Two years have elapsed since his last full outing, so this latest solo show by Adam Neate has been widely anticipated.

But even if we hadn’t read the pre-exhibition PR, we could tell he was back by the plethora of posters and books that have started popping up on e-bay by the flippers, not wanting to let an opportunity to make a few quid out of the generosity of an artist to sit there and sign his name go to waste.

But with figures from anywhere between nine and fifty thousand pounds it would seem that these prices are out of sync with the present climate, but this is looking like a sell-out show. And if you were lucky enough to pick up one of the thousand works left on the street by Adam you might want to congratulate yourself on your good luck. Or exploit the situation like some, and bung it on e-bay with all the posters and books. And it wasn’t so long ago that Adam was leaving surplus work outside of charity shops only to have them rejected and put outside on the step for the bin men to take away. Oh for the gift of hindsight.

So what of the exhibition? Downstairs, Adam has started to move away from his grungy cardboard signature look of old. The melancholy is still evident, but it looks like he has raided the contents of Blue Peter’s craft box and Lost Property to create images that marry the art of sculpture and painting.
Making up some of the larger pieces in the show, The Concert Pianist looks like the bastard lovechild of Jack Vettriano and Tamara de Lempicka. The false eyeball in Car Wash stares out at you unblinkingly, as if to say ‘you’ve caught me at a bit of an inopportune moment’. Long Distance will chime with parents as the subject matter racks up the phone bill in an outpouring of teenage angst. And the three riot cops make themselves small against the rioters, echoing the claustrophobic penned in feel of the police we see so often on the news.

If the painted sculptural hybrids downstairs borrow heavily from the past masters of cubism, then the works upstairs are also heavily influenced by Francis Bacon, not that there’s anything wrong with that. (Without Kirk, we would never have had Michael.) Here the artist has attempted to capture a blurred moment in time. Arrested motion. Big, bold and bright, they look like the grimacing faces of boxers as they are pounded in the ring. Again. Again. And again. Grey Portrait particularly triumphs, taking an extra big smack in the chops, it’s bloodied nose splattering across the canvas.

Then there is Adam’s curious self-portrait that seems to stand alone in this pugnacious crowd. He has taken one of his simple line sketches and shaped the pen-line from tubular steel, literally putting the self into the portrait with the aid of two digital photo frames on slide-show mode.

Still melancholic, still manic-depressive, still morose, but brighter days for Adam Neate.

A New Understanding – Elms Lester, 1-3-5 Flitcroft Street until 21st November

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