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...love to it ogled it let it sit astride him let it whisper midnight thoughts in his head let it guide his hand AND-HE let himself go into a trance a polaroid tango a xerox or polaroid reflex action unfold whirrr inside his head zzzz click! so was he so different from artists who still pay due obeisance to old notions - or, timeless notions, expressed in that anachronistic lingo, like, 'Oh, it's just floating around in the air and I just pick it up,' or 'It speaks thru me' etc, and, I ask you, how is that different or BETTER than what Warhol did, if anything, he exerted MORE aesthetic control, he was the ANTI fascist artist, he didn't run from the mass, from mass repro, he didn't lock himself away in a Long Island studio doing formal variations for the sake of a few 100 people in the artworld, he TOOK on reproduction and won, out ran it, owned it, signed it over to himself 20th Century boy heretic ...

Only a FOOL could do this ...

A boy with a plan
A natural man
Wearing a white acryllic wig

And there on the screen
A man with a dream

Holy fool St Andy did ICONic portraits.
{I recognise that, it's Liz, I recognise that it's Marilyn, I recognise that it's Elvis, I recognise that it's ... Death. Memento andi.}

After his own death they discovered all these late, Last Supper paintings: the Last Supper endlessly duplicated and repeated and reproduced {maybe the Immaculate Conception was the first Coming Out, the first Girl of the Year, the first 'reproduction' that went round the world?}

The Last Supper as a recognisable trademark. {In a sense: The Last Supper II. Or: The Last Supperâ„¢} This was 'nice' 'accessible' 'real art', recognisable faces and things {faces as things: reifications, fetishes} but always also acute subversive x-rayed meditated upon.

And he shows how REPRODUCTION has made the Last Supper {as imago, press photo, false memory, re-presentation of that which was never present to us} just a recognisable emblem or icon or trademark just like the CAMEL camel.
Christ as travelling salesman.
Religious art as repetition.
Halo as plastic surgery.

{And every day, all those thoughts and feelings I recognise as Andy reactions. Like, an e.g., I just turned on the TV to see the fantastically awful and instantly addictive Through The Keyhole - and I was so disappointed they'd replaced it with this dreary FUNERAL type thing from RAF Brize Norton - just coffins coming off an airplane, and how un-televisual is that?
I mean - I actually thought this; and I wasn't ashamed.

Which is just why all those smart alec broadsheet TV critics always get it so wrong when they write about TV as pseudo Art form, rather than this ghostly second chamber part of our un-reel real lives, how we TUNE IN regular as clockwork to certain things, how we fall in love with certain TV faces, and, as I did the other night, get all giggly happy when I discovered that my West Wing alter ego Toby Ziegler is the "same age" as me! ... and it is no coincidence that the 'best' or most contemporary TV - whether West Wing, Sopranos, Simpsons, Seinfeld, the Petit/Sinclair London Orbital documentary, even Big Brother in its gruellingly souffled way - are things that MIGHT GO ON FOREVER in tandem with the exquisite boredom of our own lives ...

+ any body / Andy body / anti body / retrovirus // -

And you FEEL NO PAIN ...
Only a fool, fool, fool ...
I heard it was YOU
And only a FOOL would say that ...

posted by Ian 7/11/2003 11:21:00 AM

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