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Depending upon who we are, how we came up, where we come from, and what delights us, Andy Warhol pictures move us in different ways, have different meanings, or remind us of different times. When I see one of the many unique Andy Warhol pictures, depending upon the image, I am reminded of various times, people, and even media.
When I see the black and white Andy Warhol pictures, the ones where he is solo or with company, I am reminded of the biographical pieces I have read about his loft, about the visitors, the music, the creativity, the drugs. I also inevitably remember reading the book, Edie: An American Biography-- about Edie Sedgewick, the Sedgewick Pie member who went awol from elitism to star in Warhol’s films and pose for Warhol art. This reminds me of the accounts I have read where Edie is hanging out with Bob Dylan, and this makes me trip on Dylan—the supreme ruler of lyrics in the 21st century (coming head to head only with Leonard Cohen). This also includes accounts, per se, written in lyric form by Patti Smith, who also reminds me of the greatest artists to have ever lived. (I stood in a book-signing line for Patti Smith one night, foolishly asking, when I finally got my turn in front of the queen of punk/hip, if she would be interested in attending a part/art salon…to which she kindly declined.) Andy Warhol pictures on post cards and on affordable prints (accepting that by no means will I ever afford an actual Warhol anything) remind me of childhood and my own impressions of Campbell’s soup, all of which I loved saved the fat thick noodle one that would for some reason make me gag; remind me of the first time I heard Elton John sing “Goodbye Norma Jean…” (“Candle in the Wind”), and connected the song to Marylyn, whom Warhol features in the most glamorous and grandiose ways one could ever find. And Andy Warhol pictures remind me of the kick-ass film, “I Shot Andy Warhol,” starring the brilliant understated (as always) and therefore stellar performance of Lili Taylor (as Valerie Jean Solaris), who then reminds me of the avant garde “Six Feet Under,” where she played Nate’s love interest and mother of his child for a while. To hell with six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon…though I love him and he is beautiful and talented in his own right. How about six-degrees-of-Andy-Warhol-pictures?
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