The word ‘organic’ once encompassed forms of matter that were anything but. A decade or so ago, synthetic building materials, such as Paride Maria Calvia’s stained, greenish fibreboard, could claim this adjective on account of their propensity to decay. Today, his wall hanging would go unnoticed in a waste skip. In the gallery, an acrylic frame conceals that it was the artist who caused the deterioration.

Hubert Duprat’s insect exoskeletons of gold and precious stones turn ‘organic’ inside-out again, the artist delegating the miniature objects’ assembly to the caddisflies themselves. This process is so close to being ‘natural’ that to read nature into the trinkets it gives rise to would be reckless ostentation.

Next to these gestures, Irene Fenara’s video, taken from a public webcam feed, is outright eerie because it extends this discredited ‘organic’ to surveillance and the internet. If the rest of this modest display—modest because each work is overtly unassuming—inspires nostalgia, their assembly is outright horror.