Originally published Saturday, December 13, 1997

By JON HAHN  
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER COLUMNIST

In that part of Old Bellevue dotted with moss-encrusted cherry and apple trees from once-was orchards, there lives an artist who loves the old masters, fine old furniture, classic architecture, the human figure, and . . . old motorcycles.

Not at all cooped up in what he says used to be a chicken coop turned into a home (not very Bellevue, at that), Mark Jeffries does much of his sculpting on a workbench or the floor of the art-filled living room.

The motorcycles are out back, along with the sculpture-casting machinery, works-in-progress, metal and wood lathes, stacks of lumber, old sculpture-castings and the many odd trappings of an arty and eclectic lifestyle.

From Jeffries' sculptures to the framed antique maps and the exquisitely carved and turned four-poster bed and trunk and other works, this very un-suburban household with the terraced garden in the back seems more like a small European workshop/studio.

And there are traces, old drawings and actual casting molds, even duplicate castings, of the commissions most sculptors do: the uniformed firefighter, the university animal mascot, the intertwined human figure reliefs done for an international cruise ship line.

But on some shelves in the home he shares with wife, Francoise, and her daughter, Michelle, are the strangest and yet most familiar sculptures: human feet. "I probably won't be doing many more of them because the computer and something called 'stereo lithography' have made my work obsolete," said the 47-year-old artist.

Sculpting prosthetics -- everything from artificial noses, ears, whole faces and especially feet -- came from more than the anything-for-a-dollar mind set that drives most struggling artists. "I always loved the human form. I was inspired by the old masters, and it became more interesting to me after I studied gross anatomy," said the Indianapolis native.

"I was sculpting dancers and gymnasts in Milwaukee (Wis.) when I learned that one of the women modeling for me had a sister who needed a new artificial foot. Together with her father, we developed a prosthesis, an artificial foot, that pretty much matched her good foot.

"That was a turning point, of sorts, for me. It was 'art' that made a real contribution to society, rather than something on a pedestal," Jeffries said.

Ironic that much of his day-to-day sculptural work, especially extensive work in the restoration of old hotels and other architectural landmarks, really is pedestals. And fountains, building facades, wall reliefs and ornamental interiors. Some of the original casting molds or copies of works he's done around the country are scattered throughout their Bellevue home.

"When I worked in Miami -- I was 'sentenced' there for about seven years -- I began working with a facial-restoration specialist. It was my job to take wax impressions, do a clay sculpture and then cast it in silicone and paint it to match the skin tones.

"From about three feet (away), you couldn't tell it was artificial. And the people were pretty special. So many of them had a sense of how happy they were just to be alive, and so grateful that someone was trying to help them."

Even though computer-assisted design and casting has all but eliminated his specialty, Jeffries' deft touch still is needed, even if only to assist the computer-assisted designers with details such as the veins, bone structures and other surface details. He is working under contract with the Seattle design firm of Dave Moeller Design and Development on a series of so-called generic feet designed for different ethnic groups.

"It could be my last prosthetic job," Jeffries said. "It makes perfect sense; I don't begrudge the computer end of it. Besides, I still have my other work in restoration and creative pieces."

A rather fanciful piece -- actually three related relief sculptures called "So Far From Life: Through the Postern Gate" -- is on display at the Pacific Arts Group Gallery in Kirkland.

"My restoration work has suffered a bit, too, because of the new, I guess you'd call it, 'minimalist' architecture,'" he said. "Not very comfortable for people, I think. The older, more elaborate styles had their own atmosphere; they made people feel comfortable to be in or near them.

"I'm definitely not doing 'conceptual' pieces. Neither am I doing any social commentary stuff. Life to me is too beautiful . . . people, animals, the world around us."

Even the old motorcycles, including the classic yellow BMW in his cramped work building out back. Or the newer red dirt-and-trail bikes the family uses for weekend and vacation recreation.

Jeffries fondly pats an old South Bend metal lathe, a giant dinosaur from the earlier part of this century. He got it in trade for illustrating a book. "My wife and I both love tools, and we both love to work out here. We made that four-poster on the wood lathe over there."

Jon Hahn is a staff columnist who writes three times a week in the P-I.