What the show's title has to do with its content -- nine pieces, only two of which might be considered pictures -- is a mystery. With one exception, the seven artists are essentially sculptors, or at least they create three-dimensional objects rather than pictorial imagery. The unifying factor actually seems to be the incongruous use of materials. Visitors are advised to ignore the confusion and concentrate on the works themselves, for there is some fascinating work in this small, handsome show, which inaugurates the newly renovated gallery.

The most disconcerting transformation is Susan Graham's use of icing sugar to render a pair of handguns. Accurately configured but skeletal, the pistols have been turned from lethal weapons into sweet confections -- a disarming move in both senses of the term. In ''Nest,'' Daren Kendall upends a cluster of wrestling trophy figures to fashion a sculpture that clings to a corner like a wasp's nest, conjuring the organic from the metallic. As with Jil Weinstock's row of zippers cast into a strip of transparent rubber, the original components are undisguised, making their metamorphosis all the more remarkable.

Inserting one's face into Nick Tarr's mirrored dioramas of animal skulls and toy figures brings to mind Orwell's rat-cage mask from ''1984.'' Here at least the viewer finds only inanimate, if creepy, artifacts, except for the reflected eyes taking it all in. Ruby Jackson's reeflike environments are more welcoming; her ''Tropical Triptych'' of polymer clay suggests aquariums suitable for exotic fish or adventurous miniature divers.

The puzzle-piece ingredients of Al Souza's ''Topsy-Turvy'' are a familiar form of image fragmentation, but his jigsawed views are reorganized abstractly, making nonsense of the impulse to sort out the jumbled visual information. This is the show's most pictorial work, although Dominique Figarella's ''Slip?'' might be considered a drawing, if a plumber's helper can be imagined as a graphic tool.