33 Artists in 3 Acts Read Online Free Page B

beginning of a new, as yet unnamed body of work. Conceived as a feminine counterpoint to the “high-testosterone” works grouped under the “Hulk Elvis” banner, these paintings are inspired by Gustave Courbet’s L’Origine du Monde (1866). Courbet’s highly realistic painting of a naked woman, lying on whitesheets with her legs spread, depicted only from her nipples to her upper thighs, is one of the most notorious works of the nineteenth century. On the surface of Koons’s new canvases are sketches in silver paint of female labia, which remind me less of Courbet than the plates in Judy Chicago’s Dinner Party and myriad feminist “central core” images. Under the sexy line drawings are collections of dots in cyan, magenta, yellow, and black. The dot patterns initially appear abstract, but form figurative images when viewed from a distance. Koons pulls me back to the other side of the room, but we are still not far enough away to see the figure, so he brandishes his iPhone and has me look at the works through its camera. A waterfall appears in one painting, a tree in another, a naked couple doing something intimate—I’m not sure what—in a third. Many of his paintings are derivative of his sculptures—sometimes they even look like ads for his three-dimensional pieces—but these Origine canvases feel like stand-alone works. I find myself liking them a lot.
    “Artistic conquests and sexual conquests. They parallel each other very well,” says Koons. The artist has an elaborate personal philosophy that revolves around what he calls “the biological narrative” and includes a lot of pep talk. “The only thing you can do is trust in yourself and follow your interests. That is where you find art,” he offers. Sometimes Koons sounds like a life coach or a self-help guru. “My art is not just fun,” he says as we walk away from the paintings. “I want my work to help people expand their parameters. Art is a vehicle for connecting to archetypes that help us survive.”
    Koons takes me through several rooms in which sculptures are respectively mocked up, molded, assembled, and painted. The staff wear white suits, masks, and rubber gloves. With its steel beams and harnesses and all sorts of shiny metal equipment, the studio feels both old-world and high-tech. We end up standing in front of a two-dimensional cardboard model of a sculpture called Hulk (Friends) , which depicts a blow-up doll of the green comic-strip character with six small inflatable pool toy animals on his shoulders. The Hulk’s facial features somehow resemble the artist’s.
    For Koons, there is no downside to fame. “You are only over- or underexposed in relation to your ideas. If you can continue to informand enlighten . . .” he trails off. “Any time the platform for your work increases, that’s great,” he says. Koons divides his working life into “creation” and “platform,” or what others might call the production and promotion of their work. “I want to spend time with my ideas so I can make the gesture that I want to make,” he says. “At the same time, I want to help my work have a platform so it’s not just a gesture alone in the woods.”
    Back in the mid-eighties, when he was promoting his “Equilibrium” series, best known for its sculptures of basketballs floating in saltwater tanks, Koons said that artists improve their social position through art in the same way that athletes get rich through sports. What is the status of the artist today? I ask.
    Koons looks startled, as if my question were a vulgar invasion of his privacy. He turns his head away from me and his body follows. “You asked a question earlier,” he says, by way of changing the subject. I let him air some more well-rehearsed patter, then try again but more forcefully. I mention that The New Yorker writer Calvin Tomkins once wrote that Koons was either “amazingly naive” or “slyly performative.” Tomkins wasn’t sure whether he was