Interview by Moby Portraits by Duane Michals

The painter Damian Loeb describes his work as "suburban, North American scenes mixed with David Lynch surrealism."

MOBY: I came over here to your studio six months ago and it was the first time in all the years that I've known you-and we've been friends since 1988-that I've actually seen you painting.

DAMIAN LOEB: That was the day I couldn't get the elves to come in and do it for me.

M: It really blew me away, just how much effort is involved in making one of your paintings. You do everything yourself, and it takes you a month to do each work.

DL: But I feel I'm getting away with murder, because I am able to paint all the time. In the world I grew up in, in Connecticut, people got real jobs-doctor, lawyer, banker. I thought, If I work hard enough, at least I'll get blue-collar wages for what I do.

M: Deep down, I think that no matter how successful we may become, we're always going to feel inadequate. Like we're doing second-rate careers. Maybe that's why we work so hard. Most people view work as something to be endured. It's separate from their real life. Whereas our work is incredibly more intense and vibrant than the rest of our lives.

DL: I have to work twice as hard at what I am good at because it's the only thing I am good at.

M: I get asked the musical version of the following question a lot: Are there any contemporary artists whose work you like?

DL: There are a great deal of filmmakers and cinematographers and musicians and writers and photographers who are doing amazing work. But contemporary artists? I don't know where to start. When I look at most contemporary art, it doesn't satisfy me.

M: Yeah, it's hard to talk about a lot of contemporary art without sounding like a pretentious jerk.

DL: The difficulty there for me is that I'm an artist, but I'd rather watch anything on television than go to most art openings. I've seen some amazing, hysterical commercials recently that have kept my attention for the whole thirty seconds. Whereas, when I'm looking at art, I sometimes have to force myself to look for that long.

M: For your first show at the Mary Boone gallery, the reviews were rather mixed. A lot of the art establishment really wringed you. But what was interesting was that the paintings were also quite expensive and sold out before the show opened its doors.

DL: The press I got before the show may have contributed to that.

M: I Just wish that all of the critics who gave you unfavorable reviews could come over and see you painting; they would be humbled. I think that they are used to glamorizing lazy art.

DL: I don't really read art criticism. It's just not a way of talking that I understand. Even with books about artists I love, I prefer to look at the pictures.

M: A lot of people resent you. They see you in the press as this guy who is tall, attractive, whose paintings sell for a lot of money. But the one thing that should qualify everyone's resentment of you is that deep down you're pathologically insecure and quite unhappy. My friend Alexandra, after one of the first times she and I came over to visit you here, said that you and I were "cool" guys. And I was like: If you only knew. Having grown up in Connecticut, we'll be, as far as I can tell, nervous, insecure adolescents for the rest of our lives.

DL: Maybe that's why whenever I get a break from painting, I just fix up my home and studio, making it my ideal space.

M: You work on your atelier.

DL: My what?

M: Atelier. That would be a good pickup line if you were in a nightclub.

DL: "Would you like to come back to my atelier?"

M: When I do British press, all they ask is: "Who are you sleeping with?" and "What is the strangest sex experience you've ever had?" And since I want to be friends with everyone, I tell them.

DL: So ask me some British-type questions.

M: You're single now, right?

DL: Yes.

M: Assuming that you like girls, as I happen to know that you do-

DL: Women! I like women!

M: What are some of the qualities you find attractive in a woman?

DL: I like someone I don't feel uncomfortable with, with whom there are a minimum of awkward silences.

M: The awkward silence is the death knell of any relationship.

DL: More British questions.

M: No. I think your work life is a lot more interesting than your sex life. Your sex life is pretty average.

DL: [feigns crying]

M: OK, your sex life isn't average, but it's not anecdotal. You meet nice women who are smart and highly interesting, and you have affairs with them.

DL: And I teach them to hate me.

M: And then you have sex with them.

DL: And then they really hate me.

M: You invite them over, ply them with DVDs, then Introduce them to your . . . penis.

DL: "Hello, I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

M: Moving on. What is your social life like?

DL: I don't know how to have a successful social life, because I've never had a lot of friends. I just like having a few. When I do go out, I'd rather go somewhere and feel genuinely uncomfortable because of a juxtaposition of different worlds.

M: If I want a nice calm environment, hell, I'll stay home.

DL: You're right. But I have to say that even though I don't go out much, I've been lucky living in New York. I've gotten to meet people whose work I admire. I've gotten to meet famous actors and rock stars. I've met them all through you.

M: Basically, we've both won the lottery. The chances of an artist ever being able to have a show in New York is almost nil. The chances of a musician ever getting to make a record is almost nil.

DL: Now, how can we fuck it up?

M: We spend our whole lives working to have a degree of success. And then once we have a degree of success, we spend so much time trying to shoot ourselves in the feet. Let's see: I'm successful for making dance records, so I'll make a punk rock record. And in your case, you want to be successful in the art world, so you do everything in your power to antagonize critics.

DL: And alienate my fellow artists and make my dealers hate me. Another funny thing about success: We're a lot happier when we're struggling to make something beautiful. Or rather, I don't think we're happier struggling, it's just that we get really bored when we're not. That's our curse: When we struggle we're miserable, and when we don't struggle we're bored.

M: What some people may not know about you as an artist is that you're completely self-taught, besides a few art classes in high school. That's impressive, and I'm saying that for you because we aren't allowed to toot our own horns.

DL: I've been tooting my own horn for a long time, and I'm not blind yet.

M: You could have gone to art school, but you spent your money on stereo equipment and underpants.

DL: You'll never let me live down those underpants.

M: The criteria critics use to dismiss your work are sometimes more appropriate for judging esoteric conceptual artists. But you're working in a completely different tradition and critics need to be flexible enough to deal with that. You're more in the tradition of Norman Rockwell and Bob Ross.

DL: Don't disrespect Bob Ross. And Norman Rockwell has been getting a lot of press lately. God, I hope I can ride on his coattails.

M: I read one review of your work that described it as Norman Rockwell meets David Lynch.

DL: A British one said Hopper and David Lynch. Which is exactly what I hoped to do.

M: I love Hopper, but from a technical perspective you're a different type of painter.

DL: But people who make that comparison are talking about something more environmental. Suburban, North American scenes mixed with David Lynch surrealism.

M: From my perspective, the mark of a sophisticated work right now is taking fairly obvious populist tropes and imbuing them with multifaceted sophisticated subtext.

DL: Whoa! Who said that?

M: No one. I was just thinking of someone like Takeshi Kitano, my favorite filmmaker. But essentially we love popular culture. Our work is inspired by it. But as much as we love popular culture, we're also horrified and sickened by it. In order to work within popular culture, or to be a populist, you have to instantly be an apologist for what you're doing. Whereas if you're doing esoteric or conceptual art, you're given a blank check.

DL: And people seem to have to apologize for not getting the esoteric stuff. They don't say anything about it so they don't look dumb.

M: That's a very good point. It's like the emperor's new clothes.

DL: Yes, that's what I always thought, but I wasn't allowed to say it. When I walked around SoHo and I looked at work, I asked art people to explain it and they'd go into these lengthy descriptions. And I'd say, "What did you see in the room?" Finally, they would say that there was a grain of rice in the middle of the floor and that was it. And I would go, "There's the description. That's all I wanted. That's the artwork. That's lazy."

M: Well, now that we've gotten these opinions off our chests, tell me: Ten years from now, what would you like your life to be like?

DL: I want to fix up the studio, finally get the floor sanded. You know that I'm constantly trying to make my environment more of a womb for myself.

M: Ten years from now, would you like to be married? Single?

DL: Ten years from now, I look forward to getting a little bit closer to being happy. And allowing myself to enjoy things-instead of always waiting for something horrible to happen.