In 1975, race car driver Hervé Poulain asked his friend Alexander Calder to paint the BMW 3.0 CSL he planned to drive in that year’s Le Mans race. BMW executives liked the idea, and a new marketing idea was born.

On Tuesday night, press and notable art-world figures — curators, museum directors, champion figure star Oksana Baiul (?) — were invited to the studio of the 17th BMW Art Car’s creator, Jeff Koons, although the enterprising Pop artist was quick to admit that he had nothing to show yet for the project, not even a rendering.

No matter. There was plenty to see and do in Koons’s Chelsea studio, a sprawling, garage-like space with cement floors, fluorescent lights, hooked devices for hoisting heavy sculptures, and walls and walls of meticulously labeled and organized supplies in plastic bins. One was labeled “extra hippos + dog pools.”

Koons has mounted increasingly labor-intensive work in recent years, positioning himself as America’s most ambitious artist, so it only made sense that America’s hardest-working, perfection-minded chef, Thomas Keller, would provide the snacks for the unusual event: warm, feather-light gougères; macaroons of Meyer lemon, cassis, and pistachio; bite-size cornets filled variously with salmon, artichoke, and small Spanish shrimp tossed in paprika. The latter shattered in one’s mouth like finely wrought potato chips. “I think people are afraid to eat them,” one on-site chef opined.

But guests seemed to do fine, nibbling the delicate snacks and sipping Keller's cocktails or champagne while they circulated through the space, marveling at the industry of it all.

Some of Koons’s assistants had been asked to stay late for the event, and were positioned variously around the rooms, one fine-tuning an aluminum cast, another mixing paints, still another meticulously touching up seas of Ben-Day dots gone Koonsian.

The ones ARTINFO talked to — just a few of the 120 or so who'd be hard at work during the day — seemed genuinely happy to be there on a Tuesday night and spoke freely and at length about their tasks and the studio's work ethic. One so-called “dot person” told of long hours and of Koons’s eagle eye for mistakes, which he can apparently pick out from across the room, but also of camaraderie, interesting co-workers, and soccer games at a nearby park during the studio’s lunch hour. Surveying the dozen or so monumental works in various states of completion throughout the studio, one couldn't help but marvel at their expense — most will carry a seven-figure price tag — and the amount of sheer labor put into their production.

Both painting assistants, who were painstakingly applying dots and background and tiny fields of color on Bettie Page’s stockings, say, or Popeye’s forearm, told of spending months on one painting. Sculpture assistants devote whole seasons to tidying up a form when it comes back from a factory — they were working on Koons's deceptive recreations of blow-up pool toys (how can metal seem so light?) — and on carefully applying their bright, toy-store graphics.

The museum directors and board members in attendance — the Guggenheims Richard Armstrong, MoMAs Klaus Biesenbach, P.S.1's Agnes Gund, the Whitneys Adam Weinberg — seemed happy to be there as well. But the art critics and writers — Roberta Smith, Lee Rosenbaum, Lindsay Pollock, Jerry Saltz — were overjoyed. Saltz for one bounced from room to room exuberantly: “I can’t believe this is all in the service of art!”

But oh yes – the Art Car! Koons was excited about that. “I'm just thrilled,” he told the crowd. “Art tries to connect somehow to the biological, with time in a way. It's profound to be able to make a car on this platform of excellence.”

One wall of the studio was devoted to the promotional concept, lined with miniature replicas of previous BMW art cars. Thinking ahead, BMW had thwarted potential car thieves by enclosing the models behind plastic shields — unlike Koons’s paintings, which hung unprotected, awaiting an errant step or careless drinker.

Artists’ responses to the unique commission range from the predictable to the bizarre. Roy Lichtenstein turned his BMW 320i into a giant Lichtenstein painting, emblazoning a sun along its driver’s-side door and streaks of Ben-Day dots along the car. On the other hand, Warhol, the artist whose production seems most perfectly suited for the assembly line, made the perverse decision to paint the car himself by hand in 1979. Olafur Eliasson encased his car BMW H2R in ice. You can’t make this stuff up.

Koons and his assistants were silent about his plans for the project, though a few apparently knowledgeable staffers hinted that the artist’s uncompromising vision might need to be scaled back to create an actual car. It invites quite a thought experiment. Will he wrap his BMW in a giant life preserver, sprawl Popeye along its roof, or simply bedeck the car in thousands of potted flowers?

The project also invites imagining how other artists would tackle the project. Robert Barry? All the doors would be locked. Damien Hirst? Formaldehyde animals boxed in the trunk like massive subwoofers. James Turrell? One giant moon-roof. Yayoi Kusama? A giant, mobile, polka-dot-covered mushroom.

Rounding out the evening’s short presentation, BMW president Jim O’Donnell evoked Marcel Duchamps equation A Guest + A Host = A Ghost, adding, “The ghost is the car that’s not going to be unveiled tonight.” No one seemed to mind.