The control of her subject matter might suggest the influence of Paddy Lennon, but Alison Tubritt, who grew up in an environment of farms and animals, is operating on a smaller scale.
In Equus Caballus, the labouring movement of Lennon’s horses is not repeated: instead, Tubritt is about suggestion, the delineation of form – the curvature of a back emerging from the black void like a half-moon – achieved painstakingly through the most precise of detail.
The core strength of the small pictures is the magnetic effect of the Durer-like control of the most delicate strokes: you are pulled in to marvel as the mechanics and aesthetics of Tubritt’s finesse.
She was first spotted by Guerin as a 17 year old novice exhibiting at a Christmas craft fair at Loftus Hall, and promised a solo show once she completed her BA Hons in Visual Art.
Perhaps what was spotted was the variety of realism, and it has evolved.
The trajectory of Tubritt has been well worth the wait, and the gallery space is ideal. Oceans of white walls for 17 pieces, white pencil on black paper and mounted on black foam board.
Tubritt’s eye is challenged by what she can’t see, but feels: the subcutaneous force from which the horse in all its majesty and silent appeal appears to metamorphose. The effect, for the keen eye, is mesmeric, and you forget that you are in a gallery, which ought to be the way of all good art.