As a term, Kingston on the Edge has an ominous implication, given the city’s tumultuous history. Kingston on the Edge, though, is a clarion call — a rousing drumbeat heralding the presence of a new kind of creative force. Officially, Kingston on the Edge (KOTE) is the name of an arts festival that has been a part of the city in recent years, but it is also a declaration: Kingston is on the brink of revitalisation and its dynamic young artists are very much a part of that process.

Every so often the National Gallery of Jamaica engages the aspirations of young Jamaican artists through its Young Talent exhibitions. The exhibitions are not placed on a fixed schedule (the last one occurred in 2002); they are organised when the moment seems right, when young artists, as a body, seem on the verge of a veritable movement.

“There is a lot of momentum that has been going on in contemporary art,” says Veerle Poupeye, executive director of the Jamaica National Gallery.

“We’ve been watching,” she says. “We’re aware that there were a number of people that we were talking about for a while.”

Those people are the group of young artists who are redefining our perceptions of Jamaican art — of the messages that “our” art is supposed to convey and even of the ways “our” art can convey that message. It is the works of this group that comprise the exciting Young Talent V exhibition currently showing at the National Gallery.

The artists, 14 of them in total, have embraced a variety of media to showcase their talent, ranging from conventional representational painting to digital photography, video animation and even fashion design. As varied as the media are, though, and as distinctive as the creative identity of each artist is, common concerns were evident in the works of several, concerns that seem born of Jamaica’s contemporary social climate.

“There is a meaningful link between what has been happening in society and what is happening in the art,” says Poupeye.

Historically speaking, though, art as a reflection of a society’s mood is not an uncommon phenomenon. But as Poupeye points out, these works capture the voices of Jamaicans who have come of age in a decidedly post-colonial Jamaica. For them, rampant crime was always a part of the social fabric; dancehall and hip-hop were the norm on the airwaves. Their concerns are not that of the negro’s arousal; they are trying to understand where he stands in the crash and tumult of modern culture.

One of the artists, Leasho Johnson, 25, uses various graffiti and graphic art styles to interpret the realities of his environment. His Territorial Fad triptych “is meant to make you laugh”, he says. But the aggression underlying the pieces is striking. Aggression is a part of the Jamaican culture, he explains, a concept that Jamaicans have grown numb to.

“There’s an anger we haven’t been dealing with.”

Another of Johnson’s pieces, the compelling three-dimensional The Product, is a small-scale city that richly details the vibrancy and tragedy of urban street life while largely lampooning Jamaica’s current culture. The Product’s lower tiers house scaled avatars in states of suffering, wrongdoing and death.

“But if you’re up here,” he said, pointing to the higher levels, “you’re associated with drugs, the police or religion.”

Ebony G Patterson, 29, digs deeper into the conflicts within modern dancehall culture through her Gangstas for Life works. The photo tapestry pieces depict hallmark images of young Jamaican males swathed in flowery embellishments of articles that have become a part of the dancehall aesthetic.

“Dancehall is a space that has to do with a lot of machismo, but the machismo is changing.”

Patterson’s interest in the matter started with her exploration of skin bleaching in the “gangsta” culture.

“The machismo is taking on this pseudo-feminine experience. Dancehall is an incredibly homophobic space — to be feminine or female is seen as negative. But things that were once feminine are now considered masculine norms.”

The images are comic but pointed. In Gully Godz, three men take up poses that are not unfamiliar on a downtown street corner, but they are decked out in wild accoutrements that have a decidedly feminine flair, accoutrements that are not entirely foreign to the current dancehall scene.

“I’m pulling all these things together, with all these contradictions,” she says. “I think we need to examine where all this is coming from.”

Besides showcasing modern culture’s contradictions, some among the group also embody the evolved work ethos of younger artists. Whereas in previous generations, according to Poupeye, artists were private or even reclusive, today’s young artists more openly embrace a collaborative work spirit. Marlon James’s body of work for the exhibit, for instance, are bare black and white photos of his fellow artists.

“The extent of collaboration among young artists is something entirely new,” says Poupeye. “I see an inventiveness — a resourcefulness — that adds to the energy of the exhibitions.”

Speaking of the exhibition, she continues: “It’s a portrait of the young generation of Jamaica. It very much touches on the pulse of that.”