Ron Mueck delves into artist’s surreal world

A woman lays taut yet exhausted on the floor, her newborn baby huddled glistening on her stomach. They are exchanging glances that promise a lifetime together even before her swollen belly has deflated, even before its umbilical cord has been cut. They pay no mind to a prepubescent boy’s wide, frightened eyes that seem to be staring into the world of grown-ups even as he hovers above the scene of everything, crouching and yet still at least seven feet tall. In the corner, a gargantuan man, his folds of fleshiness enveloping him in a bodily security blanket, sits thinking, wondering. Not a few steps away, a naked man in a boat watches the horizon with an almost amusedly puzzled expression.

It all sounds like a surrealist’s dream. However, this is the scene of one of contemporary sculptor Ron Mueck’s galleries, and many of the pieces outlined in the book Ron Mueck by Susanna Greeves and Colin Wiggins.

Even before reading the content of the work, it is easy to become enraptured with the pictures of Mueck’s art and even easier to see why he has gained such prestige throughout the artistic community (even beyond the VCU crowd). There is a distinctly off-setting reality to his pieces, and the sculptures draw the audience into their world. There is a soft perfection to each detail of skin. It does not seem so much an artistic interpretation of blankets, boats, life and death but rather, they are there for the onlooker to want to touch and be a part of. While disturbing at points – such as in the case of the piece “Dead Dad” in which one sees the figure of a man, post-rigormortis, ashen upon the ground – there are also many that draw a mystical wonder, such as in the almost-comical “Angel,” which depicts an angel, complete with goose wings, sitting rather depressingly on a stool.

The book itself details many interesting facts and concepts behind Mueck’s art, and it reads as if we are being led along with the sculptor through not only his crafting but his thought process. The reader is given a detailed idea of each of the inspirations behind his pieces, and we are able to peer in at Mueck’s personal philosophies and religious muses, such as in the themes of life and mortality particularly pertinent in self-describing pieces like “Mother and Baby” and “Swaddled Baby.” The audience also learns of how there are certain parts of pieces that are very self-inspired of Mueck himself, such as in his pieces “Mask” and “Mask II,” sculptures of a face, one looming before onlookers with an almost paternal menace and the other the same but sleeping in a serene deflation.

As a look at both the man and the art – and the fine line between the two – this book is highly recommended.

For artists (or art students), the collection is an interesting read as the authors expound upon the many hardships Mueck undertook with his breathtaking life-casts. His use of fiberglass, silicone and acrylic was an odd and at times hazardous combination, and his need to make the details of each body in skin, body and hair flawless was fraught with issue and hardship. Pictures of each step in his process for several pieces gives readers a distinct idea of all the work it took to make each part of the sculptures.

As a look at both the man and the art – and the fine line between the two – this book is highly recommended. Rest assured that something will catch your eye.