We (The Artists) all know that Jean Michel Basquiat and Andy Warhol had a very tight cordial relationship… The kind of relationship that glows with a deep brotherly bond of men who have been through tough times. Extremely tough times.
There is some relevant similarity between the two artists; Rejection.
Andy Warhol had a frequent refusal to comment on his work, to speak about himself(confining himself in interviews to responses like “Um,no” and “Um,yes”, and often allowing others to speak for him)- and even the evolution of his pop style. This is traceable to the years when Warhol was first dismissed by the inner circles of the New York art world. Such humbling moments.
He had also suffered rejection before as a child.
In third grade, Warhol had Sydenham’s cholera.. The nervous system disease which is believed to be a complication of Scarlet fever which causes skin pigmentation blotchiness… Of course he became an outcast as a child.
Which doesn’t come as a surprise that when Basquiat met Warhol at a restaurant and presented to him some of his works, Warhol was stunned by Basquiat’s genius and allure. He wasn’t clouded by the race skin color bullshit.
Try to imagine ->>> Warhol was white and he still faced rejection in the art market.. What of Basquiat a black neo-expressionist ->>> & you know neo-expressionism wasn’t mainstream, people’s tastes were inclined towards fine art & non-radical abstracts.
I guess if Warhol had a Declaroix face/ had a career full of wins and high moments of appraisal only, he would easily dismiss Basquiat on race grounds.
The two artists later collaborated on great works.
Catapult to Greatness through marrying the Arts.
Michelangelo Buonarroti’s soul was a soul great as some ancient prophet’s, full of sublime visions and moral passion. Yet his human personality was pitifully faulty. Arrogant, touchy, harsh of tongue, the youth got his nose broken in a quarrel with an older apprentice. The disfigurement lasted for life and went deeper than his face. For he who worshipped beauty now thought himself repulsive. Of medium height, with overdeveloped shoulders, he may not have been a handsome young man, but the years were to make unforgettable the wrinkled face; the bitter, generous mouth; the hazel eyes filled with an almost Biblical sorrow and love.
He was baeless & profoundly in his old days had an unsatisfied desire at the years he did not live to enjoy. He had worn himself out with struggle over colossal tasks such as painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling & more than a dozen of lifesize marble sculptures.
Marrying himself to art almost a hermit.
Art celibacy indeed.
But was it worth it?
Look at his piquant greatness and vast airy climax of power of his works and you will surely question if anything on earth could hold it.