ARTIST ROOMS

The exhibition's concept is that a new collection of internationally renowned artists—Alex Katz, Andy Warhol, Francesca Woodman, Ellen Gallagher, Vija Celmins and Damien Hirst—are exhibited within their own room, to be comprehended independently. The display approach is simple, providing a bite-size retrospective, a crib-sheet to major artists. But there just isn't enough. For example, Warhol's room has a collection of his Stitched Photographs – prints of the same image woven together, with thread hanging as testament to the artist's touch. The series nicely plays homeliness against our preconceived knowledge of Warhol, as mighty critic of pop culture and celebrity. But then you leave the room and there's nothing more.

The problem is all the more acute in the rooms of lesser known artists – Ellen Gallagher's space has only three pieces: two large paintings, both covered with inexplicable silver lips and DeLuxe, a grid of collaged magazine images of black women, a conception that denies their identity. Once again, that's it – though this time, the less informed experience becomes unintentionally alienating.

Contrastingly, Damien Hirst takes up an inordinate amount of space. Some of it is brilliant – Away From The Flock is worth seeing, and his self-portrait With Dead Head highlights Hirst's morbid fascination superbly. But then there's a Spot Painting, a Spun, a Butterfly one, each supposedly conflicting life and death, and pieces from Pharmacy which show he's replaced God with the modern myths of science – man overcoming death through pharmaceuticals. We get it. Don't labour the point. There needs to be more balance – there's too much repetition, needless padding and not enough interrogation. This is somewhat unfair – after all, it is not a retrospective and as such cannot hope to enjoy the same freedom and exploration. What's more, it's a free exhibition with some major names. However, ARTIST ROOMS lacks enough substance to justify the long trek.