"Mask II". Photo from GoMA.

If you've spent any time near South Bank lately, you're probably already familiar with the advertising campaign for Ron Mueck's sculpture exhibition. That disembodied head; those two glaring elderly ladies; the chubby naked woman carrying sticks. By now, these are familiar images to many. Unfortunately, the advertisements make a key oversight (and a surprisingly common one when it comes to promotion of Mueck's work) by omitting the biggest selling point of the sculptures: their scale.

Consider the above work, Mask II. It's a stunningly lifelike casting that shuns no detail. Every tiny wrinkle is accounted for. Every pore, every whisker, every unwanted grey hair, every subtle sign of age we choose not to see in the mirror. From the sagging effect of gravity to the individually-applied whiskers, a phenomenal amount of time, thought and effort must have gone towards tricking the mind into accepting this very human face (the artist's own, in fact) as the real thing.

Imagine the brain's reaction to seeing that face - which it instinctively identifies as real - when it's the size of a freaking Easter Island statue.

Photo by Alastair Craig

It's a powerful technique that really has to be seen to be appreciated. Absolutely nothing is to scale. The first piece, Dead Dad, shows a heartbreakingly tiny and lifeless body. Turn the corner, and you will suddenly find a room-sized newborn baby, still shining from amniotic fluid, staring back at you. "Surreal" doesn't do it justice.

This is what separates Monsieur Meuck's work from Madame Tussaud's, and why he's celebrated as a "hyperrealist" sculptor rather than a merely very accurate one. He ingeniously plays with scale to amplify what we would normally overlook, or diminish what would otherwise overpower. Those two elderly ladies? Barely a foot tall. The chubby naked woman carrying sticks? They really are just sticks.

"Two Women" and "Woman with Sticks". Photos from Art Blart

Tiny people are exposed and vulnerable. Huge figures are awkward and burdened by responsibility. The unnatural sizes here are all carefully chosen to emphasise each character's humanity. No sculpture is too big or small to discourage viewer empathy - these tricks only enhance it.

The other compelling side to Mueck's sculptures is that he is clearly such a perfectionist in presenting the imperfect. His subjects are not classically beautiful people. Their naked skin shows folds and stretch marks. Their expressions are rarely of happiness, but of world-weariness, tiredness and illness. They're candid snapshots of fictional lives, and it's hard not to wonder about each character's story.

Photo from The Washington Post

The comprehensive making-of videos at the end of the exhibition reveal - to little surprise - just how huge an undertaking each work can be. And perhaps for this reason, it's a relatively short exhibit. This is not something to be rushed. Savour every vivid imperfection.

Frequently unsettling, sometimes confusing, occasionally grotesque and absolutely wonderful, it's a unique experience that's really worth your time. I can't recommend it strongly enough.

The Ron Mueck exhibition will continue at the Gallery of Modern Art until 1 August, 2010.



Special guest writeup by Alastair Craig!