, with a small fortochka (I was amazed to find that word in the dictionary!) for an opening. Thus, one thing leads to another, and viewers gradually discover more about the surroundings.

Rhythmically, this is a balanced composition: odd number of bulbs, three pointing downwards, the other two up, all pleasingly interspersed. This is a dichromatic painting, yet the artist succeeds in avoiding monotony; partially by using various compensatory grays and whites, and partially through the various said ironies. I have to admit that have I seen this vase in real life, I would have been attracted to it almost like by a magnet, wanting to push it just a little, to see what happens... Mwahaha! There is something very musical in the sound of a breaking glass. I think that the artist -- possibly subconsciously -- probes into this strange destructive appeal (which may also have subconscious roots). He taps into the prankish side of the viewers, testing them on the one hand, and providing with a visual outlet on the other.

Mick McGinty: Sliced Tomato

This is a sinister painting. Being all cut up and bleeding, that tomato somehow conjures up the cinematic horror genre. The cavities filled with juice echo the cut pumpkins during Halloween celebration. The green leaves also look menacing, like a Gorgon, or perhaps a spider, an octopus or simply a mutated feral chicken's foot. They appear moving, in a grabbing motion. The fact that the leaves were not removed prompts to question for the reason, because usually, all green parts are disposed of before the slicing begins. Why not here? Maybe, because the purpose of this tomato is not to be eaten; possibly the cutter needs the seeds, or the juice. The seeds, in turn, could be used for something other than planting (if this is the way to harvest seeds at all -- I have to admit my total ignorance in this sphere). Keeping with the mysterious spirit, I tend to think in the direction of one of Sir Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories -- "The Five Orange Pips." In any case, the impracticality of such slicing makes it a symbolical act, and perhaps demonstrates a certain ritual.

The darker tones of the table further reinforce these generic impressions; as do the cuts, in the form of an X and prison cell bars. The colors appear to shimmer and constantly modulate. The gritty orange alternates with cold diluted blue, gray, black and white. The bright red of the vegetable clashes with such an "unhealthy" combination, in a way in which a sickly ruddiness flushes the ghastly face of a tubercular patient. There is something sardonic about this painting: it is, after all, only a vegetable -- but I can't shake off the feeling of lurking violence, and threat.

The composition of two tomato halves creates a mirroring balance, which, however, is disturbed by their placement on the higher part of the canvas. This is an intentional instability: as a result, the two parts appear to fall, or roll down; instability, which leads to uncertainty, emotional shakiness and eventually fear. Additionally, the artist avoids the acceptable norm of the genre. Instead of depicting whole vegetables, he chooses to deviate and break the pattern, exploring a different approach. And, by slicing up the routine subject, he parodies the norm. This piece may inspire a lugubrious mood but, it does it with such style, as to make me embrace it with a smile.