George Geyer's pyramidal sandwiches of granite, glass and light have the cool, self-contained look of sensible corporate art. Well, maybe not too sensible: one of these pieces, which suffered during the temblor, is displayed with the broken glass, as if to prove its inherent fragility. Geyer's other work in the show stars very long, slender sheets of green-edged glass--centered in a smart-looking aluminum vise that allows the ends to droop, slung lazily between two tiny glass rods or doing a twin balancing act on the bars of a showy textured stainless steel T.
Helen Pashgian's untitled work veers off in two directions, one a good deal more promising than the other. The dubious pieces are made of thick yellowish plastic, crudely formed into tubes that line up in rows like hair curlers. The ghost of Eva Hesse lurks in this unapologetic involvement with unpleasant-looking stuff, but Pashgian hasn't the sensibility to carry it off. Other works involve hologram-like images seemingly trapped in layers of translucence. In one of these, a green, purple and black object curled in on itself, like a forgotten bit of Christmas ribbon, seems embedded within a black void. A sharp green trapezoidal figure appears many fathoms closer to the surface, a dim and dusty barrier of epoxy resin. (The Works Gallery, 2740 E. Broadway, Long Beach, to Nov. 16.)