La D.S., 1993. All images courtesy of the artist and, unless otherwise noted, Marian Goodman Gallery, New York.

Lyricism and humor. Who hasn’t seen one of Gabriel Orozco’s works? A Citroën sliced lengthwise into three long pieces, then reassembled without the middle part (La D.S., 1993, on exhibit at the Beaubourg in Paris). A ping-pong table made of four courts and a small pond in the middle (Ping Pond Table, 1998). A small billiards table that functions as a pendulum (Oval with Pendulum, 1996). Full-size pianos with two keyboards (Mother, 1998). Ribbons of toilet paper suspended from a ceiling fan (Toilet Ventilator, 1997–2001). An elevator, outside its shaft, situated in a room (Elevator, 1994). A ball of modeling clay that was rolled through a city and picked up trash as it went, the marks left in it forming a sort of urban fingerprint (Yielding Stone, 1992). Reconstructed chessboards with varied proportions, their pieces strangely arranged (Horses Running Endlessly, 1995). A handful of clay, marked with the impressions of the artist’s fingers, clenched in his hands against his naked chest (My Hands are My Heart, 1991); the trace that a dog’s tail leaves in the sand (Dog Circle, 1995); yellow Schwalbe motorcycles, alone and in groups (Until You Find Another Schwalbe Motorcycle, 1995); watermelons wearing empty cat food cans like hats (Cats and Watermelons, 1992); an ice cream cone on top of a bush (Ice Cream House, 1995); a mist of breath on a surface of polished varnish (Breath on Piano, 1993). And one very long et cetera of sculpture, photography, video, installation, and drawing.

Gabriel Orozco refuses to produce a specific kind of piece. His work is a continuous exploration, revealing a spirit of equal parts wit and amazement, open to surprise. The variety and spectrum of his oeuvre is astonishing. Nonetheless, his aesthetic is consistent, closer to that of a poet than that of a painter: he finds hidden revelations in the everyday. His pieces appear almost drenched in laughter, but the ideas behind his work, although they celebrate spontaneity, don’t scorn the intellectual. He’s aesthetically the opposite of Duchamp or of the Surrealist project: Orozco finds hidden meanings, he leaves his own mark. He avoids mixing dreams with reality. He holds close to what is real, forcing it to be “realer” than it already is. He unmasks art’s essence, playing with objects while at the same time practicing a sort of dissection of his own constructs.

Without doubt, Orozco is Mexico’s best-known living artist. Having returned to live in Mexico, where he was born in 1962, Orozco spoke with me about how he sees himself in relation to the Mexican artistic tradition, his reformulation of public art, his roots, if he wants to be classified by one particular label or none, his role as an artist, his cities, his current projects, and some aspects of his vast oeuvre. During our conversation, Orozco referred to only two writers, Wilde and Borges, but it’s evident to anyone who views his work that his ties to literature run deep. If the richness of Orozco’s work owes as much to literature as to his willing, daily contact with the world at large and art in general, that may explain why so many writers as well as visual artists are fascinated by his art.

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Issue 98 Winter 2007