Andy Warhol, Other Voices, Other Rooms at the Stedelijk Museum

'Turn into, hope I do, turn into you' - Yeah Yeah Yeah's, Turn Into

This week on Monday I had a day off from work, kids and life. Rare, huh?

I went to see the Andy Warhol 'Other Voices, Other Rooms' exhibition at the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam.

See, I told you I'd do more things! This is more things, right?

The exhibition was interesting. There was some of Warhol's printed work, letters, pictures, including the famous Queen Beatrix image.

Some of it was a little incomprehensible. Some art is incomprehensible.

I guess that's what makes it art, right, and not just stuff that any somebody can produce?

I like looking at it, but don't expect me to find a huge and deep meaning in everything I see. Only some things.

Nevertheless, the films were interesting. Outer and Inner Space especially.

The discomfort on Edie Sedgwick's face when confronted with her own image was, in turn, discomfiting to watch. The first thing I thought of when I watched this was how desensitized we are to images of ourselves. We see ourselves all the time in photographs. We see ourselves in videos. If we use the web cam we see our own image as we talk to others. We're oblivious to the fact that it's us, it's our essence up there on the screen. Edie Sedgwick wasn't oblivious.

She was clearly uncomfortable, which when you consider her exposure to media and print at the time, just makes me realise even more how over-exposed we all are now.

The other video that grasped my attention was Mrs Warhol.

It seemed so ordinary, so commonplace to watch Julia Warhola (Andy's mother) teach Richard Rheem to iron a shirt. The domesticity of it was touching. I found myself remembering my grandmother ironing. I also realised how much of her is in me, especially the ironing part. I know virtually no other women who iron, and none who iron compulsively, like I do.

Many of the Warhol films seem to centre around domestic life.

Precursors of Big Brother, I suppose.

I think we want to watch other people's domestic life to convince us that our own domestic life is ok. That there's nothing wrong with us, no huge flaws in how we're made. 

Being the ultimate-at-home-voyeur. It's like being a teenager and checking out the other girls' boobs in the shower to make sure that yours are ok. There's nothing intrinsically wrong with it, but it feels a little shameful.

And my ultimate conclusion isn't anything new or astounding: Warhol just did it first, with great aplomb.

For more Warhol stuff, check out WarholStars, and for more Edie Sedgwick (isn't she just bee-yooooo-ti-ful?), watch Factory Girl.