The most disturbing art is usually that which makes the familiar strange. And the most familiar place is home. Psycho Buildings at London’s Hayward gallery sets up a number of domestic scenes and explodes them, or expands them, with violent force or sinister quiet to produce one of the most ambitious, varied and striking exhibitions in the city in recent years.

The Hayward gallery is a brutal building, a complex concrete silhouette that opened 40 years ago, at exactly the same time as Parisians were tearing up cobbles to lob at policemen. Their slogan was “Beneath the pavement, the beach”. The sculptural form of the gallery, designed by the Greater London Council’s architects’ department, was part of a drive to rebuild cities through radical culture, a strikingly avant-garde and rough-hewn form emerging from the drawing boards of a municipal office (albeit then still one of the world’s biggest architectural offices). Artists, to this day, love it. It is far from the tropes of contemporary display, the white cube and the “found” industrial space. The former sets art apart as an object of pseudo-worship, the latter attempts to stress the production and process.