DUBLIN.- Nothing could be where or what it is not, nor could there be any more or less of it.
I am sending a found table, which I intend to extend in the space with some plywood (painted light grey I think). The childs table was found in a meadow, and is at the very edge of its life, almost gone. Its drawn quite strongly all over its surface making it a rather beautiful object...With this and through the space there will be a few other found objects a book, a stick, a cap of a beer bottle, which has a star as a design. I suppose there is a [quiet but resilient]1 poetry in these small and easily overlooked things.
Many artists are interested in a sense of monumentality Fergus Feehily (when he is not rescuing forlorn, gracefully dying, child-size tables from meadows) conversely prefers to look very closely at small things. His barely-there2 objects, which engage an ambition equal to the largest-format work, re-direct the energy usually associated with scale, towards a continual and restless experimentation with the forms of art making. Feehily does not repeat or re-visit, but while most of his works take a very distinct approach to thinking about what constitutes a painting, they retain an extra-ordinary and particularized visual consistency. Given that no two works are ever made in exactly the same manner, it none-the-less remains a relatively straight-forward task to identify a Feehily. Even in the density of an exhibition such as Painter, Painter3, his three modest panels loom large against the majority of grander, more-muscularly-inclined art.
Feehilys not-quite-paintings, not-quite-sculptures nor quite-drawings4, not only explore that which might formally constitute painting, but arguably attempt to more deeply intuit the spirit of what it might be like to be a work of art. His remarkable empathy with objects (exemplified here by the instance of his rescued table), in exchange for profound reward, demands a lot from the viewer in order to complete the loop of making, reading and understanding; certainly it involves bending, close-up-looking, and a good measure of pondering. The questions raised centre upon a core dialectic; that while appearing essentially simple in nature, Feehilys work carries an explicit sense of care, work and time. These are hard-won things. Despite this, and without any sense of being over-laboured, the prolonged studio captivity of his work imbues them with a tangible humbleness and stoic grace that suggests that they have been well-brought-up and carefully taught to always walk in the shade. They demand love and respect in return.
John Hutchinson has referred Feehilys work as having a curious relationship between reticence and revelation5, presence and absence, and as I write this I look out of a hotel window over the Hong Kong harbour, but curiously the esteemed Mr. Hutchinsons phrase makes me think of our garden in the Irish countryside. A few weeks ago, while reading an email from the artist suggesting the exhibition title, disappearance, a tiny Wren (the smallest and most beautifully sculpted of the Finch family), alighted at high speed upon the slightest of hedge twigs only a few feet away from me. Twitchy, nervously looking around, he (I think a he) caught my gaze and in the fraction of a heartbeat (his - they have tiny hearts), gone. Three states in the fraction of a moment: not-there, present (and we both knew it), absent (missed). disapperance, I like it.
1 My addition, because I could not quite understand the word employed in the artists email from which this is extracted. The missing word seems, appropriately, to have disappeared into cyberspace.
2 Again, the artists (nearly) words.
3 Currently running at the Walker Art Centre, Minneapolis.
4 In a recent Frieze review, Martin Herbert famously remarks; Fergus Feehily makes paintings, but only just
5 John Hutchinson; extracted from a brief introductory text published to accompany Feehilys exhibition, Pavilion, at the Douglas Hyde Gallery, Dublin, 2009, and: http://www.douglashydegallery.com/exhibition.php?intProjectID=2