Cubeweave, 1996. Photo Oren Slor. Untitled, 1995.

jim isermann at feature by Elisabeth Kley A monolithic cube looms in the center of Feature's north room. Chest high, Jim Isermann's Cubeweave sits alone, pushing at the intimate space it occupies. The minimal shape echoes Tony Smith's famous Die, a six-foot-square cube of rusted steel, but Cubeweave, at a slightly less imposing five feet two, is made of cushiony foam rubber and is upholstered on all sides, including the bottom, with carefully seamed, colorful handloomed cotton, meticulously woven by the artist himself. Untitled (1995), a smaller related piece covered in plaid, was included in Feature's "Ab Fab" show last spring. Rising just a few inches above the floor, too high to be a rug, too low to be a bench, and too angular to flounce on, it could only be enjoyed from an awkward crouch and seemed perfectly designed to trip over. Untitled's minor aggravation escalates in Cubeweave to full-scale aggression, as if all the customary furniture, tired of being useful, decided to join together in one rebellious clump and kick the human beings out of their room. At the opening, people gathered at the gallery entrance to greet the artist and periodically circled the sculpture as if it were an alien presence. Such a belligerent presence is at odds with Cubeweave's cheerful cloth covering. In an unsettling combination of imposing bulk and cushiony comfort, Isermann has elevated a textile motif often used for dishtowels into a hefty symphony of color, as formally rigorous and optically active as an Ad Reinhardt painting. The entire pattern flickers as different threads mingle in sweet and sour hues, and square patterns shift from side to side in changing groups of rectangles. With delirious absurdity, Cubeweave brings together Minimal sculpture, geometric abstraction and the Pop art ready-made, yet the purity of its woven surface somehow transcends them all. Absorbed in the rainbows of squares that stretch out over the top like endless plots of flowers, I had to wonder: if something is so beautiful, does it really matter if it's art? Jim Isermann at Feature, Oct. 18-Nov. 23, 1996, 76 Greene, New York, NY 10012. ELISABETH KLEY is a New York artist who writes on art.