Australian Ugly, by Ron Mueck.

Several months ago now, the Gallery of Modern Art (GoMA) in Brisbane was fortunate enough to be host to a display of Australian born, British-based sculptor Ron Mueck's astounding and hyper-realistic works.

Like manifestations of emotions or stories, Mueck creates figures that are so life-like in their appearance and their appeal to the audience that one can not truly consider them to be static objects. Rather, these fibre-glass and latex creations seem like actual people. The most appropriate way to describe them, I suppose, would be to say that they are like three-dimensional photographs, replicas of a moment suspended in static and time, tangible and viewable from an infinite number of angles. It seems to me that it would be incorrect to refer to Mueck's creations in terms of being object: rather, each "individual" was a subject in itself, a character, a he or a she of varying ages.

No figure was quite human sized: ranging from doubly- to ten-times as large as a typical person, to so small that they could be carried with ease; but still, all perfectly proportioned in relation to their great or more demure stature. Mueck's precision in anatomy was probably what struck me most, and not in that his "people" were perfect, but that they were wholly imperfect and flawed, and thus utterly human. The artist did not even stop at creating a plausible "shell"- layering various mediums achieved in giving the viewer the impression that there was actually blood and bone beneath the flesh. Aach hair was individually inserted into its "follicle", and may twist at an odd angle or grow in, irritatingly, under the skin. Pores were visible, cellulite apparent.

I was expecting every second that the figures would move: there was detectable tension within the muscles and apprehension in their eyes.
Even the scratches crisscrossing the skin of the small, weighty and Scandinavian looking woman who was struggling with an assortment of sticks. caused me to feel a twang of sympathy pain.

Beginning with the award-winning and poignant piece, "Dead Dad", one felt as if they were stepping into a morgue as opposed to an exhibition of art. Laying flat on his back, the miniature man (approximately the height of a grown man's knee-cap) appeared to have been washed and prepared for burial. Though the little man was clearly made to appear dead, what with the bloodless and post-rigor-mortis sheen of his skin, there was no gruesome indication of an accident; one cannot help trying to decipher the reason for his death, despite his being an art piece rather than a real person, and so surmised that his demise was by way of a heart attack or the like.

Indeed, upon further reading, it is revealed that Mueck lost his own father to a similar fate but was unable to attend the funeral: thus the degree of tenderness with which he was placed and displayed seems like a last dedication to his dad.

The juxtaposition of the first piece with the next was instantly apparent to everyone: an enormous newborn baby, umbilical cord still attached and with traces of membrane and blood on her otherwise perfect skin. To place death alongside life was extroadinarily poignant, and made clear Mueck's thematic progression and (paradoxically) the raw elegance of his work.

It was then that I noticed how many young children there were in attendance, all somewhat in awe of the figures before them. I overheard one toddler enquire if she, too, was that big when she was born. Though surely universal in its appeal (except for those who find giant people disconcerting or disturbing), I believe that Mueck's is most definately the kind of art that would be considered intriguing and should be showcased to "little people"- children.

Mueck puts a whole new meaning to "sculpture"- rather than making impressions of people, he actually creates them, in all their beauty, ugly and glory. I'm not entirely sure if I'll ever be able to admire my own plasticine playthings properly after this.