SHOCK OF THE FLOCK

As anyone who has ever massaged an owl will tell you, these mysterious yet seemingly approachable creatures embody an illusion. Where there appears to be strength and silent muscle, there is in fact hardly anything but empty feathers.

What's true of owls is true of all birds, and this intriguing disparity between appearance and reality, substance and absence, has long intrigued artists who themselves grapple with form and the problems of winging it to create likenesses out of thin air.

In the Company of Birds, the new exhibition at Union Gallery, invites the avian responses of around a dozen contemporary Scottish artists, and there are some spectacular successes of which a few favourites are reviewed here.

Starting with the very small: Barbara Franc's recycled metal garden birds continue their popular success  and all those on display here have now sold. Again, small –  observed with precise relish for the macabre, ugly inchoateness of chicks – is Laura Homoky's pencil drawing 'Caged III' (above). I find the latter simultaneously funny, horrifying and sweet: a confusing variety of responses to such elegant draughtsmanship.

Arguably the highlight of this exhibition – an eye-catching caw de théâtre – is Czech artist Marcela Trsova's flock of born-again corvids: 4 crows, 2 magpies and a jay assembled out of copper wire and wing feathers.

Writing of this piece,  'Messengers', she invokes spiritual and mystical traditions of the Kabbalah, Renaissance magic and alchemy, in all of which birds were identified as the bearers of divine truth.

Reassembled and posed in mid-air, these forms are clearly celebratory, but they also stir more earthly associations: anatomical drawings,, Da Vinci aeroplane designs, smuts of anti-aircraft fire exploding in mid-air, birds arrested in mid-flight by the impact of shotgun pellets. I loved them, and was both fascinated and replused by the convoluted process which brought them about. These feathers are not chance encounters found upon country walks, but derive from a specialist fishing shop for those who would make their own flies. At some stage, it seems likely that these feathers come from birds which have been shot. Their flight here, then, re-enacts life and also the tumbling convulsions of death. The richness of these contradictions – quite apart from the staggering delicacy of their construction – was what made these pieces stand out for me.

The delightful calm of Janet Melrose's 'Birdcage' and 'Barn Owls' – one a serene contemplation of prison and the other of a holy brotherhood of assassins – I found interesting, and a complementary visual presence to Trsova's more strident, three-dimensional neighbours. My favourite among her works here, though, was 'Francis Drake and Lady Penelope' – a work of deceptive simplicity which rewards patient attention.  (It appears facing out in one of the gallery's Union Street windows).

Less aethereal, nailed with the unblinking focus of a perfectionist, is Dylan Lisle's 'Ode' (below). That glossy crow; that mouth-watering lapis lazuli background; the uncanny eye ... I feel sometimes that Lisle imposes meaning on his subjects rather than waiting for meaning to emerge, but  there is something hugely satisfying in his mastery of technique and apparent self-confidence which I admire and enjoy. The effect, as here, may sometimes have the clarity of nightmare, but it is unforgettable.

There are many other artists with works worth studying here, but I could not part without mentioning two by Joyce Gunn Cairns. I loved her forthright, fearless, untidy 'Crows Ower a Fence', and the bitter-sweet, comedic and serious undertones of 'Poseur' (below), in which the bird struts at its own reflection, reacts helplessly to its own physical and sexual identities. Cairns's work is thus a neat observation of nature, and a wry acknowledgement of the often absurd human (adult) condition.  AM

[In the Company of Birds continues at the Union Gallery (45 Broughton Street) until 27 February 2013.]