Factory work by Laura Andreades

FACTORY work Robert Rosenbaum Joyce Hill Stoner Margaret Vendryes Christine Daulton

Published by The Farnsworth Art Museum Distributed by University Press of New England Hanover and London

This book was published with generous support from Charlie and Julie Cawley. ISBN 0-918749-21-2 Library of Congress Control Number: 2006926750 Essays copyright © 2006 the Brandywine River Museum No part of the contents of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of copyright holders and the Farnsworth Art Museum. All rights reserved. All Basquiat works copyright © 2006 The Estate of Jean-Michel Basquiat; ADAGP, Paris; ARS, New York All Warhol works copyright © 2006 Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts; ARS, New York This book was designed by Laura Andreades and produced in Auburn, Alabama. It was set in Helvetica, a typeface designed by Max Miedinger with Eduard Hoffmann in 1957. It was printed on Neenah Environment Ultra Bright White Smooth 80 lb. text. The source for the text content of this book was Factory Work: Wyeth, Warhol, and Basquiat by Robert Rosenbaum, Joyce Hill Stoner, Margaret Vendryes, and Christine Daulton.

Andy Warhol

Self-Portrait, 1966

The Museum of Modern Art, New York, NY

Jean-Michel Basquiat

Self-Portrait, 1985 Collection of Bruno Bischofberger, Z端rich

a n d y wa r h o l

For most of us who tried, talking to Andy Warhol was like knocking your head against the wall. No matter what you said or asked, the response was a blank: “Sure,” “Yeah,” “Oh.” But what was scary was that it was not a dumb or shallow blank like that of a stupid or shy person, but a deep, mysterious blank that, like a Rorschach test, you could interpret any way you wanted. It had the frightening power of an infinite emptiness that sucked you in. Faced with the presence of an awesome absence, you became a mere earthling, confronted with the human equivalent of a black hole. Wherever he went, Warhol was the center of his own solar system, except that his version of the sun was a huge void of such magnetic force that it could keep all the workers in his Factory as busy as drones in the service of a mythical deity, and it could make one celebrity after another — from Jimmy Carter and Yves St. Laurent to Diane von Furstenberg and Princess Grace of Monaco — aspire to an audience with a new kind of pope.

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jean ‑ michel basquiat

Jean-Michel Basquiat, the only son of a middle-class Haitian father and a second generation Puerto Rican-American mother, was already a star by 1979, albeit in a small avant-garde arena that would change the direction of American art within less than a decade. That year, Basquiat was the charismatic nineteen-year-old lead “actor” in New York Beat, a film about underground street art and the young artists who used sounds, words, and pictures to make it. As Basquiat’s voice-over in the film pronounced, his medium was “extra large” because you had to “think big to survive” in New York City. Basquiat’s good looks to some degree made up for his stiff acting. Nevertheless, New York Beat offers a valuable glimpse into this exciting and volatile moment on the New York art scene. In it there is no sign of the cool pop art aesthetic that set the stage for neoexpressionist art, which blatantly challenged all that pop art stood for.

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Around the age of fifteen, Basquiat began sporadically running away from home to escape his father’s suffocating rules and middle-class lifestyle. By age sixteen, he was writing on public surfaces, using a spray can like a pencil and getting high. In graffiti circles, tagging (and throw ups) is a form of self-portraiture. Basquiat’s SAMO tag, short for “same old shit,” which he invented with Al Diaz, a high school friend, was more philosophical than the tags of his contemporaries, such as Flow, Kas, A-Trak, Toxic, Daze, Crash, or Shok. Street work was a hobby for most graffiti artists. Basquiat was among these artists but not entirely of them — his plans were grander and more mercenary. In 1978, one year before Jean-Michel would finish high school, Gerard Basquiat stopped reporting his son as a runaway, and the streets absorbed him.

Around the time he crafted a film persona out of his real life, Basquiat began his campaign to get Andy Warhol’s attention. There is no indication that he thought Warhol could teach him anything about painting. Warhol was the king of art celebrity, and Basquiat wanted to learn his star making strategies. It is not surprising that Warhol did not throw open his Factory doors to the near homeless black teenager he encountered in 1978, who sold T-shirts and postcards handcrafted with nondescript forms and scribbles. Warhol was not particularly interested in blacks (O.J. Simpson and Diana Ross in the 1970s, and Aretha Franklin and Grace Jones in the 1980s are a few celebrity exceptions) or the race centered movement that marked the decades of his greatest popularity. Black Power had no currency at the Factory where American pop culture, more surface than substance, was prime capital. Basquiat had to wait for a proper introduction.

Basquiat broadcasted his certain future as a famous artist from the moment he entered the East Village scene. He was a smart and smartaleck punkster (a born performer who began the art noise band, Gray, with no music training), and everyone sensed his promise. His works, in word and image, were so confounding that they were considered profound. The year following Basquiat’s 1979 film debut, he began painting with art collectors in mind, and his materials and tools became more professional, heightening and intensifying their visual impact. By 1981 critic Rene Ricard referred to Basquiat as brilliant – the “Radiant Child.” It was also Ricard who assigned two well-known white male artists, Cy Twombly and Jean Dubuffet, as parents for this “child.” Twombly’s poetic massing of lines and Dubuffet’s adoption of “primitivist” symbolism made them luminaries on the contemporary abstract art scene, in which Ricard placed Basquiat as their heir. It is unlikely that Ricard knew anything about African American artists such as Bill Traylor or Raymond Saunders, who were more appropriate progenitors for Basquiat, a rare African American being absorbed into the mainstream at a time when artists of color received scant consideration. But Basquiat did not forget who he was and what laid the foundation of his art.

Passionate about the aesthetic success of each composition, Basquiat paid careful attention to the commercial aspects of his art. This is clear, given his frequent use of the copyright sign and his trademark three-pronged crown, both symbols of authorship, power and fame. He also avoided centering his work on race but knew how to use popular black imagery to advantage. His paintings were diaries, records of a life lived in the moment, and they spoke to wealthy collectors who did not live in “the” moment but were rich enough to purchase its output. Making visual and verbal statements was Basquiat’s legacy. His themes included the city, the human body, history, music, and himself, all peppered with words and phrases that were borrowed, bastardized, or newborn. Basquiat’s paintings chart the thought process of a writer or a composer, rethinking, revising, reiterating. Basquiat was a “post” black artist before the term was coined because his work, often demonstrative about race, was not centered on race.

“I start with one picture and then finish it. I don’t think about art when I'm working. I think about life.” —Jean-Michel Basquiat

In the spring of 1981, Bruno Bischofberger, Warhol’s savvy art dealer based in Zurich, arranged Basquiat’s first one -man show in Italy within a few months after seeing his work in the P.S. 1 exhibition New York /New Wave. Thereafter, he visited Basquiat in New York to buy up and sell his art all over Europe and in parts of Asia. Basquiat capitalized on what he understood was the “primitive” appeal of his paintings, something that Europeans favored well before American collectors took note (right). The skeletal torsos painted on purposefully misaligned and weathered planks of wood, or canvas stretched over crude frames, protruding at the corners like broken bones through skin, befit the enfant terrible who loved designer clothes, especially the Italian suits that draped so well on his svelte physique, but he sported them in sneakers or barefoot.

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Basquiat’s large 1983 painting Hollywood Africans (right), completed the year he was included in the Whitney Museum of American Art Biennial, labels a figure “self-portrait as a heel #3” with a large “paw” at its chin. Referencing African American actors as expendable to the moviemaking machine, it is also clear that Basquiat positions himself among them as a star/hero (his birth date is recorded here also) by striking the canned self-portrait pose of Warhol, an artist he idolized.

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Basquiat was in the right place at the right time and his art appealed to an excited, flush, and cannibalistic art market. He became an art-world fetish, envied by some and resented by others. After being on the scene for only five years, the demand for his art brought Basquiat’s prices into the high five figures. He enjoyed the high-art representation offered through Bischofberger and traveled extensively, to Milan, Madrid, Zurich, Tokyo, and the Cote d’lvoire, to appear at openings and to paint canvases that would be left behind for European collectors. Unfortunately, by this time Basquiat’s increased income also supported a heroin habit growing out of control.

“Since I was seventeen, I thought I might be a star. I’d think about all my heroes, Charlie Parker, Jimi Hendrix. I had a romantic feeling about how people had become famous.” —Jean-Michel Basquiat

collaborations

In 1983, Bischofberger arranged a Warhol, Basquiat, and Clemente collaboration that fell flat with the critics but commenced a mutually beneficial friendship between Jean-Michel Basquiat and Andy Warhol.

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That year Basquiat painted Gold Griot (p.16), a riff on Warholâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s 1962 Gold Marilyn Monroe (The Museum of Modern Art, New York, p. 17).

Warhol must have been taken with how Basquiat put his compositional choices to use for his own ends. The skeletal griot has a startling presence, with a seriousness Warhol’s blond bombshell purposely lacks. While Basquiat and Warhol were an unlikely match, Basquiat looked up to Warhol as the personification of the artist as star but did not find much merit in Warhol’s hands off art methods. In turn, Warhol found Basquiat’s youth and talent energizing. Basquiat has been credited with inspiring Warhol to put brush to canvas, as he had during the 1960s. Warhol had stuck to his silk screens during the collaborations with Clemente but, as the works with Basquiat were uncommissioned, he allowed himself a brief return to painting. The meeting of minds seemed right for all concerned.

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When Basquiat left Warholâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s studio after their first formal introduction, he rushed back to his own studio to record, and celebrate, the event on canvas and offered it up to Warhol in its fresh, still impermanent state. His Dos Cabezas (Two Heads) (right) was the result of that gesture. Given the more careful treatment of Warholâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s head, Basquiat revealed the sense that he was initially less important than Warhol, as well as his optimism that working with Warhol would prove the old adage that two heads are better than one.

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Warhol, in contrast, chose to mark their acquaintance with a “piss” painting head shot of Basquiat that, although perhaps not intentional, reads like an affront to the younger artist (left). Basquiat later came back with a very large portrait of Warhol as a comical, near-stick figure lifting barbells, after Warhol composed a huge portrait of Basquiat posed in a jockstrap as Michelangelo’s David (p. 22). This artistic sparring was friendly but intense and, in the case of Warhol’s contributions, tinged with sexual innuendo. Even so, the two had art in common more than anything else. Warhol’s efforts to help Basquiat stay healthy, and his show of affection, such as wearing a jacket with Basquiat’s face on it, were endearing but did not create a lasting bond. In the end, Basquiat’s temperament dominated their venture.

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“Warhol must have particularly enjoyed the way visual extremes met in his artistic encounters with Basquiat. The conflict of styles — one raw, the other cooked — ended up in a different kind of contrapuntal harmony…”

Always alone yet always in the midst of a crowd of worshipers, Warhol, one might have guessed, would be the last person in the world to establish an equal-time relationship with another human being, least of all with another artist. If one had to guess which artists, if any, he might have befriended and collaborated with, the first choice would probably have been one of his pop contemporaries of the 1960s. So it is all the more surprising that, in the following decades, Warhol established close personal and aesthetic liaisons with Jean-Michel Basquiat, an artist whose world could hardly have been more different from his.

Clearly, Basquiat filled a huge gap in Warhol’s life and art. For one, there must have been the teacher-student, parent-child connection that would be further kindled by their working together and collaborating on huge canvases. Then, there is the phenomenon of the way in which, as the French say, “les extrêmes se touchent.” Certainly for the outside world and perhaps even for Warhol himself, this pairing represented a wildly unpredictable meeting of extremes.

For Warhol, long accustomed to East Side town houses, royals, private jets, and paparazzi, what could be more alien than a dark-skinned crazy kid from Brooklyn who not only was clearly of different racial origins — half-Haitian, half-Puerto Rican—but who also began his meteoric career by raucously embracing a counter-cultural life, living in public parks, selling painted T-shirts on the street, spraying graffiti on city walls, succumbing to cocaine and heroin, and using a garbage can lid as his painter’s palette?

To this scenario of opposites attracting, there should be added what must have been Warhol’s sexual fascination with Basquiat as a symbol of conventional ideals of masculine good looks and athletic bodies, the fairy tale Beauties who complemented his Beast. In his over-lifesize portrait of Basquiat (p. 22), Michelangelo’s David seems reborn in a posing strap, a perfect specimen of the almost naked male body, half hustler, half Greek god, a painfully far cry from the scrawny, brutally scarred flesh of Warhol.

Warhol must have particularly enjoyed the way visual extremes met in his artistic encounters with Basquiat. The conflict of styles — one raw, the other cooked— ended up in a different kind of contrapuntal harmony, collaborations that became the visual equivalents of improvised riffs on familiar themes, with the two artists given equal time, each one embellishing the other’s work, or each one doing, say, the Arm & Hammer logo or the Mona Lisa in his own signature style. It is heartening to remember that Warhol, loneliest of artists, could at least for brief periods fill the void around him.

As exhibitions reevaluating the 1980s are mounted, it is telling that Andy Warhol is not included while Basquiat is rarely omitted. Warhol led the movement to displace painting, which was finally declared dead by theorists, curators, critics, and artists by the 1970s. Ironically, he lived to see painting resurrected, to the detriment of his career but not his place within art history, within one generation. The excitement and extravagance that marked 1980s art making and art consumption was antithetical to the cool containment of Warholâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s signature style. Pop art had been swallowed, digested, filtered, and expelled as new innovations that changed the art world.

Warhol and Basquiat worked together as painters on one and the same surface, which testifies to the unusual nature of the times. Warhol was thirty-two years older than Basquiat. Their collaborative canvases, and the initial rejection by collectors and critics, record the clash between the generations Warhol and Basquiat represented more than the relationship they shared. Opinions about the famed Warhol-Basquiat partnership run the gamut from warm father-son intimacy to mutual exploitation for professional gain. In the end, it was probably all of the above, for, like Warhol, Basquiat wanted more than the prerequisite fifteen minutes of fame.

“We worked for about a year, on about a million paintings. Andy would start most of the paintings. He would start one and put something very recognizable on it, or a product logo, and then I would sort of deface it. I would try to get him to do at least two things. He likes to do just one hit, and then have me do all the work after that. We used to paint over each others stuff all the time.” —Jean-Michel Basquiat

When the two artists approached a blank canvas, Warhol made the first marks and then hesitated to go back in after Basquiat took his turn, leaving the final organization and emphasis essentially up to Basquiat, who was accustomed to working on prearranged surfaces. He attacked Warhol’s beginnings as though he was back on the street. As a consequence, some of the collaborations, like the large Dentures/Keep Frozen (p. 30-31), especially when compared to paintings executed solo by either artist, appear unbalanced.

Warhol’s lone denture, once provocative and perhaps comic, falls silent next to Basquiat’s black skull with gnashing teeth rimmed in blood red. The dominant text reading “KEEP FROZEN” seems to refer to the state of Warhol’s old-school popism, while Basquiat prominently placed his copyright symbol on the entire enterprise.

In contrast, smaller works such as Collaboration (Crabs) (p. 32-33) appear as a result of a tagging war that Basquiat clearly won. The appropriated commercial drawing of a crab that Warhol traced onto the canvas was attacked with abandon by Basquiat, who outlined and filled in the figure in a manner that nearly rendered the shellfish invisible had he not labeled it with his signature bold lettering.

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One can only imagine what a painting session with these two equally pragmatic artists must have been like. Warhol, with his enabling apparatus, would apply a pristine figure, leaving room for Basquiat who would then “throw down,” using graffiti language, the fill that would animate and ultimately supersede Warhol’s contribution. It must have been quite a show for the older Warhol, whose remove from the performative aspects of art making was celebrated before the likes of Julian Schnabel and David Salle appeared (who, like Basquiat, were aggressively promoted by Mary Boone as key to the rebirth of painting), with their giant canvases riddled with art historical and pop culture references. Yet Warhol was a legend in his own time, and Basquiat was one of his beneficiaries.

One visitor to Warhol’s studio in 1983 witnessed a “happy mixture of entrepreneurial thinking and camaraderie between the two artists.” But Warhol sensed that some, such as Bischofberger, thought that his direct influence risked diluting the raw, intuitive quality that made Basquiat’s paintings so attractive to collectors. He recorded this in his dairies, along with the prediction that Basquiat would become a “Big Black Painter” and therefore needed to think about the market for his work more seriously. One thing Warhol could never be accused of was lack of variety in subject matter, as he questioned (albeit on his diary page), “How many screaming Negroes can you do?” Both sentiments identify Basquiat as limited by his skin color and his subject matter.

Despite Basquiat's efforts to distance himself from race rhetoric, writers could not overlook his ethnic and racial background. According to Arden Scott, an artist friend, Basquiat was uninterested in race issues. The art historian and writer Robert Farris Thompson reconnected the young painter to his Creole roots, calling him “an Afro-Atlanticist extraordinaire” and making a place for race in Basquiat’s story. This brief encounter with a scholar of African and African American art increased the attention Basquiat gave the iconography of race. Many essays point out his Haitian parentage, referring to his art as part of that vibrant folk art tradition and disregarding the bonds with Western art that are patently visible in his paintings. This is not to say that Basquiat did not connect with his blackness on many levels through music, language, or symbolism,

only that he was not limited to or by it. By this time, Basquiat had gained more critical attention than any other African American artist. His connection to African American artists might not be as apparent as his affinity with canonical Western artists, but it is there. A tangible connection is documented in the 1982 portraits by James Van Der Zee. There, Basquiat is enthroned in the familiar Van Der Zee high-back armchair, like the many Harlem strivers the photographer immortalized over his long career. As Kellie Jones and others have made clear, “Jean-Michel fights against any one categorization.” He wanted to be a part of it all. But Basquiat’s biographers make little of his position within the African American art canon. In the end, his most enduring connection with another artist was that with Andy Warhol.

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Vivian Raynor, critic for the New York Times, who had earlier predicted great things for Basquiat, reviewed the 1984 collaborations with Warhol at the Tony Shafrazi Gallery as transparently “one of Warhol’s manipulations” that cast Basquiat as an “accessory.’’ The promotion visuals for the Shafrazi show inflated the level of competition between the two artists. The idea that this unlikely pair would be slugging it out in a ring was ridiculous, mostly because on all counts, Basquiat would win. Today the most often reproduced poster of the two standing shoulder to shoulder in identical satin boxing shorts, dispassionately staring ahead, seems innocent enough (p. 42). But in a lesser known poster dance club, Warhol lands a punch to Basquiat’s jaw, disfiguring the black artist’s face (p. 43). This image is more illustrative of how outsiders read their relationship. Most thought Warhol had the upper hand or fist. The failure of the Warhol/Basquiat collaboration took the wind out of both artists’ sails— Warhol looking for a comeback, Basquiat a leg up. Neither got what he hoped for but, because Basquiat had earlier graced the cover of the New York Times Magazine as the exemplary neoexpressionist rising star along with Keith Haring and Kenny Scharf, the negative attention was short-lived and in fact increased his visibility. Basquiat came away from the ill-fated show in better shape than Warhol.

“The relationship changed, but not before each artist became an indelible element in the other’s oeuvre.”

When the promising collaboration fell flat with the critics, the WarholBasquiat relationship soured. They were separated by two generations. Warhol, a single, gay man, did not fit the father-figure role some thought he might. And Basquiat’s attempts at paternal bonding, even with his father, were troubled at best. Bischofberger later wrote that Basquiat was deeply disappointed by the paintings’ critical reception because he hoped affiliating with Warhol would affect a sort of baptism solidifying Basquiat’s place as a master artist. Sensed as well were Warhol’s disappointment and dismay at the loss of close ties with Basquiat that was revealed in the “unfinished, anticipatory feeling pervading the work of Warhol” after 1985. The relationship changed, but not before each artist became an indelible element in the other’s oeuvre.

While his adolescent prophecy quickly became a reality, Basquiat the drug user became Basquiat the drug addict. Being famous had its downside, as drugs offered an effortless escape, brightening the artist’s dark side in the beginning but eventually affecting his ability to paint. By 1986 the return on Basquiat’s paintings was impressive, but it was just about paying the rent and supporting his habit. No one could get him off the junk; not even his hero Warhol, whose friendship, although fractured, remained in the wings. Steve Torton, Basquiat’s friend and assistant, recalled how much Basquiat reveled in excess and “loved the silence of drugs.” For all the crowded

and complex paintings that evoke the dissonance that is urban existence, there was respite within frames such as the 1984 Untitled (Cadmium) (right), where a single brown, male figure fills one half of a bright-red field while discreet line drawings of mediators rest along its side. Few writers comment on the effect Basquiat’s addiction might have had on his painting. It is difficult to believe that nothing in Basquiat’s art is a result of drugs. Traces must be there but deciphering them is impossible. Crossing out words might draw attention to their meaning, but the lines pulled across a figure, word, or phrase also create a barrier, a barbed wire fence, which obstructs.

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When Warhol died in February 1987 of complications during routine surgery, Basquiat felt abandoned. By the spring of 1988 he returned to New York, after several months in Paris, strung out. Much of Basquiat’s work contains signs of self-destruction. Fred Brathwaite (aka Fab 5 Freddy), a friend from his early graffiti days, believed that reading Basquiat’s art as text offers access to his troubled mind. His paintings from this time are haphazard and spare, as Basquiat recycled characters and phrases from earlier work. The Dingoes That Park Their Brains with Their Gum, 1988 (right), is haunting, with its cryptic title, coupled with the familiar warning “KEEP FROZEN;” repeated from earlier canvases, including Warhol collaborations, as if Basquiat was looking to the past for his artistic moorings.

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On August 12, 1988, a few months before his twenty-eighth birthday, Jean-Michel Basquiat was pronounced dead of a heroin overdose. At his memorial service, attended by more than three hundred, Brathwaite recited a Langston Hughes poem reminding everyone that, in the end, “no one loves a genius child.” Basquiat’s entire career as a painter spanned only seven years. His work with Warhol, some of the most lucid and productive years, regardless of how the record of their collaboration is assessed, represents a third of that time. The New York Times illustrated Basquiat’s obituary with a photograph taken from the by then infamous 1985 Warhol collaborations show. The artists stand back to back supporting each other without seeing eye to eye.

figures James Wyeth, Portrait of Andy Warhol, 1976. Collection of Cheekwood Botanical Garden and Museum of Art, Nashville, TN

figure 1.

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Beth Phillips-Schwab, Portrait of Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1982.

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Jean-Michel Basquiat, Untitled (Tenement Window), 1981.

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Jean-Michel Basquait, Hollywood Africans, 1983.

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Wolfgang Wesener, Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1985.

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Jean-Michel Basquiat, Gold Griot, 1984.

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Andy Warhol, Gold Marilyn Monroe, 1962.

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Jean-Michel Basquiat, Dos Cabezas, 1982.

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Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1982.

Galerie Bruno Bischofberger, Zürich Collection of Leo Malca

Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

The Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh

The Broad Art Foundation, Santa Monica

The Museum of Modern Art, New York, NY

Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas E. Worrell, Jr.

The Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh figure 10.

Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1984.

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Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel Basquiat, Dentures/Keep Frozen, 1985.

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Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel Basquiat, Collaboration (Crabs), 1984–1985.

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Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel Basquiat, New Flame, 1985.

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Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel Basquiat, Stoves, 1985.

The Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh

The Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh The Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh Galerie Bruno Bischofberger, Zürich

Galerie Bruno Bischofberger, Zürich

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Untitled, 1982. Collection of the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth

figure 15. figure 16.

Michael Halsband, Poster presenting Warhol / Basquiat paintings.

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Michael Halsband, Poster of the Palladium after-party.

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Jean-Michel Basquiat, Untitled (Cadmium), 1984.

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Jean-Michel Basquiat, The Dingoes that Park their Brains with their Gum, 1988.

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Tseng Kwong Chi, Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1985.

Private Collection Private Collection

High Museum of Art, Atlanta, Georgia

Collection of Enrico Navarra, NY

Galerie Jérôme de Noirmont, Paris

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