Viewing the promotional materials for this exhibition, - which is free to view, by appointment - the emotions invoked by the images didn’t quite match the descriptions given. A show titled Comfort Zone, consisting of colourful, whimsical felt creations, sounded like it would inspire suitably warm-and-fuzzy feelings. So why did I feel so sad?

Comfort Zone Features a half-dozen pieces, all of which consist of avian-inspired skeletal bodies hung or pinned in different positions. Conceptualizing the collection, Thompson studied dinosaurs and bird skeletons, mixing several varieties in each piece. The resulting anatomy is a jarring mix of cartoon and hyper-realism. Concerns reverberate throughout - consumerism, martyrdom, and animal rights. Creating their anatomy, Thompson meticulously stitched together stiffened felt over wireframes, lending the appearance of vertebrae. The colour density of the felt gives them a hard, plastic-bright primary colour - like clay or plasticine. Their mouldable nature also means the shape of the creatures alters slightly with each exhibition.

In one piece, a creature is held up by marionette strings, which are then mounted on a wooden cross. The creature appears childlike, wearing a Where’s Wally-inspired outfit, and a pinwheel hat on his oversized skull. Surrounding him is a crowd of smaller beings worshipping him. In the promotional photos, I took these to be tiny penguins. Viewing the piece in person, however, I saw I was mistaken - they were sets of uniform clapping hands, reaching up through the ground - an audience applauding this (possibly unwilling) performer.

A similar piece sees another creature dangling over a mysterious green pool. His bright pink hue and garb give him a cheerfulness at first glance, which slowly dissipates. He is wearing a star-emblazoned yellow vest that, depending on the angle, appears to be either a life jacket or a magician’s waistcoat. Nails are driven through his feet.

This violent, specimen-like treatment is administered unsparingly to each creation. In one piece, a dragon-like yellow and green creature is curled up on the floor and has a foot protectively covering its head. A nail has been driven through both, pinning them to the floor. Another has its cartoonishly oversized feet staked to the ground, its skull hung atop them, threaded through the jawbone and eye socket.

Elsewhere, a sunny yellow chicken stands, decapitated. Its head is displayed a few feet from its body, still in line with it as if attached by an invisible cord. Its felted eye sockets look uncannily realistic, especially contrasted with its absurdist, winding legs and splayed feet.

The most technically impressive piece, an enormous cobalt-blue pterodactyl creature hung in the window of the space, is perhaps the most straightforward - though, he too, suffers. Suspended by legs and neck, he is stretched into an awkward, tortuous pose, wings crumpled into his ribcage.

You can’t help but get a needling feeling of cruelty and confinement beneath the candy coating. The facial structure of the creatures makes you feel as though they are shouting and their wide, empty eye sockets appear both unknowable and all-seeing.

Thompson told me her intention was for the creatures to look ‘not quite alive, but not dead either’ - an ambition that she fully realizes, with profoundly unsettling results. The tableaus lure the viewer in with their whimsy, then question their response.

There is, in my opinion, an unmistakably environmentalist heart to Comfort Zone, although Thompson wisely doesn’t spell this out for the viewer. When asked about her choice of material, Thompson responded immediately to explain that felt was not only highly pigmented and malleable, it was also one of the most environmentally friendly materials available to artists today.

Thoughtfulness abounds in this show, flourished with wall-mounted silhouettes and surrealist, handcrafted stickers dotting the space. I went in with an open mind and left feeling exhilarated and unnerved by what I’d seen - my own comfort zone disturbed. Viewed in person, there’s a visceral beauty to this exhibition that cannot be captured by photography alone, and I highly advise you not to miss it.