The galleries: First shock gives way to curiosity

The overly made-up nymphet faces of Yvonne Todd's subjects have a profoundly disturbing quality.

The art scene in Karangahape Rd is taking on a character all of its own. The Gothic nature of this personality is exemplified in Unnaturally Strange, showing at Artspace until August 10.

The thing about being strange, odd, ambivalent and unnatural is that viewers can make what they will of it. The oddity leaves plenty of room for personal response, although there is an obligatory first shock.

The show is thoughtfully curated by Rhana Devenport and gives us a welcome view of the work of some Australian artists as well as a little pepper from New Zealand.

The strangeness begins even before you enter the gallery, in an alcove lined with velvet containing things made by Peter Madden. They look like jewellery but are tiny sculptures of everyday things covered with gold leaf.

Some have witchy overtones such as flies and nail clippings, but the rest are rice, pills and chewing gum. These are things from ordinary life made precious as art but undeniably odd in the selection.

The odd transformation of substances continues inside where a big glass case contains intricately woven nests of shredded United States currency. These nests are made not by birds but by Fiona Hall from Australia.

The variety of work from across the Tasman includes a sculpture made from a real crocodile tail which leaks gold. Alchemists liked to have a stuffed crocodile in their den but they never succeeded in making gold. The artist is simply called Nell.

The most orthodox work are paintings by Louise Hearman, dexterously done in oils and nicely framed in black.

They include such diverse subjects as a disembodied cat's head, a portrait of a glamour girl, and strange shapes that suggest faceless aliens.

The cabinet of curiosities continues past splendid photographs by John Lyall, visually fascinating but raising questions about what is real and how things are museumised.

There are mice made precious by diamonds in their eyes by Julia deVille, and a series of photographs by Pat Brassington, which make such things as striped woollen underwear stretched across torso and crotch look like some failed experiment combining humans and cats.

The ambiguity continues across the road at the Ivan Anthony Gallery, where Yvonne Todd has an exhibition of large photographs called Vagrants' Reception Centre, until August 13. The atmosphere is set by an image of a foot in a wet sock where the toes form a snout that drips. The rest of the show is made up of big photographs of young women. Very young women.

Their girlish faces with big eyes, long lashes and bright lipstick are at odds with the Victorian garments in which they are dressed. The effect of these modern nymphet faces above the prim lace is extraordinarily disturbing.

These young women in gloss lipstick, gloved, and sometimes clutching a prayer book or wearing a wedding-dress, all look very frightened. They have been thrust into a situation beyond their capacity to cope.

Ambiguities abound. As well as the edgy combination of old-fashioned and modern, there is the contrast between maturity and innocence, respectability and sexual awareness, and splendid garments and women victims. But these compelling images are very beautiful and offer a lot to the speculative mind.

Further along the street is the Michael Lett Gallery with work by the celebrated master of irony, Michael Parekowhai, until August 20.

The principal work features a Last Supper of 13 stuffed rabbits. Each is on top of a column. The columns are created from real trees and have a textured bark-like surface. Yet they are by no means natural since they are painted in the bright colours of cuisenaire rods used to teach mathematics in primary classrooms.

The little rabbits all strike attitudes. The rabbit on the white pedestal is aggressive. The rabbit on the yellow pedestal is frightened. The one on the red looks wise. The one on the pale green is thoughtfully aspiring.

The orange pedestal supports an orator, the brown a relaxed but alert character. Dark green has a pugnacious rabbit. The rabbit on the black is escaping from something. On the blue there is a rabbit looking persuasive, on the violet a wondering rabbit, and on the brown a defiant little chap.

The whole gamut of human emotions is reflected in rabbits. And rabbits are a multiplying introduced species and a nuisance.

The title of the work is Driving Mr Albert, which is, we are told, an obscure reference to Albert Einstein.

Whatever you make of this work, it is in distinct contrast to the anonymity of the men in the second work, called Rainbow Servant Dreaming. Here, five grey men stand on the floor or hang on the wall. They are identical and clad in bowler hats, long coats and equipped with umbrellas. These solemn little figures take on respectability along with their anonymity.

Even though their nature is hard to define, these intriguing objects make bizarre social comments.