Justin Morin’s attitude to minimal art lies somewhere between fascination and critical distance. He is an acute observer of the way in which the trend has seeped its way into the realms of fashion and design and, more broadly, into everything relating to exhibitions and how they are presented, into the decor and also into the way objects are consumed. His sculptures are characterised by expressive materials and staged effects. They are enthrallingly ambiguous and not a little disturbing – perhaps because, implicitly, his work is an enquiry into the nature of the rules and the degree to which the canons can be flouted. By introducing a potential strangeness into the flawless world of beauty, Morin creates work of great subtlety.

“Don’t ask me who Justine is. Justine is an enigma. A constantly reincarnated heroine but evanescent nonetheless. She is the aria that lingers in the air backstage at the opera house. Her skin iridescent as silk, her hair brushing against steel. They say you have to hide from her gaze or else succumb to it. Justine grew up surrounded by images and she melts into the scenery. She is queen and king of a kingdom with no subjects. I do not know Justine and yet I am obsessed by the memory of her.” — JUSTIN MORIN