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One can easily misunderstand your work because your technical process unites two approaches which could appear contradictory; that of a photographic and super realist treatment of the subject and that of a masterful sculptural technique which, whilst astounding, might be misconstrued as ‘crafty’. Does the virtuosity of your work not create a barrier to its understanding?

(Guy Reid) We would never ask this question of a great dancer, musician or actor because to do so would be to misunderstand the very reason why artists struggle heart and soul to master their art. That which you call virtuosity is not a barrier but in fact the opposite, a indispensible liberty which allows the artist to access the full scope of his or her talents and to reveal that which lies beyond their talent, the unconscious.

It is true however, that a certain type of critic can find the skill of my work a barrier, amongst whom are those with rather obtuse and old fashioned ideas about what art ‘is’ in the 21st century. Their ideas go generally unquestioned and are considered intellectually correct but it is they that hide behind a barrier of virtuosity and not me.

Finally, I would argue that one of the dominant ideas about art in the last century was the rejection of complexity; ‘less is more’. But it is all together possible that the transcendent can coexist within the complexity of reality. We see this ever day in every individual, each of whom is him or herself a work of virtuosity. It is this paradox which I try to reflect in my work.

When I was first confronted with your work what struck me, apart from its obvious affiliation with super realism, was its direct relation to the rites of ancient Egypt and most notably funereal portraiture, these ‘doubles for the afterlife’ which were placed at the entrance to tombs, portraits painted in water based colours, reduced in scale, infinitely subtle, tender and refined which evoked and identified the sarcophagus. Why portraits? Why are they painted and to which tradition do you feel closest? Finally, is death at the heart of you work?

(Guy Reid) Why portraiture? It is human beings in all their particularity, physical, moral and spiritual which fascinate me. Beings who are both alike and yet unique, together in this world and yet alone, sharing the same fundamental experiences but nevertheless those that are particular to themselves. Everything is in there. It is an inexhaustible subject.

My painted portraits are more rooted in time than those that are left in the natural wood and which I feel have a more metaphysical dimension. That is why I never paint a religious sculpture. Natural wood, especially lime wood because of its clarity, has a purity that can almost be described as transcendent and eternal. It is for this reason too that I never paint my portraits of Andrew asleep. Sleep for me is like entering into a metaphysical realm. When I paint my sculptures I always us water based powder paints. These paints have a very particular quality of simplicity, flatness and absence of pretention. But above all they have a silent quality that allows them to approach the transcendence evoked above.

One could also see in my use of paint a challenge to preconceived ideas about sculpture; that it is form and material that must dominate over added colour. This goes against the broad history of sculpture which, just until the 17th century, saw most sculpture being painted. We know that the marbles of Greece were painted as were the sculptures of our churches. Perhaps behind this taboo lies the disturbing power of colour. What it reveals is a contemporary rejection of what it is to be truly human, transitory and ephemeral. The subject of painted sculpture is an enormous one that cannot be justly treated in this interview, but by way of a thought; imagine if it was decided that all painting was done in black and white in order that it should be considered more pure!

As to my influences, my immediate response would be the German masters of the late gothic era such as Tilman Riemenschneider and Gregor Erhart. The links are evident in the use of lime wood and in the use of their models; largely local people living close to their workshops and who, on being sculptured for the church were elevated to the ranks of saints. But beyond this, particularly in the simple, forward and direct poses taken by my subjects, lies Egyptian sculpture which has always fascinated me and which I go to see each time I am in London or Paris. The influence is evident. There is a lack of sentimentality in these works that I admire, a sentimentality that I find too dominant in Christian sculpture.

This brings us naturally to the question of death. Death is present in all my work, or rather a doubt about eternal life, the fear of non existence, the fear of dying unknown. This is as much a fear of my own as it is a fear for those I love. When I do a portrait there is always a desire to give my subjects the possibility of a life beyond death, to mark their time on earth, even if I know that in all probability my efforts will be in vain. When I think of the Emperor Hadrian who hoped that in making thousands of effigies of his lover Antinous and deifying him after his death, he might give to his beloved eternal life, I recognize something of the same will in my own work, especially in my portraits of Andrew. But unlike Warhol who was in some ways reflecting this desire in his portraits of celebrities, it is in general ordinary people that interest me. I believe that behind our contemporary obsession to become famous lies this search for eternal life, which is perhaps linked not solely to a fear of our own death but to that of the death of God.

(Claude Légé) There is a touch of humour in your effigies. Your subjects often carry discrete symbols which identify them a bit like the saints in time, elevating the common man, the ordinary person to another height.

(Guy Reid) Yes this is true, but it is not just the symbols which make these people so particular and even funny, it is also the clothes they wear, their shoes, their worn out trousers or their ever so English suit. These added anecdotes provide a sort of a narrative reference.

These portraits carved from thin panels of wood and often of a man asleep are enigmatic and illusory. On first seeing them you would think that they were carved in the round, but they are flat, the way we perceive them changes endlessly with the displacement of the viewer. Here, your photographic approach and all that it implies for the treatment of the subject, seems implacable. And yet from these reliefs which are rarely painted, comes a wonderful sensuality which seems totally absent or at least repressed in your painted works. This warmth which the natural wood gives is magnified by a sort of virtuosity of drawing which seems to be less subject to process. What role does drawing play in your work?

(Guy Reid) Except for an initial drawing which I use rather like a pattern, I do not draw. The photographs which I take function purely as a basis for the work like the many preparatory drawings that sculptors made in the past. They are for me just a means to an end. Despite this, it is evident that the art of drawing is present in my reliefs, particularly in the use of light and shade and in the play with perspective. But photography rests fundamental.

I have often been accused of manipulating the perspective of my reliefs in order to distort them, but in fact it is not me who has distorted the work but the camera. It is this union of photography and the traditional technique of wood carving which perhaps gives to my work its originality, or at least I hope.

I would like to talk about the (your) crucifixion. The image of Christ is one of the great themes or western art. It is at the heart of the problem of representation. The problem or rather the subject seems exhausted. Like the great artists before you, you affront this sacred image both as iconographer and iconoclast. Your Christ or crucifixion carries the scars of his suffering, he looks fixedly before him, he is naked and his head shaved; he could resemble almost any young man today, and yet it appears also to be a self portrait. There is however no cross, no support, he floats out of time and space which gives him an enigmatic presence.

(Guy Reid) It is first and foremost an attempt at a renewal. As I have already said, I do not like in general the sentimentality and clichéd nature of much Christian sculpture. My Christ is first and foremost a Christ resurrected who shows his wounds and defies death. It is true that he might be anyone, you or I. What he looked like physically does not interest me, only that he is represented here as a human being in his totality, naked.

The crucifixion is a metaphor for all humanity as much as that of the artist. Without the desire to give yourself to a lover, to a child, to nature, to a job, to your life as an artist, I believe that human beings fall into a sense of nothingness. The meaning of life lies in giving yourself, even if in doing so we are going to suffer and fail. To give yourself to something is to raise yourself. The cross is for me the symbol of this giving but also of hope. But hope is always accompanied by doubt. It is interesting to note the last words of Christ on the cross; ‘My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’ No person can throw themselves into a creative life without first accepting that they will in all likely hood fail.

(Guy Reid) For me the problem of the plinth is this. How do we represent a being that is free and living in an object static like a sculpture? I feel I have resolved this problem in part by rendering invisible the fixing methods and supports of my sculptures and reliefs. This gives them the impression of floating in space. But in the end it is a difficult problem which I believe can only be partially resolved.

(Guy Reid has since added) On reflection I am not sure how much of a ‘problem’ the plinth really is. Perhaps the true problem lies in the quality of a work. Surely a good object should be able to stand on a plinth without being compromised? Does it really need the ‘theater’ of a space or a thematic context?

(Guy Reid) Obviously one can be liberated from the camera but for the moment I don’t feel any need to do so. Each form of art has its own limits and its own pitfalls. What is important for me is that in mastering a technique, the artist allows himself or herself to express something which lies deeper and transcends initial appearances.

(Claude Légé) What lies at the heart of the problem of the impossibility of likeness and the difficulty we find in accepting the image of our own death? Is it not these two issues that are at the origin of the unease which your sculptures provoke?

(Guy Reid) The impossibility of a likeness is evident. I accept it and it does not really interest me. For example I never use measuring calipers in my work. The search for perfection is a tyranny. This is true for artists as it is for those who engage with art.

Finally it is not only the problem of accepting the image of our own death which is at the base of the unease people feel about my work, but rather the difficulty of accepting our own life and our image of ourselves.