Word: warholism
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...still continue as the Druids resurge. But if, as John Fowles would have it, cynicism is nothing more than a failure to cope, Adams' analysis fails. The very artists whom Adams would have expected to keep the icon hanging straight, are coping--by varnishing the Dynamo with super-realism. Warhol handles mass-production by redistributing the colors of soup cans. Rauschenberg sublimates industrial waste by pasting it together, taking it up off the floor onto the walls. Steve Gildea, a photo-realist painter, places a grid on photographs, another grid on the surfaces to be painted, and then copies square...
...show does mayhem to the visual sense. The viewer is clobbered by an eye-level row of genitals, part of an 8-ft. by 30-ft. nude portrait of Andy Warhol and members of The Factory. Only a few steps away hangs a portrait of President Eisenhower, a crumpled, empty man. It is an assault on the image of Eisenhower that we carry in our minds-the formal Karsh portrait, the White House handout, and the hundreds of others...
...beautiful face, which she has, but her quality as a woman." If Avedon's subjects are beautiful, so are his prices. An 8-in. by 10-in. print costs $175, while a couple of huge blowups, including a 360-in. by 96-in. enlargement of Artist Andy Warhol and members of The Factory, are on sale...
Radical Chic. When in 1973 Warhol began painting portraits of Mao Tse-tung, critics praised them as a "radical" gesture-the translation of Mao, revolutionary hero, onto the walls of the American rich. But the Oriental superstar was chic already; there were Mao jackets all along Fifth Avenue. Though the Chairman was tubbier and more paternal, he was just as embalmed by celebrity as Jackie Kennedy or Elvis Presley, Warhol's earlier subjects. Moreover, the peacock colors in which Warhol packaged Mao's face had all the lushness that one associates with the most edible commercial...
Since then, the café society portraits which now provide Warhol's bread and butter do not pretend to be anything else. To see Warhol entering a drawing room, pale eyes blinking in that pocked bun of a face, surrounded by his Praetorian Guard of chittering ingenues, is to realize that things do turn out well after all. The right level has been found. New York-not to speak of Rome, Lugano, Paris, Tehran and SkorpiÓs-needed a society portraitist. The empty angel of the '60s has effortlessly become the Boldini...