Damien Hirst

Damien Hirst

© Damien Hirst. Photo courtesy Gagosian Gallery, New York

“The Explosion-Exalted” (2006)

© Damien Hirst. Photo courtesy Jay Jopling/ White Cube (London)

Damien Hirst, "Holidays" (1989)

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The first work of his bought by Charles Saatchi in 1990 was A Thousand Years, comprising a rotting cow’s head being devoured by maggots and flies. Saatchi then commissioned Hirst’s infamous shark in formaldehyde, The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living.

In 1995, he was awarded the Turner Prize, and from then on, Hirst’s notoriety has grown. He’s been in and out of court, had drink and drug problems, sobered himself up, fallen out with Saatchi, made pop records, opened and closed restaurants and made deliberately boring paintings.

His current exhibition, called “Superstition,” at Gagosian’s L.A. and Davies Street (London) galleries could point to a more mature era for Hirst. It includes works that are reminiscent of stained glass windows, made by attaching hundreds of butterflies to the picture’s surface. Each work has been given a pair of titles, one referring to Christian iconography, the other to a poem by the pessimist-romantic English poet Philip Larkin (1922-1985).

The Damien Hirst who spoke to ArtInfo during the hanging of his L.A. show—and following a visit from David Hockney—was surprisingly mellow. He was eager to explain himself, didn’t duck any of our questions and discussed everything from religion and fame to the Sex Pistols and Francis Bacon. And he only swore once.

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Damien, I was surprised that you’ve named this series after Philip Larkin poems. Does this mean you’re entering a more romantic phase in your work?

I did a load of medicine cabinets a long time ago and I named them after Sex Pistols songs. I suppose I must be getting old if I’m naming work after Philip Larkin poems. I don’t know. They’re quite religious-looking, and I think I was just trying to find a way to avoid the religiousness by saying they’re named after poems rather than naming them after churches or anything like that. I’m still coming to terms with my own religion.

And what is your own religion?

I was brought up a Catholic, but I don’t believe in God. I think I’m an atheist. Hardcore atheist. I’m trying to be a hardcore atheist, and then I keep making work like this …

But the church was very clever, you know. They used everything available to make you believe. They’ve always used the greatest artists of the time to create the greatest visual spectacle that they could come up with, all in the name of God—or in the name of Commerce, you could say cynically.

But whether you’re taking your titles from the Sex Pistols or Philip Larkin, you still remain a provocateur. People haven’t lost interest in your pieces.

I’ve always liked to think that they were exciting visually. We live in a world that’s really exciting visually, but people’s expectations of art are different. I always get accused of being sensationalist in a negative way. I’ve never really seen it like that myself. I think that things should be wild, they should be imaginative, they should grab your attention, they should scream at you. I’ve always loved that.

What about the notoriety that comes with it? Does it give you more room to maneuver as an artist?

I think it’s more of a hindrance. It’s just a byproduct that you’ve got to live with, but it’s a double-edged sword, because you’ve got to make a bigger effort to be considered a serious artist.

But rather than be frightened by notoriety, I’ve embraced it. When I was growing up I had a lot of friends, older artists, and each of them was just sitting in his studio, painting away, waiting to be discovered. I always thought that was a lonely, sad, depressing pursuit and I was more frightened of that than anything else. I wanted to make art that had an audience, and I didn’t want to wait for that audience to find me. I wanted to go out and get it.