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 "As
an artist, Cary McCoy doesn’t mess about. There’s nothing
fussy or pretentious about his work, it has all of the solidity and
poise of natural formations. But there’s nothing “natural”
about McCoy’s art, it belongs to a plastic dimension where objects
are alive and living creatures are like avant-garde furniture. McCoy’s
visions resemble two-dimensional sculptures from dimensions outside
ordinary human perception, the inorganic realms, snapshots of a unique
and pleasantly childlike imagination. Yet however inorganic, McCoy’s
creations are definitely alive, in suspended animation, they seem ready
to shift and ooze inside the frame whenever we’re not looking.
Maybe they do? McCoy doesn’t bother to put much between his audience
and his unconscious. His work is the real McCoy: raw, but deliberately
so. McCoy offers up the primary matter of his creative process in a
relatively pure state, aiming (I suspect) for something that is both
more primitive and more innocent (hence more profound) than most “modern
artists” attempt. The result is that McCoy’s work is timeless,
both intensely individual and oddly impersonal. McCoy’s predilection
for occult subject matters pulses through his work, informing it without
defining it. It’s not that McCoy sticks occult imagery, symbols,
or ideas into the paintings, it’s just that he draws them out of
the same reservoir of human unconscious, the same collective swamp.
Many of his paintings, intentionally or not, resemble sigils: plastic
shells or portals for atavistic energies both to reside in and emerge
through. If McCoy is playfully presenting audiences with a window onto
his own unconscious, he’s also (more seriously) opening doorways
onto the collective dreaming. His work is fresh, vital, spontaneous,
and wholly unique. The possessor of a visionary imagination, McCoy takes
infectious delight in putting the mage back in image." - Jake
Horsley
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