Gary Dempsey was interviewed for the fourth (and final) edition of the Contrast publication. You can find the online exhibition version of the publication here.
Can you share a specific cultural tradition or story that has had a lasting impact on your practice?
One tradition that’s deeply influenced my work is the Irish practice of seanchaí—the traditional storyteller. The way stories were passed down orally, shaped by the teller’s rhythm and personal tone, taught me that narrative isn’t fixed. That’s fed into how I approach visual storytelling: not as something static, but as something open, evolving, and shaped by whoever’s engaging with it.
I’m fascinated by the storytelling tradition of the Blasket Islands, especially through figures like Peig Sayers, Tomás O’Crohan, and Maurice O’Sullivan. It amazes me that their stories have survived, considering the isolation of the islands and the time they were living in. When I read their stories translated from Irish into English, i’m struck not just by what they say, but how they say it. There’s a rhythm and warmth that feels so familiar and homely. It really contrasts with how many people sound today. Sometimes it’s hard to grasp just how important these storytellers were to their communities, especially now when we have endless entertainment and distractions. Their stories weren’t just for passing the time, they were central to memory, identity, and connection. That sense of depth is something I try to carry with me in my own work.
How do you navigate honouring traditional narratives while also making them your own?
I find it quite tricky at times. These stories come from a very different world with different values, different outlooks and I’m always aware of that. I try to approach them with respect, but also recognise that I’m seeing them through a modern lens, shaped by my own experience.
I try not to be biased, though I know I will be to some extent. It’s just part of being human. I think the main thing is to stay open and hear what’s being shared, whether that’s through reading, speaking with others, or just spending time with the material. I try to respond in a way that feels appropriate. I don’t want to dilute what makes the original stories meaningful, but I do want them to feel relevant today. I see it less as taking ownership and more as holding the story for a bit, adding a small thread then passing it on.
How has becoming a parent influenced your perspective as an artist?
I think becoming a parent has influenced my perspective on everything, including how I see myself as an artist. I want to make work that might enrich my children’s lives as they grow, even if they don’t fully understand it yet. I know it might sound odd, but I’m always aware that I’m being watched. The things I say and do, big or small might shape how they see the world.
There are moments from my own childhood where something an adult casually said or did stuck with me for years. So now, as a parent, I carry that awareness with me. It’s made me more thoughtful about what I create, not just thinking about how it lands with the wider world, but also how it might be part of the environment my children are growing up in. There’s a kind of responsibility in that, but also something grounding.
Do you find that your understanding of your own heritage is shifting over time? How does that show up in your work?
Definitely, it’s something that keeps changing. For a long time, I thought I could confidently explain what it meant to be Irish. But after travelling a bit, and through conversations, especially with my wife, who’s Hungarian I started to realise that the Ireland I grew up in isn’t really there anymore. You can still see parts of it, but something shifted along the way that I can’t quite put my finger on.
I used to think of heritage as something fixed, like a monument. Now I see it more like a flowing river. This shift has filtered into my work. I’m less interested in defining things and more drawn to the feeling of being in-between, of searching, remembering, and figuring things out as I go.
What challenges do you face when interpreting or reimagining cultural elements within your practice? And how do you overcome these?
There’s a concern of getting it wrong. These traditions have survived for so long and are important to many people. Sometimes it feels like standing on the shoulders of giants. It makes me question what value I can add to something with so much history behind it.
I try not to use these stories to push an agenda. Instead, I treat them as a chance to reflect on what I think is worth holding onto, what might need letting go, what I can add, and what’s best left alone. It can be a bit daunting, but I think that kind of questioning is part of the process.
What conversations or reflections do you hope that viewers will have when they view the work you’ve presented in the publication?
I hope it sparks some recognition, either in what’s being shown, or in how it makes people feel. If the work can act as a mirror or an invitation to reflect, then I think it’s doing something worthwhile.
Are there any surprising reactions to your work that you’ve received?
People often smile when they realise what a piece is about, and sometimes they get excited when they recognise the story or tradition behind it. Or they’ll ask me outright, and I’ll share what I know. It’s lovely to be able to pass on a bit of folklore and, hopefully, encourage people to explore it for themselves.
Furthermore, where do you see your artistic practice in the next ten years?
Right now, I’m trying to keep a balance between personal projects and client work,like graphic recording, animation and illustration, while also being present for my family. Looking ahead, I’d like my practice to become a bit more collaborative and open to different ways of working, blending visual storytelling with community work, oral traditions, and maybe even performance.
I’d also love to work more with younger people, maybe through workshops or mentoring, just to support them in exploring their own ways of expressing themselves. Mostly, I just want to keep the work grounded, useful, and connected to people.