Impressions from Andy Warhol’s “POPism: The Warhol Sixties”

At the beginning of the Sixties, nothing was going on and at the end, too much. ’63 – ’67 was the jugular and through that jugular ran the rapid flow of blood thanks to the rampant use and abuse of amphetamines. It wasn’t unusual, Warhol says, to run into people post-sixties and have them recall hardly ever sleeping. The Factory managed to be both casually cool and all-inclusive, a big tent where every outsider was welcome but no one looked up when the clanky elevator door opened. The interior of The Factory was silver, thanks largely to aluminum foil. The Velvet Underground were gutter-punks, living happily in near-squalor, no bells or whistles beyond the leathered up interpretive dancer who’d perform live with them. Nico was radiant gazing out the window on a stormy day. Andy didn’t do drugs, just some drinks and maybe a quarter of a diet pill for a stretch, when needed.  He loved the billboards, the marquees, the gaudy, glossy advertisements that began to wall-paper America in the fifties and sixties. The New York crowd never seemed to eat or exercise, nor get much sun, nor lay in a hammock.  They all slept around a lot and somehow stayed emotionally and physically unfazed. Edie Sedgwick was a drama queen. After Andy was shot, the doctors in the emergency room weren’t even going to operate until one of his friends told them he was famous and had money and would be able to pay. He convalesced for a few months while Summer ’68 turned to Fall ’68, the brilliant went berserk, the high faded, POP went “pop!”…

Impressions from Andy Warhol’s “POPism: The Warhol Sixties”

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