Imaginary letter to Jeff Koons (short story)

Mister Koons,

Il confirm the order of the monumental work The Dog and the Lamb for the garden of my villa of Tuscany. Finally, I give up a vegetable realization and I hope that you will not see inconveniences there. Indeed, the Large Walking Cat that you created for the court of my english Farm is today in poor condition. The association of lichens of the North Pole and tropical flowers that you used for the legs, the top of the back and the muzzle of this sculpture were, of course, a brilliant idea. I write « was » because these plants will not have held a year.

Invevitably, the lichens died the first summer and the tropical flowers the next winter. In addition, that you placed on the sides and the cheeks of the cat is put tu push in a ill-considered way downwards. Result : my big cat resembles now on an Afghan greyhound. Ultimately, I choose like material, for « The Dog and the Lamb », pin bronze pantinated pale way mercurized glass.

As you know it, Mr Koons, I wish to treat with you only by correspondence. Your legend continues you : it is said that you transform the people of your life into works of art. I fear that if we meet, you test an unspecified desire of « setting art » of my person. Because, Mr Koons, my big fear is to die suffocated in a mould.

I know this idea is very presomptuous. It looks like as one of my sister’s idea : she is obsessed by the psychoanalysis and says all the time she would have liked to live in Vienna at the time of Doctor Freud. I know my sister : she imagines she would have been inevitably the best friend of Doctor Freud. She does not think of a moment when the psychoanalyst would have been able to hate her. She does not think of a moment when, altough living in Vienna at the end of the XIXth century, she would never have been able to meet Doctor Freud.

Il write to you about my sister and the idea comes me from another monumental work for my private mansion in Paris : My Sister and Doctor Freud. But we will speak about it later.

Sincelery yours

Pierrick Moritz, from France (the country of the camembert in the coffee at breakfast)