Jonathan Monk belongs to that group of artists - Christine Borland, Douglas Gordon, David Shrigley et al - who studied together at the Glasgow School of Art and kick-started the city’s then-ailing scene. But, unlike most of his peers, Monk exhibits in Scotland only rarely (it’s been eight years since his last outing) and remains re­l­at­ively unknown here, despite a sturdy in­ter­n­a­tion­al re­pu­ta­tion, as evinced by the major solo show spread across two Paris galleries next month. This imbalance might be down to Monk’s self-imposed exile in Berlin, or the fact that he’s re­p­res­en­ted by a London gallery, but one thing’s for sure, it’s no re­flec­tion on the quality of his work, which is char­ach­ter­ised by a lightness of touch and a witty, sidelong approach to some pretty weighty con­cep­tu­al concerns.

That wit, or cheek, is made clear from the off at Tramway, where Monk is pre­tend­ing to present two shows, one titled Something no less important than Nothing, the other dubbed Nothing no less important than Something. The pair of exhibits are, in fact, one and the same, with visitors assigned a title according to the in­vit­a­tion card they receive, or left to pick whichever title they find best fits the show before them.

The first work on show, Two Cor­re­l­ated Rotations, is another comic double act. A small projector, kitted out with a complex system that allows the spooled film to loop in­de­f­in­itely, shows a film of itself being prepared to show a film loop.

But, before anyone has the chance to let out an ex­as­per­ated sigh at this too clever by half con­cep­tu­al jiggery-pokery, Monk presents Golden Lights Dis­play­ing Your Name. For this new work, the artist has coated the tram tracks set into the floor of Tramway 2 with gold leaf, in the hope that visitors will pick up flecks of metal on their shoes, and tramp the precious material around the city. Aside from being starkly beautiful, the work po­et­ic­ally invokes the building’s former purpose, and, with restraint, nods to the adage that art only truly comes into being when ex­per­i­enced by an audience.

Monk plays with this idea throug­hout this show. There are posters to be taken away, multiple mirrors in which visitors can see their fractured re­flec­tion, and directly in­ter­act­ive works.

These are not, thank­fully, ‘in­ter­act­ive’ in the style of those displays that ruin many a museum, but thought­ful in­vit­a­tions to viewers to become actors, fellow artists even, in Monk’s work.

Another Fine Mess Repeated (out of sync) is a small pro­jec­tion of Laurel & Hardy engaged in a shin-kicking, trouser-dropping slapstick routine, matched with a turntable, speaker system and small col­lec­tion of decidedly naff records, so that visitors to the gallery can select their own soun­dtrack­. Change is a simple in­stal­l­a­tion of an overhead projector and grey cloth screen. On top of the projector is a heap of coins, and a note tell visitors that they are ‘en­cour­aged to change/alter the piece, adding and sub­tract­ing if required’. Gallery goers are a con­ser­vat­ive bunch, it seems: a few coppers have been swapped for cents, of the dollar and Euro variety, and, at the time of writing, the coins have been shaped into a smiley face.

In the centre of the room, there’s an in­stal­l­a­tion con­s­ist­ing of a video screen showing footage of famous drummers bashing away and, facing the other way, a drum kit on which visitors are en­cour­aged to have a go, providing sound to match the silent images. While pro­gress­ive rocker Carl Palmer bashes away noise­lessly on the screen behind me, I manage to tap out a rather in­e­f­fec­tu­al 4/4 rhythm em­bel­l­ished with a few mistimed cymbal splashes, until the bored glances of the gallery at­tend­ants remind me that I lack both con­fid­ence and musical ability. It’s a de­press­ing moment, but for other visitors with more skill and chutzpah, the in­stal­l­a­tion will be tran­s­formed, perhaps into a moment of communion with the rock gods, or, more pro­sa­ic­ally, a chance to show off.

Elsewhere, Monk explores the history of con­tem­por­ary art, his own work included. Two paintings mounted high on the wall - Jackson Pollock-style abstract drip jobs - have been rescued from the Tramway’s stores, where they have lain since Monk first exhibited them here in 1997. On the opposite wall, there is a framed poster for a 1987 Martin Kip­pen­ber­ger­ show, itself bearing an image ap­pro­pri­ated from a clothing catalogue.

This is a complex show, with Monk at­tem­pt­ing to site his practice in an art-his­t­or­ic­al context, question the position of the artist with regard to his audience, and engage directly with the ex­hib­i­tion space he finds himself in, not just phys­ic­ally, but with regard to his history in it. In other, lesser hands, that set of concerns could easily lead to a terribly dry, overly academic show, but Monk ap­proaches the serious business of making art with a wink and a raised eyebrow. He’s obviously having fun, and you will too.

Something No Less Important Than Nothing/Nothing No Less Important Than Something is at Tramway, Glasgow until 18th May.

This review was first published in The Herald on Friday, May 2nd, 2008.