This world is one of holding one’s stomach, with the jarring daily bread that is fed to us from the vectors of the media, causing gastro gut-wrenching panics that suffocate our true inner emotions. Intuition has been skinned from our organs in favour of echo chambers, identity politics, and mediated coverage. The lost sentiment of trusting oneself can be identified in the sculptures of Claude Eigan in likening them to the ancient image of Narcissus; the sculptural forms of Inner Saboteur bend down looking into an imaginary pool, only they are headless. They can never recognise themselves with no eyes or mind in which to form their own portraits. They only gape from their guttural perspective – in a state of futility, not too dissimilar to the self-images we are surrounded by in our own media pools. We see more and more of our own image today but in turn, we seem to have less and less connection with it. Locked in an endless reflective pool just as Narcissus was. We pine away our lives silently, watching as our gut eats itself – sated on its own breath.

As the French philosopher, mystic, and political activist Simone Weil once said: “Attachment is the great fabricator of illusions; reality can be attained only by someone who is detached.” Eigan’s sculptural beings give us that opportunity of detachment as we stand looking down at our own subconscious shadows, watching them nauseate in our own lives.

Inner Saboteur I, 2019
Sculpture
Wood, tyrofoam, resin, plaster, spray paint, varnish, 167 x 45 x 80 cm
Courtesy of the artist

Inner Saboteur II, 2019
Sculpture
Wood, tyrofoam, resin, plaster, spray paint, varnish, 140 x 50 x 100 cm
Courtesy of the artist

Inner Saboteur III, 2020
Sculpture
Wood, tyrofoam, resin, plaster, spray paint, varnish, 133 x 42 x 83 cm
Courtesy of the artist