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Near the front of Thomas Mores 16th century book Utopia there is an illustration of a small island, dotted with rolling hills and populated with neat little castles; from the harbour a large ship sets off, presumably to conquer faraway lands and preach its vision of a perfect world. Looking down at this isolated kingdom on the day the United Kingdom leaves the European Union, I am reminded of another island that imagined its green and pleasant land as a glorious haven if it could only take back control. Centuries have passed since More set out his idealistic future, but our utopian dreams seem to have struggled to develop beyond a desire to own a small patch of the planet where private castles can be maintained, and a particular culture can be protected and promoted.

At the dawn of Brexit, Utopias at the Whitworth in Manchester draws together art, literature and maps from a range of sources and artists to try to work out why the search is still on for a land flowing with milk and honey. Because, despite the fact utopia famously derives from the Greek ou-topos and means no place, the idea of a golden future is still a captivating concept. It was the main motivator behind Brexit regardless of which way you voted and if that nearly 50/50 vote is anything to go by, Brexit holds the key to why well never find utopia; no one can agree on what it should look like.

Beginning with a first edition of Mores 1516 book, the exhibition is arranged thematically rather than chronologically to uncover our timeless utopian obsessions. A 1920s map of the British Empire with the UK proudly at the centre sits alongside a 2018 photograph, Between the Acts by Simon Roberts, of people walking along the Seven Sisters cliffs in Sussex. Vivid green grass gives way suddenly to white jagged cliffs that fall away into the sea this is the gap between the UK and the rest of the world, it is the natural boundary that keeps others out. Both works are about land and borders, but whereas Roberts reflects on the preservation of one nation, the map quietly highlights the hypocrisy in plundering and invading numerous others with total disregard.

The red-faced shame that is slowly climbing up my neck reaches fever pitch when I arrive at William Hogarths invasion plates from 1756. Produced in response to fears of a French invasion, the first plate depicts a French rabble, disorderly and disorganised, sharpening axes and pointing guns. The second plate is set in England, where someone is drawing a crude painting of the French and the troops stand smartly in the background. Text under the first plate reads: But soon well teach these bragging foes that beef and beer give heavier blows than soup and roasted frogs. The pure stupidity of it would be laughable if it wasnt for its similarities to Ukips Breaking Point campaign, where fleeing refugees are reframed as hordes of unruly intruders.

Utopian propaganda is all over this exhibition and none of it is comfortable viewing. Lilian Lancasters 19th century comic maps of England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales refer to England as a Queen Victoria, Queen of Hearts and Scotland as a gallant piper, struggling through the bogs, his wind bag broken, wearing his clay clogs. Nathan Coleys lightworks are covered in handprinted Zuber wallpaper inspired by the pilgrims who founded America. Smart, expensively dressed Europeans in carriages and steamboats arrive into a stunning landscape akin to Eden; to the side, a group of stereotypical Native Americans dance, adorned in leaves and feathers. This wallpaper hangs in the Diplomatic Reception Room at the White House.

Sweaty-palmed and stressed, by the time I reach the soft clouds and luscious greenery of Palmer, Constable and Turner, I find no affection for the land that has nurtured me all my life. There is light relief in Grayson Perry and Stephen Walters critiques of the utopian ideal. Walters Nova Utopia and Perrys Map of an Englishman are minutely detailed, black-and-white maps that reveal the impossibility of a perfect location. Contradictions are rife; Walters more literal map locates a place where they come to get away next to no trespassing and Perrys botox and eternal life buildings are next-door neighbours.

The hope in Utopias can be found in the final section, curated by the Whitworth Young Contemporaries, a diverse group of 16 to 24-year-olds. Rather than choosing one work each, they curated collectively, pressing through their differing opinions to present 16 pieces (ranging from Richard Hamilton to Christopher Nevinson) that encapsulated their varied perception of a utopia. Any utopic thing once enforced, becomes inherently dystopic, reads the groups manifesto. Perhaps the only utopia we can really hope for is the one where we agree to disagree.

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Utopias review the centuries-old illusion of 'taking back control' - The Guardian