by Olivia Laing
I loved how Warhol looked in that picture, the careful reticent way he holds himself. His eyes are closed, his chin is up. Neel has done his face in a lovely muted palette of pale pinks and greys, with thin shadowy blue lines running along his jaw and hairline, giving him the exquisite pallor he’d always craved, and emphasising the remarkable fineness of his bones. What is the word for his expression? It’s not exactly proud or ashamed; it is a creature tolerating inspection, at once exposed and withdrawn; an image of resilience as well as profound, unsettling vulnerability.
Strange, to see such an adept gazer submitting to someone else’s scrutiny. ‘He looks a bit like a woman, male and female in one,’ the painter Marlene Dumas commented of the portrait. ‘Warhol was also enigmatic; there is a total fake, artificial aspect, then there is the lonely aspect of an alienated character.’
Loneliness is not supposed to induce empathy, but like Wojnarowicz’s diaries and Klaus Nomi’s voice, that painting of Warhol was one of the things that most medicated my own feelings of loneliness, giving me a sense of the potential beauty present in a frank declaration that one is human and as such subject to need. So much of the pain of loneliness is to do with concealment, with feeling compelled to hide vulnerability, to tuck ugliness away, to cover up scars as if they are literally repulsive. But why hide? What’s so shameful about wanting, about desire, about having failed to achieve satisfaction, about experiencing unhappiness? Why this need to constantly inhabit peak states, or to be comfortably sealed inside a unit of two, turned inward from the world at large?
In her discussion about Strange Fruit, Zoe Leonard made a statement about this business of imperfection, about the way life is made up of endless failures of intimacy, endless errors and separations, that anyway culminate only with loss. At first, she says, the sewing
. . . was a way to think about David. I’d think about the things I’d like to repair and all the things I’d like to put back together, not only losing him in his death, but losing him in our friendship while he was still alive. After a while I began thinking about loss itself, the actual act of repairing. All the friends I’d lost, all the mistakes I’ve made. The inevitability of a scarred life. The attempt to sew it back together . . . This mending cannot possibly mend any real wounds, but it provided something for me. Maybe just time, or the rhythm of sewing. I haven’t been able to change anything in the past, or bring back any of the people I love who have died, but I’ve been able to experience my love and loss in a measured and continuous way; to remember.
There are so many things that art can’t do. It can’t bring the dead back to life, it can’t mend arguments between friends, or cure AIDS, or halt the pace of climate change. All the same, it does have some extraordinary functions, some odd negotiating ability between people, including people who never meet and yet who infiltrate and enrich each other’s lives. It does have a capacity to create intimacy; it does have a way of healing wounds, and better yet of making it apparent that not all wounds need healing and not all scars are ugly.
If I sound adamant it is because I am speaking from personal experience. When I came to New York I was in pieces, and though it sounds perverse, the way I recovered a sense of wholeness was not by meeting someone or by falling in love, but rather by handling the things that other people had made, slowly absorbing by way of this contact the fact that loneliness, longing, does not mean one has failed, but simply that one is alive.
There is a gentrification that is happening to cities, and there is a gentrification that is happening to the emotions too, with a similarly homogenising, whitening, deadening effect. Amidst the glossiness of late capitalism, we are fed the notion that all difficult feelings – depression, anxiety, loneliness, rage – are simply a consequence of unsettled chemistry, a problem to be fixed, rather than a response to structural injustice or, on the other hand, to the native texture of embodiment, of doing time, as David Wojnarowicz memorably put it, in a rented body, with all the attendant grief and frustration that entails.
I don’t believe the cure for loneliness is meeting someone, not necessarily. I think it’s about two things: learning how to befriend yourself and understanding that many of the things that seem to afflict us as individuals are in fact a result of larger forces of stigma and exclusion, which can and should be resisted.
Loneliness is personal, and it is also political. Loneliness is collective; it is a city. As to how to inhabit it, there are no rules and nor is there any need to feel shame, only to remember that the pursuit of individual happiness does not trump or excuse our obligations to each another. We are in this together, this accumulation of scars, this world of objects, this physical and temporary heaven that so often takes on the countenance of hell. What matters is kindness; what matters is solidarity. What matters is staying alert, staying open, because if we know anything from what has gone before us, it is that the time for feeling will not last.
NOTES
BACKGROUND MATERIAL ABOUT DAVID WOJNAROWICZ’S life and work comes from the wonderfully rich David Wojnarowicz Papers (MSS 092) at Fales Library and Special Collections, New York University Libraries (hereafter Fales). Cynthia Carr’s extraordinarily detailed, beautiful and acute Wojnarowicz biography, Fire in the Belly (Bloomsbury, 2012), was also indispensible.
The ACT UP Oral History Project, founded by Jim Hubbard and Sarah Schulman, was of great assistance in understanding both the progress of AIDS in New York City and the work of ACT UP.Transcripts of all interviews can be read at www.actuporalhistory.org, and footage can be viewed at Videotapes, Manuscripts and Archives Division, The New York Public Library.
Unpublished material about Darger’s life is drawn from the Henry Darger Papers, American Folk Art Museum Archives, New York (hereafter HDP).
I’m particularly indebted to Gail Levin and Breanne Fahs, the biographers of Edward Hopper and Valerie Solanas respectively, whose meticulous biographies bring into print the remarkable details of their subjects’ lives, including many previously unpublished letters and interviews.
CHAPTER 1: THE LONELY CITY
4‘a chronic disease without redeeming features . . .’: Robert Weiss, Loneliness: The Experience of Emotional and Social Isolation (MIT Press, 1975), p. 15.
4‘If I could catch the feeling . . .’:Virginia Woolf, ed. Anne Olivier Bell, The Diary of Virginia Woolf, Volume III 1925–1930 (Hogarth Press, 1980), p. 260.
8‘Loneliness is a . . .’: Dennis Wilson,‘Thoughts of You’, Pacific Ocean Blue (1977).
CHAPTER 2: WALLS OF GLASS
16‘It’s nothing accurate at all . . .’: Gail Levin, Edward Hopper:An Intimate Biography (Rizzoli, 2007), p. 493.
17‘The loneliness thing is . . .’: Brian O’Doherty, American Masters:The Voice and the Myth (E. P. Dutton, 1982), p. 9.
17‘Are your paintings reflective . . .’: Hopper’s Silence, dir. Brian O’Doherty (1981).
17‘certain kinds of spaces . . .’: Carter Foster, Hopper’s Drawings (Whitney Museum/Yale University Press, 2013), p. 151.
20‘our most poignant . . .’: Joyce Carol Oates,‘Nighthawk:A Memoir of Lost Time’, Yale Review, Vol. 89, Issue 2, April 2001, pp. 56–72.
22‘brilliant streak . . .’: Deborah Lyons, ed., Edward Hopper: A Journal of His Work (Whitney Museum of American Art/W. W. Norton, 1997), p. 63.
23‘the exceedingly unpleasant . . .’: Harry Stack Sullivan, The Interpersonal Theory of Psychiatry (Routledge, 2001 [1953]), p. 290.
24‘The writer who wishes . . .’:Frieda Fromm-Reichmann,‘On Loneliness’, in Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy: Selected Papers of Frieda Fromm-Reichmann, ed. Dexter M. Bullard (University of Chicago Press, 1959), p. 325.
25‘Loneliness, in its quintessential form . . .’: ibid., pp. 327–8.
26‘I don’t know why . . .’: ibid., pp. 330–31.
26‘possessed . . .’: Robert Weiss, Loneliness:The Experience of Emotional and Social Isolation, pp. 11–13.
30‘The man’s the work . . .’: Katherine Kuh,
The Artist’s Voice: Talks with Seventeen Artists (Harper & Row, 1960), p. 131.
31‘I’m being very biographic . . .’: Interview with Edward Hopper and Arlene Jacobowitz, April 29, 1966 from ‘Listening to Pictures’ program of the Brooklyn Museum. Gift of the Brooklyn Museum. Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution (housed at Edward and Josephine Hopper Research Collection; Whitney Museum of American Art, Frances Mulhall Achilles Library).
33‘I’d heard of Gertrude Stein . . .’: Brian O’Doherty, ‘Portrait: Edward Hopper’, Art in America, Vol. 52, December 1964, p. 69.
33‘It seemed awfully crude . . .’: ibid., p. 73.
34‘They are not factual . . .’: Interview with Edward Hopper and Arlene Jacobowitz, April 29, 1966 from ‘Listening to Pictures’ program of the Brooklyn Museum. Gift of the Brooklyn Museum. Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution (housed at Edward and Josephine Hopper Research Collection; Whitney Museum of American Art, Frances Mulhall Achilles Library).
34‘The interior itself . . .’: Gail Levin, Edward Hopper, p. 138.
37‘without a stitch on . . .’: ibid., p. 335.
38‘Any talk with me . . .’: ibid., p. 389.
39‘Should be married . . .’: ibid., pp. 124–5.
40‘the most exact transcription . . .’: Edward Hopper, ‘Notes on Painting’, in Alfred H. Barr, Jr, et al, Edward Hopper: Retrospective Exhibition, November 1 – December 7, 1933 (MoMA, 1933), p. 17.
40‘to force this unwilling medium . . .’: ibid., p. 17.
40‘I find in working always . . .’: ibid., p. 17.
41‘I haven’t gone thru . . .’: Gail Levin, Edward Hopper, pp. 348–9.
43‘seems to be the way . . .’: Katherine Kuh, The Artist’s Voice: Talks with Seventeen Artists, pp. 134–5.
CHAPTER 3: MY HEART OPENS TO YOUR VOICE
48‘The silent adjustments . . .’: Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1922), p. 39.
51‘I only know one language . . .’: Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (Penguin, 2007 [1975]), pp. 147–8.
52‘To me good talkers . . .’: ibid., p. 62.
53‘And my brother . . .’: Andy Warhol, The Andy Warhol Diaries, ed. Pat Hackett (Warner Books, 1991), p. 575.
55‘“ats” for “that is” . . .’: Victor Bockris, Warhol: The Biography (Da Capo Press, 2003 [1989]), p. 60.
56‘He had an enormous inferiority complex . . .’: ibid., p. 115.
56‘just a hopeless born loser . . .’: ibid., p. 91.
59‘all the Cokes . . .’: Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol, p. 101.
59‘If everybody’s not a beauty . . .’: ibid., p. 62.
60‘The reason I’m painting . . .’: Andy Warhol, interviewed by Gene Swenson, ‘What Is Pop Art? Interviews with Eight Painters (Part 1)’, Art News, Issue 62, November 1963.
61‘He made a virtue . . .’:Victor Bockris, Warhol:The Biography, p. 137.
62‘Machines have less problems . . .’: Andy Warhol, ‘Pop Art: Cult of the Commonplace’, TIME, Vol. 81, No. 18, 3 May 1963.
62‘B is anybody . . .’: Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol, p. 5.
63‘I guess I wanted to be . . .’: ibid., p. 22.
63‘At the times in my life . . .’: ibid., p. 21.
65‘I need B because . . .’ ibid., p. 5.
65‘finding it stunning and poignant . . .’: Stephen Shore, The Velvet Years: Warhol’s Factory 1965–67 (Pavilion Books, 1995) p. 23.
66‘He was a little bit franker . . .’: ibid., p. 130.
67‘I didn’t get married . . .’: Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol, p. 26.
68‘My guess is that it helped . . .’: Stephen Shore, The Velvet Years, p. 22.
68‘I don’t really feel . . .’: Gretchen Berg, ‘Andy Warhol: My True Story’, in Kenneth Goldsmith, I’ll Be Your Mirror: Selected Andy Warhol Interviews 1962–1987 (Da Capo Press, 2004), p. 91.
68‘Andy was the worst . . .’: Mary Woronov, Swimming Underground: My Years in the Warhol Factory (Serpent’s Tail, 2004), p. 121.
69‘confidence in the stability . . .’: Rei Terada,‘Philosophical Self-Denial: Wittgenstein and the Fear of Public Language’, Common Knowledge, Vol. 8, Issue 3, Fall 2002, pp. 464–81.
71‘pure Ondine . . .’:Andy Warhol and Pat Hackett, POPism (Penguin, 2007 [1980]), p. 98.
71‘you have finished me off . . .’ Andy Warhol, a, a novel (Virgin, 2005 [1968]), p. 280.
72‘The only way to talk . . .’: ibid., p. 121.
73‘I’m making love to the tape recorder . . .’: ibid., p. 445.
73‘No, oh Della, please . . .’: ibid., p. 44.
73‘may I ask you . . .’: ibid., p. 53.
73‘Don’t you hate me . . .’: ibid., p. 256.
73‘Please shut it off . . .’: ibid., p. 264.
74‘The dialogue was straight . . .’: Warhol, The Andy Warhol Diaries, p. 406.
74‘How old are you . . .’: Andy Warhol, a: a novel, p. 342.
74‘SPF—Why do you avoid . . .’: ibid., p. 344.
76‘Prussian tactics . . .’: ibid., p. 389.
76‘Andy was the chief psychiatrist . . .’: Stephen Shore, The Velvet Years, p. 155.
77‘something – work or a feeling . . .’: Lynne Tillman, ‘The Last Words are Andy Warhol’, Grey Room, Vol. 21, Fall 2005, p. 40.
77‘Out of the garbage . . .’: Andy Warhol, a, a novel, p. 451.
79‘dominant, secure, self-confident . . .’:Valerie Solanas, SCUM Manifesto (Verso, 2004 [1971]), p. 70.
80‘SCUM is against the entire system . . .’: ibid., p. 76.
81‘Valerie Solanas was a loner . . .’: Avital Ronell, ibid., p. 9.
81‘It is a product . . .’: Mary Harron, in Breanne Fahs, Valerie Solanas (The Feminist Press, 2014), p. 61.
81‘SCUM Manifesto was . . .’: ibid., p. 71.
81‘A true community . . .’: Valerie Solanas, SCUM Manifesto, p. 49.
82‘to keep under your pillow . . .’: Breanne Fahs, Valerie Solanas, p. 99.
82‘dead serious . . .’: ibid., p. 87.
82‘Andy, will you . . .’: ibid., pp. 100–102.
85‘Toad . . .’: ibid., pp. 121–2.
86‘I felt horrible, horrible . . .’: Andy Warhol, POPism, pp. 343–5.
88‘Read my manifesto . . .’: Howard Smith,‘The Shot That Shattered The Velvet Underground’, Village Voice,Vol. XIII, No. 34, 6 June 1968.
88‘I’m a writer . . .’: Daily News, 4 June 1968.
89‘do it again . . .’: Andy Warhol, POPism, p. 361.
92‘glued-together . . .’: Andy Warhol, ibid., p. 358.
92‘It’s too hard to care . . .’: Gretchen Berg, ‘Andy Warhol: My True Story’, in Kenneth Goldsmith, I’ll Be Your Mirror: Selected Andy Warhol Interviews 1962–1987, p. 96.
92‘What I never . . .’: Andy Warhol, POPism, p. 359.
CHAPTER 4: IN LOVING HIM
100‘I’ve periodically . . .’: Cynthia Carr, Fire in the Belly, p. 133.
101‘In my home one could not . . .’: David Wojnarowicz, Close to the Knives: A Memoir of Disintegration (Vintage, 1991), p. 152.
103‘testing testing testing . . .’: ibid., p. 6.
105‘I did what I could . . .’: Tom Rauffenbart, Rimbaud in New York (Andrew Roth, 2004), p. 3.
106‘There was no way . . .’: David Wojnarowicz, Fales, Series 8A, ‘David Wojnarowicz Interviewed by Keith Davis’.
106‘I could barely speak . . .’: David Wojnarowicz, Close to the Knives, p. 228.
106‘My queerness . . .’: David Wojnarowicz, Fales, Series 7A, Box 9, Folder 2, ‘Biographical Dateline’.
107‘the sound of it . . .’: David Wojnarowicz, Close to the Knives, p. 105.
109‘things I’d always . . .’: David Wojnarowicz, ed. Amy Scholder, In the Shadow of the American Dream (Grove Press, 2000), p. 130.
109‘I want to create . . .’: ibid., p. 219.
110‘I found m
yself walking . . .’: ibid., p. 161.
110‘Although the Rimbaud . . .’:Tom Rauffenbart, Rimbaud in New York, p. 3.
113‘So simple, the appearance . . .’: David Wojnarowicz, Close to the Knives, p. 9.
114‘the solitude of two persons . . .’: David Wojnarowicz, unpublished journal entry, Fales, Series 1, Box 1, Folder 4, 26 September 1977.
117‘Our society is . . .’: Valerie Solanas, SCUM Manifesto, p. 48.
118‘a space at a libidinal . . .’: Samuel Delany, The Motion of Light on Water (Paladin, 1990), p. 202.
119‘What has happened . . .’: Samuel Delany, Times Square Red, Times Square Blue (New York University Press, 1999), p. 175.
120‘Of course, not all . . .’: Maggie Nelson, The Art of Cruelty (W. W. Norton & Co., 2011), p. 183.
121‘SCUM gets around . . .’: Valerie Solanas, SCUM Manifesto, p. 61.
122‘When I stopped working . . .’: Charlotte Chandler, Ingrid Bergman: A Personal Biography (Simon & Schuster, 2007), p. 239.
122‘Often I just go where . . .’: People, Vol. 33, No. 17, 30 April 1990.
123‘Just the kind of thing . . .’: Andy Warhol, The Andy Warhol Diaries, p. 634.
123‘A LONELY FORM . . .’: Life, Vol. 38, No. 24, 24 January 1955.
124‘That’s how I express . . .’: Barry Paris, Garbo (Sidgwick & Jackson, 1995), p. 539.
126‘Scottie, what are you doing . . .’: Vertigo, dir.Alfred Hitchcock (1958).
128‘The instant of photographing . . .’: Nan Goldin, The Ballad of Sexual Dependency (Aperture, 2012 [1986]), p. 6.
129‘third gender . . .’: Nan Goldin, The Other Side 1972–1992 (Cornerhouse Publications, 1993), p. 5.
131‘I saw the role . . .’: Nan Goldin, The Ballad of Sexual Dependency, p. 8.
131‘I decided as a young girl . . .’: ibid., p. 145.
132‘I want to make somebody . . .’: David Wojnarowicz, Brush Fires in the Social Landscape (Aperture, 2015), p. 160.
133‘I always consider myself . . .’: David Wojnarowicz, Close to the Knives, p. 183.
133‘In loving him . . .’: ibid., p. 17.
CHAPTER 5: THE REALMS OF THE UNREAL
All material from Henry Darger’s memoir derives from Henry Darger, The History of My Life, Box 25, HDP.