Margit J. Füreder’s art doesn’t impose—it whispers. It arrives like a breeze passing
through a delicate veil, almost imperceptible, yet capable of stirring everything
within. Her works don’t reveal themselves at first glance. They linger… they suggest.
And in that subtle gesture, they call the eye to go deeper, to read the world’s
unspoken lines. Margit isn’t interested in portraying what’s visible; she seeks to
capture the intimate vibration of what slips away—the space between form and
emotion, between memory and the present moment.
Born in Linz, Austria, in 1954, Margit has built her artistic path with the precise calm
of someone who knows how to listen to silence. Her journey has passed through
Austrian galleries like Seywald in Salzburg and contemporary spaces in Vienna like
Taith Contemporary. But her art resonates far beyond white walls—it reaches art
fairs, private collections, and the hearts of those attuned to the subtle. Her name
has shared space with icons like Alfred Hrdlicka and Hermann Nitsch, and
continues to grow—quietly but firmly—among the most notable names in
contemporary Austrian art.
To contemplate one of her paintings is to inhabit a suspended state, where color
becomes voice and space turns into a sanctuary of sensation. Her palettes,
sometimes restrained, sometimes ablaze, seem to breathe. There’s something
organic in the way her tones meet, collide, or drift apart—as if each chromatic
fragment carried its own memory and longing.
Her technique is one of deep listening. Füreder paints like someone meditating—
not on the image itself, but on the silence behind it. The restrained gestures, the
veiled layers, the whites that aren’t absence but pause—all of it echoes a rare
aesthetic intelligence, where restraint becomes a form of intensity.
There’s poetry buried beneath the surface of her work, like an ancient language
that only reveals itself with time and sensitivity. There’s no rush. Only invitation.
And traces—of voices, of stories, of presences that may never have existed, yet
feel as real as inexplicable memories.