Dominating the show is the idea that Warhol's desire to bend popular imaginary has today crystallised into queer politics. Kaye Shumack's Hardground flattens down 'lesbian chic' stereotypes through a random colour wash while her female/cross dressed photographic performers take on the look of Warhol's filmic anti-heroines. Lesbian safe sex discourse is similarly 'popped' by Rea's Lemons I-IV and Denis Chapman's profane rendition of The Last Supper on rows of shiny tin cans brings camp, supermarket kitsch to the gallery, reducing the most momentous meal in Judaeo-Christian tradition (and Leonardo's vision of it) to the uneventful level of tinned food.

Queer strategies aim at destabilising the 'normal' to allow for the unpredictable. This fundamental opposition between reason and accident is played out in Warhol's work through its constant reference to the disastrous encounter of modern technology and chance. Christopher Langton's Crush uses this opposition (referencing Warhol's 1966 Silver Clouds), in his helium inflated polypropylene balloons which have no stable form or position. Affected by the slightest wind currents, they register both local adverts used to shock complacent drivers and the accidental movements of the viewer who can't help but touch them in order to negotiate a passage through the installation. This Warholian use of chance is also evident in Luke Roberts' truly queer Wendy Arthole's Wundercloset. This museum display of warholiana - which includes an authentic Corona beer bottle top allegedly opened by one of Warhol's models with his teeth - foregrounds the value of the indexical fragment as a manifestation of accidental form. The inclusion of original polaroids amongst the precious relics emphasises the accidental quality of traditional forms of photography.

This notion of chance and technology is, however, stymied in Denis Chapman's Fake Elvis. The contained arrangement of the grain in this overtly digital reproduction of a section of a public transport billboard is a virtual rebuff of chance. Back in the sixties, the analogue texture of mass imagery was built upon a shifting ground. Similarly, the vacant spaces opened up by Warhol's protest were swiftly occupied with all manner of experiments. What we face today is a mounting degree of closure, in all fronts. Fake Elvis bespeaks this tragedy. It mourns the disavowal of the new and unforeseen. This is where aesthetics, technology and politics share the same impasse of a global apathy for the future.