Dean JF Hoy brings heavy vibes with his teddy bears’ funeral

“The vibes are fucking heavy. The themes of childhood abandonment. But it’s light and dark. There’s a good sense of celebration. Like having a roast dinner after a funeral.”

I am talking to an attendee in the smoking area of The Vigil, a short-term show by artist Dean Hoy at the Sarabande Foundation in Haggerston, where he is a resident. The vibes in question are, I agree, sort of heavy, but also nourishing. Earlier this year, Hoy – who, under the project name ‘Bears who Care’ creates pretty-but-monstrous soft toy sculptures, turned inside-out, mutilated and embellished like Weird Barbies – left Julien, a shaggy brown rabbit, on the side of a road in Nashville, Tennessee. Tonight he is holding a vigil service in Julien’s memory, whilst also holding out hope of his return. “It gives village hall to me,” Hoy says of the space which, with its vaulted ceiling and beams, each resident of the Foundation is invited to use, “so it felt like the right time.”

And like every good memorial service, there’s a good spread on. On entrance, the bar is serving diminutive blue bottles of Babycham as well as other Cham cocktails. At the bar, attendees are invited to take a candle and leave them at the end of the room. Hoy’s mum, in attendance, has been busy collecting jars from neighbours for the occasion. The artist’s boyfriend, Jonathon, dad and a lovely woman I speak to who Hoy calls an aunt, but isn’t really his aunt, are there too, and have also been helping out. “It’s a family affair,” says Hoy.

Julien’s missing poster is at one end of the exhibition space, at the far end is a park bench (found on Facebook marketplace) covered in supermarket flowers. In the middle of the room is a tableau of cream carpet scattered with an assortment of Hoy’s teddies. “We moved into a new-build growing up and my mum always wanted cream carpets so I’ve always had this fascination with cream carpets,” says Hoy. “They always felt so fab, like how everyone in the 2000s had chocolate sofas,” says Hoy. The bears were originally going to face towards the front, however that felt too church-like: “This bear is potentially alive, so it’s about creating a playroom that has darker energies.”

The show’s soundtrack – excerpts of Lana Del Rey combined with recordings of Hoy’s nieces and nephews as well as vintage children’s television – is a fitting backdrop for this strange soft play area. Each of the 26 bears have their own story and scenario, detailed on a pleasantly muddled exhibition map: Dope is Hoy’s alter-ego who grieves the loss of Julien deeply, loved ‘warts and all’; Honey is ‘a classic bear who once lost her face to a dog’; Adohi, spent ‘as an upset child’s punch bags’ and Auntie, ‘the last toy left hanging at a fairground.’ Sweetness is found amidst the misery. Stamps and Bones are “falling in love,” Hoy tells me. Ribs, who floats ethereally from a tire, is inspired by Hoy’s formative female friendships, and is adorned with charms by the filmmaker Luna Carmoon.

‘Bears who Care’ are also a way for Hoy to talk about sexuality. “I say the bears, and I immediately feel there’s gay undertones,” says Hoy. “They were toys that weren’t cool to play with as a boy, so it’s allowing me to do this now,” he explains. “I played loads as a kid, loads and loads and I wanted to keep playing.” One bear, Pidgewigeon, with hard boots and a chain, represents the artist’s boyfriend. He cites the 1977 book The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions by Larry Mitchell, about gay men in San Francisco, as an inspiration. “They found more of a home and a space in nature. When I read that book I really aligned with it—I’m always in the woods,” says Hoy, who has placed bark around the perimeter of the plush carpet.

Something magical happens. At first I am a little overwhelmed by the display, unable to see the wood for the trees so-to-speak, to respond when people ask me which is my favourite, only answering ‘the smallest one’ (Darcey, ‘a quiet little soul with a pink beak’). But as the evening draws on—perhaps due to the Babycham, perhaps due to the increased illuminations of candles—all of a sudden the bears starts to look clearer, their outline, texture and personality crystalline. “I love the pearly beads,” says one attendee I speak to, and all of a sudden I see the beads everywhere, something between tears and stars. “I feel like it’s so sweet and wholesome,” says another visitor I speak to. “Saying goodbye to some friend who died and coming together in a parallel universe where bears have a soul. It’s refreshing to feel a non-human anthology.”

“I feel like it’s only chapter one in my head,” says Hoy, who says he wants to do a short film or potential picture book, introducing each bear and is working out how to price the works (“I’ve been trying to figure out my pricing. A lot of it is based on care. The idea of parting from something I’ve made, that comes into the cost,” he notes). On leaving the vigil, I spot another poster, calling out for Julien’s return, with tags that can be ripped off: No one gets left behind @deanjfhoy. I tear one off, say a quick prayer for the abandoned toy, and walk out into the night.