“The sophisticated audience that
had turned out to put down the art that was not on display provided a chilling
touch of surrealism worthy of Buñuel or Fellini”
by DAVID BOURDON
JUNE 16, 2020
The latest Arthurian exploit of
the legendary Andy Warhol occurred last Friday at the public opening of his
first comprehensive exhibition at the Institute of Contemporary Art on the
University of Pennsylvania campus. (The show closes on November 21.) At the
preview opening the night before, attended by 1600, a tuna fish painting was
impaled by a television light stand and Institute Director Samuel Adams Green
was himself pushed to the wall against a painting. Realizing he was up against
something big, Green took the unprecedented step of removing the paintings for
the public opening. Left up in three spacious rooms were a few dozen flower
paintings on one wall and about seven grocery carton sculptures in a corner.
Confronted by vistas of stark
white walls, the milling crowd, mostly students, debated the merits of the absent
art. TV reporters with mobile cameras interviewed earnest co-eds who pointed at
nail-studded walls and made pronouncements like: “I always thought art was supposed
to be creative,” “pop art is just comedy in art,” “all of his art is trash, you
know it, it’s got to be a fad.” The sophisticated audience that had turned out
to put down the art that was not on display provided a chilling touch of
surrealism worthy of Buñuel or Fellini.
By 10 p.m., one hour after
opening, 1000 people had crammed into the galleries and refused to budge. On
the wall opposite the flowers, a single crutch hung on a nail where a painting
had been, presumably left behind by someone now borne along by the crowd.
Andy and the Satellites were
recognized by their golden and silvered locks and engulfed in a sickening
crush. Forming a human chain, they sought refuge in the back room. Nearly
trampled in the melee was the entire pop art brain trust — Rosalind Constable,
Henry Geldzahler, and G. R. Swenson, all of them old hands at non-violent
museum openings.
The crush to get into the back
room was so great that three people were forced out a window on the opposite
side and landed in a hospital. The unruliness of her fans prompted Edie Sedgewick
— incredibly gorgeous in a floor-length, shocking pink Rudi Gernreich sheath —
to shriek. Escorted by campus police, the Warhol party swept back to the front
room where they scrambled up a corner stairway. “We want Andy,” the crowd
chanted. ”Well, now I’ve seen Andy Warhol,” one boy crooned, while another
screamed, “Get his clothing!” At the first turn in the stairs, Warhol wheeled
around to look back horror-stricken through his yellow sunglasses. Like the star-crossed
heroines with whom he identifies (Marilyn, Liz, and Jackie), he was menaced by
the disrespectful idolatry of his fans.
The stairway, alas, did not lead
to the second floor, having been boarded up years ago. ”We were trapped like
rats,” Green said, but also protected by four policemen posted at the base of
the stairs. From their perch, Warhol’s party stared at the crowd and the crowd
stared back; both sides seemed to be getting satisfaction. “I wish he would leave
so I could leave,” a boy said. Co-eds pushed forward bearing tins of Campbell’s
pork and beans and Campbell’s tomato soup that were relayed up the stairs for
autographing. An attractive housewife had her book of S & H Green Stamps
autographed; she said she would never redeem them.
Warhol and the Satellites were
rescued by a group of students who cut a hole in the floor above, through which
they made a Beatlesque escape.
Although the show received
unfavorable reviews, Warhol was credited with sparking tremendous in art in
Philadelphia. “All the people thanked me for doing something in Philadelphia ,”
he said.