Listen to me carefully, you bunch of snobs. There are artists who simply replicate nature, and then there is Dylan Lewis, born in 1964 in South Africa, who makes it roar in bronze. In his sculpture garden in Stellenbosch, where wild leopards still prowl the mountain slopes, this heir to a lineage of artists forges a unique vision of our primitive relationship with nature.
A taxidermist turned sculptor, Lewis began by methodically dissecting big cats to understand their anatomy, much like George Stubbs did with horses in the 18th century. But while Stubbs sought anatomical perfection, Lewis chases something deeper: the very essence of wildness. His bronze big cats are not mere zoological representations; they embody Africa’s elemental power. In every taut muscle, in every sharp claw, one reads the primordial violence of nature, the same violence Friedrich Nietzsche celebrated in “The Birth of Tragedy” as an expression of the Dionysian force—irrational and chaotic.
The German philosopher contrasted this Dionysian force with Apollonian order, and it is precisely this tension that Lewis explores in his work. His feline sculptures, massive yet graceful, are both an expression of natural brutality and a testament to perfect technical mastery. When observing his three-meter-long bronze leopard, one is left wondering whether to admire the raw power of the animal or the elegance of its composition. It is in this ambiguity that the strength of his art lies.
But Lewis doesn’t stop there. Over the years, his work has evolved into a more complex exploration of our relationship with the wild. His masked human figures, part man, part beast, evoke ancestral shamanic rituals. These monumental sculptures take us back to what Carl Gustav Jung called the collective unconscious—a reservoir of archaic images we all share. The animal masks worn by his human figures are not mere theatrical props; they represent the animalistic side our civilization desperately tries to repress.
The “Chthonios” series, created after an intense period of introspection, perfectly illustrates this exploration of our deeper nature. The Greek term “chthonios”, referring to subterranean and primordial forces, takes on full meaning here. In these works, human bodies intertwine in a frenzied dance reminiscent of Rodin’s “The Gates of Hell”. But while Rodin drew from Dante’s “Divine Comedy” to explore the human condition, Lewis delves into our conflicted relationship with our own animality.
The sculpture gardens he created in Stellenbosch are more than just an exhibition space. Over seven years, Lewis sculpted the landscape itself, creating an environment where his works appear to have grown naturally from the African soil. This garden, situated between urban civilization and mountain wilderness, is a perfect metaphor for our precarious balance between nature and culture. Every sculpture is placed with precision that matches its apparent spontaneity, fostering a constant dialogue between art and its environment.
Lewis’s technique is as fascinating as his themes. He works with bronze using the lost-wax casting method, a technique over 3,500 years old. Yet he brings contemporary innovation to it, incorporating textures and forms that challenge traditional boundaries of the medium. His surfaces are not smooth and academic but rough, expressive, almost violent. One can feel the artist’s hand, the trace of his fingers in the original clay, as if the bronze retains the memory of every creative gesture.
In his more recent works, Lewis pushes his exploration of the human condition even further. Male and female figures are no longer isolated but interwoven in complex compositions that evoke both struggle and union. These sculptures speak to our desperate quest for connection, our longing to transcend individuality and rediscover a primordial unity with nature.
What makes Lewis’s work so compelling is its ability to make us physically feel our alienation from nature. In a world increasingly disconnected from the natural environment, his sculptures forcefully remind us of our animal origins. They confront us with the unsettling truth Friedrich Nietzsche already expressed: we are not the rational masters of nature we claim to be but creatures deeply rooted in primordial chaos.
Lewis’s artistic journey also reflects profound personal evolution. Starting with realistic animal representations, he gradually moved toward a more symbolic and psychological vision of our relationship with nature. This evolution mirrors the trajectory of art itself, which has shifted from mere mimesis to a deeper exploration of human experience.
His latest sculptures, particularly in the “Chthonios” series, showcase an artistic maturity that transcends conventional categories. These are no longer mere representations of men or animals but manifestations of profound psychic forces. Jung spoke of the importance of symbols as bridges between the conscious and the unconscious, and this is precisely what Lewis achieves with his sculptures: they are bridges between our civilized consciousness and our repressed wild nature.
In a world where contemporary art often loses itself in conceptual abstractions disconnected from visceral experience, Lewis reminds us that art can still touch us physically and emotionally. His sculptures are not meant to be merely observed; they are meant to be felt. They remind us that we are beings of flesh and blood, intrinsically linked to the wild nature we have sought to tame.
Lewis’s work is a powerful reminder that art is not just about aesthetics or concepts but also an exploration of our fundamental humanity. His sculptures are tangible manifestations of Nietzsche’s truth: we cannot fully understand ourselves if we deny our Dionysian nature, our share of chaos and wildness.
What makes Dylan Lewis truly great is that he creates art that speaks simultaneously to our intellect and our most primal instincts. His sculptures are bridges between nature and culture, between the conscious and the unconscious, between the Apollonian and the Dionysian. His work reminds us of our embodied nature and our unbreakable bond with the wild world. He does not merely depict nature; he forces us to recognize that we are nature.