SALE & ACQUISITION (a sale from one collection to another).

“The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet.” —Andy Warhol

At times, what I use as a barometer for the strength of a work of art is to pose the question “Could I write a thesis about this work?”  With Warhol you have a lot to work with in this regard —from his own history and body of work, to the emergence of Pop art, to the subject itself.  Here, with this recently sold painting, Alfred Hitchcock (1980) the definitive answer to the thesis question is “yes.”  While I’ll spare you the reading of a full 100 page thesis, I’ve put together a text below about this fascinating, late Warhol, its history, subject and context. 

This is a picture about one icon, Warhol, painting the portrait of another icon. Warhol is, of course, one of the most important and influential artists of the 20th Century.  Hitchcock is amongst the best filmmakers of all time (he was nominated for 46 Academy Awards). There is crossover as well as both made films and both made artworks—from albeit very different approaches.   And this is what makes this work, in particular, one which can be analyzed from multiple threads. 

Warhol and Hitchcock met in New York in 1974 for an interview that Warhol conducted for his Interview magazine during the promotion of Hitchcock’s latest film, Frenzy (1974), which centered on a serial killer in London. The conversation between the two that resulted was not what one would think (naturally, about art and film) but another mutual fascination of theirs—the macabre.  Much of Warhol’s early and celebrated work dealt with death in the media and the post-mortem legacy of public figures.  Pictures of Marilyn Monroe in the aftermath of her untimely passing, over 200 portraits of Jackie Kennedy from different images before and the murder of her husband, grisly photos of car crashes and electric chairs in repetition and mug shots of “most wanted” criminals were all the subject of his 60s paintings.  Hitchcock, of course, beginning in the 1920’s was known for directing masterful suspense films, thrillers and murder mysteries so Warhol’s line of questioning was very much in focus for him as well. The interview took shape around questions from Warhol about the psychological aspects of Hitchcock's characters such as “did you ever figure out why people really murder?” and “what kind of person really murders?” Warhol also opined on how his own traumatic 1968 shooting with Hitchcock which he said felt like “a movie” (although it was very a very real event). 

While Hitchcock and Warhol shared some commonalities of interest in the subject of death, they were from a fundamental aspect very different filmmakers.  Hitchcock was a masterful storyteller, deeply invested in the construction of narrative.  He was so much so that he often embedded himself into the story as a narrator (like he did for the trailer of Frenzy).  Warhol, who made over 60 films in his lifetime, was almost always anti-narrative.  He often preferred pure image, removing any notion of a beginning, middle or end that one would expect in a film for the theater.  Kiss (1963), for example, is a 50 minute film of different couples kissing in 3 1/2 minute intervals. Empire (1965) is one single static shot of the Empire State Building for 8 hours and 5 minutes as the evening light shifts to night. However their differences in approach to making motion pictures, they were connected in their penchant to push on the boundaries of the media outside of traditional tropes that had dominated filmmaking.  

Both Hitchcock and Warhol understood the power of images and wielded them even in the construct of their own self-image.  Hitchcock’s best known artwork is a drawing of his own likeness in profile.  It is a simplistic rendering in an Al Hirschfeld-esque style which outlines his own profile in just nine lines. That does not mean it’s without complexity, however.  It expresses Hitchcock’s self-deprecating humor emphasizing his rotund figure, balding head and pursed lips.  He creates himself into a character through the overemphasis of these physical traits but his minimalist style keeps that character non-specific, even hollow if you will, allowing for a flexible meaning, a bit of mystery and ready for any be employed in any number of storylines. His self-portrait becomes even more layered when he overlays his own moving image behind the drawing as he did for his tv series, Alfred Hitchcock Presents. He is seen as a filmed, shadowy figure in silhouette, perhaps in a police line-up, who steps forward into his own linear self-portrait.  The perception of the figure in the disarming line drawing, a jolly figure, is called into question.  Which one is the real Hitchcock?  Or are they both shades of gray?  Hitchcock schools his audience in the adeptness of character-building using his own image as raw material.

In examining Warhol’s own self-portraits one sees similarities in their mission to navigate fact and fiction. In one early self-portrait he is seen in four different poses, dressed in sunglasses, a trench coat and a disheveled shirt and tie.  Like Hitchcock’s self-portrait Warhol’s has a whimsical feel of an actor’s first headshot, playing the same role four times over.  This gives the image an accessibility. Yet, look closer and he is less in costume and more in a disguise, hiding from the viewer in some way.  Is his character the hero detective or a villain on the lam?  His mid-career self-portraits are more acidic, in “reversal” and akin to a film negative.  His methods of obfuscation are simple but laid bare with his hand over his mouth and a shadow over one side of his face, blurring the grounds of the picture plane as he gazes toward the viewer.  Later he dons a spiked wig which he refers to as “fright wig”.  His face is gaunt, haunting and aged.  This series has been described as “a simple and powerful personal meditation on death.” In some versions he almost buries himself into the ground as he seems to disappear in a field of camouflage. There is an uneasiness about his own image in the world that he presents, the reality of an aging and fragile icon at death's doorstep throwing out one last smoke bomb to distract us with his new frightening, final character.   

And that brings us to the present work, Alfred Hitchcock (1980), one of just a handful of paintings Warhol made from the photographs of the director during their meeting several years earlier. What can we learn about these two artists from this work? Like Hitchcock’s self-portrait at the beginning of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Warhol’s painting is the amalgam of two images—here, the photographic (instead of the filmed) and the hand-drawn.  The photographic image, like a shadow, is ill-defined and becomes two grounds combined. In many ways Warhol’s depiction is less a “reversal” and more of an inversion of Hitchcock’s self-portrait.  It is not black and white as one would normally see Hitchcock but, here, he is depicted fully saturated vivid colors.  He is not in profile but instead, face forward, pushed right up the picture plane as if just unmasked for the audience.  But he is still an illusive character, bearing the expression through his lips and arched eyebrows that even while emphasized by Warhol’s drawn line can only be defined as undefinable.  It retains that hint of humor with the mystery of a man who understands the mysterious, the endless fascination of  character complexity and the gamesmanship of a writer and director who plays with a viewer to keep us constantly guessing, always on our toes.   And yet, one thing becomes clear, there was an understanding between these two artists, a mutual, innate ability to define dualities—and then give us only what lies between.