Gil Bruvel explores the Interconnectedness of Everything with his Wooden Sculptures
Sculptor Gil Bruvel’s work seems to be both modern and craft movement inspired at the same time. They are made of hundreds of parts; intricate, yet, when viewed form a distance, are smooth and cohesive. We’ve asked the artist to delve into his process and themes and a bit of his background as an artist.
Hi-Fructose: Your sculptures evoke pixelations, yet have a tactile, natural feel with the use of materials like wood…
Gil Bruvel: I’ve always been drawn to wood for many of the same reasons you mention. Beyond its tactile quality and organic warmth, wood carries the element of growth and time within itself. The rings, the grain, and the branching structures all tell a story—one that connects to both the microscopic and the vast, cosmic scale.
The detail and variations of each piece seem infinite, yet they combine together as a whole. It brings to mind the galaxy, space, the smallness and overwhelming infiniteness of things…
Exactly. The concept of infinity, whether in the microscopic or the macroscopic—is something that deeply inspires my work. Wood itself holds a direct correlation between these two scales. When we look at it with the naked eye, we see its growth rings, marking time in a way that feels tangible. These patterns remind us of the passage of time and, in a way, mirror the structure of the cosmos—branching patterns of trees echoing the vast filaments of galaxies.
At the same time, when I cut a plank of wood into sticks of varying dimensions and assemble them into a face, the visible rings create quarter, half, or full circular patterns. When stacked together, these organic patterns form an abstract, almost randomized texture. For me, this represents how we perceive time—it isn’t fixed but shifts depending on our state of mind. The way the pieces come together speaks to the interconnectedness of all things, from the smallest cellular structures to the immense and unknowable universe.
I notice that there are some areas where a piece is “missing”; smooth surfaces are broken up by their absence, creating tiny shadows. I think that your work wouldn’t have the same impact without these deviations… The seeming “imperfections” make the sculpture appear more real to me…
I see these “imperfections” as a profound metaphor for our own humanity. They aren’t flaws, but deliberate choices that speak to the transient and unpredictable nature of life. When a piece is missing or a smooth surface is interrupted by a tiny shadow, it mirrors the gaps and breaks we all experience—those moments of vulnerability and change that ultimately shape us.
In my work, these deviations create a dialogue between what is complete and what remains open, inviting us to acknowledge that perfection isn’t the true essence of our existence. Rather, it’s in the irregularities and the unexpected absences where real beauty is found. They remind us that our lives are a blend of light and shadow, certainty and ambiguity, and that each “imperfect” moment contributes to our ongoing narrative.
The meditative faces, with their intentional disruptions, are like anchors to the present moment. They ground us in a flow of life that values authenticity over idealization. By embracing the inherent imperfections, I hope to encourage a mindset where we see every experience, even those marked by absence or deviation as essential, offering us endless possibilities to grow, transform, and manifest a more positive, genuine approach to living.
These missing elements, the deliberate absences in my sculptures, embody the essence of impermanence. They echo the natural world, where nothing stays static—wood ages, elements wear away, and every moment transitions into the next. By intentionally creating gaps, I’m inviting the viewer to consider that what’s missing is as significant as what’s present.
In our lives, too, we often focus on the tangible, yet it’s the transient, ephemeral moments—the things that slip away—that define our experiences. These voids remind us that impermanence is not a flaw but a beautiful, integral part of existence. They encourage us to appreciate the present and to find beauty in the ongoing process of change, rather than in a static state of perfection.
The way the pieces come together speaks to the interconnectedness of all things, from the smallest cellular structures to the immense and unknowable universe.
Do you ever get “lost” or overwhelmed in the work?
Sometimes yes, it is related to the previous question. When it happens it’s really about the presence of mind to be able to stop or take a break or if “in the Zone” to turn it around by just going with the flow and getting into the “explorer mode” to see what happens when lost. About being overwhelmed with the work, after more than four decades of practice, I’ve learned that the ebb and flow of what we call “inspiration” isn’t necessarily about those rare, elevated moments of clarity. Instead, it’s about showing up, engaging with the work, and trusting the process. Chuck Close’s quote captures this perfectly: “The advice I like to give young artists, or really anybody who’ll listen to me, is not to wait around for inspiration. Inspiration is for amateurs; the rest of us just show up and get to work.” This mindset has been foundational for my dedication and perseverance.
Close’s words highlight the importance of discipline and consistency. Professional artists achieve success by committing themselves to their craft, not by waiting for fleeting moments of inspiration to strike. In my own work, whether I’m painting or sculpting with materials like oil paint, acrylics, mixed media, paper, clay, wood, bronze, stainless steel, or resins, it’s the experimentation and interaction with these materials that often lead to new ideas. Sometimes, nonlinear thinking and unexpected results from the materials themselves become the spark for fresh concepts.
The large busts are reminiscent of Buddhist temples and Hindu sculptures, it must be their all -knowing expressions; heavy lidded and content…
That’s true. One of the key experiences in my early years as an artist was discovering meditation, specifically Vipassana practice. That naturally led me to a deep interest in Buddhism, its culture, literature, architecture, and the stories surrounding it.
That influence, though, didn’t surface in my work in any direct way for a long time. It was more of an internal foundation, shaping how I approached creativity and perception. But with the Mask Series and Pixelated Forms, these meditative faces started emerging, almost subconsciously.
It wasn’t until I visited Cambodia last year, Angkor Wat and the surrounding temple complexes that I fully realized how much those early fascinations had been quietly shaping my artistic language. Seeing those ancient sculptures, with their serene expressions and a presence that feels both timeless and deeply human, made me recognize that, in a way, my work had been channeling those influences all along.
Can you tell us more about The Well project and how you collaborated with World Vision?
“The Well” was a deeply meaningful project for me, as it symbolized the life-giving essence of water and the generosity of those working to provide it to communities in need. The sculpture was created as the Water Warrior Award, presented by World Vision to honor donors who have made significant contributions to their clean water initiatives.
This project came about after I was selected as the winner of an international competition in 2015 to design the Water Warrior Award. World Vision sought an artwork that would embody their mission and serve as a tribute to those making a tangible impact in the world. I was honored to have my design chosen and to collaborate with such an impactful organization.
I named the sculpture “The Well” because that is how World Vision provides fresh water to communities around the world—by digging wells. These wells become a source of life, creating a lasting impact on entire villages. I wanted the sculpture to reflect that same sense of renewal and sustainability, symbolizing the continuous flow of generosity and the vital role water plays in sustaining life.
The sculpture itself represents the movement and vitality of water, reflecting the idea of continuous giving and replenishment. The flowing form conveys both the physical necessity of water and the ripple effect of generosity. Working with World Vision was an inspiring process, as they provided insight into the global water crisis and the powerful role donors play in addressing it.
It was a privilege to contribute to this project, knowing that “The Well” would serve as a lasting symbol of appreciation for those dedicated to bringing clean water to those in need.
Sometimes, nonlinear thinking and unexpected results from the materials themselves become the spark for fresh concepts.
For me, being an artist has always been about exploration…
You began your career as an accomplished surrealist painter but switched to sculpture. Your father was a cabinet maker. Did growing up with an artisan in the family influence where you ended up, career and medium-wise?
I started my career as a painter, but my first real introduction to sculpture came through my father’s cabinet workshop. When I was about six, he showed me how to draw animals on blocks of wood, then cut the profiles with a band saw and shape them with chisels and sculpting tools. That hands-on learning sparked a passion for both drawing and sculpting early on.
At school, I was lucky to have an art teacher, Mr. Sabatier, who really encouraged me to push further. He saw potential in my work and suggested I take up painting more seriously. Then, when I was 14, I had the opportunity to train in restoring old master paintings—from the 12th to the 20th century. That experience was incredible because it didn’t just teach me technical skills; it gave me an understanding of art history, the different styles and techniques across periods, and the social context in which these works were created.
Growing up in an artisan family had a huge influence on me. It gave me a deep appreciation for craftsmanship, how to construct something, how to use tools properly, and how different techniques come together. Later, spending over three years in a restoration workshop gave me the foundation to develop my own artistic language. So in a way, returning to sculpture feels like coming full circle, back to those early experiences in my father’s workshop, but now with a broader perspective and my own artistic vision.
Was there a feeling of continuing the “family business”; perhaps not in focus but with similar materials and tools?
Working with wood definitely brings back a familiar feeling from childhood, the smell of it, the sounds of the machines, and the way the tools feel in my hands. It’s something that’s been ingrained in me since I was young. But I never felt like I was continuing the family business in the traditional sense.
For me, being an artist has always been about exploration, experimenting, discovering new ways to create, and pushing beyond what’s already been done. In that way, my path has always felt distinct from craftsmanship as a trade. That said, I’m incredibly grateful that I grew up in a family that never tried to steer me away from my passion for making art. Instead, they gave me the foundation, both in skills and in mindset that allowed me to take my own direction.
See even more work from the artist here.
