Bermuda National Gallery -- Until June 16.

Of the Caribbean islands that were colonised by the great European powers -- and that includes all of them -- those that were occupied by the French and Spanish (think of Haiti or Cuba or the Dominican Republic) seem to have fared the worst over their histories in terms of living standards, human rights and political instability.

At the same time -- and likely because of their social and intellectual repression -- these very same countries have also spawned some of the greatest art and minds of the Caribbean region (think again of Toussaint L'Ouverture or Reinaldo Arenas or Juan Bosch).

If nothing else, you see, the politically oppressed often create great art -- or this, anyway, is the impression this reviewer got from a comparative study of "Carib Art'', the new blockbuster exhibition of contemporary Caribbean works that is in Bermuda until June 16.

Housed on two levels in the Bermuda National Gallery, the selections from the French and Spanish Caribbean are, without a doubt, among the strongest and most vibrant of the entire exhibition, which, with its 137 pieces, is very strong indeed.

Of course, the vibrancy of these works stems in large part from the fact that they are among the most politicised of the lot -- a quality, if contained to an appropriate degree, often deepens art and makes it an act of passionate investigation.

Not surprisingly, the most politicised of the "Carib Art'' works come from the country whose politics have been at the top of the global agenda for the past few decades: Cuba.

The Cuban contributions to "Carib Art'' are simply striking, particularly Ciro Quintana's "Cuba Va, Llego El Caiman'' and the untitled 1992 oil of Lazaro Garcia.

In the latter, a naked goddess -- likely Cuba herself -- steps from her classically structured temple to reach for a pair of gold coins that comprise one of two instances of colour in the black and white work.

Highly symbolic and romantically rendered, the painting is equally ambiguous in terms of its politics. Does it, for instance, suggest that Cuba is prostituting itself by pursuing foreign capital, as it has been in recent years by opening itself up to greater overseas investment? Or does the bleak black and white landscape of the portrait imply that the only Communist stronghold in the Western Hemisphere has been in the Dark Ages long enough? Mr. Quintana's work, also from 1992, is less equivocal, depicting as it does a huge open-mouthed crocodile (an obvious allusion to Cuban dictator Fidel Castro) as it towers over the turbulent waters of the Caribbean (which have recently been thick with Cuban refugees on their way to places like El Caiman -- the Cayman Islands).

Of the remaining Cuban works, Santiago Rodriguez Olazabal's "Iku Elese Iku'' is less topical but no less rich in its symbolism. A huge, wonderfully mystical work, it seems to have captured some momentous earth-shaping mating ritual between a flying brown-skinned goddess and her feather-adorned warrior-lover, whose prostate body bears a striking resemblance to the island of Cuba. From the Dominican Republic come a number of remarkable submissions, the strongest of which is Alberto Bass' "Deteriorio,'' a beautifully shaded study of eroding machinery that deftly reflects the abundant human misery in that poverty-stricken country.

In the NG's entry hall, Dominican neighbour Haiti is well-represented by some passionate, provocative works, namely Hipolit's "Trois Races'' and Prospere Pierre Louis' "Soleil Levant'' (a movingly prophetic work that shows a pair of multi-headed figures -- the people of Haiti -- dancing like some triumphant Renaissance saint over a slew of snakes -- the recently ousted government).

To the credit of the National Gallery, the works under its custody have been expertly and helpfully hung, particularly on the French-dominated upper level, where the spectator is guided from the more subdued earth tones of French Guyana to the splashy brightness of the francophone islands.

Overall, viewers are given a good overview of the Franco-Hispanic Caribbean in the show, which captures the many contradictions that Dominican artist Tony Capellan touches on in his contribution, "Myths of the Caribbean''.

Capellan asks: "Is Caribbean art mimicry, bold, peripheral, original and vital; universal or regional; naive, humble, authentic or what?'' As this section of "Carib Art'' makes clear, the answer, as with all great art, is both yes and no.

DANNY SINOPOLI