Artist

Maximilian Otte

CV / Bio

Selected works

Exhibitions

1978 born in Vienna, Austria

1997 – 2002 study of painting and graphics at the Academy of Fine Arts, Vienna

Less is more – who believes this nonsensical wisdom? More is more. And full is relative when the doorman is someone with a horror vacui problem. Even if there isn’t even a single standing place left, Maximilian Otte can always squeeze in a tiger, a parrot, or a cute puppy somewhere. Or a butterfly. Or several butterflies. He likes to scatter them decoratively or let sentimental soap bubbles float carefree through happiness, as if they were never going to burst. He simply exaggerates beyond measure. Because if he’s going to exaggerate, he does it properly. Everything is more artificial than artificial, the hairstyles are more perfect than perfect, the heels are higher than high, the people are happier than happy, lips shine like candied cherries, and the weather is more beautiful than beautiful, because the sun is constantly shining.

Any resemblance to living or dead persons is entirely intentional. Nameless faces aren’t even allowed in the picture or in the pool. Or ugly ones. Only brand-name faces. And outrageously well-built bodies. And these privileged people don’t even age. It’s really mean. They stay eternally young and fit, showing no signs of fatigue, even though they apparently spend their entire lives celebrating and having fun. Partying.
Superstars, supermodels, a great atmosphere.

The corks are constantly popping, champagne bottles are splashing, the glasses are always full. The rings have these super-chic, no, hyper-chic ones, not under the eyes (those rings wouldn’t have enough carats anyway), but they have them elsewhere. On the fingers. Where they belong. In general, they’re covered in diamonds and pearls, as if they’d robbed a jeweler—with a credit card (the black titanium American Express Centurion Card) in front of them. Pool parties are, after all, his specialty. The pool is something like a liquid heaven, an exclusive earthly paradise with no problems and no men, but with Chihuahuas and zebras sunning themselves at the watering hole, a fountain of youth where you splash around in chlorinated bliss and the drinks are free. And when it rains, then it’s banknotes. This isn’t about reality.Fantasy. Fantastic realism in a pop art style, so to speak. Daydreams where the plot is entirely fictional.Am I actually a bad feminist and should I be ashamed because I find Maximilian Otte’s pictures awesome? Aren’t they sexist in some way? No, why? Since when is it sexist if all women are rich, beautiful, and famous? Okay, the men might feel discriminated against. If they appear at all, they’re at most accessories, like Barbie’s Ken.

– Claudia Aigner