There are moments so intimate, so fleeting, that they seem to vanish the instant we notice them. A bead of water lingering on the skin. A contemplative breath behind closed eyes. The serene aftermath of immersion. These are the moments Carole Feuerman does not let slip away. In her Shower Portraits, she does not just preserve these states, she elevates them, rendering them in exquisite, hyperreal detail on canvas.
Feuerman, a founding voice of the hyperrealist movement alongside Duane Hanson and John De Andrea, has long had an obsession for bathers. Not just swimmers, nor athletes in action, but women in quiet repose: wrapped in towels, hair tucked into retro swim caps, drops of water lovingly preserved on their cheeks. This motif, repeated across decades and reinterpreted in varying sizes, poses, and colorways, functions less as a narrative device and more as a meditative mantra.
Why bathers? Perhaps because water is a universal equalizer: cleansing, cooling, calming. It erases artifice. In Feuerman’s world, the bather becomes an emblem of purity and self-reflection, not unlike ancient Roman sculptures or Renaissance Madonnas. Yet her women are neither goddesses nor sirens. They are just human, vulnerable, almost alive. Their realism is so intense, so technically flawless, that one is tempted to check for a pulse.
Carole A. Feuerman, "Shower Portrait - Pink"
Feuerman’s Shower Portraits do not depict action, they depict aftermath: the moment when the water is still dripping, but the mind is already somewhere else. Each face, framed by a textured swim cap and punctuated by delicately rendered water droplets, conveys a kind of private interiority rarely found in figurative art. The level of precision is astonishing: from the moist glisten on the lips to the soft shadows on the clavicle, everything is alive, but in a state of suspension. The backgrounds are neutral, drawing all attention to the gaze, sometimes direct, sometimes closed. The effect is not photographic, it is contemplative, emotional, almost sacred.
Feuerman’s work draws natural comparisons to other masters of fixation. Like Andy Warhol repeating Marilyn, or Russell Young coating celebrity in diamond dust, she takes one motif and turns it into a universe. But while Warhol celebrated fame, and Young seduces us with its glittering aftermath, Feuerman offers a more introspective glamour. Her women are not famous, yet they are archetypes: of grace, resilience, and the courage to simply be.
But, in this obsessive focus on beauty, repetition, and stillness, Feuerman perhaps finds a more compelling counterpart in Alex Katz. While Katz’s paintings are famously flat and stylized, and Feuerman’s are obsessively detailed, both artists return again and again to a core set of subjects, most often women in repose. Both work in serial variations, experimenting with color, mood, and tone while maintaining the essential form. Katz paints Ada. Feuerman paints her bathers. The connection is less visual than philosophical. Katz distills. Feuerman illuminates. But each crafts a kind of American iconography: cool, composed, and emotionally controlled. Both offer an antidote to chaos: a visual space where stillness reigns.
And then there is the sensuality. Feuerman’s bathers, while not erotic, are undeniably intimate. Their closed eyes, wet skin, and close cropping make us feel as though we just walked into a private moment and been invited to stay. The mood is one of trust, of presence, and of beauty, not as decoration, but as a form of psychological refuge.
For collectors, those paintings offer more than aesthetic appeal, they offer visual meditation. They are love letters to pause, to introspection, and to the transformative power of water. They ask the viewer not to look more, but to look closer, to dwell, to absorb. And for those wise enough to bring one home, they offer something increasingly rare: not just a painting, but a moment: suspended, forever.
Sebastien Laboureau
10 June 2025
