Dockyard until August 29.

After a week at the Society of Art's gallery at City Hall, the exhibition entitled Umum-ism has moved to the top floor of the Clocktower Building at Dockyard.

One of the joys of last summer's show -- the first by a group that calls itself Mosaic, was its sense of adventure and freshness. This was emphasised by an unusually wide spectrum of creations by mostly young participants who seemed to pop up from every corner of the Island.

The first inkling that this air of spontaneity was being reined in, surfaced in the form of the invitation to the opening of this year's show.

Not that there was anything untoward in the title chosen for the exhibition: Umum-ism. Indeed, those who associate this word with two of Bermuda's most popular and enduring theatrical reviews, might assume that the Bermudian colloquialism was being used in the same, gently satirical sense.

No such luck. A prim, dictionary-style definition, printed on the invitation, describes "Umum-ism'' as a movement "repudiating traditional `pink cottage' painting''.

What this group apparently fails to understand is that it is the treatment and interpretation, rather than the subject of a work of art that is of relevance.

It has long been the custom of artists the world over to express the spirit of place in their work. Bermudian architecture is an integral part of this particular Island's heritage; artists such as Winslow Homer found it inspirational and others will continue to do so.

It's not only in the visual arts, of course, that the lesser gifted have so often found it convenient to mask their own shortcomings by trashing those whose technical expertise provides the passport to artistic freedom.

In any event, while most exhibitors were thus reluctant to produce the dreaded pink cottage, other enterprising souls got round this hurdle by painting blue ones, green ones and beige ones. Others presumed that pictures of sea-shores, cedars, hibiscus and other assorted native emblems were not included in this heavy-handed prohibition. Or perhaps they were mounting their own silent revolt against this ill-conceived censorship by their peers.

The invitation's blurb on Mosaic goes on in an even more condescending vein, "advocating art as a vital part of the development of Bermuda society''.

Is this a new idea? Lastly, this "1993'' movement purports to "encourage independent thinking''.

Sadly, although there are several attractive and a handful of well-executed pieces of work in this show, originality, on this occasion, is not at a premium.

Dominating the exhibition is the work of Jason Semos. There is a magnificent, life-size nude study in oils, entitled A Portrait of the Model. Totally realistic in its dramatically realised portrayal of contemporary womanhood, Semos uses rich, rosy skin tones to form a painterly contrast with a strategically draped white towel. Still a student, Semos (who also exhibits a fine self-portrait and two more eloquently drawn nudes) already displays a recognisable style that is rooted in impressive technical ability. There are also two intriguing female figure studies by Fiona Rodriguez. The powerful, almost pulsating strength which permeates her confident draughtsmanship is softened by the medium of charcoal.

Charcoal is also used to dramatic effect in Liz Arnold's Causeway Car, in which a vehicle races along a darkened bridge that is punctuated by a row of leaning lamp-lights. She also displays a photograph of Ophelia which, with its soft blur of colours, evokes a fine sense of ethereal fantasy.

Graham Foster, whose style continues to evolve in bewildering directions (but retains, always, a wondrous technical dexterity) is in a particularly mysterious mood in this show, with a set of five paintings rendered in deep, greeny-blue acrylics. He explores the sinister side of life with his Man Defending Wife, Mermaid Harvesting and a secretive and slightly troubling Blue Self-Portrait.

In her elongated, eminently graceful back view of a female nude, Jennifer Stobo exploits the subtlety of pastels to achieve some beautifully bronzed and gleaming skin tones.

On the whole, it is the crafts which impress in this show. There is some excellent sculpture, including Brittany Wivell's bronze of Wooden Woman, where the long-legged, tiny torso combines strength with a dancing kind of grace, Jennifer Stobo's metal Candelabre, and a nicely executed cedar carving of a Mother and Child by Carlton Butler. There are highly promising ceramic vases by Jonathan Northcott and a luxuriously shaped, cork-coloured vase decorated with a frieze of the Belamy Brides by Sacha Blackburne.

Some of the most beautiful work in the entire exhibition was by Louisa Bermingham, in the shape of her sumptuous shawl and blanket, hand-woven in soft checkered patterns of blues and browns.

Sabrine Berg displays a couple of potentially controversial black and white photographic studies of two men clasping and embracing, entitled Let the Mask Fall. Typical of this show is the printed admonition that accompanies them: `Let the mask of ignorance fall and talk about it: acknowledgement is the beginning of understanding.' There seems to be a marked reluctance in this group to let artwork speak for itself. Instead, we get preachy lectures.

As the late Margot Fonteyn once retorted, on being asked to elaborate on the meaning of a ballet, "I was explaining it while I was dancing it.'' A sentiment that Mosaic might heed for the future. PATRICIA CALNAN.