Me & Andy
Or, My Visit to the Whitney
Museums are my happy place. I love seeing art in person when I’m not writing about it from postcards like the ones that inspired my debut chapbook, The Higher Call. You can order a copy below.
Imagine my glee at being in the Whitney Museum of American Art in NYC during my recent hiatus. The Biennial was up, and there was a very nice Jean-Michel Basquiat hung near an incredible portrait of Ethel Scull by Andy Warhol. More on that later too.
But the star of my show was this incredible portrait of Andy Warhol himself.
I sucked in my breath on coming face-to-face with Alice Neel’s portrait of the great pop artist. I’d read about this painting, but I didn’t know it lived at the Whitney.
I did know the museum was showing a selection of Polaroids from Warhol’s albums. So it was a stroke of genius for the registrar to hang Warhol’s portrait nearby.
In another bold move, the registrar hung his portrait across from the portrait of the museum’s founder, Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney. More on her next week.
But now I want to sing the praises of Alice Neel’s painting. More than that, I want to praise Andy Warhol for being brave enough to model for her with his shirt off.
Sure, most models appear completely nude. But we’re usually not world-famous when we do. Andy was when he did. The portrait is from 1970, when Warhol was 42 years old and at the height of his fame.
In real life, Warhol meticulously maintained a certain image—one of polished artiness and urbane sophistication. That carefully polished image shows in his shoes.
His Polaroids captured Andy hanging out at his home on Long Island with luminaries like Bianca Jagger, Karl Lagerfeld, and Paloma Picasso—yep, that Picasso, daughter of yet another of his lovers, Françoise Gilot.
But the shirtless portrait bares intimate details of his body that Warhol hid from his famous friends. Scars crisscross his chest, reminders of the 1968 assassination attempt. We also see a corset he wore afterward to keep his gizzard intact.
Warhol wears his trademark wig, and his hands are clasped quietly in his lap. But to me, the most telling detail is that his eyes are closed.
A critic called the portraitist Alice Neel a “collector of souls.” The eyes are said to be the gateways to the soul, so it makes sense that Warhol shut his eyes when posing.
As a model, I can say that’s a way to detach from what’s going on in the room. Closing your eyes is akin to drawing a curtain between you and the studio. Eyes closed makes it easier to pretend you are not there, you aren’t being painted, you aren’t nude.
I believe this is what Warhol did in his portrait. He closed his eyes as a way to signal that Neel — and all viewers ever afterward — could get close, but no closer. He did it as a way to deny Neel — and all of us — the chance to collect his soul.
I also believe this is one of the bravest portraits I’ve ever seen. It takes a courageous person to model in such a vulnerable position. And it takes a talented artist to capture the vulnerability the model offers the way Neel does here.
Alice Neel was 70 when she painted this portrait, and like Warhol, at the height of her career. They made a great pair, and that great pair made a fantastic work of art.
Next week we’ll look at the portrait of Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney (yep, those Vanderbilts, those Whitneys) that sits across the room from this one of Andy Warhol. Stay tuned for that stunner.
Pre-sales for my chapbook of poems about Picasso’s models and my own time on the model’s stand continue for a few more weeks. A pre-order will get you the book for @$20, the lowest price ever. And you’ll get a heartfelt thanks from me.
Click here to order: The Higher Call or use the QR code below. Both now work.
And thanks again for your support on my journey into print.
wowsa. And the boobs.
-- you are such a nut! one that makes me laugh!