Sandy and I dropped by The Claremont Graduate University exhibition of the paintings of Roland Reiss.Great old-school artist.
Sandy in front of painting
Here I am standing in front of another of his paintings.
Me again
For the most part, the well-known facts about Andy Warhol’s life are covered in the first hour of Ryan Murphy’s six-part Netflix documentary The Andy Warhol Diaries. When he was younger, he drew portraits of his classmates in an attempt to stop them from bullying him; he also had a fondness for Campbell’s tomato soup; and he left Pittsburgh in 1949, when he was just 20 years old. After making the switch from graphic design to fine art, he opened The Factory in Union Square, where he exhibited his first soup cans in 1962 and went on to become a pop star by 1968.
Warhol’s inner life is the subject of director Andrew Rossi, who focuses mostly on the artist’s complicated connection with his homosexuality. Using a mix of archival and newly shot material, the documentary tells the story of Warhol’s intense feelings for three key characters: interior designer Jed Johnson, Paramount Pictures vice president Jon Gould, and artist Jean-Michel Basquiat. By all accounts, Warhol’s attraction to Basquiat was parental, sexual, and opportunistic. The primary tone is one of intense loneliness, as a voice like Warhol’s reads sections from his journal, a blend of actor Bill Irwin and a somewhat robotic drone of artificial intelligence.
After leaving Pittsburgh’s oppressive homophobia, he moved to New York City, where other gay artists like Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns radiated a machismo he could not begin to conjure.
Then Rossi turns to Warhol’s relentless cultivation of his own persona. Meticulous yet glamorous—his trademark silver wigs are shown off by Jessica Beck of the Warhol Museum—the artist built a perfectly constructed persona, one that he often used as a defense mechanism. “The way he presented himself was as asexual,” says Fab Five Freddy. “You would hear rumors, but he publicly kept that aspect of his life out of the picture.” In the film, he describes the various young, beautiful, or powerful people whom Warhol regularly surrounded himself with: Keith Haring, Andy Kaufman, Basquiat, and Jon Gould (the subject of his last film). Warhol often hid behind these figures in an attempt to mask his persistent fears of ageing and irrelevance.
Warhol’s diaries, do not remind me of a medieval saints, nor even of a kept mistress, but of the secret lovesick grumblings of servant-boy, frustrated in an attic turret. One therefore assumes that Warhol’s diary is less than a masterpiece of the genre. But this is not the impression conveyed by Mr. Rossi’s film, which insinuates itself into the territory of Proust and Henry James with its wet and spongy footsteps. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they started putting gays in concentration camps,” Warhol writes. It is only what you would expect from such a louche observer, such a tone-deaf man of fashion—those sneakers, those sunglasses!—and such an aesthete, who still, despite his fame and fortune, thought himself a member of some oppressed minority. Much of the language of Warhol’s time is problematic today, including his references to Basquiat as “the big black painter” or Aids as “gay cancer.” You can blame yourself if you remain in doubt about this film’s intentions. Strictly speaking, it has none. It is not trying to understand Warhol or his work, or to interpret either in any way. It is a bath that has been prepared for you; into it you must sink for as long as the water remains warm.
Today, I ventured to the Huntington Library, only to be confronted by an enormous red modernist metal sculpture—an eyesore that immediately assaulted my sensibilities. One can scarcely fathom the logistical gymnastics involved in its creation and installation. The grounds remain marred by ceaseless construction, a Sisyphean endeavor that appears destined to persist indefinitely.
My pilgrimage was prompted by an exhibition of the works of Celia Paul, a British painter previously relegated to the periphery of my artistic awareness. Paul’s oeuvre is an introspective exploration of self-portraits, familial bonds, and the relentless, indifferent sea. Her mother’s death seems to haunt these canvases, with Paul claiming to sense her mother’s spirit in the ocean’s depths. Her art is suffused with an ineffable melancholy, a somberness that permeates each brushstroke, evoking an almost palpable sense of sorrow and introspection.
David Hockney’s double portrait “Henry Geldzahler and Christopher Scott” (1969) is a striking example of his mastery in capturing personal relationships and individual character through art. This portrait features Henry Geldzahler, the influential New York City-based curator, alongside his partner, painter Christopher Scott. The painting is celebrated for its intimate portrayal and its significant role in chronicling the lives of those within Hockney’s social circle during a transformative period in art and society.
The composition of the painting is both casual and deeply telling. Geldzahler is depicted seated on a lavish, red sofa, engrossed in what appears to be a thoughtful, perhaps even critical, examination of a book or a catalog. His posture and expression convey a sense of intellectual engagement and perhaps a touch of weariness. In contrast, Scott stands at the periphery of the canvas, somewhat distanced from Geldzahler, looking out towards the viewer with an expression that mixes contemplation with a hint of detachment. This spatial and emotional gap between the two figures subtly hints at the dynamics of their relationship.
Hockney’s use of color in this portrait is particularly noteworthy. The vibrant reds of the sofa and the muted background both highlight and contrast the figures, drawing attention to their expressions and the psychological space between them. His style, with clean, precise lines and a clarity of form, enhances the visual impact of the portrait, making the personal narrative strikingly vivid.
This double portrait not only documents a personal moment between Geldzahler and Scott but also serves as a reflection on the era it represents—an era characterized by a burgeoning openness in discussing and depicting homosexual relationships in art. Hockney’s work, through its honest and unapologetic portrayal of his friends and their lives, breaks down barriers and invites a deeper understanding of intimacy and identity. This painting remains a powerful testament to Hockney’s ability to weave complex human emotions into the fabric of visual art.