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Andrew Warhola
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What is this?
Jacqueline Kennedy II (from the portfolio 'Eleven Pop Artists', vol. II)
Andy Warhol
Photography by Antonia Reeve. Š The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc. Licensed by DACS, London 2023
Throughout his life and career critics and commentators often referred to Andy Warhol (1928-1987) as âdetachedâ, âalienâ and âaloofâ. [1] He is not, in such assessments, an artist in possession of feelings which need to be expressed, but rather an inhuman, relentless producer of art. The humanistic subjectivity of the creative and tortured artist, commonly associated with painters aligned with Abstract Expressionismâthe art movement which directly preceded Popâwas replaced in the 1960s by Warholâs vision of a cold, mechanical art which relied less on the gestural mark-making of the artistâs hand and more on the logical precision of machines and technologies of reproduction. For many, this suggestion of the inhuman capacity of Warholâs art to create likeness, and repetitively mimic or copy source material can be neatly summarised by the artistâs own contention that he wanted to be like a machine.
Andy Warhol Self-Portrait 1978 Š The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc. Licensed by DACS, London 2023
In a now infamous 1963 interview with the art critic Gene Swenson, Warhol claimed that âeverybody should be like a machineâ and âeverybody should like everybodyâ, because that, after all is âwhat Pop Art is all aboutâ.[2] Such proclamations chime with other statements made by Warhol in interviews around this time, wherein he insists that he is âfor mechanical artâ.[3]Â Warholâs desire to align his working processes with the machinic is reflected in his investment in technologies of image production which minimise the necessity of human intervention, such as the automatic process of screen-printing, which could be used to create multiple paintings and prints, one after another; and the still and cinematic film camera which had only to be loaded with film and switched on by Warhol to begin the recording process. This preference for automation and machine-production reaches its peak in the Warhol literature with an âinterviewâ of Warhol conducted by his studio assistant Gerard Malanga. The interview in question was composed entirely (i.e. both the questions and their answers) by Malanga and submitted to Warhol for his approval before publication. In the piece âWarholâ gives his full-throated support to the idea of automation in the economy and the art world. His potent reflections are underlined further by the meta-authorial game of having Malanga research and write the interview himself:
Q. Would you like to replace human effort?
A. Yes.
Q. Why?
A. Because human effort is too hard.
[âŚ]
Q. How will you meet the challenge of automation?
A. By becoming part of it.
[...]
Q. Dissect the meaning of automation.
A. Automation is a way of making things easy. Automation just gives you something to do [âŚ][4]
In this short essay I am going to explore some of the ramifications of considering Warhol as a machine. Firstly, I will consider the notion of productivity across Warholâs artistic output, both in terms of the quantity of works produced, as well as some of the ways in which his art deals with concepts of duration and diversity in art practice. Secondly, I will argue that we can read the product of Warholâs productivity as an attempt to dissolve boundaries between different artistic media.
Numbers game
Not unlike that of a factory working at capacity, the sheer scale of Warholâs artistic output fuels the accuracy of the machine metaphorâthe artist as an efficient and methodical producer. Working with a raft of assistants throughout his career, Warhol created a staggering number of artistic products. During 1964, for instance, he produced over 305 paintings of Jackie Kennedy alone. Other marquee subjects for Warhol, which he would return to paint over and over during that pivotal decade, yielded similarly large figures, most notably his Flower and Electric Chair series. Part of the reason Warhol was able to make work in such quantity was because of the speed with which his silkscreen paintings were able to be executed, as he commented in his memoir of the 1960s:
[âŚ] with silk-screening, you pick up a photograph, blow it up, transfer it in glue onto silk, and then roll ink across it so the ink goes through the silk but not through the glue. That way you get the same image, slightly different each time. It was so simpleâquick and chancy. I was thrilled with it.[5]
Andy Warhol
After turning his attention more fully to filmmaking after 1964, Warhol founded a company with David Whitney called Factory Additions which would create print portfolios using the same silkscreen method he had employed so successfully on his canvas-based works. Reflecting on these works, Warhol is direct in his comparison to industrial/machinic production, noting that the resulting paintings and prints possessed an âassembly-line effectâ[6]. The print portfolios allowed Warhol to disseminate even greater quantities of work: 600 variations of three different Jackie Kennedy prints, one of which, Jaqueline Kennedy II (from the portfolio âEleven Pop Artists, vol. II), 1965 [GMA 1336], is included in the present Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art (NGS) exhibition âWarhol and Paolozzi I want to be a Machineâ; 500 prints modelled after Birmingham Race Riot (1964); 632 variations of Sunset (1972); 250 editions of a 10-print Marilyn Monroe portfolio from 1967, or 2,500 multi-coloured Marilyns.
Andy Warhol Jacqueline Kennedy II (from the portfolio 'Eleven Pop Artists', vol. II) 1965 Š The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc. Licensed by DACS, London 2023
Andy Warhol, Marilyn, Š 2018 The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc. / Licensed by DACS, London.
Concurrent to the creation of the Marilyn portfolio, which has a central placement in the current hang at the NGS, Warhol was embroiled deeply in another voluminous activity: filmmaking. From 1963 until 1968 Warhol produced over 600 films, including some 472 Screen Tests (1964-1966) and around 60 feature-length works.[7] Perhaps even more noteworthy than the number of films produced by the Warhol Factory is their recourse to marathon running times. His first film Sleep (1963), a collage of repeated shots of the poet John Girono (b. 1936) sleeping, lasts for five hours and twenty minutes. One of Warholâs final directorial efforts **** (Four Stars) clocks in at a much more substantial twenty-five hours.
Quantity and duration coalesce in another of Warholâs multimedia activities, his constant recording of everyday meetings and conversations via a handheld tape recorder. Referred to by the artist himself as his âwifeâ, the Norelco Carry-Corder Warhol carried with him from 1964 onwards was the first mass-marketed example of such a device.[8] The Warhol Archive now houses hundreds of tapes made by Warhol throughout his life, containing over 6,000 hours of audio. Warhol would often use the recordings on these tapes as the basis for many of his published book works, many of which can be seen in vitrines in the NGS show, from memoirs such as POPism: The Warhol Sixties (1980) and The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again), to his experimental riff on the modernist novel: a, A Novel (1968), which chronicles a day in the life of the Factory Superstar Pope Ondine (1937-1989).
Warholâs productivity did not dissipate during the 1970s. Between 1976 and his death in 1987 Warhol began to carry with him the visual equivalent of his tape recorder âwifeâ, a Minox 35 EL camera. Often exposing up to a roll of film a day or more, the resulting contact sheetsâa relative anachronism in the age of digital photography, a contact sheet is an inexpensive way of viewing the content of a roll of film before certain images can be selected for later enlargement and printingânumber over 3,600, or 130,000 individual photographs. A visual equivalent to Warholâs meticulous Diaries (1989), the contact sheets contain a dizzying array of disparate events, people and activities Warhol encountered in the last decade of his life, often mixing the cultural events of New York high society with portraiture, snapshots of friends and associates, as well as cityscapes depicting Manhattan street signs and advertisement hoardings.
Collapsing Distinctions
Another way of viewing Warholâs machine-aesthetic is to make use of it as a metaphor in accounting for his restless and prolific output as a multimedia artist. Our next avenue of interpretation pushes this idea further, arguing that Warholâs fascination with volume, quantity and duration contributes to one of the central achievements of his oeuvre: the collapsing of distinctions between different artistic media.
Take for instance the silk-screened canvases and prints mentioned above. To create these works Warhol would start with a photographic image â either found and appropriated from a print publication or taken by himself â and blow up this image before transferring it via the screen-print or silkscreen process to a surface.
Such an a mixture of media and materials has led the writer Jonathan Flatley to comment on the silk-screened paintings: â[i]n terms of the standards of the given media, the result is neither a good photograph or a good paintingâ. Flatley does not yoke this perceived failure of competency and execution to a narrative of Warhol as somehow playing at being an amateur, or revelling in his â as is often the clichĂŠ â role of performing naivety. Instead, he points us towards reading these works, which seem to be not quite painting and not quite photography, as opportunities to exercise âour capacity for perceiving similarities across differenceâ, through Warholâs âtransposition of idioms, sensations and information from one medium to anotherâ.[9]
In other words, we are confronted in Warholâs silkscreen paintings and his prints with a vision of art in which the once stable categories of photography, painting and printing are no longer separated but have coalesced and become enmeshed together in a web of artistic mediation.
Warhol often commented on this dimension of intermedialityâartworks which combine and juxtapose the aesthetic effects of different mediaâin his work. Another illuminating test case would be his Screen Tests. Warhol famously referred to these works not as movies but âStilliesâ.[10] Each one of these three-minute films (running over four minutes when projected at Warholâs preferred speed rate of eighteen frames per second) depicted a single sitter whose visage was recorded by the impervious, unblinking gaze of Warholâs 16mm film camera. Subjects were often instructed by Warhol to move as little as possible, resulting in a stasis which often gifts the films an aesthetic equivalence of still photography or portrait painting.
In an interview with Letitia Kent published in Vouge magazine in March 1970, Warhol coaxed out the intermedial tension so important to his moving image works: â[âŚ] I donât paint anymore. I gave it up two years ago. I think painting is old fashioned. In my early films I wanted to âpaintâ in a new mediumâ.[11] He goes on shortly after to state that his perhaps most notorious film, Empire (1963), could be compared to a âmoving picture still-lifeâ.[12] But the Screen Tests remain most emblematic of the intermedial condition of Warholâs cinematic output, opening the medium to be considered as an incubation chamber for all manner of artistic strategies, as Callie Angel astutely attests:
"Balanced at the borderline between moving and still image, part photography and part film, part portraiture and part performance, the Screen Tests are conceptual hybrids, arising, like much of Warholâs work, from the formal transposition of idioms from one medium to another."[13]
Callie Angel
The example of Warholâs prodigious use of tape recordings, and their transcription from a raw unmediated state into works of fiction, semi-fiction and memoir, point us again to another area of Warholâs modus operandi, and an aspect of his artistic practice which marks him out a pioneer of the kind of self-surveillance which has become so commonplace in the social media-saturated landscape of the early twenty-first century.
Andy Warhol, Body Builder Flexing, ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Presented by The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts 2016. Š The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / DACS, London 2017.
Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat, ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Presented by The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts 2016. Š The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / DACS, London 2017.
In closing, I would like to draw attention to some of the final works conceptualised and completed by Warhol before his death in 1987. The so-called âStitched Photographsâ, several of which are included in the NGS exhibition, were created between 1982 and 1987 by stitching together multiple copies of individual photographs taken with his Minox 35 EL Camera.
Although considered minor works by many Warhol scholars, the âStitched Photographsâ evidence a continued obsession of Warholâs to break down barriers between artistic media.
The photographs were stitched together with the aid of his studio assistant Christopher Makos (b. 1948) and Makosâ friend Michele Loud, using a Bernina sewing machine which Warhol had purchased in 1982.
Arranged in a grid structure of four, six or nine, the stitched photographs recall the repetitive, serially structured screenprints of the 1960s. Much like the âquick and chancyâ nature Warhol so admired in the screen-printing process, the stitched photographs also bear the markings of imperfection, as often the individual photographs bear evidence of having been pushed through the sewing machines: their smooth surfaces are variously ruptured by bumps and creases. These marks, lumps and bumps co-mingle with deliberately left-behind lengths of the thread which were used to suture the photographs together. These seemingly uncareful and unfinished aspects of the pictures lend the pieces a sculptural quality, and continue a tradition of creating three-dimensional objects which never ceased to interest Warhol over his career.
Over 500 stitched photographs were created by Warhol in the final years of his life. Another round of productivity, and another multi-faceted and multi-media machination in which the product was not a pre-fabricated, mass-produced identical work of art, but a subjectively imbued experiment born out of the mixing of media and the engendering of a cross-model exploration of what art can be.
This film takes a look at Andy Warhol, the most famous proponent of Pop Art, his obsession with fame, and his desire âto be a machineâ.
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[1] See for instance: John Wilcock, âThe Detached Cool of Andy Warholâ, Village Voice, May 6, 1965, p.11; Stephen Smith, ââHe loved Weightlifting and Buying Jewelsââ: Andy Warholâs Friends Reveal Allâ, The Guardian, August 14, 2015 (available online: https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2015/aug/14/andy-warhol-friends-reveal-all) and George Gruskin, âWho is this man Andy Warhol?â, SCOPE, March 16, 1973, reprinted in Kenneth Goldsmith (ed.), Iâll Be Your Mirror: The Selected Andy Warhol Interviews, Carroll and Graf, New York, p. 200-220, quote on 217.
[2] Gene Swenson, âWhat is Pop? Answers from 8 Painters, Part 1â, ARTnews, November 1963, reprinted in Goldsmith, Iâll be Your Mirror, p. 15-20, quote on 16. The recent uncovering of the original tapes of Swensonâs interview with Warhol reveal that several parts of their conversation were heavily edited before going to press, particularly references to queer sexuality. In the tapes, Warholâs insistence that being a machine and liking everything are inherently linked during a conversation about homosexuality:
Swenson: I donât understand the business about â if all Pop artists are not homosexual, then what does this have to do with being a machine?
Warhol: Well, I think everybody should like everybody.
Swenson: You mean you should like both men and women?
Warhol: Yeah.
Swenson: Yeah? Sexually and in every other way?
Warhol: Yeah.
Swenson: And thatâs what Pop artâs about?
Warhol: Yeah, itâs liking things.
Swenson: And liking things is being like a machine?
Warhol: Yeah. Well, because you do the same thing every time. You do the same thing over and over again. And you do the same. . .
Swenson: You mean sex?
Warhol: Yeah, and everything you do [âŚ]
Quoted in Jenifer SichelââWhat is Pop Art?â A Revised Transcript of Gene Swensonâs 1963 interview with Andy Warholâ, Oxford Art Journal, 41:1 (March), 2018, p. 85-100.
[3] David Bourdon, âWarhol Interviews Bourdonâ, 1962-1963, in Goldsmith, Iâll be Your Mirror p.6-14, quote on 9.
[4] Gerard Malanga, âAndy Warhol on Automation: An Interview with Gerard Malangaâ, Chelsea 18, reprinted in Goldsmith, Iâll be Your Mirror, p. 59-63, quote on 60-62.
[5] Andy Warhol and Pat Hackett, POPism: The Warhol Sixties, Hutchinson, London, 1980, p. 22.
[6] Ibid.
[7] I use slightly speculative language here to indicate that Warholâs filmography remains a very slippery subject for scholars. At present there is a seminal and exhaustive catalogue raisonnĂŠ detailing the production and content of the Screen Tests (Callie Angel, Andy Warhol Screen Tests: The Films of Andy Warhol Catalogue Raisonne Volume 1, Abrams, New York, 2006). A second volume, covering the rest of his filmic output is forthcoming. A more recent and essential resource based on in-depth research in the Warhol archives is the introduction to Glyn Davis and Gary Needhamâs Warhol in Ten Takes, British Film Institute, London, 2013).
[8] Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again), Harcourt, Orlando, Austin, New York et al, 1975, p. 190.
[9] Jonathan Flatley, Like Andy Warhol, University of Chicago Press, Chicago and London, 2017, p. 113.
[10] Angel, Andy Warhol Screen Tests, p. 7.
[11] Letitia Kent, âAndy Warhol, Movieman: âItâs Hard to Be Your Own Scriptââ, Vogue, March 1, 1970, reprinted in Goldsmith, Iâll be Your Mirror, p. 185-190, quote on 186.
[12] Ibid. The scholar Justin Remes has gone even further with reference to Empireâs epic running time and profound stasis, theorising this work as a âfurniture filmââa film which lives in a room for an extended period of time and is designed to be consumed partially and distractedly in conjunction with other activities. See Justin Remes, Motion(less) Pictures: The Cinema of Stasis, Columbia University Press, New York and Chichester, 2015, p. 31-59.
[13] Angel, Andy Warhol Screen Tests, p. 14



