John Currin doesn’t have a personal airplane, or a yacht, or the keys to a resort suite he can keep in at a second’s discover—, the toys a wealthy man in a film may need. However for a painter, he actually has the complete treasure chest: a picket mid-century bungalow on a lake in Mount Desert Island, Maine. A weekend home on the North Fork of Lengthy Island. A townhouse in Gramercy, that he and his spouse, the artist Rachel Feinstein, spent half a decade rebuilding from the bottom up. They’ve three stunning youngsters. Cool and highly effective pals in style, artwork, media, and society. He lives comfortably sufficient that he can say issues like, “If I ever do one other nation home, I’m making my studio nearer.”

And he has a silver Porsche! “Yeah,” he stated, apologetic and amused, when he picked me up on the airport close to his Mount Desert dwelling. “I’m that man who picked you up in a Porsche.”

Currin has collected all these goodies throughout his profession because the premiere chronicler of twisted girls within the doubtful grip of male want. He’s a uncommon factor: a star painter. (And likewise a painter of celebrities: maybe you noticed the September 2017 Vogue cowl he painted of Jennifer Lawrence as certainly one of his Rococo-Mannerist ingenues.) Now, he’s having his first museum present since 2003, that includes his work of…males. Opening at Dallas Up to date on September 15, it’s referred to as “My Life as a Man”—a title borrowed from the Philip Roth novel, and audaciously, completely faux-macho. In July, I went to his home in Maine, the place he and Feinstein decamp for principally the entire summer season, doing yoga, getting massages, enjoying with their youngsters’ iguana, and making artwork. (Feinstein additionally has a significant present opening on the Jewish Museum in November; she can also be in all probability the good girl on the planet.)

However for all his nice stuff, Currin obsessively thinks in regards to the masculine concept the artwork world believes he embodies, however that in his thoughts perpetually eludes him. He’s haunted by the thought of being inauthentic. He’s received a Porsche, positive—however it’s as a result of he like, can’t have a Ferrari. “I’ll very effectively look silly in a Porsche, however I’d look actually silly in a Ferrari. It’s similar to, I don’t have the… You must have black hair, you need to have, you may’t simply…” He trails off, his palms waving seeking the phrases. “My facial… I don’t have the fitting nostril. Whereas the silver Porsche is type of like a balding man. It type of appears extra like”—he gestures up at himself—“?”

Or it’s like, , the distinction between Sean Connery enjoying James Bond and Clint Eastwood as Soiled Harry. (If Currin had a nickel for each time he chuckled and darted to a different prolonged parable of the proper male specimen versus a much less refined actuality, he’d be, effectively, as wealthy as a man in a film.) Connery, “you may’t cease him. He’s humorous, he’s merciless, imply to girls.” He doesn’t stroll down the road with everyone else, he doesn’t look ahead to the sunshine to show inexperienced—“he doesn’t take care of any of the tiny humiliations.” Eastwood, alternatively, “has a crappy house. There’s nothing in his fridge. There’s no girl ever. There’s no loyal girl doing issues for him. He’s continuously having to attend for cease indicators. He drives a shit automobile, has garments that don’t match him, and has a fucking massive gun. Whereas James Bond has the Walther PPK, a teeny tiny little gun, proper?”