Can white chocolate be political? Can clotted cream be a searing indictment? Kenny Hunter's latest sculptures raise questions that are even stranger than usual. In the elegant gentility of Duff House near Banff earlier this year Hunter placed a big black head complete with splendid Afro and dub sound system. It made you think, of course, about slavery and colonial power, as well as the unspoken racism that has shaped significant art collections. But it also made you stop and ponder the music puncturing the silence we tend to view art in. Why did that start, then?

Now, though, the colour and nearly every trace of life have been drained from Hunter's work, a series of large-scale sculptures fashioned from his trademark glass-reinforced plastic. Where once there were sweetie reds and yellows, now there is only white - a rich, creamy white - giving the work a monumental, classical look quite at odds with its subjects and mood.

Time and Space Died Yesterday is a Thunderbirds-style rocket out of a wall; Bonne Année Monsieur Baudrillard is a crazy skull on a clock; Tombstone is just that, but with fridge-magnet lettering arranged on it in neat rows. Quoting Gunter Grass's The Rat, the text is an elegy for all that will be left behind - the colour and sounds, the very life - in death.

The end, as a jokey or deeply philosophical concept, lurks throughout the show, with death, destruction and finality unmissable even in the lighter, more sarcastic work. This is fitting in two connected ways. Not only is Hunter marking the end of a phase in his work (the brightly coloured, jolly, jewel-like pieces) but for much of this year he has been working on a £10,000 commission for a public work in Glasgow to mark the life of Christ. No wonder death is in; irony seeps away.

This is what faces you in Bad Conscience and the Old Skool Plastik, a tower of first world war iconography: death in the trenches, rats crawling over skulls, unspent cartridges piled all around. It's a recognisable if still affecting soup of man-made misery, but recast in Hunter's creamy smoothness it somehow becomes a thing of beauty, a tribute of sorts.

Until November 11. Details: 0141-552 0704.