Sam Taylor-Wood, Wallspace, London

As the Young British Artists embrace middle age, are they turning to God for answers, or even for inspiration? If they are, there is a good chance you’ll see the results in Wallspace, a “spiritual home for visual art” founded by freelance curator Meryl Doney in All Hallows, an 18th-century City of London church.

Doney, who is married to a priest, has been organising art shows in churches around the country for some years. In 2004 she organised a series of exhibitions in six cathedrals entitled Presence: Images of Christ for the Third Millennium, which featured work by the likes of Tracey Emin, Bill Viola and Damien Hirst. Recognising a spirituality in the work of Sam Taylor-Wood, Doney has chosen three of the artist’s films for this three-week show at Wallspace, with each being shown on a continuous loop in successive weeks.

Part of the YBA herd, a former Turner Prize nominee and the wife of the eminent art dealer Jay Jopling, Taylor-Wood works in photography and film. Her pieces often infuse banal situations with a mood of drama, or show isolated subjects not doing very much; one wouldn’t immediately think of her work as having any particular religious theme. Much more striking is its use of celebrities: in Crying Men, for example, famous actors such as Lawrence Fishburne and Dustin Hoffman are filmed in states of emotional distress. For a commission by the National Portrait Gallery, she filmed the footballer David Beckham asleep.

The first film showing at Wallspace is Pietà (2001). Its religious connotations are obvious. The artist cradles a lolling man in her arms, in a pose mimicking familiar Christian iconography. He is stripped to the waist and, upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that the figure is the Hollywood actor Robert Downey Jnr. Apart from the restaging of the Virgin Mary cradling the dead Christ, it’s hard to understand the point of this stylishly lit pair.

It does, however, encourage a certain self-critique. It becomes intriguing purely because Downey is so recognisable: as with any celebrity spotting, it’s like seeing an old friend. Seconds later you feel a fool for succumbing to celebrity culture. Feelings of misplaced familiarity are quickly followed by a sense of guilt.

Next is Ascension (2003), a film in which a man in a suit lies flat on the floor while another man, also in a suit, tap dances on his chest. A dove sits on top of the dancer’s head, unflinching throughout his jigging until finally it takes flight. The end. The stony-faced dancer seems concerned about neither the man beneath him, who is supposedly dead, nor the perching bird. Is this a symbol of human indifference to mortality? Does the bird represent the holy ghost? Or the man’s soul?

Last is Prelude in Air (2005), in which a barefoot man vigorously mimes playing an invisible cello to a Bach prelude. Taylor-Wood found an actor who was, conveniently, also a cellist to play the role. He ducks and weaves enthusiastically, sawing at the invisible instrument, but one wonders whether it amounts to much more than a high-minded form of air guitar.

Doney has talent as a curator. It’s always refreshing to see contemporary art outside its habitual white cube and she has carefully selected works by Taylor-Wood that resonate in a church setting. Indeed, the location does these ambiguous films many favours. They take on meaning that would remain elusive if they were displayed in a neutral gallery space. The imposing ecclesiastical architecture amplifies any inkling of a spiritual theme into a fully fledged religious concept.

Doney’s intention is genuine. But there is a danger in her curating that the audience will understand Taylor-Wood’s art as being full of religious themes, which it isn’t. Rather, it’s full of lone figures, celebrities and banalities.

What the show reveals more than anything about Taylor-Wood and her supposed preoccupation with spirituality is the power of the curator. In a field as cryptic as contemporary art, and especially with work as malleable as Taylor-Wood’s, the curator has complete freedom to shape the way we understand it. A church setting certainly puts Taylor-Wood’s work in a new light; but it is, of course, light that comes from a very particular direction.