ANDORRA, Nov 27, 2004/ FW/ --- I met Bob Burchman for the first time outside the Troubadour nightclub in West Hollywood on a hot Sunday August evening this past summer. It started with the most mundane conversation, asking someone what he or she does.

I told Bob, “I’m mannequin historian,” always an icebreaker for better or worse.

Bob looked at me incredulously, which after my statement was not unusual, but this time there was something different. “I don’t believe it.”

I said, “It’s true.”

He said, “No, I don’t believe it. I just had a showing at the Hayworth Gallery of my paintings of mannequins.”

“You’re kidding? You do paintings of mannequins?”

“Yes.”

I said, “I don’t believe it. I have to come and see them.”

Monday afternoon, the next day, I was standing in front of Bob Burchman’s circa 1912 Craftsman-style California-bungalow home. It had a lush garden, an old time covered porch and a wooden shingle exterior, with a huge Italian flag.

Dressed in a blue on blue striped t-shirt and jeans Bob greeted me and escorted me to his studio. I immediately zeroed in on his paintings of female mannequins.

They featured “true to life” display mannequins in various reflective scenarios. His work was super-realism with attention to detail to the nth degree.

He told me how a woman in one of his art classes became vehemently upset, telling him he was objectifying women. Granted the beautiful model leaning against a pay phone with no arms was a jarring image.

This painting was based on a photo he took at a street corner in downtown L.A. in the garment district. This was true street theater of found objects.

At a polar extreme was the female figure with the reflections of Palm Springs palm trees and a world of serenity. Despite what Bob’s fellow classmate thought, several patrons of his work are women.

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