WORDS Gabija Purlyte

“I could have done that myself!”. This phrase, by now canonical, encapsulates the core of the argument for many lay critics of Modern and contemporary art. It is true, of course, that since the “conceptual turn” in the art world — traced back to Marcel Duschamp’s urinal in 1917 — the display of technical skill has stopped being a necessary element of an art work. It is also true that the central narrative in twentieth-century painting and sculpture was the progression towards ever purer abstraction, mythologised by Clement Greenberg as the movement towards “the truth” of the media, which marginalised and devalued figurative art. Yet, beginning with Photorealist painting in the late 1960s, representation has come back with a vengeance. Today, a whole generation of hyperrealist sculptors have redefined the limits of life-likeness that can be achieved by the work of the human hand. You thought Michelangelo was the master of depicting the human figure? These artists could legitimately laugh in your face.

Many of them have come to the art world through film, advertising, or robot animatronics, including Jamie Salmon, Sam Jinks, Thomas Kuebler, Lisa Lichtenfels, and Ron Mueck (whose exhibition was shown in the Fondation Cartier in Paris this summer). Some of them, astonishingly, are self-trained, like Jamie Salmon and his wife and colleague, Jackie K. Seo. A similar story recurs in many of their biographies — having realised the potentialities of their craft while doing commercial work, they moved into fine art to make something more of it.

Each artist, it seems, has developed an individual technical approach to achieve their mind-bending effects. Mueck, Salmon, Seo and Jinks begin by making a clay model, from which moulds are created. Silicone layers are then built up inside, or the figure is cast in silicone, and then details are refined, colour is added, individual hairs — in some cases, of human provenance — are implanted. Marc Sijan also begins with a clay model to produce a plaster mould, which is then sculpted from the interior with a magnifying glass and precision tools; the final figure is cast in polyester resin, and finished with up to 25 coats of paint and varnish. Carole Feuerman, too, works with resin, but also with the traditional sculptural media of marble and bronze, achieving amazing degrees of realism in her painted bronze figures. Lisa Lichtenfels employs soft fabrics, using multiple layers of translucent coloured nylon to create subtle flesh tones, and “needle modelling” to sculpt out the minutest facial features. In all cases, however, the impact of the end result relies on the traditional notion of rendering form by hand, no matter how cutting-edge the materials and techniques are: it all comes down to good old-fashioned sculptor’s skill.

“The realism of these sculptures is a tool for captivating the viewer’s attention and sparking their interest in the story which lies beyond that moment frozen in time.”

Although the closeness to life is mind-boggling, it is not an end in itself, which is the essential difference between art and special effects. As Jamie Salmon said, “The most important part of the artistic process for me is the initial idea behind the work. If it isn’t as strong as possible, then the lengthy process of sculpting, moulding, painting etc., no matter how well done, will be for nothing and the work will fall flat.” The realism of these sculptures is a tool for captivating the viewer’s attention and sparking their interest in the story which lies beyond that moment frozen in time. A variety of approaches, once again, characterises the means by which the sculptors fire up our imaginations: Sijan’s life-size figures, for instance, could easily be mistaken for the living people on which they are modelled. Jinks’ and Mueck’s sculptures, on the other hand, are usually larger or smaller than life, and combine features from a number of people, familiar and not. Sometimes, they focus our attention on the most banal and unexceptional moments of life, making them curious and wonderful; other times, they seem to belong to the realm of myth, or to the surreal world of dreams and fantasies. Lisa Lichtenfels’ creations may be inspired by celebrities as well as people spotted on the street. “I saw the Trixie and Rocky figure outside my car window as my husband and I were driving into New York City,” she told tn2.  “I could not believe a tough guy on a hog would have such a cute little dog!  When I see an interesting character like that it sticks in my head, and in this case I couldn’t wait to do the drawing and begin a sculpture.” Invariably, the sculptures compel us to fill in the blanks of the narratives for which only a limited number of clues are provided, and remind us of the endless depth, richness and complexity of each individual’s inner life.

Another feature all these works have in common is the way they compel us to focus on every detail of the human body. Indeed, as one critic has put it, they provide an opportunity for our voyeurism to appear as studied contemplation. For once, every blemish, wrinkle, body hair and cellulite grain, which we either despise or try to overlook in real life, is truly interesting and genuinely beautiful. The surprise which comes with seeing these details reproduced is a telling testimony to how used we have become to the airbrushed, blurred, and enhanced representations which surround us in the media.

Unlike much of contemporary art, hyperrealist sculpture is immediately and universally appealing, and its impact does not rely on obscure philosophical concepts or long, jargon-laden catalogue introductions. Despite this, they are far from empty-minded entertainment — they leave us deeply moved by the wonder and mystery of human life.