Transient States:  Extraordinary details of the world we inhabit are often reduced to the mundane within a culture that is saturated by the extraordinary.  The ‘Transient States’ series is an attempt to re-address the balance. Dead insects are commonly found objects that provoke a range of reactions. Presenting the remains of an insect in an art context is a way of lending increased status to the object, and reclaiming the extraordinary nature of the subject matter. The image of the insect is deliberately obscured by the chosen medium: gloss paint on a matt surface; a method which is designed to encourage the viewer to explore and engage with the painting on a more intimate level. It also emphases the transient nature of the insect’s existence. (1996)

Language of Violence: The “Language of Violence” series of paintings concerns the cultural role of violence in society, specifically with regards to language, and the relationships that exist between people in violent confrontations. (1997)

Human Landscapes: This series of paintings was produced after moving to, and working from coastal Pembrokeshire. The area is awash with landscape painters who champion the natural diversity of the landscape as an inspiration for their work. “Human Landscapes” is a response to traditional rural landscape painting. My observation of the landscape in rural areas is that of human intervention: field patterns, grazing moors, coastal mines and footpaths. Just like the city, we have formed the rural landscape through our actions and industry. These paintings are of local sites of rural beauty that have been permanently tainted by a singular human event. In each case, the painting represents the scene of a notorious local murder. (2001)

Titian was a painter during the Renaissance: a period when almost all works of art were transcriptions. Metamorphosis at the National Gallery uses Titian’s re-interpretation of Ovid as a starting point. New contributions from Mark Wallinger, Chris Ofili and Conrad Shawcross brush alongside those of seven choreographers and the Royal Ballet. The result is a complex gathering of fine art, design, musical arrangement and performance.

Diana and her entourage of nymphs are in sharp focus. The Royal Ballet’s nymphs are bruised, lithe and nimble, whilst Titian’s are voluptuous and reclined. Ofili’s Diana is Trinidadian and ephemeral, while Shawcross represents her as a robot with a magic wand. For Wallinger, Diana is real and on the toilet and we are peeping toms.

Titian’s paintings came from a deep and sustained interest in Ovid’s poetry, but the meaning given here is in pure assemblage rather than continuity. Contemporary transcription in the hands of an art historian as curator has resulted in neither conversion nor subversion, but diversion – and some handy commissions.

Perhaps this an obstinate question to ask? A man can be both, and more besides, can’t he? My answer to this is no. There are many professions where dual roles are acceptable. An actuary can also be a restaurateur, and a cabby might arrange flowers. But an architect can never make art, and an artist can never make places. One might become the other, but they have to leave their previous form behind forever. This might sound like reactionary dogma – perhaps it is – but this distinction must be made for the collective good.

Keiller is an architect who has become an artist. A thoughtful collection of works from the Tate’s collection has been given an unexpected airing alongside some historical objects, ranging from a thresher to a meteorite. These have been assembled as narrative juxtapositions to silent clips and stills from his recent film, Robinson in Ruins (2010). The result is a carefully constructed muse on the British countryside. Here presented in the aftermath of a battle: modernism in vicious conflict with our cultural rural sensibilities, with a backdrop of class-struggle and globalisation.

Yes – this is definitely art – so we can relax, no-one has been hurt.