My interest in Paris Hilton isn't a critique-unless it's a critique of myself. Paris is my preposterous alter ego. I'm forty, and the project is like a midlife crisis in my studio. I made the paintings wearing five-inch heels to channel her energy. Am I where I thought I would be now when I was in my twenties? If I paint Paris, will she buy one of my paintings? Why do I feel the way I do wearing these heels? Am I my father's son? He bought a Corvette when he turned forty. For me, Paris is less about her achievements, which most people would say are nil, and more about her gestures and the way she moves. I like to imagine her choosing her outfits and practicing her red-carpet poses. She exists as a readymade, creating compositions with her body. -AS TOLD TO ALISON M. GINGERAS

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