Interview

AHG: So now you're getting back to painting. It's as if Duchamp didn't just give up art but wanted to become Picasso.

DH: It kind of makes sense to do it. I think painting like this has more to do with the fly pieces than any of the newer sculptures. If my success as a sculptor is in those four pieces, in that whole career, then I think you can minimize it into painting and have a different kind of success.

AHG: You said, "I want people to say ‘Wow!' I don't want people to see how my mind works." But I think if people look at your early pieces, they are going to get a sense of how your mind works. And if people look at these paintings they are going to get a sense of how your mind works.

DH: Yeah. I think I've always been afraid of painting, really. Right from the beginning. All my paintings are about painting without a painter. Like a kind of mechanical form of painting. Like finding some imaginary computer painter, or a robot who paints. Unemotional paintings anyway. I think I've gone through that time and time again-paintings that continue emotions but aren't emotional. Like a spot painting is that kind of grid. But it does awaken something, it works in some way. But they are denying something; they are all denying something. And in the end I've just gotten to the point where I can't deny it anymore.

AHG: Other artists have attacked you for using their ideas. John LeKay said the skulls were his idea. John Armleder never actually said it, he's too sophisticated, but that the spots were his idea-that he was doing spot paintings. And some say Walter Robinson did the spin paintings first.

DH: Fuck 'em all! Who knows? Before I went to Goldsmiths, I sort of tried to be original. But then there's just so much in the world, and so much of it is derivative. Everything comes from somewhere and it's just such a mish-mash. At Goldsmiths we were kind of freed. You don't have to worry about that! If it looks good, it is good. I remember the fly piece and I remember thinking about the direct references of that. Like Dan Graham for the steel-and-glass, the bus shelter-type things. And Bruce Nauman was in the neons. You know, the fly killer. And then Bacon obviously in the meat. Even Naum Gabo with the flies in space. It's an amalgam, a mish-mash of everything you've ever seen before. Like my medicine cabinets were from Koons. If you are constantly creating visual things, you are getting loads of ideas from everywhere. I think that there's only been one idea and that was fucking painting your hand red in blood and stamping it on the cave wall. And then, after that, we've all just ripped that off and copied it. But what I think is probably different about our generation is that we never felt the need to be original. That kind of frees you up to do what you want. I mean, like the spot paintings. There was Larry Poons.

AHG: Bridget Riley?

DH: Yeah, Bridget Riley. But Richter as well. Richter's squares.

AHG: Sigmar Polke? Roy Lichtenstein?

DH: Polke, Lichtenstein, yeah. So they are all in there. If it's a good idea, then lots of people have had it before.

AHG: It seems to me that one thing that distinguishes good artists from the rest is that most good artists are willing to fail. Ben Nicholson was the typical British artist-wonderful, good taste. I think you guys-not just you, but your generation-changed all that.

DH: I think that had to do with Saatchi. He was just there at the perfect point with a huge fucking space. At Cork Street . . . You just couldn't fit the size of paintings we wanted to make into Cork Street. It's just that as a student you go and look at all those galleries. And that was the art world, that fucking British art world. There was the Lisson Gallery, which was very snobby. And Nicholas [Logsdail, the director] was virtually saying go back to your studio for five years and have a little think. And even that was a little shop in the beginning. If you were supposed to fit in in the art world you would have had to scale the work down. And then Saatchi did that New York show. I remember walking in and going, "Hey, my eyes!" The whiteness of it! It just blew me away. And it was so not British. And that just totally inspired all of the students. We wanted to show at the Saatchi Gallery immediately. And then we started making work really to fit there. And that's when I realized we wouldn't fit into the art world the way it was. So I just went and got a warehouse, and we did that show. That wasn't very British. You know, Warhol had done Thirteen Most Wanted Men huge. But Peter Blake and Richard Hamilton were still doing these small paintings. And little things. Very kind of local and small.

AHG: You didn't just conceive the "Freeze" show, you were there making tea and bacon sandwiches.

DH: Yeah. We were all doing it, really.

AHG: I heard you were doing that at Sotheby's, too.

DH: A bit, yeah. I look at people who have big businesses, and they are fucking mean. They run them like tyrants, treating people like shit, so everybody is on their toes, trying to please. And they are very successful businesses. But I've never done it that way. I always try to make everyone mellow down-make sure everybody's happy. The people I have employed have always kind of stayed with us. In a way you are hiring artists, you know? A lot of people who come to work for you are artists in their own right. And they want to work for you because they want to pick something up.

AHG: Have any of them done okay as artists?

DH: Rachel Howard. She painted spots. She's got a great painting downstairs.

AHG: The timing of your sale was quite dramatic. I mean, you couldn't have planned to have banks collapsing around you . . .

DH: I know! [laughs] It's bonkers. I mean, I woke up in the morning and it said in the newspaper "Black Monday." And I was like, "Fuck! Shit!" It's very bad timing. I just thought, This is terrible, you know. And then to sell that amount of stuff when banks are collapsing is just unfuckingbelievable. So, of course, in a situation like that the rumors go flying. Don't they? And the stories just don't make sense. [laughs] There's no cash incentive to rig it. I mean, unless you're insane. You'd have to be. Why would I do it? I'd have to do it with a view to some long-term goal or invest a $100 million in a long-term gain further down the line. It's just bonkers, isn't it? How can you fucking do that? And no one would do that with you. And to get the galleries to do that with you? Everyone's too mean. [pause] It would be a brilliant scam!

AHG: So the auction worked? It broadened the whole game?

DH: Yeah. A lot of people bought who never bought before. I love that. I've got collectors who have never been to either of my galleries. Which is fantastic!

AHG: You know some of them?

DH: Oh, yeah! I made sure that I knew them all.

AHG: You get close to your collectors, don't you?

DH: Some of them. If they are interested in investing in that kind of stuff. And they are going to build the museums of the future, which is great.

AHG: I met one of your collectors on my way to Basel. She said you called her offering to exchange her fly piece for a better one.

DH: Oh, yeah. She's great. It's especially now that I'm not drinking. Because when I used to drink ... I remember when I was with [artist] Sarah Lucas, a collector called up and said, "The piece that I bought from you is decaying. There's something wrong with it." And Sarah just said, "You can give it back to me, but you're not getting any fucking money!" I love that! I used to do the same thing when I was really drinking a lot. But then you stop drinking, and you're not living in the moment as much. It's like a group show, isn't it? You suddenly look back, and somebody's got, like, 10 pieces. And you look at them, and you can see that they should have one of these, and they've got too many of those, and if you just switch it around it becomes a better collection. And you can engage with them more. A great collector friend of mine was Jay Chiat, who died. When you get more mortal you really work more with collectors.

AHG: You have really got death on your mind?

DH: You know, I always have. It's just something that inspires me, not something that pulls me down. I used to get called morbid at school. I have always loved horror films; I like being frightened. I definitely think about it. And every day your relationship with death changes. And every day I sort of feel like I know it more. I've always thought about it. Maybe I shouldn't? I don't know. We're here for a good time-not a long time. I love quotes like that. There are no pockets in a shroud.

AHG: How many hours a day do you work?

DH: All the time, really. I've never learned to drive because I get lots of ideas when I'm a passenger in a car. I love to get in a car with a driver and just think and work things out.

AHG: The main piece in the auction was The Golden Calf. And you had a drawing that went with it saying "Beware False Idols!" I wondered, were you trying to pull the temple down? And then I thought, No.

DH: It works on many levels. I was working on cow things, and mad cow disease came out, and it became very topical and very of the moment. It's kind of a happy accident. But it makes it all the more important. So I had an idea to do The Golden Calf. I knew we needed a big piece to kind of pull the whole exhibition together. And then when you think about all the references to the art market, and the stock market, and cash, and belief, and everything, and religion kind of falling apart . . . All of those things made me realize that was definitely the right thing to do. But I never go for a complete obvious meaning and say, "Right, that's the way I want it to look." It's always just lots and lots of universal triggers. And when it's a combination of all the ideas, it feels right. So I go ahead with it. And the gold! I mean, rather than avoiding it, go with it! Especially since I was aware that I've got to come up with something to match the diamond skull.

AHG: What will happen to the diamond skull?

DH: Well, we've got an agreement that it will maybe be auctioned. I had hoped that it would get sold privately to someone in the next eight years. It depends what happens with this debt and stuff. But I think it's starting to look cheap. Isn't it?

AHG: $80 million is cheap?

DH: I was offered a Picasso for a $140 million, remember? So there's definitely room. It depends, you know. What happens when Jeff's bunny comes up in auction. What is that going to go for? [The owner] turned down $60 million.

AHG: I saw Jeff at a party. He looked stressed. I asked how he was coping. He said you just have to keep your focus.

DH: It's quite a frightening position to be in, isn't it? For artists it's a lot easier to make art in bad times than it is in good times. When you've got no money it's easy to just drink your way through it and make great art. But if you're making lots of money it can be very problematic.

AHG: I'd say four out of five kids in degree shows draw and paint better than the pros. But not many are going to become artists. What are the characteristics an artist needs for success?

DH: First of all you've got to be oblivious to other people-the push and pull of other people's opinions, the way other people measure success. It's then that you realize you are 100 percent who you are and you have to use that who-you-are 100 percent in order to create great things. And that's very difficult because everyone wants to be better than they are. You've really got to get down on the floor with yourself and get low in order to make great art. I think you've just got to accept who you are and do the most unbelievable things. If you're in a gallery looking at Velázquez paintings and thinking, I want to paint like that, and you're not able to . . . you've got to accept your limitations in order to exceed them. You've got to accept that you're a child-you've got to think, Look, I know this is impossible, but I'm going to fucking well go through with it anyway. When I was doing the paintings like Bacon and I gave up, it was really like an ego thing or something. When I started painting again two years ago, I secretly thought that everything I have learned on the other side of the art world has put me in a better position to paint. But it didn't. The worst thing for me when I started painting two years ago again was that it was exactly like I was when I was 15 or 16, and I stopped.

AHG: You had a show of paintings in New York that was pretty much blasted.

DH: Yeah. The paintings . . . I have to admit they weren't that great. But I felt it was the moment to say, "This is what I'm doing now," not to wait two or three years. When I was asked what kind of reviews do I hate the most, I said it's really reviews like those, where they kind of slag it off. Now the paintings are just infinitely better. Yeah, I think that's the worst review of all-when you read it and you agree with it.

AHG: What has been the difference since you began painting again two years ago?

DH: The only thing that was different when I began painting again was that I had the belief that if I just went for it, I would get through that Bacon thing, and it would be worth it. And I just believed that by persevering I could get through it. I never believed that before. The only way to get rid of it is to go through it. I've got, like, triptychs. And then hopefully I might have a period for a few years which is very much like Bacon and then go off on my own. But that's what you've got to do. Youcan't bypass it if that's your natural way.

AHG: When will you show this work?

DH: I haven't worked out what I am going to do with it yet. I was thinking of doing a show with the Wallace Collection here. [Lucian] Freud showed there in 2004. And I thought maybe something small. But I'm not in a rush. I don't feel like I did with the other work, like it's going to go anywhere. I don't feel in any rush-I just want to get it running. I'm going to get a load of shit for doing it. And I need to be 100 percent behind the work before I show it. The great thing about painting now is that I've gotten to the point where I can forget everything just by doing it. And I never used to be able to do that.