Hal Buckner Lives For His Work

Surrounded by delicate, thin metal structures mounted on the wall and resting on the floor, Hal Buckner moves about his Southampton studio as though he is in an art gallery, admiring the pieces he has spent years making.

Rustic wooden beams and rafters cross above the upper level of his studio, where a formation of curved metal pieces hang on the far wall. At a quick glance, it could pass for Leonardo da Vinci’s “The Last Supper.”

Several critical details are askew. For starters, the locks of hair on Jesus Christ and his disciples are noticeably longer—and surprisingly luscious for men living 1,800 years before regular bathing habits became the norm.

And all 13 members at the table have breasts—some of them exposed.

“They’re not naked. They’re nude,” Mr. Buckner laughed, gesturing to the 13-foot-long piece titled “The Last Supper After da Vinci,” one of his largest and favorite parodies, most of them cut from a single piece of aluminum that cast shadows on the wall.

“It’s just an accident,” he said of the unique shadows from the cutouts. “You can light this different ways. The shadows are part of my work. That’s the conceptual end of it. That’s really cool, and I couldn’t anticipate it.”

His work has always been influenced by the female figure, but it became especially consistent after a Manhattan gallery owner suggested Mr. Buckner, who earned degrees in painting and sculpture, focus on what he does best.

“This gallery director said, ‘You know what you should do rather than bring all this in?’” Mr. Buckner recalled, referring to his various creative mediums. “‘We don’t know what you are. Are you a painter? Are you a sculptor? Do you like to draw? So pick the thing you think you do the best and pursue it.’ And this was 30 years ago—and I thought I did the figure best.”

Even when reinventing classic masterpieces, Mr. Buckner does not deviate too frequently from his signature style: nude females sculpted from aluminum sheets. The idea came to him in 1985 after visiting an exhibition by artist Tom Wesselmann, who had installed his own aluminum sculptures on the gallery walls.

Mr. Bruckner said he was “blown away.” There in front of him was a solution to the problems posed by his multiple sclerosis diagnosis three years earlier, which had forced him into early retirement—both from teaching art history at various schools across the country, and from sculpting bronze, a remarkably cumbersome and heavy material to work with. Aluminum, on the other hand, is relatively lightweight and fairly easy to manipulate and cut, Mr. Buckner said, and thus the perfect solution for him.

Currently in a remission period, the artist said he is not too burdened by the disease and, like anyone else, he asks for help when he needs it.

As a self-proclaimed perfectionist, Mr. Buckner’s artistic process is meticulous. Completing one sculpture can take him anywhere from months to years, though he said it always starts with a sketch. Then he draws it to scale on a foam core model and cuts it out.

If he is pleased with the outcome, he traces the shape onto an aluminum sheet and gets to work with his jigsaw, sending out any sheets thicker than 1/4 inch to be machine cut.

If he is not pleased, it’s back to the drawing board.

Mr. Buckner has been building and creating since he was a young boy growing up on Whidbey Island, a small town about 60 miles north of Seattle.

“When I was a kid, I used to make my own toys,” he said. “I came from kind of a not wealthy childhood. My dad was military—30 years in the military. So I made my own toys.”

He earned a bachelor’s degree in art education at Seattle University and a master’s degree in sculpture from the University of Washington before studying under artist Larry Rivers in 1971 in Oregon.

“I don’t know if anyone was good friends with Larry,” Mr. Buckner said. “He’s a bit of a difficult guy. But I’m really good friends with David Joel, the new director of the Larry Rivers Foundation in Sag Harbor. David and I are good buddies, actually. But I knew Larry Rivers pretty well.”

Shortly after he was diagnosed with MS, Mr. Bruckner moved to Southampton in 1985 with his second wife and his son, Troy, who is an art dealer. When they separated, she returned to Seattle. Mr. Buckner and his friendly Bouvier, Brutus, now live in a converted dairy barn sitting on 2½ acres in Southampton. Cows once slumbered in what is now his studio, and were milked in his kitchen and living room, he said.

Whether he is on the East End, or wintering on Captiva Island in Florida, where he also has a studio, a typical day always revolves around his work.

“I like to get three or four hours in of work every day,” he said. “I don’t feel comfortable unless I get something accomplished. If I don’t get something accomplished, I feel like I’m wasting a day.

“I don’t have any hobbies,” he continued. “I don’t hunt. I fish in Captiva a bit, because it’s relaxing. This is all I do—my art. I mean, I get up in the morning, it’s here. Look at the layout I have. Just walk through the door and I’m in the studio.”

An exhibition of work by Hal Buckner will open with a reception on Saturday, June 20, from 4 to 6 p.m. at Guild Hall in East Hampton, and remain on view through October 12. For more information, visit halbuckner.com.