Quigley's work is organized into four categories: paintchip drawings, diptychs and triptychs, single-panel paintings, and drawings. Each of these provides different pleasures and shows the artist at work on a slightly different enterprise. The clever format of the paintchip drawings lets the viewer's mind slide sideways to the idea of painting as a trade. Or to the idea of fragments of a film, of a series of frames too brief to do more than jolt the heart. Or to the nostalgia of the photobooth, which idea always whispers lovingly to me the name Woolworth's. The paintchips gather Quigley's fallen family of man into something like a collection of artist's baseball cards or children's building blocks or police mug shots. But if so, they are baseball cards that record in quick and accomplished strokes careers of extraordinary failure or crushingly ordinary defeat. They are building blocks that picture orphaned boots and apelike humans in party hats instead of busy bees and apples and cats. And they are mug shots that capture, with lyrical variations from frame to frame, not hardened criminals and brutal crimes but the chronic makers of stupid mistakes, a line-up of all those with an insurmountable lack of fitness for the task at hand. The paintchip drawings' seem to preserve the artist's honest modest impulse at its source. They are like a bucket of tadpoles pulled up from the pond and they ask no more of the viewer than to take a simple pleasure in their own small truths and giddy lives.