It’s 80 years since the birth of Andy Warhol – an occasion which I feel shouldn’t go unmarked. To be honest, though, my reaction to his work oscillates wildly. Sometimes it seems warm and inclusive, and I enjoy it. At others, it’s too arch and mechanstic, and I don’t. But I guess that’s Warhol’s allure. His very indeterminateness is an artform in itself.
P.S. What better occasion to dust off this article from the Spectator archives? It’s the incomparable Taki, with his personal recollections of Warhol’s Studio 54 scene.
P.P.S. One recommendation: Warhol’s 1966 film Chelsea Girls. It’s quite hard to get hold of, on DVD or otherwise. But well worth it.
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