Plasticine Realism: The Art of Timur Fork
From Moscow to Osaka, Timur Fork’s “plasticine realism” has been turning heads. In recent years, the Russian painter, who got his start in the street art world, has developed a unique specialty in works that capture the textures and colors indicative of the kid-friendly modeling clay known as plasticine. His scenes blur the lines of hyperrealism and surrealism while maintaining a joyful, childlike quality and have turned up on both building sides and canvases. A recent appearance in a group show at Bangkok’s Agni Gallery led to an invitation to produce his first international solo exhibition, which will take place in the fall of 2025.
The recognition has been a long time coming for Fork. At around the turn of the twenty-first century, the artist was deeply inspired by the graffiti that was beginning to pop up on Russian streets. “All I did was dream about inscriptions and characters on the walls of the streets,” he says. “I wanted the whole area to be covered with my tags and drawings.”
While Fork did learn to write graffiti, he also saw the limitations of painting covertly on the streets. “There were certain frameworks of the subculture, which, on the one hand, formed my style, but at the same time, did not allow me to deviate from the given rules,” he explains. “For example, that you must use only aerosol. For a very long time, I painted only with aerosol, did not use brushes, since there is simply no time for this when you paint illegal graffiti.”
Fork left his mark in Moscow, where he is based, as well as other cities, but in 2017, his life and his art changed course unexpectedly. When the artist fell while painting, he suffered a head injury that left him deaf in one ear. His convalescence was long—he spent about six months recovering in a hospital and at home—and prompted him to reevaluate his art. “I realized the value of family at that time, since my family supported me very much,” he says. “I realized that this whole ‘game’ is temporary, that there is very little meaning in my works, but a lot of aggression, that you need to strive for the internal content of the works.”
When Fork was able to paint again, he turned to canvas and describes these earlier works as quite minimalistic. “I painted them for myself to somehow express my emotions,” he says. “And I was surprised when my works started to be acquired. I was very surprised that the inner content could really touch someone.”
This was a revelatory moment for Fork. “I had never tried to make money with my art before. Street art was an outlet for me from the beginning,” he says. “I liked this party and being part of the game, that during the day I was in one role, and in the evening I was like a superhero, and that I had an alter ego with my name, which was everywhere. When you are young, having an alter ego is cool, but when you grow up, you don’t really advertise it.”
AND I WAS SURPRISED WHEN MY WORKS STARTED TO BE ACQUIRED. I WAS VERY SURPRISED THAT THE INNER CONTENT COULD REALLY TOUCH SOMEONE.”
SOMETIMES A CRUMPLED CHARACTER IS TRANSFERRED TO THE CANVAS IN THE FORM OF A LUMP—AND NO ONE WILL KNOW WHAT WAS INSIDE.”
All of this leads to Fork’s “plasticine realism,” where the material that the artist had long used to sketch out ideas became as much a focus of his paintings as the characters and shapes he depicts.
“When I was drawing on the street, it was customary to draw my name, my nickname, but fonts did not particularly attract me, I liked to draw characters. And often, in order to see the volume, reflex and how the shadow would fall, I initially sculpted a sketch of the character from plasticine,” Fork explains. “But on the street there was not much time to draw the volume and especially the texture. That is, I always sculpted sketches from plasticine, but did not attach much importance to this.”
When Fork turned to canvases post-injury, he continued his sculpted sketches and noticed how much he liked the fingerprints left on plasticine. Yet, in all his years of painting, Fork had never tried to draw the texture of the material in his work. “I realized that the prints are like my signature, the clay itself, its texture—it’s all mine, I’ve always done it, it just never occurred to me to draw it as is. Because I didn’t like realism, it seemed boring to me,” he says. “But now it doesn’t matter to me, because in addition to the effect itself, I like the meaning that I can convey through the works.”
The meaning is manifold, as Fork explains. “As a child, everyone sculpted from clay—that’s why these works touch many viewers. And also, sculpting from clay is a whole story with mixing colors, finding a form,” he says. “Sometimes everything rolls up and flows into a new work. Sometimes a crumpled character is transferred to the canvas in the form of a lump—and no one will know what was inside. Sometimes entire landscapes roll up and flow into lines. And I like this unique combination of colors and shapes.”
I AM IN DIALOGUE WITH THE CITY, AND THERE I AM IN DIALOGUE WITH MYSELF. THESE TWO SPHERES FORM ME AS AN ARTIST INTO A SINGLE WHOLE.”
For the Biennale of Street Art in Moscow, Fork painted on the one hundred-sixty-year-old historical Syromyatnichesky Tunnel, a challenge considering its brick facade. “I decided that here it is necessary to do the work in the largest possible spots, so that there are no small details,” he says. So Fork painted the structure, which also functions as a bridge, to look as if it were made of plasticine, with a rainbow array of rippled and dimpled slabs of color pressed up against each other. “I like how the work fits into the urban environment, although it was not easy, since the façade is old and has an uneven surface,” he says.
His works on canvas are equally impressive. In “A Flower in a Vase,” with its out of focus background, viewers might wonder if they’re looking at a painting or a photograph. “‘Flower in a Vase’ is a work that I depicted,
seeing a common lump of abstract mass that began to take the form of a flower in a vase. I wanted to show that this form is drawn when you focus your gaze,” he explains. “That is, what you focus your gaze on is what appears, begins to organize itself in the whole general chaotic mass. Therefore, I wanted to create such a photo effect—the presence of the clearest form on a blurred background.”
Generally, Fork begins his process with “dreaming and the flight of fantasy.” He’ll sketch on paper, then on a tablet before sculpting. As he sculpts, he’ll “look at how it looks in the depths, where the shadows and reflexes will fall.” Painting comes after Fork has worked out all these details.
In bringing his distinctive style to both walls and canvases, Fork is creating art that is truly representative of himself. “Both have their pros and cons,” he says of painting on walls versus in the studio. “But for me, these two aspects are important for self-realization, since here I am in dialogue with the city, and there I am in dialogue with myself. These two spheres form me as an artist into a single whole.”*
This article appears in Hi-Fructose issue 75. Support what we do and get the full issue in print here.
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