Andy's Joke on the Art World

"In this room that's so antiseptic, where the procedures are so set, and paperclips become museum objects, we're still dealing with a man's stuff. It's very personal.

The girls know that Andy's dry cleaner's name was Danielle, and that she was always sending him bills, which he ignored. He did the same with the surgeon who saved his life after he was shot, who they found a note from that read, 'Pay up, you blowhard.' But they also know that, along with the unpaid bills, he would send art donations to charities. They know there are letters from fans, asking him to sign an enclosed photo, and the photo will never be there, which means he sent it back to them, signed. They know what he looked like without his wig on; that he had a comb-over.

Andy Warhol with mother in LIFE magazine, 1960s (?).

They know there is a whole box he made devoted to his mom, and how that one felt extra personal, because some of her clothing was inside, and that can connect you to a person more than anything else. They found Andy's clothing in the capsules, too. They know there are certain things you can't know about a person just through reading, like the actual size of their waist."

Spot on! A thoughtful but playful piece by Starlee Kine. Collections in Pop Art and popular culture. Please disregard the idiotic voices of the collections people, why do we let girls talk like that?

Listen to the act here, in Episode 514.

Fashion suffers.

"Fashion suffers by being very much more interesting than those who follow it." (ix)

McDowell, Colin. The Literary Companion to Fashion. London: Sinclair-Stevenson, 1995.

I knew this exists, but I never picked it up--this is the 1995/analog version of this website! But better organized. So maybe this is, instead, an extension? If I may be so bold? Really looking forward to reviewing his new book on Worn Through in two weeks...

The Peoples of the World

The sculptures of the tympanum were equally beautiful but not so disturbing as those of the newer church. Here again, the tympanum was dominated by an enthroned Christ; but at his sides, in various poses and with various objects in their hands, were the twelve apostles, who had received from him the mission to go forth and preach among all peoples. Over Christ's head, in an arc divided into twelve panels, and under Christ's feet, in an unbroken procession of figures, the peoples of the world were portrayed, destined to receive the Word.

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Saint Gregory of Nazianzus, a Cappadocian father. From a fresco at Kariye Camii, Istanbul.

From their dress I could recognize the Hebrews, the Cappadocians, the Arabs, the Indians, the Phrygians, the Byzantines, the Armenians, the Scythians, the Romans. But, along with them, in thirty round frames that made an arc above the arc of twelve panels, were the inhabitants of the unknown worlds, of whom only the Physiologus and the vague reports of travelers speak slightly. (336)

Eco, Umberto. The Name of the Rose. London: Picador, 1984 [Italy, 1980].

Peoples of the world recognizable from their outfits. What screams Scythian, or is so Cappadocian? Are we so distinct now? Or, on the other hand, how accurate was the dress reported, if travelers' accounts of fantastical creatures was so off the mark?