That eighth or ninth drink of the night just goes right through you, and all the girls in Lily Bunney’s paintings have broken the seal. The young London-based artist’s show is filled with pointillist watercolours of girls crouching down between parked cars to have a slash, girls caught short on their way back from a night out while their pals capture their vulnerable pants-down ablutions on smartphones or disposable cameras. You can almost hear the giggling.
It’s meant to be an ode to friendship; these paintings, based on found imagery, are rude, crude, lewd pixelated depictions of the last gasps of partying. They’re half-paparazzi snaps, half-private photos of drunken togetherness and youthful glee, and they’re good, interesting, clever paintings.
