After Living in the Shadow Of Her Artist Ex-Husband, Anna Condo Is Coming Clean

I met Anna Condo recently at the opening of Color Code, her exhibition at SuperRare’s offline gallery. We had dinner the next week at Sant Ambroeus, where our waiter greeted her by name. That marked the first time a woman ever took me to the storied eatery, after so many meals in SoHo and Southampton with men. Over veal and pasta, I learned about Condo’s expansive practice, which includes acting, filmmaking, photography, AI, and songwriting. Alas, her oeuvre often gets eclipsed by her 26-year marriage to George Condo, the pioneering painter known the world over for creating Kanye West album covers. While appearing consistently in her husband’s portraits and managing his ascent to global art market’s upper echelons, Condo came to call legends like Keith Haring and Allen Ginsberg mentors and friends. “I was way more than the muse,” she told me. Nine years after her divorce, Condo’s last name still tends to steal her spotlight. She’s reticent to change it, because it’s how all her friends know her. She agreed to discuss her past on the record, so everyone else can move on.

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VITTORIA BENZINE: How’s your week going, Anna?

ANNA CONDO: It’s good. It’s almost over. Lately I start Monday by saying, “Soon it’ll be the weekend,” because it seems like time has lost all meaning.

BENZINE: Have you been working?

CONDO: I’ve been working. I started a new series of work called Unnatural, still working with AI. They’re almost these epic, Americana-like landscapes—they have these strange elements in them that are completely unnatural. I felt an urgency with the advances of AI, the way it’s shifting things for people. When I started making works with AI, everyone looked at me like I was cuckoo. And now you can’t open a paper or watch anything without someone or something mentioning AI. Now that AI is really in our living rooms, it’s important for me to not put that concept aside. We used to think, “Is it man versus nature?”  But AI is going so fast that soon it’s not even going to be under man’s control. It’ll be AI living within nature, right?

BENZINE: Yeah.

CONDO: How does that affect the nature that’s around us? What will things look like? As you noticed, I also like the spirit of satire, this idea of taking these majestic looking landscapes and then looking at it from a point of view of where we are today. I think specifically, Unnatural was triggered when I was talking with a friend who showed me these images of places in the Arab Emirates where they had built these deluxe hotel spas right smack in front in the desert. I was so surprised by the contrast between the natural elements and then the disruption with construction and luxury and to think, “Where are we going? Where are we headed?” And then in tandem, of course, I always work on portraits too. 

BENZINE: AI portraits?

CONDO: Yes.

BENZINE: I saw your Instagram post of one of the images from the Unnatural series, the one that looks like the Grand Canyon or Moab. I was reading the caption—one term you used in there that I loved was “land art prank.”

CONDO: Yes. I basically always felt like living here on earth was a complete twilight zone for me. And these surreal ideas or these imagined universe imagined people, they’re much more present in my mind than most of the stuff that make up daily life, which is a complete abstraction most of the time.

BENZINE: [Laughs] It’s all a simulation anyway.

CONDO: Yes. So unless I’m in front of something extremely pure, authentic and true—nature, animals, babies, kids, and sometimes very old people that just no longer need to play the game—I feel like everything else has always been weird to me. So making art with the tools of AI is incredibly familiar. I feel like I’ve done that my whole life, even though I haven’t.

BENZINE: Since your latest series is working with nature to some degree, what do you think about the environmental impact of AI?

CONDO: I’m concerned about it, obviously. As you know, film is a great passion of mine too. One of the big things that influenced me as a kid was what we called Spaghetti Westerns. They were those Sergio Leone [films] and with the music of Ennio Morricone and I was obsessed. That CinemaScope experience of America was how I imagined the landscapes. I’m sure that there are elements of Hollywood’s imprint on the land. Its plasticity, its artificial impact. Why do I use these tools if I’m aware of how risky it may be? Whether I personally use them or not, others will. The train’s on the tracks. I can’t start it or stop it.

BENZINE: Every time I get on an airplane or buy a $15 dress, I have had that exact thought: this train is already moving, it’s going to go whether or not I’m on it. But you want to have somebody with a good heart and moral compass on your train.

CONDO: That’s what I think too. It’s too soon for me to know if my art is affecting people in any way, good or bad. But I feel like it’s almost an out-of-body experience. I have to do it. I don’t know why I’m propelled to do it. We could just sit there like Buddha and contemplate, but I’m still moved to create—and to create with these tools.

BENZINE: You’ve produced so much over the past 10 or 15 years in particular. I was thinking about the fact that you have been unmarried now for almost a decade. Congratulations.

CONDO: Thank you.

BENZINE: Do you feel freer as an artist?

CONDO: I do, yes.

BENZINE: Is that just having more time, or is that also the circumstances?

CONDO: There’s probably elements of time, but I think it’s very much the circumstances. When I met my ex-husband, I was an actor and I was really looking forward to being a creative for the rest of my life. That was something he wasn’t really into—

BENZINE: You being a creative?

CONDO: Yeah. But the other creator in me wanted a family. I knew I wanted children. I never fantasized about wanting a husband. We had very similar excitement when it came to art and music and film, so it felt logical at the time that we would just embark on a journey. And then you have kids. And then I ultimately put most of my energy in helping out with his career, raising the girls, making sure they were good people—and they are. And when the marriage ended, it was clear that it was time to shift who the caretaker was going to take care of. And at that moment, it became very clear that nothing was in the way anymore. I grew up in a family that was already very much stocked with artists. And growing up, it was like I was taught that art is more important than life. This concept that I was brainwashed with—

BENZINE: By your parents?

CONDO: By my parents. This was very convenient for a man who wanted to be one of the most important living artists, because then I would give it my best. But towards the end of the marriage, it dawned on me that this was untrue. Life is the greatest creation that will ever exist. Artists, we do our best to get close to it. But it’s the only truth there is. Last night, as I told you, I babysat my granddaughter. I purposely forced myself to not take my laptop. I know if I had taken it, I would’ve worked nonstop. While I’m ashamed to say this, it was the first time in a  very long time that I didn’t work in the space of 12 or 14 hours.

BENZINE: Good for you. 

CONDO: It took this magical child for me to not once feel any regret. Every second of her, even when she was sleeping, was pure magic.

BENZINE: I hate to bring it up again because it must be annoying to be understood constantly by people in terms of the people that you’ve had around you over the course of your life. But you and George met when you would’ve been in your early 20s in Paris, right?

CONDO: 24-and-a-half, exactly.

BENZINE: And you had been living there since you were one-and-a-half, right?

CONDO: Yes. 

BENZINE: When your family moved to Paris, did they already have connections there?

CONDO: They were political refugees, so it was a whole new life. My mom didn’t speak the language. My dad had been in Paris. When the Soviets took over Armenia, there were all these promises made. A few Armenians returned to Armenia even after the genocide had occurred. My dad’s family left France after World War II. Unfortunately, he got put in a concentration camp for seven years for refusing to take the Soviet passport. During that time, my grandmother and the two kids had to survive. They waited and waited and waited. That’s when my father met my mother, who was born in Beirut. Her dad, my grandfather, who I never got to know, was a photographer. Her brother’s the leading composer in Armenia, her sister is an opera singer, and the other brother is a painter. My mom was destined to do acting, but then she met my father.

BENZINE: So you were obviously steeped in the arts growing up, and you studied art and acting. When you met George, had you heard of him?

CONDO: No.

BENZINE: That’s always charming.

CONDO: We tend to think, because we’re part of it and we care, that the art world is the world. But it’s not. Most people don’t know that stuff. And back then, certainly not. The stars of the time were [Julian] Schnabel, who was really huge. Obviously Keith Haring. George had left New York; he wasn’t completely finding his place here. He went to Europe, traveled, which is always smart when you’re young. And no, I had no idea who he was.

BENZINE: But by that point, were you modeling for other painters?

CONDO: No. But whenever I met a painter, they always wanted to draw me. I guess back then I had a very painterly look to me. But I wasn’t hanging out with artists and I had a boyfriend right before him actually, who was a painter. I was making films, and that was what I was interested in. There was a lot to learn. I had a lot of movies to watch. I was a working girl, too. I was driven and very excited to start my life.

BENZINE: Well, you are a Capricorn.

CONDO: I am. I’m also very picky. I knew that I needed to be challenged and excited. And it’s true that meeting that second generation of Les Cahiers du Cinéma got me to hang out with [Éric] Rohmer and [Jacques] Rivette, people that actually interested me and were themselves. [George] and I saw each other at the coffee shop in the Summer of ‘88, and then I got rid of his number because I had no interest. I gave it to the girl I was with. I was like, “I’m not interested.” But two months after that, we just came face to face inside a nightclub and he basically kissed me in the middle of a sentence while I was speaking. And I said, “What are you doing?” And he said, “I love you.” And I started cracking up. I was like, “Yeah, right.” We started hanging out and somehow just jumped in right away. I met him in the summer of ’88. It was like … What do you call those?

BENZINE: A tornado.

CONDO: Yeah, but the underwater version. 

BENZINE: A whirlpool?

CONDO: Like a whirlpool. Exactly.

BENZINE: There is, of course, an interview from 2004 where he says that he’s been painting you since he met you.

CONDO: Yeah. I would sit. Sometimes in costume, other times not. And then obviously, after a while, he really knew my features. We would go out to cocktail parties or to things like that and often collectors have said to me, “I have a painting and your face is all over it.” And it was not a direct portrait of me, but people could see that it was my features.

BENZINE: I can see how you’d be such an amazing muse because there’s so much to you as a person, as a woman, as an artist. It’s like you’re infinite.

CONDO: Or maybe they’re all me.

BENZINE: Well now, in 2025, there’s been plenty of discussions about art history’s muses and what that means, whether it’s a diminutive or degrading position for a woman to be in. Did you ever expect yourself to be in that role?

CONDO: No. Obviously I had that experience when I was an actor. That’s why, by the time I met George, I was pretty brainwashed and ready for action. I was not a stage actor. I don’t like rules. I can’t stand them. So anything that would be choreographed, I would be absolutely bored and even miserable. But independent filmmaking was totally my cup of tea because they had no money but they needed good shots. It was interesting as a young woman to realize that once the camera was rolling, the power was in my hands. I got super excited and inspired by the idea of knocking their socks off on set, the tech people. If I did a scene that was sad and dramatic, I wanted to see their eyes all blurry after it was over. Or if I did something comedic, I wanted them to crack up like crazy. As I grew as a woman, I realized that I liked less and less being in front of the camera and more and more being behind it, where I could orchestrate things, which happened later in life. I was way more than the muse. I did business management, I was a mental health specialist, I was a housewife and girlfriend. So yes, muse is slightly reductive, but it’s basically saying you participate in the creation of an artwork. So, amongst all the other things, I was also a muse. 

BENZINE: Then the two of you moved to New York in the early ’90s?

CONDO: We first came to New York and went straight to Montauk, to Julian Schnabel’s house, that summer of ’88.

BENZINE: And you already knew him by then?

CONDO: No. I didn’t know anything about anything. I actually did not speak English. I had no idea who these people were. I didn’t really care either. You know what I mean? I was just in love and doing my thing with my guy, but I wasn’t analyzing anything. A year after we got married, and a year after that our oldest daughter was born, Eleonore. Between ’88 and ’95 we kept an apartment in Paris, but we also had a house in New England and multiple rentals in New York. We would go back and forth and back and forth—not much stability. But when the second child was born in ’95, it was evident that it would become really complicated to move. At the time, George was not having a great time with his gallery. We tried London, but he didn’t like it. And then we came to New York and settled here.

BENZINE: I would imagine that you were probably surrounded by a lot of artists. Did anybody take you under their wing?

CONDO: Yes, three people—two more obvious than others. Keith Haring was particularly kind to me, warm and embracing. There are few moments in life where you meet people, especially when you’re young, and they almost know you better than you know yourself. It brings tears to my eyes to think about that. And I think he saw me. The other person was Allen Ginsburg. I had a major breakdown in my 30s, and I now suspect a lot of potential postpartum. It was not an easy life at home. Allen and me, we became very close, even though he was friends with George. They were the only two that I can say did not have that attitude of like, “Oh, we’ll hang with you just because we want to hang with George.” Allen taught me how to meditate, to find my inner peace. When he moved into his loft, he just kept calling me all the time to go over there. I helped him set up a video screen and showed him Pasolini films and he would cook for me. He wanted me to blossom, to do my thing. He was very subtle about it, but clear.

I also thought Yoko Ono was pretty cool with me every single time I met her. It always hurts me when I hear people say negative things about her and her impact on the band because, to be honest, she was always so kind and easy to be around. What I’ve experienced is that people don’t like the artist’s wife. The artist’s wife is the gatekeeper. For women, there’s such a history of sacrifice. I remember an anecdote, which is not funny at all, but really illustrates what I mean. George was commissioned by a princess from Thurn und Taxis to do a portrait of her and her kids. And at the time I had little children myself.

BENZINE: So this would’ve been in the 2000s?

CONDO: I would say 1998. George is asked to go to the castle in Germany to paint them. He’s given an advance. We go—him, me, the two girls. I helped him set up the studio. I set up the girls. I take care of the girls. But the princess is not there. She’s gone on a trip. So to kill time, George starts this really large portrait of me, which I posed for with a dress I used to have, and I was carrying a giant cross on my back. And in the meantime, he makes small portraits of the kids and a small portrait of her based on a photograph. The days go on, she’s still not there. And for me, it’s really hard when you have kids and you don’t know the people, their language. It wasn’t luxurious; it was gloomy. He got sick of waiting and he said to me, “Well, I’m leaving. You are staying here with the kids. And when she comes back, you tell her George was bored and he left.” So he leaves. I’m there with the kids and she shows up like, “Where’s George?” And I said, “He said he was bored and he left.”

BENZINE: Oh my gosh.

CONDO: She loses her shit. Basically traps me with the kids, cuts off the phone lines. I’m like, “Fuck. What do I do?” And I talked to a couple that was working for her. He was her carpenter, and I think they took pity on me. They said, “We’ll lend you the money to take a plane.” The irony of it, you know? The poorest people down the chain, they’re the ones who help you. And the night before I thought, “Shit, there’s all these paintings that are in the studio and I can’t leave them.” So I packed them amongst the baby clothes to hide them. Of course, the only one I can’t take is the giant one of me holding the cross on her back.

BENZINE: Wow.

CONDO: The next day we go to the airport and my heart is up to my throat and I’m thinking, “If I get stopped, she’s going to say I stole the paintings.” Long story short, we end up escaping and George doesn’t pick us up. We arrived in Switzerland. He’s laughing his head off and I’m like, “Man, you don’t realize how scary that was.” Flash forward 15 or 20 years, we go to a dinner that she invites us to. And I’m like, “I don’t want to go,” but he insists. Again, I sacrifice and go because he says it’s good for business. This was the beginning of the end of my marriage, walking into this woman’s house who essentially was a monster. And there it is, on the wall, this huge portrait of me with a cross on my back. 

BENZINE: Couldn’t pick a better image, honestly.

CONDO: It was horrific. But all of that does take a toll. Every day is the opportunity to try and be more and more awake, more loving, more compassionate towards others and myself. It’s very hard to have a rich, spiritual life when you are constantly thinking as a cell—me and him or me and the kids. I guess I’m a late bloomer to that. The first chunks of my life were based on what I was formulated to believe in and told how to operate, but then you learn a whole new set of rules. You get older and you look back and you’re like, “That’s not me.” Then you need the time to build you. I’m just beginning to be in the me world. I have much more work to do on that journey.