Tag Archives: hyperrealistic

Inside and in Front of the Frame: Portraits in a Room

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The man in front of me it’s wearing a white Urban Outfitters t-shirt, with a faded pattern of a man stuck on a desert island. His hair is brown and untamed, and his eyes are hiding behind circular sunglasses. Around him, a frame cuts his world from mine, allowing me to see him through a rectangle. The man in front of me is me, and I am in front of a mirror. I take my glasses off, and come closer to the cold surface. The movement inside the mirror resembles mine, yet it is different. Life from a different angle, from a different viewpoint.
You see, the man in front of me might look like me, but is not me. It is a reflection of me, an representational image of myself. It is a depiction, instead of a portrait.

I remembered that moment as I was standing in front of the winning portrait of the BP exhibition. A portrait for me should not be a mere replica of the person; it should pierce through the resemblance and reach a level of truth that is raw and refined in the same brushstroke.
Going to the BP Portrait Awards at the National Portrait Gallery has been a yearly tradition since I first came to London. For a few months, the room at the far end of the ground floor hosts the pictures, portraits, stories, technique, craft and heart of some amazing artists that hang their work.
For me, this exhibition has many points of interest:
From the moment you walk into the room, you realise that it is not only the portraits of the people that are hanging on the wall, but also the ones of the people that are standing in front of them, looking at the picture on the wall. It always fascinates me to see how people interact with the painted image. Large groups are sitting in front of the more realistic ones, give second glances to the picture they thought was rubbish after taking a look at the famous name of the artist that drew it, talk about how life-like, appealing, appalling, unattractive, or powerful an image is as they nod their heads, squint their eyes, and then walk to the next one.
In my mind, the portraits are divided into three categories:
The ones that aim for various degrees of realism (from the hyperrealistic to the life-like) are the ones that collect the most oohs and aahs from the crowd. This year’s exhibition has some amazing examples, like Robin by Lesley McCubbin, Devan by David Eichenberg, Today you were away by Ian Cumberland, Silent Eyes by Antonios Titakis, LE (Salmakis Num 3) by Ivan Falco Fraga).
Then, there are the ones with a difference in theme or technique. The technique might he pushing the boundaries, from incorporating different material and forms (like Lindsay Lohan by Ben Ashton, About Time by Tonny Mulligan, Pasha Triptych by Ismail Acar and Tessa and the Clay Heads by Ruth Murray), to encapsulating alternative themes and aesthetics (The Skateboarder by Eric Olson is a good example of putting the Skater culture and style in the actual painting). The theme might hide a background story, (like All Dressed Up for Mam and Dad by Peter Goodgellow, a self portrait with collaged pictures of the artist’s family on the inside of his coat, carrying the memories with him), social comment (Mr Kitazawa’s Noodle Bar in Tokyo by Carl Randal, where anonymous strangers are eating alone but separate in a familiar form of urban isolation), sitter’s personality (swallow by Alexandra Gardner, trying to be something else by Edward Suitcliffe, and Irish Frank by Ray Richardson are three great examples of that), or a moment of love (Wes’s Dream by Erin Wozniak), fear (Bruised by Nathalie Beavillain Scott where she documents her son’s car crash) or both (92 years by Tim Benson, where he depicts his grandmother that was suffering from dementia in such a painfully honest way, in an electrifying lay ambiguous light that makes us think that she could be either in the middle of a conversation, or in a state of agony, fluidity of mind seeping on the body).
And then there are these that have something more than acrylic mixed with water on canvas. The ones that contain a raw emotion in each brush stroke, a story behind each curve, a feeling of truth hidden in the corners of the sitter’s eyes. The first prize, Auntie by Saleah Chapin, is a testament of the human female form, the skin as a trail, the body a map, a personal history document. Similarly, El Abuelo by Ignacio Estudillo has a ghost-like quality, a portrait that is there but is absent, a picture that is not an analytical description as much as a glimpse of the human condition his sitter belongs to. Joachim by Nathan Ford stirred something strong in me, and made me stop and examine it closer. The half completed portrait was holding a secret, and it was truly captivating.
My personal favorite was Mary Waiting to Go Roller Skating by Timothy Galenby. A chiaroscuro portrait of his grandmother standing next to a glass cabinet, in which pieces of her past (a picture taken when he was a child), present (a painting) and future (a scull) are kept safe. The scull gives away her fragility and preoccupation with death, as well as the artist’s anxieties about losing her, however when seen as a whole, it has a truly heart warming effect.
On my way out, I saw a woman staring at me with a truly unnerving look. I gasped as I realised that it was actually a portrait, Still Waiting by Antonio Barahona. It was not the most realistic of the lot, but it had a truly unnerving quality in it, a captured humanity.
I passed from it smiling, and made my way out. I passed from revolving doors, catching briefly a glimpse of myself on the glass. And then the sun.

Love,

G

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Work, art, or work of art? Mueck at Hauser & Wirth

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I am standing in the middle of a room. On my left, a 2 meter (6 feet) chicken is hanging upside down; on my right, a tiny woman is hugging a bundle of sticks against her naked body. Two women sit in the corner, alternating their gaze from one piece to the other, as if they are following the ball in a game of ping pong.
I am a stone’s throw away from the mecca of London shopping, in one of the most successful Galleries in the world, looking at an exhibition that explores consumption, beauty, femininity and mortality; no, the irony is not lost on me. Add to that the scathing critique from Time Out, and the online debate about art vs craft that the exhibition generated, and the whole space fills up with expectations.

Of course, I would not expect anything less from Hauser & Wirth. Best known for representing over 40 artists and the estates of some powerhouses in the world of art, the H&W galleries are known for taking calculated risks. And I have to say that their latest exhibition with 4 pieces by Ron Mueck is one of them.

In 1997, Ron Mueck‘s Dead Dad caused ripples of shock into the art crowd during Charles Saatchi’s Sensations exhibitions. He presented a miniature version of his dead father’s cadaver, that was both haunting and beautiful at the same time, raising strong emotive reactions from the audiences that came close to it, and the critics that reviewed it. Since then, Mueck went on to exhibit his work in many cities and countries, skipping London every single time; until now.

So, for the first time in over a decade, Mueck’s hyperrealist creations are taking central spot in the capital, inside the Savile Row Gallery rooms.

The exhibition starts with Drift, a small scale sculpture of a modern day middle-aged man that is chilling on a floating mattress, swim suit, glasses and tan on. He is casually extending his arms to his sides, as if he is hoping to touch something, or someone. He is floating alone, and even though his state appears relaxed, he is oozing loneliness.

In the room next door, Still Life is suspended from the ceiling. A man-sized chicken, with bound feet and plucked feathers is hanging upside down. The detail is breathtaking, and even though I knew it was not real, I was reluctant to go really close to it, and surprised it did not smell of dead poultry.

Opposite to it I found my favourite piece of the exhibition. In Woman with Sticks, Mueck explores some of my favourite themes in art and literature: folklore, femininity, beauty, fairytales and gender. A middle-aged naked woman is wielding under the weight of an impossibly large bundle of sticks. The work touches on the expectations and near unrealistic tasks that come along the way for women in legends and real life. What is interesting though is that even though other artists that have explored the subject have often used the typical feminine archetype of the female heroine, Mueck deviates from the norm of beauty as power, and chooses to portray his subject with a realistic attitude. Tired, imperfect skin, overweight, and naked, the sticks digging into her naked flesh as she is trying to hold them together, the goal ending up hurting her. Doing, instead of thinking. It is impossible to look at the piece without feeling something for the woman, without stirring an emotion from within; pity, disgust, aversion, sympathy.

The final piece is Youth, a depiction of a young black boy lifting his blood-stained shirt to inspect a cut on his torso. The piece had been compared to Christian depictions of St Thomas inspecting the wounds of Christ to ensure he was indeed hurt. Mueck uses the same vehicle to portray the invincible self-view of youth, to demonstrate that death is a concept that evolves with age to include the person that is thinking of it. The boy looks puzzled, as if it is registering the wound, but is not registering it on his body. Is he mortal? Are we mortal?

However, Mueck’s work has sparked the classic art dilemma: is it art or is it craft? Is he an artist, or a puppeteer? is there anything artistic in the mixed media that he presents, or is it just the result of flawless technique.

Is it a piece of art, a piece of work, or a work of art?

Well, I am afraid that for me, there is, and shouldn’t be a clear-cut definition. By claiming that something is not art, one implies a knowledge of what is art, making the concept finite, with neat borders that can not be crossed. Painting by numbers and numbers of paint. Different pieces and different artists touch different emotions in different people. I have been in exhibitions where a person is exclaiming ‘how is this art?’ when her friend next to her was moved to tears.

So, in this case I will not make a decision if this is art or not; that is for you to decide. My personal view is that this is a show that if you have the chance to see, then see it. Pop inside, explore the rooms, and see how the work makes you feel. I found it powerful, and a bit sad; i found Woman with Sticks extremely interesting, and very touching; the exhibition had an underlining commentary, that even though it was obvious in its messages, it delivered them loud and clear. Is this art? Only time will tell.

Love,

G

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