| Suddenly it seems that Andy is everywhere, in galleries, in bookstores and on T.V. Factory Made: Warhol and the Sixties, by Steve Watson, was recently published by Pantheon Books; Andy Warhol, a documentary film by Ric Burns, played on PBS; and three New York City exhibits (“Sculls, Hammer & Sickles” at the Perry Rubenstein gallery in Chelsea, colorful Mao portraits uptown at L&M ARTS, and “Cast a Cold Eye: The Late Work of Andy Warhol” at the Gagosian gallery) displayed a variety of works. Warhol’s art fits quite comfortably into any theme, even at a recent exhibit, “Surrealism: Then and Now” at the Paul Kasmin gallery in Chelsea, where Andy’s “False Plate,” a faux ad for prosthetic teeth from 1961, hangs next to Dali & Magritte. |  |
Andy Warhol’s Assembly Line Voyeurism and Visions – Valery Oisteanu
Suddenly it seems that Andy is everywhere, in galleries, in bookstores and on T.V. Factory Made: Warhol and the Sixties, by Steve Watson, was recently published by Pantheon Books; Andy Warhol, a documentary film by Ric Burns, played on PBS; and three New York City exhibits (“Sculls, Hammer & Sickles” at the Perry Rubenstein gallery in Chelsea, colorful Mao portraits uptown at L&M ARTS, and “Cast a Cold Eye: The Late Work of Andy Warhol” at the Gagosian gallery) displayed a variety of works. Warhol’s art fits quite comfortably into any theme, even at a recent exhibit, “Surrealism: Then and Now” at the Paul Kasmin gallery in Chelsea, where Andy’s “False Plate,” a faux ad for prosthetic teeth from 1961, hangs next to Dali & Magritte.
Andy’s spirit has also been present in the subtle way he has shifted our perception of America’s consumerist culture of death, including his theories on the philosophy of stardom, the artist/loner on the edge, the “seriality” of the photographic or painted image and fame as an iconographic criteria. Indeed, Warhol discovered the elixir of popular immortality by resurrecting discarded dead stars as icons of American culture.
Throughout his artistic career, Warhol was fascinated by Hollywood stars. In 1962, he began a large series of celebrity portraits: Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley, Elizabeth Taylor and others. He also started his series of "death and disaster" paintings, with images of electric chairs, suicides and car crashes, some of the best social commentaries on American culture and mass media of the 60s. Andy was very receptive to ideas and feelings having to do with death, and he became even more so after the attempt on his life by Valerie Solanas.
Ric Burns captures the elusive Andy, his life and tragic death, in a spectacular four-hour film that includes a virtual parade of critics, biographers and former acolytes who attribute profound meanings to the artist’s pop-oeuvre. Burns uses archival footage brilliantly, including rare clips from early films made at the Factory. But the word “genius” is repeated ad infinitum, and the later part of his life and creativity (1969-1987) was summarized in only the last 20 minutes.
Warhol’s introverted passivity and posed indifference to his actors helped him to observe them voyeuristically. Burned-out starlets, drag queens, methadone freaks and theatrical exhibitionists acted out in front of his camera, often on their own slide to ruin. The stars at the Factory were literally destroying themselves on camera, consuming psychedelics, cocaine and amphetamines for the chance to ride the fleeting roller coaster of fame. Andy exploited their desperation for his own gain and used their ideas as his own. He rarely gave credit where due, especially to some who truly inspired and influenced him, such as Charles Henri Ford and Ray Johnson.
It was at a party in 1962 at Ruth Ford’s apartment at the Dakota on Central Park West where Warhol first met Charles Henri, whose sister Ruth was an actress married to actor Zachery Scott. Charles claimed that he suggested to Andy the silk-screening technique, which Charles had already used in Europe to create his poster poems in the early 60s. Andy had also asked Charles if he knew anyone who could help him with silk-screening. Ford recommended Gerard Malanga, who was doing some commercial silk screening for a necktie manufacturer, and brought the two together at a poetry reading at the New School. Gerard immediately started working for Andy (for the state minimum wage of $1.25 an hour). Later, Andy overheard Gerard talking to Charles Henri on the phone, telling him he thought Andy was “frightening.”
Warhol attended experimental dance concerts, underground film screenings and private parties with Charles, whose influence proved to be crucial to Andy’s development as a “post-surrealist” pop-artist. In July 1963, Andy walked into the Peerless Camera shop with Gerard, and Charles and bought his first movie camera. It was a 16mm Bolex with through-the-lens focusing, complete with a motor drive that had just been introduced as new technology and allowed for a one-shot, three-minute take (the living portraits or so-called “screen tests” came out of this). Andy soon began to make films and, over a five-year period, created many classics of avant-garde cinema, including Sleep (1963), Haircut (1963), Empire (1963), Kiss (1963-64) and The Chelsea Girls (1966). Warhol made about 600 films from 1963 until 1976, ranging from almost 500 short screen tests (four-minute portrait films, from 1963-1966), to **** (a/k/a Four Stars, 1967-’68), a 25-hour-long project. Between 1968 and 1976, Paul Morrissey directed most of Warhol’s films, while Andy served as producer.
Steve Watson is a meticulous social historian, whose Factory Made is an encyclopedia of vignettes from the 60s. Among them, the story of how, in 1964, Andy met a commission for public artwork by creating “13 Most Wanted,” a series of mobster portraits, for the New York World Fair. The work was censored, but instead of removing it, Andy completely covered it with silver spray-paint. Watson tells the story in the context of all the battlefronts for artistic freedom of expression being fought at the time. Andy found himself shoulder to shoulder with politically motivated creators fighting for the freedom of artistic expression, including Lenny Bruce, Julian Beck, Jonas Mekas, Jack Smith, Abbie Hoffman and Diane di Prima.
Taylor wrote an anti-police state poem, Julian Beck made a speech for the freedom of political detainees; Allen Ginsberg had a list of grievances against literary and theatrical censorship, while Andy answered his accusers with a silver abstracted silence. Warhol’s blank refusal to make value judgments had dangerous implications but was also liberating. Most people had become so frightened by the modern world that they couldn’t face it. Warhol seemed to have none of the normal human reactions such as fear of alienation, loneliness or conformity.
Many of Warhol’s pronouncements were witty; they were never totally sincere or insincere. The best source of these is The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A To B And Back Again), a book that, characteristically, he did not write. His assistants wrote it based upon taped conversations with the artist. For example: "I like eating alone. I want to start a chain of restaurants for other people who are like me called Andymats—The Restaurant for the Lonely Person. You get your food and then you take your tray into a booth and watch television."
With the passage of time, Andy’s work seemed to grow mysteriously in richness and knowledge. He cleverly redefined painting, sculpture, film and celebrity worship at his playroom-cum-Factory workspace.
Factory Made: Warhol has great insights on this in the last section, called “Aftermath.” Viva, to cite one long-time participant being interviewed by Watson, said about the films, ”When we were doing them, we thought we were changing the history of filmmaking: No more scripts! This is really revolutionary!”
John Wilcock, author of The Sex Life and Autobiography of Andy Warhol (slated to be republished soon), came up with the idea of publishing a tabloid format newspaper called Inter/VIEW: a monthly film journal. Wilcock insisted that Andy put his name on the cover, reasoning, ”Otherwise why would people buy another crappy newspaper?” The first issue appeared in the fall of 1969 with a cover picture of Viva from Agnes Varda’s Lions Love. Soon, the magazine became Andy Warhol’s Interview under Bob Collacelo’s editorship. It grew larger and glossier in the 70s and continues today to be a slick mag for the younger crowd, a publication that Andy likely would enjoy flipping through.
Although his yearly years were all about pop, when he got to car crashes and the electric chair, it was a radically different sensibility that was not shared by his pop “higher than thou” fine-arts colleagues who often snubbed him (i.e., Jasper Johns and Roy Lichtenstein).
Next year will be the commemoration of the 20th anniversary of Andy’s death, and such a landmark is deserving of a move such as creating an Andy Warhol Institute for Art Education. The King of Popism deserves—and certainly would have enjoyed—such an honor.
