Pozi doesn’t want the figures in her umbrous acrylics to be recognised. Only one face is rendered at all. In one image, a woman hides in a room so cold and so dimly lit that she may well be the girl selling matches. In another scene that could be the end of a night out on an industrial estate at the edge of town, a different woman registers only in silhouette. Then there’s a group, but they’re as indistinct as the faces of Jesus that regularly appear to people on slices of toast.
These no-shows are plenty to worry about. But a sound and image montage installed in a tomb-like structure teases a downlow house party in which the absences are even more acute. This moves the exhibition from the understated sensibility reminiscent of Degas straight to Tumblr, where to be out of the loop is far more frustrating.