On Thursday, I had a very all-day day. I got up, tidied a bit, rode the bus with my Aunt Pauline to the Seattle Art Museum to view an Andy Warhol exhibit, and to have lunch. The exhibit was pretty weird, and is for true Warhol fans, as it is not really representative, but is concerned with a tiny facet of his work. I count myself among the fans, so I enjoyed the exhibit quite a lot, but I fear that Pauline was disappointed. There were no soup cans, and Elvis and Marilyn were nowhere to be seen. It concentrated on Warhol’s photography, primarily self-portraits, photo booth filmstrips and screen tests of his friends. I had not read a review of the exhibit, so I too was expecting soup cans, etc., but I was not disappointed to find a more focused look at a small but integral part of his work.
Aside -- One morning a few years ago, I got up, looked in the mirror, and was shocked to see Andy Warhol – in his full pallor and frightful hair – staring back at me. I was horrified. I like to think of myself looking more like Marilyn. We can all deceive ourselves sometimes, but I guess not all the time. This is something no one (other than maybe Andy himself) wants to see the first thing in the morning. Nonetheless, I have felt a sort of bond with him since then. If you look at his Polaroid self-portrait, and at my little picture to the right, you can probably spot a resemblance.
The pictures and the mouse Pauline is admiring are part of the permanent collection at the SAM, I think. At any rate, they are not Andy Warhol
10 hours ago