Reflective Surface

There Is More to Art Superstar Jeff Koons Than Meets the Eye

NEW YORK

What is Jeff Koons thinking?

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It's a puzzle that hides in plain sight, like string theory, like Larry King's hair. Koons gives us dazzling objects -- a garish porcelain sculpture of Michael Jackson and his pet monkey, an enormous metal bunny that looks like a silvery blow-up balloon -- and we gape. It's kitsch, all right, and it's unforgettable. But is it ironic unforgettable kitsch? Is it supposed to be funny? Does it say anything?

Will we care in a generation or two?

Twenty-five years into the career of this contemporary-art phenom, the questions can still start arguments that end in shouting. The anti-Koons camp has always considered him a huckster, a media-savvy entrepreneur who makes striking and coveted baubles that are nonetheless empty. There's nothing under the surface, detractors howl. And Koons himself doesn't actually paint or sculpt the work that bears his name, they huff once they've caught their breath. He hires artists, who work at a huge studio in Manhattan, to handle that.

"There is no artist in whom self-advertisement and self-esteem are more ecstatically united than Koons," wrote former Time magazine critic Robert Hughes. "He has done for narcissism what Michael Milken did for the junk bond."

The pro-Koons camp sees a sophisticated blending of pop art and surrealism. And this side, which includes plenty of heavyweight critics, too, isn't particularly worked up these days because, at least for the time being, this side has won. Long after his mid-'80s anointment as a wonder boy of the New York art scene and a decade after he nearly filed for personal bankruptcy, Koons at 52 stands near the tippity-top of the contemporary art mountain.

The son of an epically fastidious interior decorator, he is shown in the most prestigious galleries, beloved by the richest collectors and coveted by the finest museums. And tonight, he might make history.

Koons's sculptures are the headline attractions this week at auctions at both Christie's and Sotheby's in New York. Christie's sold "Diamond (Blue)," a seven-foot sculpture of polished steel and chromium that fetched $11.8 million on Tuesday night, more than double the artist's previous record at auction. And Wednesday evening, Sotheby's is selling "Hanging Heart," a 3,500-pound, glossy magenta, stainless-steel Valentine's Day heart that hangs from what looks like curly gold wrapping ribbon and took 12 years to make. It's expected to sell for $15 million to $20 million. If it goes for more than $19.3 million, it will surpass a record set in June by England's Damien Hirst and become the most expensive work by a living artist ever purchased at auction.

All this attention, of course, will reignite the debate about the merits of Koons's work. Which leads back to Koons himself, because as much as any artist today, his intentions seem a crucial part of deciphering his canon -- vacuum cleaners encased in Plexiglas, a 43-foot puppy covered in flowers, tacky-looking wood carvings of cherubs and pigs, and on and on. Is he lampooning commercial culture or admiring it? Is he a calculating showman or an idiot savant? Is he laughing with us or at us?

The answers seem to matter. If "Hanging Heart" is the work of a cynic, it comes across as one thing. If it is the work of a naif, it comes across as something else. This is why we want to know what Jeff Koons is thinking.

So we're just going to ask the guy.