The Chisenhale Gallery smells weirdly sweet. Somewhere between butter and Parma Violets, but more acrid, intensely chemical. It’s an olfactory assault, half soothing and familiar, half violent and unnatural.
That’s the strange, unsettling middle ground that young London-based artist Racheal Crowther likes to inhabit. Just look at what she has done here in her first institutional exhibition, in which baby pink gentleness and terrifying hard-edged military aesthetics collide.
