Art Review: The Late Works of Andy Warhol

The final year of Warhol's life before his untimely death at New York Hospital in winter 1987 saw the production of some rather mundane as well as some rather brilliant oversize paintings, perhaps both the apotheosis as well as a bland summation of the 30-year career of America's greatest commercial artist. While we may never again here see such a range of Warhol's artwork in one museum as we did during that grand 1989 retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art, you could opt to visit Andrew Warhola's hometown, Pittsburgh, and visit the Warhol Museum. And for the next several weeks at the Gagosian Gallery Chelsea on both West 21st Street and West 24th Street, you can view many oversize late works of Warhol.

Much has been written about the symbolism of Warhol's final year: the meaning of so many skulls; the repetitive use of camouflage in his silkscreens; and the primary subjects he chose (Josef Beuys, Lenin, Beethoven, the Last Supper, himself). Some question how much of this work he actually did versus how much the assistants did. Some have posed the tedious question: Was Warhol obsessed with issues of life and death at that point in his life? If you have read much of Andy Warhol's own writings—in particular, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol—the conclusion you might reach is that Warhol was always obsessed with life and death, with success and money, and with famous figures. So was this final year some sort of transformative experience? Highly doubtful; after all, Warhol had no idea he would die after relatively uncomplicated surgery.

When exploring the paintings currently on display, I noticed two observers wondering aloud what to make of this lifelong, devout Catholic who repainted the Last Supper in various forms. Let's first recollect the prior exhibits of these canvases: Some years ago, the now-defunct Guggenheim SoHo displayed little more than Warhol's Last Supper series. In addition, Dia showed a number of Last Supper paintings for nearly a year. In particular, the truly memorable one includes images of "Dove soap 59¢" and "GE" superimposed over the disciples. That monumental spaces so adroitly displayed such monumental paintings led numerous observers to decry and find disgust with this collusion of commerce and religion; nevertheless, this "Last Supper" as well as the earlier "Raphael I—$6.99" (1985) seem uniquely Warhol and uniquely American. For Warhol here playfully pays homage to these famous artists while displaying the evolution of his own painterly genius and bravado. For an artist who once said that paintings should be displayed and sold in department stores, this nexus of crass commercialism and high and low culture could not be better encapsulated than in such works. Consider the implications of a commentary recently appearing in China Daily about the record prices fetched at auction for a Mao silkscreen (of course, replicated multiple times in different colors). As both Walter Benjamin and Warhol had much to say about the work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction, were he alive today to see the sale prices of his own works, Warhol would surely publicly pontificate in his pseudo-childish and oracle-like manner while secretly commenting to his close associates on the insanity of the market prices these canvases fetch.

What about the skulls? I cracked open The Work of Andy Warhol (Dia Art Foundation/Bay Press, 1989) just now for the first time in several years, turning to the chapter on Trevor Fairbrother's essay "Skulls": Created during the Bicentennial year, Warhol's "Skulls" belong to the now benighted heyday of disco, drugs, and sexual promiscuity. From our current perspective, they seem to mark the resurgence of skull imagery that accompanied punk culture, escalating threats of nuclear and ecological disasters, and the AIDS epidemic. (93) Fair enough, perhaps. But in this age of Homeland Security during which we presently are experiencing another massive skull revival—this holiday season it seems skulls are on all sorts of clothing and miscellany from plates to scarves to ashtrays—maybe we could also simply view the skulls as the outlaw or the pirate? Indeed Fairbrother has all sorts of other ideas; in reprinting the famous Richard Avedon photograph of Warhol in 1969 that shows the scars from S.C.U.M.'s assassination attempt on Warhol, Fairbrother doesn't exaggerate when he writes, "The shooting of Warhol in 1969 brought him close to death, and changed him for ever." On the other hand, who wouldn't be changed by such a transformative experience? Maybe I should instead focus on the distinction between the 1970s early punk-era skulls and these mid-1980s skulls, for these late skulls, like the late dollar signs, portraits and self-portraits, show additional and enhanced bravado despite decreased bravura. In other words, if the 70's canvases were polychromatic and big, these 80's canvases were merely more polychromatic and bigger. The canvases took on more neon-like tones and exaggerated aspects. How much more impressive—after having served forth so many commissioned portraits—to feature portraits with the faces in camouflage! Bigger is indeed better, something Warhol knew all too well. I could be overly tedious and declaim Warhol's own playfully camouflaged and multifaceted personality at work here, but that's just too obvious. Similarly, the late Lenin, Frederick the Great and Beethoven portraits, though utterly genial and innovative at the time, strike me rather differently 20 years later. In this age of Photoshop, those latter-day silkscreening techniques seem ever-so-slightly humdrum. Fortunately I did not hear anyone gasp, "My teenager could do this on our PC!"

Few galleries in New York have the enormous spaces necessary to mount such a show, and fortunately the Gagosian's Chelsea locations seem the ideal spaces to show Warhol's multiples, because the multiplicative effect is so essential to enjoying Warhol's work. Stated differently, if one Mao looks great, five look even better. The context and evolution of Warhol's portraiture—in particular, his self-portraits—may not be in evidence here so much as the various aspects and techniques of reproducing silkscreens. Consequently, all these hammers and sickles, skulls, Mona Lisas and guns may strike the observer as both audacious and ultimately rather satisfying. Warhol became so many things to so many people, and was consistently seen all over town at so many places, it seems a natural evolution that his later canvases represent a restatement of his well-known theses. This December, the question arises: is Andy's genius once again being co-opted for crass commercial purposes, this time by the Barney's holiday gift card promotion and holiday windows as well as Juicy Couture jeans at Bloomingdales and tote bags at Urban Outfitters? Hardly; were he alive, Warhol would be thrilled by the attention as well as the lucrative licensing fees. To repeat: given Warhol's claims that artwork should be sold and displayed in department stores, he again has the last laugh with the notion that these "limited edition" gift cards have some intrinsic value. Just as the reopened Mausoleum of Modern Art's membership cards reproduced "Gold Marilyn Monroe" on the verso, the idea that everyone could have a remnant of Andy—reproduced by the thousands and in credit-card size format no less—surely would have pleased America's greatest commercial artist.

photo credit: Gagosian Gallery

Tags:   andy warhol, barneys, bloomingdales, dia foundation, gagosian, last supper, mao, museum of modern art, scum, trevor fairbrother, walter benjamin

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Posted on 12/1/2006 ( Permanent Link )
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