On Stones and Immortality

Art / Cover Story: Michèle Lamy and Barry X Ball.

When Barry and Michèle first crossed paths in the quiet surrealism of Venice, a wordless connection sparked between sculptor and collector; rooted in observation, curiosity and creation. After a Milan morning spent wandering potential exhibition spaces to show the bust Barry sculpted of Michèle, and visiting the Rick Owens boutique together –like ghosts casing a temple– we sat down to speak. About monolithic stones. About machines. About art as resistance; against time, against meaninglessness, against death itself.

She’s just returned to the table, trailing smoke and silence after a cigarette in the hotel’s courtyard. “It feels wrong to think about art while Palestine and many other countries are plunged in conflicts” she sights while sitting on the sofa. A sheer black dress clings to her body like a whisper, while a lone hoop earring dangles from her left lobe, marked by three fine tribal lines. Everything about her is shadow-toned. A palette of obsidian and ritual. And her gaze ruptures the stillness – liquid mercury, heavy with ancestral fire. She doesn’t just look at you, she looks through you, like a priestess mid-invocation, measuring your soul in silence. These are eyes that have witnessed so much; and still want more. We met with Michèle Lamy and artist Barry X Ball to talk about what lies ahead. Once bound by the archetype of artist and patron (after Michelle acquired Matthew Barney’s singular double sculpture by Barry) their connection has since bled into something deeper: a shared artistic vision carved from myth, materiality, and radical transformation.

You’ve known each other for some time now, first crossing paths a few years ago in decadent, dream-soaked Venice, while Barry was preparing an exhibition at Ca’ Rezzonico. Can you take us back to that moment? What pulled you into each other’s creative orbit?

Barry: When I was putting the exhibition together I kept noticing this woman, definitely not conventionally dressed, just sitting there quietly observing. She didn’t say much, just watched everything unfold, people coming and going. We’d be adjusting a sculpture and at the exact moment something clicked, she’d get up, take a look, and say, “Yeah, that works,” then sit back down like nothing happened. I had no idea who she was. This was before you could just pull someone up on Instagram; it wasn’t like that yet.

Michèle (smiling at Barry): You must’ve thought I was totally cuckoo when I showed up. Sorry about that, I was curious. We usually only see one side of things but I wanted to understand the other. I’d been coming to the Biennale for years, always in Venice. I think it was Matthew Barney who first told me about your work. I remember arriving and just staying, then coming back later because you said you were still working. I can still picture those heads with the stripes on them, the veiled busts. I kept coming back. Every time, you were there, working with the stone. I was completely taken by it.

Barry: She has this incredible curiosity. You really wanted to understand how things are made, how they’re built. You told me that during the pandemic you’d go down to the Port of Los Angeles just to watch. It’s the biggest port on the West Coast with hundreds of ships leaving every day. You’d stand there and take it all in. You said watching buildings rise felt like seeing an exhibition come together, that same fascination with the act of making, the human force behind construction, assembly, creation.

Michèle: I watched so many buildings go up, even Disney or whatever. There’s something magical about it. With Barry, I had this real craving to see it for myself. I already knew he was great. The show was still being installed but that first encounter felt like la rencontre, like speaking to something ancient, something I already knew in my bones. That’s how deep it hit me. And then all these stones scattered around the space. I had no idea how the fuck he was doing it. All those fragments, the way they were coming together, it felt like a message from another time.

Barry: But you know, the way she’s curious makes you realise she’s a real person. People might assume Michèle’s built this impenetrable façade but the moment you meet her you feel it: she’s kind, open, and completely herself. That genuine curiosity draws you in. It was honestly moving. Though yeah, at first I did think you were a little crazy. (glances at Michèle) I don’t think that anymore. (They both laugh.)

On that occasion, Michèle acquired a double portrait of artist Matthew Barney. We had the chance to see it showcased during the Rick Owens FW 2024 Menswear Porterville show. What is the story behind that piece? And how does it engage with the duality of its setting — both an intimate domestic space and a high-energy fashion venue?

Michèle: It all started with that exhibition, but I actually saw the piece a couple of years later. I was walking to the gym near this small gallery, and through the window, I spotted the artwork hanging from the ceiling. Even from outside, those spikes looked dangerous – like they could pierce right through you. I opened the door and asked if anyone was there, but no one answered. I still had my boxing session, so I went to the gym. Later that day, I sent an email saying I wanted that artwork. No reply. So I called and was like, “What the fuck?” A couple of hours later, the gallerist and her assistant showed up at my place. That’s how it happened. I’d never seen Barry’s work displayed like that – so precise, so carefully constructed. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if it was Matthew Barney or Barry screaming in that piece. Some time passed, and the sculpture arrived. We started figuring out where to put it, but then the problems began. There were lamps attached – things I hadn’t seen in the gallery – but Barry wanted me to keep them. The lights were meant to create an effect on the floor, but the ceiling was just a concrete slab since there’s a terrace above. Imagine putting all that weight up there – it needed serious support. Luckily, my contractor said, “We’ll build a false ceiling” to install the lights and the piece properly. They did it, and we threw a nice dinner at the house. But afterwards, when we dismantled everything, I removed the ceiling and the lights. At the Saturday opening, the Wall Street Journal supplement wanted to do a story on the piece. When the photos came out, the lights weren’t there, and Barry told me that was actually better.

Barry: You spent all that money putting the lights up, then down. And now it’s great.

Michèle: You loved it without the lights!

Barry: Yeah. There’s also a funny story about that piece. It has these sharp giavellotti – javelins – piercing it. I once had a dealer who, when he first saw it, asked, “Barry, is this piece sharp?” Then he made a motion like he was running his hand over it – and ended up with stigmata on his palms. He actually started bleeding. Michèle noticed the same. The last time I visited, she had two champagne corks stuck on the sculpture – to protect it.

Michèle: Yeah, I was worried Scarlett might get hurt. She did something similar once and ended up in the hospital. But since we always have parties, that kind of solution is necessary.

Barry: Definitely. And let me tell you about Matthew Barney – I admire his work. I’ve only met him a couple of times, but what connects him and Michèle is curiosity. The first time I showed a portrait sculpture in a gallery, Matthew came up and wanted to know everything about how I made it. It was a technical conversation. He seemed genuinely sincere. I told him, “I’m doing portrait sculptures and would love to do one of you. Would you come to my studio to be cast?” This was before 3D scanning – we had to mold his head by hand. He was a good sport, though he did send me a note saying I could use one of his previous casts from his films. I said, “Sorry, Matthew, I want to do it myself from start to finish.” He agreed. It took two or three hours photographing him, and then he left. That was it. I’ve seen him a few times since. But the sculpture itself isn’t really a comment on Matthew’s work – it’s just that he’s a great subject.

Barry (to Michèle, who has returned to the conversation): Does he even know about this sculpture in your collection?

Michèle: I don’t know. Maybe I should send him a note. (They both laugh.)

Barry: What’s strange about this piece is that, unlike my others, it wasn’t fully done digitally – which is usually how I work. Something felt off. But we’d already invested so much that I couldn’t abandon it. So, for the first time, I sculpted the destroyed face by hand, in clay – the old-school way – shaping it to look like it was rotting away. We then digitally merged that with the rest of the work, and that hybrid process became one of its defining features. It marked the start of a new approach for me, and honestly, I think it made the piece stronger.

Michèle: But you know, we hadn’t been in close contact for a few years. I was following your work from afar. We’d usually just pass each other on the Vaporetto – going opposite ways – and promise to catch up later.

Barry: Yeah, exactly like that. (He smiles at her while flipping through furniture catalogues on the table.) Also, your furniture – I remember that incredible alabaster bed you showed me a few years ago.

Michèle: Oh yeah, that thing weighed ten tons. I remember trying to install it for friends in New York, and you were there. Actually, why the fuck were you there?

Barry: They needed help. Did you know they call me the Stone Guy? They didn’t know how to make the alabaster bed stand, so they asked for my opinion. Also, do you know about Maurizio Cattelan’s recent show in New York? There was a wall of metal panels shot with a gun and, in front of it, a white marble sculpture of a homeless man leaning on a bench and peeing. It arrived broken in half. Made by my friends in Carrara, who I’ve worked with for years. They called me on the weekend and said, “Barry, we don’t want to bother you, but can you take a look? Bring it to your studio, see if you can fix it before the opening, and we’ll make a new one after.” So there I was, in California, calling around. Eventually, they found someone who patched it together with – basically – chewing gum, just in time for the opening. Then they made a new one and sent it off. Whenever there’s a stone problem, who do they call?!

Speaking of marble, I saw on Barry’s Instagram a series of images documenting the creation of Michèle’s black bust portrait. How collaborative has this process been, and what were the key stages in bringing it to life?

Michèle: So Barry told me he wanted to make my portrait. I thought, great—let’s do this. I showed up, he did his thing, and then he showed me this black marble slab we both loved. But as we worked, we realized we weren’t exactly picking the same stone anymore. We found ourselves fascinated by others, different textures, different shades.

Barry: Honestly, I think I went to Paris just to ask her. The old casting process? It was suffocating. You had to sit for hours with your head completely covered, Vaseline in your hair, holes cut out for your nose, an absolute ordeal. Now it’s a different world. We use this insane 3D scanning system: 160 cameras arranged in a frame that capture everything in a flash. (Lifting a thick, weighty folder from a dark tote bag, Barry places it on the table). Here she is in Brooklyn, look at this photo. Michèle wearing a sheer dress with those high leather shoulder pads, standing surrounded by cameras in a white space. We also did a separate scan focused on her upper body. This is the scanning array (he points to a digital print inside the folder), and the software stitches it all together, reconstructing a flawless 3D image. This one’s just for the bust, but we’re pushing to get a full figure soon.

How long did the entire scanning process take?

Barry:  We did multiple scans all at once. It’s basically like having your photo taken from every angle simultaneously. The scan quality wasn’t perfect, though. A lot of the fabric Michèle was wearing was slightly translucent, so it didn’t register very well. You can see we got some basic details, but it took weeks of digital work to re-sculpt and refine everything. Look at the back here (he points to a fragmented section of the grey scan). This was how rough it looked originally. Then we created this (he moves his finger to a much more detailed digital image on the next page). Some parts were pretty rough, but we reworked everything—weeks of meticulous, painstaking sculpting to get it right.

Barry, what new insights did you gain about Michèle during this process?

Barry: I mean, she’s an 80-year-old woman wearing skirts so crazy short. And that’s fucking great. She would’ve literally changed clothes naked in front of all of us in the studio, no hesitation.Not a shred of embarrassment, even with a dozen technicians watching. She’s absolutely incredible.

“I mean, she’s an 80-year-old woman wearing skirts so crazy short. And that’s fucking great.”

Barry X Ball — Matthew Barney / BXB Impaled Dual-Dual Portrait (Michèle Lamy and Rick Owens Collection, Paris)

Considering the bust’s weight and imposing presence, its placement seems destined to be permanent. Was it designed with a specific location in mind?

Barry: There isn’t a specific location picked out yet, but I can tell you the full-body sculpture will weigh over a ton when it’s done. There’s something else worth mentioning. See this diagonal line here, where the fabric folds? That’s where two different stones meet. We’re using Belgian black marble for her face and hands. When you first carve into it, the marble is a pale grey, but it slowly deepens into a rich, glossy black. Everything below that line will be carved from my favorite material—Mexican onyx, bursting with color and natural holes. We’re blending the two stones so the transition feels seamless, more like a soft gradient than a harsh edge. It’s a huge project. Right now, we’re starting with busts in two versions: one with flat-cut shoulders, and another that follows the full shoulder line.

(Just then, Michèle returns from a call)

Michèle: That was Calum Knight, Nick Knight’s son. He was texting me yesterday and when I told him I was with you, he wrote back (she looks at her phone and reads aloud): “Barry’s work is fascinating, bending time and perception through craft and technology.”

Let’s begin with the crossroads of craft and technology. Michèle, you’ve supported artisans in jewellery and furniture for years, while Barry’s sculptures blend manual craftsmanship with advanced technology. How do you both view the current state of artisanal skills?

Michèle: I’m now working at our atelier in Fontainebleau. Before, I had several ateliers for different stages of the process. Being mostly in one place now helps us bring everything together. But sourcing materials remains a challenge. Take this black marble Barry uses for his sculptures. It comes from a quarry on the France-Belgium border. That region used to have many quarries. Unlike Carrara, which is open-air, this quarry is underground. You descend about 60 metres—I’ve been down there. They use dynamite to extract the blocks, hauling them up beneath farmland. It feels like going into a coal mine.

Barry: You actually went down there? I’m impressed.

Michèle: A few times. You always say I need to see things for myself—and I do. The marble poses issues. Since we work on large pieces, we need consistent quality. But the stone often has spots—greasy marks you can’t remove. They’re fossils, little sea creatures trapped in the stone. The quarry reserves the best pieces for big clients, like Barry (laughing), so sometimes we switch materials, using lava stone from Indonesia. Our production is smaller and more selective now, focusing on fewer, more special pieces.

Barry: You’re famous for your chairs too. I remember suggesting we build one with a robot. Those chairs have segments joined like an octagon from above. We could achieve robotic precision, but you said no—you wanted that handmade imperfection.

Michèle: Exactly. That’s part of the Rick Owens aesthetic. Some furniture is precise; other pieces feel rough and handmade. Like this white marble Prong Bench from 2012, made of two interlocking elements with no nails. We invented this ‘prong’ joint where everything slots perfectly. It has to be precise—if it’s crooked, it falls apart. But then there’s the cubic chair with antler horns—more primal, like a bone structure.

Barry: I get that. And this Curial Chair here has really interesting lines.

Michèle: It’s built piece by piece. Originally, we wanted to create objects from cheap, everyday materials. This chair is plywood, usually for fences, but reworked and transformed completely.

Barry: That one’s made of petrified wood, though—definitely not cheap.

Michèle: No, but wood—even rare types—is renewable. Stone isn’t. When a quarry is finished, that material might disappear forever.

Barry: True. I had a funny encounter recently—a jogger stopped by my studio staring at my sculpture, then screamed, ‘You’re ruining the Earth with your terrible sculptures!’ and ran off. I wanted to explain that all the carved stone in history is a tiny fraction of the Earth’s crust. Places like Carrara have more marble extracted since World War II than in all previous centuries. Plus, there’s still more, like Garzaiana, enough for 900 more years. I’m also using white marble from Vietnam now. So we keep finding new sources.

Michèle: True. Sometimes we really do lose something forever. For example, we work a lot with alabaster. This one here (she points to a 12-foot-high sculpture in a black and white photograph from the volumes on the table) was incredible. You saw the LA store, right? That was the original installation. At first, all the windows were covered. Then we added one panel, then another, and this is what we created from that. We had to incorporate this texture that feels like fire breathing through the stone. Yeah, that’s something set against highly finished elements, too. Look at the proportions—it was huge. (She pauses, staring intensely at the image.) Since it was in Los Angeles, we had to build a plywood wall behind it to support everything. But where there’s no risk of earthquakes, the panels are just mounted—each one hooked onto a scaffold-like frame. You just attach them to a frame and they hold. In L.A., though, seismic codes forced us to fix them directly to the wall.

Barry: In Los Angeles, everyone’s obsessed with earthquakes. It’s a bit much. But tell me, does that alabaster have a yellowish cast?

Michèle: Usually it’s greyish-white. We use a special super-white, translucent kind from Spain. The blocks come in big ‘eggs’—called bolle. It’s like the stone is slowly turning into marble but is still soft.

Barry: That’s my problem with alabaster. I prefer onyx because it’s stronger. The water used to cool stone during sculpting can dissolve alabaster over time. You couldn’t make a bathtub out of it.

Michèle: No, but it works for other things. You can coat it with resin for protection. Alabaster exists worldwide but varies in color. We only use the grey variety, abundant in Spain. The block scale makes it especially interesting to work with.

“We’re all fighting the fear of death. Even if we don’t say it out loud, that’s what pushes you forward.” – Michèle Lamy

With your profound commitment to craft and materiality, how do you foresee emerging technologies, especially AI, challenging traditional ideas of artistic autho rship and reshaping the very essence of creativity in design?

Michèle: It’s a fascinating time because we’re living in the age of AI. Just yesterday, while we were looking at Tracey Emin’s sculptures and films at Palazzo Strozzi in Florence, something struck me. She was encouraging people to forget about AI, to stop focusing so much on it, because in the end, ideas and creativity still have to come from us. But at the same time, there’s no denying something fundamental has shifted in our culture. We don’t fully understand it yet, but it’s happening. Even if AI can generate images or replicate tasks, what really matters is materiality—ideas taking physical form. It’s about expressing what we believe, making choices, and creating something tangible. That’s where design, fashion, and craft come together for me. We can’t pretend AI isn’t part of this moment. People say robots will replace us one day, but that’s not happening yet. Teaching a robot to cut fabric doesn’t change the essence of craftsmanship. It will be a long time before a robot truly understands that.

Barry: My robot actually creates jobs for six people, so it’s not replacing humans. Michèle is now overseeing all the Rick Owens production, which has grown from a small operation into something much bigger. I’m not sure I’m trying to make art AI can’t copy, but in the stone sculpture world, it’s a hot topic. I was in Carrara recently and 60 Minutes came to film a segment about stone-carving robots. What I didn’t expect was the ambush—their first question was: “Some say you’re the death of art.” They’d interviewed traditional sculptors in Florence who said Michelangelo would be turning in his grave because of robots. Come on. Those guys have been doing the same thing for fifty years. Every contemporary artist I know embraces technology. Look at Pierre Huyghe—he’s not running from AI. Artists have always used the tools of their time. Even the Egyptians had advanced measuring systems. That myth of Michelangelo freeing figures from marble? Just that—a myth. He used sophisticated tools and scaling techniques. A genius, yes, but he relied on the best technology available. If he were alive now, he’d have twenty robots in his studio. His grand project—the tomb for Pope Julius II—was meant to have 120 sculptures. He finished only 17. He simply ran out of time. Back then artists didn’t have robots but they had bottegas. So that’s basically the same. It has always been about commissioning the work to someone else. Bellini had about 70 assistants supporting him. So, you know, it’s a pretty silly argument.

We could say that the black Belgian marble used for Michèle’s bust is just one of many materials you both explore. Speaking of bust portraiture, it remains one of the most enduring forms in art history. What relevance does it hold in today’s contemporary art scene?

Barry: In the world of contemporary art, there are still a few portrait painters trying to do serious work. But generally, even when figures are involved, it’s not really about celebrating a specific individual. Even in sculpture, portraiture as a way to commemorate someone has almost disappeared. I like the challenge of bringing it back. Of course, it serves a very different purpose now than it did for someone like Marcus Aurelius. I was once in the basement of the Louvre working on a project, and there were about a dozen versions of Marcus Aurelius down there. Back then, his image was spread across the Roman Empire, just like coins. It had a different role in those days. Now we have television, phones, all of that. But I like the idea of revisiting this format and doing something new with it.

Michèle: Comme Calum a dit, je sais que: you are bending time and perception through craft and technology.

So, is that how you achieve immortality? Or is that even the point?

Barry: This is definitely a portrait of our time. She’ll be with us for another 25 or 30 years, but the goal is to capture this extraordinary person right now. Trying to do that in stone—it’s almost a ridiculous undertaking, but that’s what makes it worth doing.

Michèle, what do you see when you look into the eyes of your own double? Did it shift your sense of self in any way or did it confirm something only others could see?

Michèle: I think the scan gave me too many wrinkles (laughing). Right now, we’re all so obsessed with surface and flawlessness. The only experiment that really stuck with me was the one in Mexican onyx, that stone full of holes. I think it’s genius, especially now, when everyone’s trying to smooth everything out and AI is taking over. Choosing a natural material with so much personality already, that’s powerful.

Michèle, you described your process as “ritualistic” — a kind of everyday obsession that builds into magic. Barry, your sculpture process is meticulous, sacred, and slow — almost alchemical. Where does obsession end and devotion begin in your work?

Michèle: Honestly, I don’t really know where to draw the line. What looks like obsession is really just pushing yourself so hard that you might break. But deep down, it’s devotion—it’s connected to pleasure.

Barry: That’s a perfect way to put it. Obsession sounds like something you can’t control. Devotion feels more like a ritual, something you believe in. You set it up to bring pleasure, even if it’s stressful. We’re all trying to do something extraordinary here. No one’s playing games. Look at the fast life she leads, not chasing fame, but chasing something real.

Michèle: I guess I was just born this way. I’m just bread and butter.

What has kept your fire burning after all these years? What’s the drive that still keeps you going?

Michèle: We’re all fighting the fear of death. Even if we don’t say it out loud, that’s what pushes you forward.

Barry: Yeah, we’ve both hit big milestones recently, seventy and eighty. But we’re not slowing down. That said, I find myself admiring less and less of what passes for art these days. The revolutionary spirit is gone. That edge has disappeared. Art feels decorative now, not daring or cutting-edge. But then I look at Rick Owens’ work, he’s always pushing boundaries, inventing new silhouettes and ways of being. That’s what I’m aiming for with my work: creating objects you’ve never seen before. I grew up in 1960s Los Angeles, the edge of the continent and the heart of aerospace. Everyone around me was building something new (jet engines, racing boats, motorcycles) in their garages. The future felt like something we could build. That spirit stuck with me, even after I left my roots. I still believe we can create a beautiful new world.

Michèle: (Pauses, looking at Barry with her silver eyes and a smile)

Barry: I like watching you think for a good fifteen seconds. It’s a lesson for all of us, sometimes, just shut up and think.

Michèle: (Slowly finding her words after laughing) We’ll probably die trying, you know, me and you. But not anytime soon.

Barry X Ball Belgian Black Marble and “Wounded” Mexican Onyx Portrait Bust of Michèle Lamy
3D Scanning Process

Stones of Immortality / Michèle Lamy and Barry X Ball

Credits

Artists: Barry X Ball / @barryxballstudio
Michèle Lamy / @lalamichmich
Interview: Giulia Piceni / @giuliaapiceni
Photography: Marco Giuliano / @marcogiulianoph
Editors: Anca Macavei, Maria Abramenko / @ancamacavei @mariabramenko
Junior Editor: Annalisa Fabbrucci / @annalisa_fabbrucci

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