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Andy Warhol's Masterwork from a Private Collection
ANDY WARHOL (1928-1987)
Flowers
Details
ANDY WARHOL (1928-1987)
Flowers
signed twice and dated later 'Andy Warhol Andy Warhol 65' (on the overlap)
acrylic, fluorescent paint and silkscreen ink on linen
82 x 82 in. (208.3 x 208.3 cm.)
Executed in 1964.
Flowers
signed twice and dated later 'Andy Warhol Andy Warhol 65' (on the overlap)
acrylic, fluorescent paint and silkscreen ink on linen
82 x 82 in. (208.3 x 208.3 cm.)
Executed in 1964.
Provenance
Leo Castelli Gallery, New York
Frederick R. Weisman, Los Angeles
Thomas Ammann Fine Art, Zurich
Top Search Investment Ltd., London
Acquired from the above by the present owner, 1990
Frederick R. Weisman, Los Angeles
Thomas Ammann Fine Art, Zurich
Top Search Investment Ltd., London
Acquired from the above by the present owner, 1990
Literature
Andy Warhol, exh. cat., London, Tate Gallery, 1971, p. 75, fig. 51 (illustrated).
D. Bourdon, Andy Warhol, New York, 1989, p. 193, fig. 177 (illustrated).
Major Works from the Weisman Collection and Other Private Collections, exh. cat., Zurich, Thomas Ammann Fine Art, 1990, n.p., no. 31 (illustrated).
G. Frei and N. Printz, eds., The Andy Warhol Catalogue Raisonné: Paintings and Sculptures 1964-1969, vol. 2A, New York, 2004, p. 295, 298 and 301, figs. 55-56, no. 1324 (illustrated).
Andy Warhol Flowers, exh. cat., New York, Eykyn Maclean, 2012, n.p. (illustrated).
D. Bourdon, Andy Warhol, New York, 1989, p. 193, fig. 177 (illustrated).
Major Works from the Weisman Collection and Other Private Collections, exh. cat., Zurich, Thomas Ammann Fine Art, 1990, n.p., no. 31 (illustrated).
G. Frei and N. Printz, eds., The Andy Warhol Catalogue Raisonné: Paintings and Sculptures 1964-1969, vol. 2A, New York, 2004, p. 295, 298 and 301, figs. 55-56, no. 1324 (illustrated).
Andy Warhol Flowers, exh. cat., New York, Eykyn Maclean, 2012, n.p. (illustrated).
Exhibited
New York, Leo Castelli Gallery, Andy Warhol: Flower Paintings, November-December 1964.
Humlebaek, Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, Andy Warhol, September 1990-January 1991, p. 68, no. 16.
London, Tate Modern; Toronto, Art Gallery of Ontario and Aspen Art Museum, Andy Warhol, March 2020-March 2022, p. 132 (illustrated).
Humlebaek, Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, Andy Warhol, September 1990-January 1991, p. 68, no. 16.
London, Tate Modern; Toronto, Art Gallery of Ontario and Aspen Art Museum, Andy Warhol, March 2020-March 2022, p. 132 (illustrated).
Further Details
The early 1960s was a time of dramatic innovation and veracious production for Warhol. In 1964 alone, he moved into a studio that would become his first ‘factory’, at 231 E 47th Street in Manhattan, he also exhibited his Death and Disaster series at Ileana Sonnabend’s gallery in Paris to rave reviews. In the spring and summer, he filled the Stable gallery in New York with Brillo boxes and Campbell’s soup cans and also completed his now-iconic film Empire. The juxtaposition of the everyday objects en masse in the former, and the intense—almost meditative observation—of the latter, highlighted the fact that Warhol was not merely a superficial purveyor of popular imagery but had actually tapped into the deeper concepts surrounding our relationship with commercialism as a society. By carefully and methodically choosing his subjects, the artist was able to create a personal treatise on human existence from seemingly anonymous reproductions, mass media techniques, and the appropriation of images and styles from design and advertising.
At the same time that he was creating dramatic compositions of soup, soap, and celebrities, Warhol was also looking at the darker side of American life with his images of electric chairs, race riots, and other scenes of calamity. During this time, the curator of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Henry Geldzahler, purportedly suggested that the artist create something with a less morbid theme. When Warhol asked him what he meant, Geldzahler remembers offering up the June 1964 issue of Modern Photography magazine opened to a page displaying a repeated color photograph of seven hibiscus flowers. The image, taken by the magazine’s editor Patricia Caulfield as an illustration for a new Kodak color processor, was repeated four times in a block with different tonal variations and seemed “ripe for Warholian plucking” (M. Lobel, “In Transition: Warhol’s Flowers,” in Andy Warhol Flowers, exh. cat., Eykyn Maclean, New York, 2012, n.p.). The artist seized upon the image as a catalyst for a new creative direction and reduced Caulfield’s original image to emphasize the four flowers on the right-hand side, while at the same time shifting the position of one of the blooms in order to more aesthetically fill the square shape of his intended composition. Next, Warhol rotated the scene and rearranged the floral centers to his liking. Lastly, in order to prepare it for the screen printing process, Warhol directed his assistant Billy Name “to run the photo repeatedly through the Factory’s new photostat machine—‘a dozen times, at least,’ said Billy, to flatten out the blossoms, removing their definition, the shadow that lent the photo its illusion of three-dimensionality. ‘He didn’t want it to look like a photo at all. He just wanted the shape, the basic outline, of the flowers’” (T. Scherman and D. Dalton, op. cit., p. 247). By altering the original in such a way, the artist converted a seemingly generic photograph into an iconic image. Through manipulation and repetition, he was able to separate the end result from its origin and create a more universal symbol.
The ubiquitous nature of Warhol’s floral arrangements is what makes the present work such an insightful interrogation of the way in which we consume mass media. The Flowers exist perfectly within the divide between journalistic depictions of the real world and stylized images used in logos, cartoons, and advertisements. They are both real and constructed at the same time. Warhol’s genius lies in his ability to bridge the expanse between the realm of fine art and one of deeper conceptual thought. By creating works that occupy multiple spaces at once, he problematized our relationship to images and questioned how we exist as fragile human beings in an increasingly prescribed world.
As a series, the Flowers represent a peak Warholian moment. The artist often highlighted the glamor of consumer culture, celebrity, and fame that were part and parcel of the glittering, shiny subjects favored by Pop artists. However, an ever-present darkness ran throughout Warhol’s oeuvre and often emerged in his images of skulls, celebrities, and series like his Death and Disaster paintings. While the idea of the memento mori, and a deeper conversation about human mortality is somewhat easier to pull from pieces like the Car Crashes or Skulls, it is somewhat surprising that the Flowers paintings are where Warhol actually reaches a poignant duality. “What is incredible about the best of the flower paintings,” wrote the critic John Coplans, “is that they present a distillation of much of the strength of Warhol’s art—the flash of beauty that suddenly becomes tragic under the viewer’s gaze” (J. Coplans, Andy Warhol, Pasadena, 1970, p. 52). Extensively quoted and well-known for his views on the fleeting nature of fame and its correlation to life, Warhol was fascinated by the razor edge that separates both renown and obscurity as well as life and death. Like the still-lifes of the Dutch Golden Age, the blooming Flowers represent a perfect illustration of the apex of beauty and life caught in the dazzling moment before they are doomed to fade and wither.
Though many of his canvases deal with more universal subjects, it is also worth noting a deeply personal side to Warhol’s investigation into human fragility. After an attempt on his life in 1968, the already shy artist became more reclusive and his themes turned inward even more. His self-portraits, done at various times throughout his career, are markers of the artist’s identity as he merged with a constructed persona and the very media he used in his work. The icons he created, whether Coca-Cola bottles, soup cans, skulls, or Marilyn Monroe’s beaming face, will last for eternity, and the insertion of his own visage into the mix can be seen as an attempt at establishing a legacy. In his book The Philosophy of Andy Warhol, the artist spoke about death, saying: "I don't believe in it, because you're not around to know that it's happened. I can't say anything about it because I'm not prepared for it" (A. Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again), Orlando, 1975, p. 123). The Flowers are a telling representation of Warhol’s two sides, and they show an unexpected kinship with his more macabre images of disaster. They typify both the ornamental beauty and glamour of twentieth-century consumerism while also connecting directly to a universal human need to be remembered after we fade away.
“Andy was pop and pop was Andy.” Henry Geldzahler
No single person is more inextricably linked to the legacy of Pop Art than Andy Warhol. Bursting onto the scene in the 1960s, he parlayed the formal concerns of Modernism and the dynamic language of advertising into a heady conversation about the superficial nature of images, commercial consumption, and the crossover between popular culture and high art. “Warhol captured the imagination of the media and the public, as had no other artist of his generation,” recalled curator Henry Geldzahler. “Andy was pop and pop was Andy” (H. Geldzahler, quoted in V. Bockris, The Life and Death of Andy Warhol, London 1998, pp. 159-60). Mastering mechanical methods to produce compelling symbols of midcentury America, Warhol instilled simple images with a depth and potency that resonated throughout every level of society. However, as slick and bright as his works may be, they are not meant to be taken at face value. Each successive image builds upon the next to form a multilayered investigation into humanity’s obsession with media, consumption, and ultimately, both life and death itself.
At the same time that he was creating dramatic compositions of soup, soap, and celebrities, Warhol was also looking at the darker side of American life with his images of electric chairs, race riots, and other scenes of calamity. During this time, the curator of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Henry Geldzahler, purportedly suggested that the artist create something with a less morbid theme. When Warhol asked him what he meant, Geldzahler remembers offering up the June 1964 issue of Modern Photography magazine opened to a page displaying a repeated color photograph of seven hibiscus flowers. The image, taken by the magazine’s editor Patricia Caulfield as an illustration for a new Kodak color processor, was repeated four times in a block with different tonal variations and seemed “ripe for Warholian plucking” (M. Lobel, “In Transition: Warhol’s Flowers,” in Andy Warhol Flowers, exh. cat., Eykyn Maclean, New York, 2012, n.p.). The artist seized upon the image as a catalyst for a new creative direction and reduced Caulfield’s original image to emphasize the four flowers on the right-hand side, while at the same time shifting the position of one of the blooms in order to more aesthetically fill the square shape of his intended composition. Next, Warhol rotated the scene and rearranged the floral centers to his liking. Lastly, in order to prepare it for the screen printing process, Warhol directed his assistant Billy Name “to run the photo repeatedly through the Factory’s new photostat machine—‘a dozen times, at least,’ said Billy, to flatten out the blossoms, removing their definition, the shadow that lent the photo its illusion of three-dimensionality. ‘He didn’t want it to look like a photo at all. He just wanted the shape, the basic outline, of the flowers’” (T. Scherman and D. Dalton, op. cit., p. 247). By altering the original in such a way, the artist converted a seemingly generic photograph into an iconic image. Through manipulation and repetition, he was able to separate the end result from its origin and create a more universal symbol.
The ubiquitous nature of Warhol’s floral arrangements is what makes the present work such an insightful interrogation of the way in which we consume mass media. The Flowers exist perfectly within the divide between journalistic depictions of the real world and stylized images used in logos, cartoons, and advertisements. They are both real and constructed at the same time. Warhol’s genius lies in his ability to bridge the expanse between the realm of fine art and one of deeper conceptual thought. By creating works that occupy multiple spaces at once, he problematized our relationship to images and questioned how we exist as fragile human beings in an increasingly prescribed world.
As a series, the Flowers represent a peak Warholian moment. The artist often highlighted the glamor of consumer culture, celebrity, and fame that were part and parcel of the glittering, shiny subjects favored by Pop artists. However, an ever-present darkness ran throughout Warhol’s oeuvre and often emerged in his images of skulls, celebrities, and series like his Death and Disaster paintings. While the idea of the memento mori, and a deeper conversation about human mortality is somewhat easier to pull from pieces like the Car Crashes or Skulls, it is somewhat surprising that the Flowers paintings are where Warhol actually reaches a poignant duality. “What is incredible about the best of the flower paintings,” wrote the critic John Coplans, “is that they present a distillation of much of the strength of Warhol’s art—the flash of beauty that suddenly becomes tragic under the viewer’s gaze” (J. Coplans, Andy Warhol, Pasadena, 1970, p. 52). Extensively quoted and well-known for his views on the fleeting nature of fame and its correlation to life, Warhol was fascinated by the razor edge that separates both renown and obscurity as well as life and death. Like the still-lifes of the Dutch Golden Age, the blooming Flowers represent a perfect illustration of the apex of beauty and life caught in the dazzling moment before they are doomed to fade and wither.
Though many of his canvases deal with more universal subjects, it is also worth noting a deeply personal side to Warhol’s investigation into human fragility. After an attempt on his life in 1968, the already shy artist became more reclusive and his themes turned inward even more. His self-portraits, done at various times throughout his career, are markers of the artist’s identity as he merged with a constructed persona and the very media he used in his work. The icons he created, whether Coca-Cola bottles, soup cans, skulls, or Marilyn Monroe’s beaming face, will last for eternity, and the insertion of his own visage into the mix can be seen as an attempt at establishing a legacy. In his book The Philosophy of Andy Warhol, the artist spoke about death, saying: "I don't believe in it, because you're not around to know that it's happened. I can't say anything about it because I'm not prepared for it" (A. Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again), Orlando, 1975, p. 123). The Flowers are a telling representation of Warhol’s two sides, and they show an unexpected kinship with his more macabre images of disaster. They typify both the ornamental beauty and glamour of twentieth-century consumerism while also connecting directly to a universal human need to be remembered after we fade away.
“Andy was pop and pop was Andy.” Henry Geldzahler
No single person is more inextricably linked to the legacy of Pop Art than Andy Warhol. Bursting onto the scene in the 1960s, he parlayed the formal concerns of Modernism and the dynamic language of advertising into a heady conversation about the superficial nature of images, commercial consumption, and the crossover between popular culture and high art. “Warhol captured the imagination of the media and the public, as had no other artist of his generation,” recalled curator Henry Geldzahler. “Andy was pop and pop was Andy” (H. Geldzahler, quoted in V. Bockris, The Life and Death of Andy Warhol, London 1998, pp. 159-60). Mastering mechanical methods to produce compelling symbols of midcentury America, Warhol instilled simple images with a depth and potency that resonated throughout every level of society. However, as slick and bright as his works may be, they are not meant to be taken at face value. Each successive image builds upon the next to form a multilayered investigation into humanity’s obsession with media, consumption, and ultimately, both life and death itself.
Brought to you by
Emily Kaplan
Senior Vice President, Senior Specialist, Co-Head of 20th Century Evening Sale