Franz West is often described as the arch joker in a pack of late 20th-century sculptors known for their irreverent cornucopias of materials. Yet while the coal-and-sackcloth statements of Jannis Kounellis, for example, declared that art was a serious business, West’s profferings – zany, bulbous sculptures, kinky collages and funky furniture that he encouraged spectators to sit on – labelled him a cheeky Lord of Misrule. He would bring art to the masses yet make them chuckle too. I never found him that funny. His squidgy, effervescent, papier-mâché efflorations sent shivers up my spine, as did his collages of fashion, porn and newspaper images. His invitations to perch on the sofas and chairs felt like commandments: thou shalt giggle; thou shalt chill out. Read more at Financial Times.
Franz West, 2009. Photo by Markus Rossle