John Hurrell – 28 September, 2012

Jason Greig is well known for his otherworldly monoprints that revel in romantic Gothic melodrama, heavy metal ethos and Satanic literature - but with a reflexive pinch of twinkling humour mixed in. Focussing on the supernatural, and easily recognisable symbols for evil, they successfully blend self-awareness with an earnest infatuation with the theatrical side of wickedness - filtered through a Victorian sensibility. 

This Ivan Anthony show is a mixture of small murky portraits of men and much larger images of women, usually clothed but draped with snakes, salmon or octopi. The women look strikingly dramatic, partly in silhouette with backgrounds of hot vibrant colours and as if based on film posters but with no text. Single image ‘editions’ inspired by the lithographs of Redon. The image of a girl with an octopus on her head seems to be a tip of the hat to Barry Cleavin‘s famous seventies etching and aquatint, For the True Anatomy.

With the large images, it is Greig’s sensitivity in rendering the women’s faces that is most obvious - most of their vertical, undulating (slightly serpentine) torsos are lost in darkness. He is skilled in portraying delicate nuances of expression, flickering underlying hints of barely contained emotion.

Having the sea life entwined around them might cause these women to be seen as witches or hookers, the slimy creatures being accessories (like fox stoles or fur hats) that provide phallic or talismanic properties, or other bodies to inhabit. While these ladies from another era look moody they are not sinister; they are intense with a hint of reined-in resentment. Tender mixed with tough - but not caricatures - they have dignity, exuding the realism of the everyday.

Though their flat, high contrast, curving shapes have a hint of German woodcuts, it is the streaky saturated colour that surprises as a manipulator of mood, like an ominous sunset - a foil to their pale wan faces.

The creepiest image in the show is a small cannonball-shaped head, a battered cyclops with a singly ominous penetrating gaze. Contained under glass and impossible to photograph, The Wrath of Khan is truly hideous. It has extraordinary presence: guaranteed to cause a shudder, plus a whimper of delight. Spellbinding, marvellous work.

John Hurrell

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