Andrew Gilbert @ Summerhall

Andrew Gilbert returns to the motherland for his colonial-inspired exhibition at Summerhall Gallery. Littered with trinkets from the contemporary past and heady imagery from a religiously destructive future, The Glorious Return of Emperor Andrew is more than an inventive look to 19th century kingdoms, but a comparison between ideological modernism and cheap ethnographic museums.

Primitive art and the people's destruction seeps from Emperor Andrew's Imperial Palace: a Saharan diorama reeking of the steely desert with wire fencing, model sculptures and tribal masks rejuvenating Britain's military history.

The central sculpture is a tribute to Shaka Zulu, the deranged African dictator. He boasts a leopard-print cape and idolises petrol tanks of instant coffee. It's a monumental offering from Gilbert, however its prophecy is contradicted by the Catholic imagery beneath. A gold teapot beckons for pouring while holy toast and feather dusters appear next to the general's eye-line, as if by fetish.

Enforcing the artist's ode to the fall of European religion is a simple painting of a flower. The caption reads 'Battle of Isandlwana (22 January 1879)' – a brutally memorable fight which saw thousands of British soldiers maimed by Zulu warriors. From this, Gilbert offers a cultural contamination as we consider the Reformation coinciding with the perilous date.

Shaka Napoloean is another giant model sculpture within Gilbert's sun-torn stretch. It serves as Emperor Andrew's Zulu-Euro secretary by making pots of coffee and answering business calls from the nearby telephone. Wit, style and significance reek from the sculpture however a tribal mask showing 'Gordon of Khartoum' radiates a contrasting and godly authority.

Expressing every ancient elite's desire, and destiny in some unfortunate cases, are the five consecutive and expressionistic paintings of the Emperor's executed ex-wives. Screaming animals infiltrate the pose however as the murdered women puff on cigarettes or tug their penis earrings, parallels between contemporary necessity and brutal history conveniently merge.