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From: ned thisom Category: Art Date: 16 October 2006 Time: 05:20 AM Review: In a factory space filled with sewers of leather and cloth, we find an art gallery, of sorts. It is a nice surprise, after an annoyingly walk from tube. We have skirted Maureen Paley and Nico's excellent salt beef sandwiches with chip garnish. Inside some workaholic has painted the floor in pink and green checkerboard, the theme is games, and even the pipes have had a makeover. The space is pregnant with a kind of misery that attends unloved galleries, but perhaps augurs a kind of hope or discovery. Various artists have done work. That's a group show, you see. One person has made a sculpture out of de chirico, perhaps, I mean magrittes, train. It is very hard to see how such rococcococo skill can be anything but grotesque. There are some energetic paintings which are neither ugly Oehlen enough, nor beautiful Offili like to make you love them. Another artist has painted paintings like early Hockney which show promise, but haven't been worked up to Frieze like finish. The space if full of stuff, some of those sculptures, which need clean spaces to work against in all their mess, and perhaps some little realistic paintings, but perhaps I am hallucinating another group show. Staggering out, desperate to escape Three Colts, its asphyxiating interiority, I find myself back in the street, my longing for pristine galleries such as Ms Paley's sacrificed for Nico's way with grease.