As you approach John Newman's "Twist in Time" from some distance away, the dark image in it looks something like a fetus. But on closer inspection, there's an element in the middle of it that looks like part of a piece of machinery. One is led to the thought that if this thing were ever born it would be either part human and part computer or something from another world; and that whichever it was, it might be both frightening and risible.
In an essay on Newman's work, writer Nancy Princenthal says his "universe . . . lodges at the intersection of sense and sensibility, of physics and emotion," and the show of his prints currently at Sylvia Cordish bears her out. This work also does a balancing act between the abstract and the representational, the geometric and the organic, which is not all that unusual in the art of this century.
A Newman print such as "Twist in Turn" looks as if it might be a plan of the complex innards of some propulsion device; or it might portray part of the brain; or it might be a visual rather than verbal definition of an obsessional mind. Like other works here, it looks like something familiar and then it doesn't and then it does again.