MOSEYING down Ledra Street in Nicosia towards the most recent check point, the last thing you’d think of running into would be…? Try Jack Sparrow and Albert Einstein. They stand outside the Tourist Information Bureau belonging to the Municipality of Nicosia. A sign reads, “Alex Show, Art Wax Exhibition, Greek Mythology and Modern Realities”.
Albert is astonishingly convincing and completely huggable. Ol’ Jack is close enough. Looking into his piercingly recognisable gaze is definitely more than a little creepy. The detail is mesmerising. I can’t resist a peek beyond the huge municipality doors. There’s Shreck! And Donkey! Not quite what you’d expect in wax. (On closer inspection, they’re actually made of fibre-glass). I look back at Eistein and pinch his nose. Hmmm. Rubbery.
“Please don’t touch!” Relax. The man behind the desk, flanked by a bored-looking Russian-uniformed (wax) police officer, is the only thing that moves.
I fork out my Euro5 in change, pull the curtain aside and step into Alex Chushov’s waxwork wonderland. I almost trip over a shopping cart containing two heads, (one looks suspiciously like Divine), cushioned by lots of hands severed at the wrist. A little sign in Russian English permits a feel of whatever is in the cart. These are harder and drier than you’d expect wax to be; definitely not rubbery. The eyes are soft and jellyish.
Looking around the warehouse clutter of characters, I instantly recognise Salvador Dali, a paintbrush delicately pinched between two fingers, and Danny DeVito holding a teddy bear. He’s even shorter than I thought. William Shakespeare, limp wristed and pensive, and a rather tanned Agatha Christie, bic pen in hand, sit side by side. There’s a huge head on the table in front of them, with another head popping out of its mouth, and then another like babooshka dolls gone wack. There’s Cleopatra, (not Liz Tailor), Nefertiti, Horus, Annubis, god of the dead, and a mummy with its shriveled head exposed.
Further on is a cast of freaky characters from the Guinness Book of World Records, (including Buster Simkus, the heaviest man alive), and a pair of Siamese twins amongst other little monsters I eventually realise must be the product of Alex’s rampant imagination, disorienting any semblance of reality I might have had.
The little feast of horrors continues with Snow White and her dwarfs, Harry Potter et al, Yoda from Star Wars, Big and Little Green Men and other fanged creatures, (humanoid, animaloid and ambivaloid), before moving on to the pantheon of Greek gods. A huge Zeus with the world in the palm of his hand majestically sits next to his tiny (in comparison) wife Hera, and a blue-eyed Aphrodite with golden locks stands on her sea shell, after Botticelli. There’s Pan piping his flute, Pygmalion with Galateia and an awesome centaur, (along with Einstein my personal favourites), Icarus and Daedalus, as well as Sophocles, Hippocrates and Socrates. There are over 50 different figures amongst shelves of busts and other wacky objects.
I am impressed. Everybody knows about Madame Tussaud’s, and even those that haven’t visited have a general idea of what it’s about. Alex’s figures are not merely likenesses of actual personalities, characters that you can put a definite face to, dead or alive. I hardly think there’s a photograph of Zeus lying about for reference. So what we have here is a representation derived from fantasy.
Another difference is evident in the representation of Snow White, loosely based on the Walt Disney character we know, and even there it is from her clothes rather than her face that we recognise her. Although I do remember Sleeping Beauty at Madame Tussaud’s, she is the exception. Alex’s show, although providing a satisfying dose of recognisable personalities, is largely based on fantasy; myth or cartoon in all its dreamy or nightmarish outlandishness re-interpreted in 3D.
What I enjoy most about the show is the extra stretch of the imagination, the subtle blurring between ‘real’ and surreal, a disorienting shift in one’s visual perception. I contact Alex and he invites me to accompany him to Omodhos. He is negotiating a venue there. The current exhibition in Nicosia, which is on until the end of September, was first in Paphos. He also has a permanent collection at Lefkara.
Alex, from St Petersberg, has a gentle voice despite his size. His eyes are dark and intelligent, not unfriendly, with an occasional humorous glint. The aircon in his sleek black jag reduces my eyes to slits. It blasts all the way to Omodhos.
“So you design all these figures?” I ask glancing sideways.
“No,” he answers. “We are group of artists. Maybe 10, fifteen. Maybe more. It depends. In Russia artists are trained in classical tradition, painters and sculptors.”
He explains how different Russian artists collaborate on projects. Historians, sculptors, painters and designers work on the different elements that make up a completed figure. Some projects are groups of figures, like The Last Supper or the Descent from the Cross, after Rubens.
“We all come together and discuss how the finished product will look like.” Serious research is imperative for accuracy, photographs and death masks being the primary sources of reference.
Sculptors first mould in clay. A plaster cast is then made from the completed clay sculpture, from which a first wax draft is crafted. Wrinkles, creases and texture are then painstakingly etched into the wax. A second silicone mould is done and the final wax figure is extracted. More etching results in the finest detail.
“The wax is actually a mixture of silicone and various chemicals,” he adds. Not all figures are made of the same concentration of ingredients. Some have a higher concentration of silicone, resulting in the rubbery quality. Emphasis is placed on durability, as figures might be exhibited out-doors, in temperatures ranging from -40 to +40°C.
Each strand of hair is individually implanted. Colour is then painted onto the faces, clothes are designed and the figures are dressed. The eyes, the most convincing element of these figures are hand painted, and they can be made of either glass or silicone.
I mention logging onto his website, and seeing amongst other things, diseased or dismembered body parts, some dissected revealing the tissue and organs inside, including a group of masked surgeons in the process of operating.
“Our target is for children,” he explains. “Edutainment.”
I think maybe it’s his Russian English again. “Not only entertainment,” he continues. “Not only education. Edutainment! In this way we make it more interesting. Children come with their schools. Sometimes we organise special exhibitions which are specifically for education purposes.”
Alex is however no longer part of the creative team. Instead he spends his time flying between St Petersberg and Cyprus, and other cities on the continent in between, organising exhibitions and co-ordinating the movement of the figures between venues. There are over three thousand figures to keep track of.
“Are they considered art in Russia?” Stupid question, I think, considering the current direction of contemporary art. He shakes his head. A work of art, according to the Russians, is the personal vision of an artist working alone. Being a collaborative effort, these works fall a little short. Fair enough.
“Artistically crafted,” I volunteer. His eyes twinkle and he shrugs. “Yes…”
Opening hours, etc.
