Billy Conklin’s work has an allusive Duchampian wit, a Magrittian mystery, and a diabolic Swiftian mastery. Since narrative plays as a primary means of organizing people's lives and experiences, Conklin has created a long string of art narratives that some critics have described as superfictions. Other critics have suggested that his work is so far beyond what can properly be considered art, that they use the term “postart” to describe it. Yet within all these definitions Conklin has set up a powerful negative logic, aimed to question the nature of art and art institutions. And, perhaps, even the culture that builds and decides such things. And life itself.

If you crossed Sid Vicious with Oscar Wilde, you might get something approaching Billy Conklin; a dissipated, baby-faced punk dandy. He is gangly and ghostly, and speaks quietly and camply. He is wearing his customary black suit and sunglasses, and he is off his head - he can't stand straight and speaks as if through a fog. He doesn't seem to have the energy or concentration for full sentences.

Now that he has a home in Detroit, Billy has only learnt one American phrase so far, a rude one, although the garrulous artist promises to soon be chatting away politely with the locals who inhabit the neighborhood streets. More than merely a means of escaping the British doldrums, the second generation Young British Artist says the decision to move here is motivated by the deep affinity he feels for the darker side of the local culture. He spoke to me in the shabby-chic Detroit house he purchased on his last trip to town. He spoke as somebody who has been through the wringer of public controversy. Outside we had prostitutes standing on our corner, and people crapping round the back alley.

Question:  Why relocate to Detroit?

Q:  Your work is often chastised by European critics for being too morbid.