interview by Kim Shveka

It’s not often that an artist and a curator connect the way Kenny Scharf and Shai Baitel do. Emotional, the biggest show of Scharf’s career, didn’t come out of a typical museum timeline or curatorial trend. It came from Baitel’s urgent feeling of injustice that the art world hadn’t given Scharf the recognition he deserved, and he wanted to change that. When we spoke, Scharf joined the Zoom call straight from his studio, answering questions with a paintbrush in hand. It felt intimate and telling: Scharf doesn’t separate art from life. His world is constantly in motion, fueled by color, feeling, and spontaneity.

The dynamics between Scharf and Baitel set the tone for a conversation that highlighted the reverent partnership between them, whose collaborative spirit is at the heart of the exhibition. What initially started as an interview about an art show quickly turned into a rhythmic conversation about friendships, personal stories, timing, and how things can easily fall into place when two people believe in the same thing.

Scharf came up in the late seventies and early eighties in New York, rubbing shoulders with Basquiat and Haring, bringing a psychedelic, cartoon-fueled energy that set him apart. He paints like he’s channeling something from another planet, but also something deeply familiar and simple. Emotional is more than a retrospective—it’s a long-overdue celebration of a singular voice in contemporary art.

KIM SHVEKA: What are some of your earlier memories of art?

KENNY SCHARF: I didn’t know much about art, just what I got from TV shows, when they had a typical artist in a beret holding a palette with a brush. When I got a little older, my parents took me to the Huntington Library in LA to see “Pinkie” by Thomas Lawrence and “The Blue Boy” by Thomas Gainsborough. It was a whole big deal. Everyone always rushed to see it, like “Oh, you like art? You have to see those two.” I was very excited back then, but to be honest, I didn’t really know what was going on with the art world until I was at my neighbor’s house. They had this book on Dalí—I’ll never forget the feeling I had looking through this book—I was completely blown away. So, that was a very conscious feeling of recognizing art, I think I was about ten.

I was growing up in the suburbs in the sixties, and we didn’t have access to art, but we had those stores called head shops, they would sell skateboards, T-shirts, posters, and smoking paraphernalia. I used to go and look at the psychedelic posters, and they also had [René] Magritte, Dalí, and MC Escher, so I got that also through the head shops.

SHVEKA: This exhibition is built around six core feelings: anger, disgust, fear, happiness, sadness, and awe. Shai, why did you decide to organize Kenny’s art in this way?

SHAI BAITEL: I was fascinated by Kenny’s approach to the canvas, the way he incorporated emotions blew me away. Throughout history, artists have tried to incorporate feelings through gestures and form, and Kenny does it in such a simple and effortless way. It was incredibly effective in communication, which immediately threw me into the phenomenon of emojis. I saw Kenny’s work as some kind of prophecy; he was able to not only reduce it to such an incredible way of simplicity, but also fast-forward to the way we communicate now. There are no other artists that have achieved such a level of effective communication. During research, my team and I looked into the science of emotions and found Paul Ekman, a psychologist who studied universal facial expressions across cultures. He identified six core emotions that unify all humans: anger, disgust, fear, happiness, sadness, and awe. I realized that Kenny does it in the same way, which blew my mind. Kenny hasn’t gone to the school of anthropology, but he came to the same conclusion. When you observe Kenny’s creatures, it’s like observing humanity, with the same understanding of where those emotions are divided. This revelation became the foundation for the exhibition, and the reason it’s called Emotional.

SHVEKA: Your work first resonated in the 1980s during a time of underground energy and cultural rebellion. But today, it feels like your art resonates for a new generation as well—it’s more relevant than ever. What do you think they see in your work that mirrors or differs from the ’80s?

SCHARF: Thank you. Because I made my name in New York at that time in the ’80s, and it was such a celebrated group, people associate me with that period. But I don't feel particularly attached to any time, I feel I’m very much in the moment that I’m living in. I feel that possibly the rest of the world is catching up to me just now. So in that respect, it’s not like it has different messages so much for today as it did then; these are universal things. Art should be able to exist in any time; it shouldn't speak only to one time because you want it to last forever. That was always in my mind.

SHVEKA: You often mix pop culture with sci-fi surrealism and bright colors. Can you go further into your creative process, and how do you translate your mind into your work?

SCHARF: It’s nothing I think about, it's just kind of natural. I show up every day and start with no plan, just go. My subject matter goes way back to childhood. Growing up in LA, in the early ’60s, there was this cultural obsession with the future. After Sputnik launched in ’57, the space race began, and there was this optimistic future idea of rockets and forward motion. It inspired everything—ads, cars, TV. The cars looked like rocket ships. We really believed by 1984 we’d be vacationing on the moon. I loved this idea and I believed it.

But then the ’70s hit, and that whole fantasy just died. We went from this crazy colored plastic sci-fi imagery to avocado green, macrame, and beige. Cars were boxy, architecture dull, and no one seemed to care about that dream anymore. I didn't want the fantasy to end, so I continued this fantasy on my own.

BAITEL: You know, Kenny, my art career began with Sputnik, too. I don’t know if I ever told you. Twenty-five years ago, I was working at the United Nations, and it had tons of artwork that was just terribly curated. When you enter, you had a collage by Chagall, six or seven carpets from Iran next to it, a pagoda from Japan, a stone from Jerusalem, and the Sputnik from Russia. It was chaotic. I mentioned it to my boss, who sent me to the head of facilities. He told me the U.N. had over 5,000 artworks gifted by member nations—but no curator. He handed me the checklist, and I just started organizing exhibitions myself. That was the beginning of my interest in art—so yes, it all started with Sputnik for me too.

SCHARF: (Laughs) Wow, there you go, the Sputnik. Can you guys see me, or am I out of the picture? Because I'm painting at the same time while we talk.

BAITEL: Oh, Kim, you have such an authentic interview.

SHVEKA: Definitely! While you paint, I wanted to ask more specifically about the emoji paintings. Do you see them as a translation of your emotions? Other people’s emotions? Who are the emojis?

SCHARF: They're everyone. And they're me. There are no rules. I started them in 2018, and I finished them in 2022, so it was right during COVID.

That was obviously a very emotional time for everyone. Well, we’re still having emotional times. It’s a combination of how I feel inside, with what’s going on in the world, and my reaction to that. Sometimes it’s outside, sometimes it’s inside. Sometimes it is someone I just looked at in the street. Sometimes, I’m in a really bad mood and I want to be in a good mood, so I make myself happy. And sometimes it’s the opposite: I’m in a really bad mood and I want to give the anger a way out. There are no rules. As we know, you can have so many emotions at the same time, in the same day, in the same hour, in the same minute. So, they’re all over the place, just like I am, and like emotions are.

BAITEL: I had previously suggested a lot of the things that resulted in the dialogue that Kenny and I had for the past two years or so. It was also about me learning about Kenny and his interaction with the environment, his love for the Earth, nature, and plants. His love for LA, for the ocean, the beaches. All of that goodness and greatness is very pure and very natural. It’s a double meaning in a way. There is some naivety in his artwork, which I love so much.

Kenny’s personality is embedded so greatly in the art, something that you don’t see every day with artists; he’s very honest. He’s very candid in his art making. Every day, when I would call him at about 9 AM in LA, he would always say, “Shai, I’m swimming.”

SCHARF: (Laughs) I just came back from the ocean.

BAITEL: You see? He swims in Venice Beach, and when you walk the promenade, there are a lot of characters, a lot of creatures. He encounters those characters when he walks the promenade, then he goes to the studio and paints them. You might not realize it, but you can see the funky, the playful, the colorful, the vibrant. There is such incredible dynamics between them. So there’s a great wealth of inspiration in the context of Kenny’s everyday.

SHVEKA: Well, I guess it’s a good thing you have a beach near you. Is that the idea behind building a beach in the exhibition space?

BAITEL: Yes, I wanted to bring the greatness of the beach to the Chinese audience as well, and this is why we created the Kenny Scharf Beach Club on the first floor of the museum. It is probably the first urban beach created in Shanghai. This is exactly the reason for those who do not have a beach to experience, we brought them a utopian beach, à la Kenny Scharf.

SHVEKA: How does the Chinese audience react to it?

SCHARF: It blows me away. I’ve gotten pictures sent to me of all the strollers, kids come with their shovels and their pails and their parents and the grandparents, and they hang out in there. It’s like 100 million degrees outside and humid, but inside is air-conditioned splendor, and you can look at the river. It’s kind of sad (laughs) but it’s kind of sweet. Next time, we have to put an actual swimming pool in there.

BAITEL: It’s a perfect fantasy. Exactly like Kenny said. The sand is not real; it’s pink. You have the water in the background, but it’s of the river. And then, you have all the creatures, which aren’t real either. But all together it gives you a great escapism into the closest thing to a beach club, that could be maybe Venice Beach, in California.

SCHARF: Or Mars. (laughs)

SHVEKA: (laughs) Well, denial is a river. Shai, since the emojis weren’t connected to any specific emotion from Kenny’s side as he drew them, how did you align each emoji to a certain emotion?

BAITEL: When I visited Kenny in LA, we explored how visual languages have evolved. We went back to ancient Egyptian symbols and Ekman’s research on universal facial expressions and their connection to emotion. Though often seen as stereotypes, these expressions are biologically real. We looked at Kenny’s artworks—not just the tondos—and identified emotional themes. Grouping them was fascinating, and even with some debate between Kenny, my team, and me, we eventually agreed on six core emotions. That process was a discovery in itself.

SCHARF: When I was a kid, I came across a “how to draw a cartoon” book. The rules I learned there are basically what I applied to the tondo paintings, and it worked. I really studied it. But it’s not always exactly defined; there’s no exact science.

SHVEKA: I guess if there were disagreements between you two during the curation, the audience might also say, “But this isn’t angry,” or “This isn’t fear,” which adds a layer of playfulness.

SCHARF: Exactly like life—things aren’t always exactly how you think it is, it just causes you to think about it more.

BAITEL: We wanted to allow the audience to interpret it on their own. It’s not written in stone, but rather a recommendation; it’s just the way we felt about it. Even when we explain it through art history, looking at Caravaggio, Goya, Rembrandt, or any of the masters, it’s about how they incorporated emotions based on specific scenes or events they were depicting.

SHVEKA: You said you see your artistic style as timeless, but I would still love to know: how do you think the ’80s influenced you in becoming who you are today?

SCHARF: I understand why people are so excited to learn about the ’80s. I think the reason is that my generation was the last one before the internet changed everything. Before that, there was a real urgency of place, especially for artists who wanted to participate. Something that doesn’t exist anymore because you can be anywhere now. In the old days, nothing compared to being in the same room with people. That sense of community of artists meeting in the same place—that’s what used to happen in the ’80s. It also goes back to Paris, Berlin, and earlier times in history. Artists would gather and create together.

SHVEKA: Gen Z and millennials are incredibly nostalgic. We always return to that longing for the past, thinking that things were better back then, without the noise of technology.

SCHARF: I was the same way. I was obsessed with the Beatniks of the ’50s, and we could pretend we were part of that world, because it hadn’t changed much. But the change from the ’80s to now? It’s insane how different it is. We can never go back, and it’s very hard to pretend to live in that world if you choose to, because then you have to be completely off the grid, and no one really does that. The ’80s were the very last moment of that kind in history.

SHVEKA: Would you go back if you could?

SCHARF: Oh no! Definitely not. I wouldn’t want to relive all that pain. People romanticize the ’80s, but there was a lot of death. What I always say is: the truly romantic period was the late ’70s to 1982. That’s when AIDS began, and overnight, the atmosphere completely changed. People celebrate that brief moment of freedom in the early ’80s. I was lucky—I caught the tail end of it. I moved to New York in 1978. I was still a teenager. ALONE (laughs).

SHVEKA: I wanted to ask about the relationship between you two because it seems like you’re very good friends. How did you merge during the curation process?

SCHARF: Well, I’m always skeptical. It took a while to convince me, but Shai was so enthusiastic, I couldn’t say no, and we started doing it, and it became very exciting.

BAITEL: Kenny was indeed skeptical, but I knew I wanted to do a large show for him. He’s a giant. He’s the last voice from a historic time in contemporary art; his contributions will be studied for generations. In art, there’s often this sophistication that can feel patronizing, skipping over huge parts of society. I always say—and this is also Kenny’s philosophy—art belongs to everybody. There will always be great artists who cater to the elite few. But Kenny reaches millions, I wanted to emphasize that. I also felt there was injustice in the art world. For years, there wasn’t a proper large-scale survey of Kenny’s work in a museum space that matched his impact. In the end, I found a way to convince him. And like Kenny said, we became friends in the process. Honestly, it’s impossible not to fall in love with Kenny. He’s adorable. I love good people. I told him it’s the first out of many. I hope for this show to travel to as many museums as possible because it carries a great message of optimism, of goodness, while at the same time, it educates the audience on this important chapter of art during what I described as the East Village movement. It is the greater chapter of emotions in art. We really have become close friends through the process, and I know this friendship is for the long run.

SCHARF: That’s right, baby!

SHVEKA: Did Kenny let you take the lead, or were you both part of the curation process?

BAITEL: Every item is Kenny’s fingerprint. I can suggest ideas, but in the end, the voice of the artist has to be the center. The curator is a facilitator, a translator to the audience. For instance, the emotions are divided into segments, and each segment has a color. I went to Kenny for him to give me a color for every emotion. He also gave me the soundtrack for every segment.

SHVEKA: Who composed the soundtrack?

SCHARF: Scott Ewolt. He is the composer and editor of the music. He composed specifically for every emotion. He’s a visual artist, but he’s also a DJ. He works on the soundtracks for a lot of the environments I do.

SHVEKA: As Shai mentioned before, you believe that art is for everyone. It’s also a fundamental ideology of street art. Can you talk more about the decision to collaborate with fashion designer Kim Jones for Dior?

SCHARF: Fashion and my art always came together. When I was a young artist, I was always incorporating my work on t-shirts and objects. Art had no boundaries of where it belonged, and of course, fashion can easily combine without effort. I had my very first show in 1979 at Fiorucci, a store that is no longer here. I was making clothes and selling them at different fashion stores; they were all handmade. To this day, I’m still making one-of-a-kind clothes. I often use silk screen in the canvases, and instead of washing it, I’m like, “let’s throw it on some t-shirts.” I always dreamed of collaborating with the major designers because I not only want to make quality, but quantity is also a great thing. So, having these collaborations is perfectly natural; it’s what I’ve been doing for decades.

SHVEKA: I think it’s safe to say that fashion houses are somewhat obsessed with collaborating with artists.

BAITEL: There’s something curious about fashion houses reaching out to artists in greater numbers this past decade. What was curious about the approach of Kim Jones is that he was trying, similarly to Kenny, to bring the quality of the Parisian couturier in a way that the audience can relate to. Kim understands the power of artists that originated on the street; he has a very sharp eye for identifying what can actually work. Not every brand aligns with the artist in a way that results in collections that are successful, both artistically and commercially.

SCHARF: It was the highest-selling collab between an artist and a luxury brand in history. Kim really studied the art. That’s why it worked. He did it so well that I didn’t change anything they showed me.

SHVEKA: How do you hope people will experience your work? When visitors come to the exhibition, how do you envision them receiving and emotionally engaging with what they see?

SCHARF: I offer many levels to the viewer, but I never want to dictate how the viewer interprets. If the viewer wants to delight in the joy and color and shape and surface, that is great. But if the viewer chooses to see more, I offer that too. It’s all up to the viewer how far they want to go and think about any other concept besides what I offer on the surface.

SHVEKA: Do you feel a certain responsibility for the people influenced by your art?

SCHARF: Lately I’ve been saying, “I'm really sorry.” (laughs)

SHVEKA: Do you have any favorite reactions of people when they see your art?

SCHARF: I just like to see people looking and really studying it and taking their time, because then it lets me know that it’s keeping them for more than a second. Anything anyone’s going to say is going to be nice. I would love to eavesdrop and hear people say bad things. (laughs)

Emotional is on view through October 8, 2025, at MAM Shanghai, 4777 Binjiang Avenue, Pudong New Area, Shanghai

interview by Kim Shveka

ART / FASHION/ CULTURE / MUSIC / FILM

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