If photographer Ray Johnson had not jumped off a bridge in 1995, would we have had this quietly spectacular exhibition of beautiful and banal, obsessive and original, insistently disposable images? Probably not. He may have got his act together to build a successful career and more substantive body of work, trumping and obscuring this output. Or he may have destroyed the 5,000 or so photos in a fit of despond, these images all shot on disposable cameras, now finally elevated to museum status with the Morgan show. The images are diverse and yet are wrapped by both a melancholy air and the enchantment that time brings. There is a strange lightness, a joie de vivre, that quite belies the trajectory of Johnson’s life, and yet perhaps their qualities can be read in hindsight to signal a tormented mind. More significantly, the images have a pioneering quality about them in how they defiantly, sometimes hilariously, reject the slick, in their exploration of the vernacular and of chance in the everyday. There is considerable silliness and wit, a fair bit of whimsy and yet also profound meditative moments. Many photographers and artists, and more commercial creativity, has drawn and enlarged this space of the uncooked playful image, but Johnson’s work can be seen as both a precursor and an unrivalled, independent eye. Worth a visit if you can, or catch up online.