There are portraits here, too - a young, black family posed by the sea, a Southern gentlemen sitting on a neatly hospital-cornered bed with gun - but Egglestone's figures are either shot surreptitiously or studiedly posed and he reserves his real tenderness for the inanimate. Not that there's any lack of action in his still lifes. His bleached, suburban sink might be static - the scrubbed porcelain, cleaned cutlery, neatly stacked crockery and OJ carton awaiting recycling - but it attests to some Atlantan housewife's very arduous industry. And with his freezer - stacked with value-packed ready meals and badly in need of a defrost - her lack of it.