by Andy Warhol
Monday, January 17, 1977—Kuwait
Visit to the National Museum, there’s no history to this place, it goes back twenty-five years. There were like eight rooms, one had three coins in the whole room. Think there was one room that Alexander left some pots in. Alexander the Great—three pots and four coins. A room with yesterday’s dresses. More tea and coffee with the director. Just sat there, there was nothing to do. Carred over to see the secretary-general of the Council for Arts for more tea and coffee and ceremony. Dirty handprints on the wall, as if they killed somebody and it was a work of art or something. Guys standing around.
Everybody says the same routine: Where are you staying? How long have you been here? How long will you be here? When are you leaving? When are you coming back?
Carred over to see a rich collector named Fahad al Dabbous. Chubby and cute. He had a lot of paintings around on the wall, some Dalis, one sort of big one, lots of male friends there, most in costume, a couple of wives. They had drinks there, also—only the rich, remember? A big spread on table, nothing compared to Iran’s big spreads. The men looked fat, but usually in costume you couldn’t tell too much. But this one was chubby. He had bought the Marilyn and the Flower prints. He was wearing a girl’s diamond-studded watch with a blue face. The Kuwaiti food was greasy—greasy roast.
Bought crab soap ($6). At 8:00 we were picked up by Mr. Bater, who was the cultural attaché from the United States to Kuwait, and taken to see the American Ambassador Morandi who was giving us a dinner. His wife was from Seattle, talked so much it drove us crazy. They were Democrats. Dinner was served at 10:00. Left at 12:00, bored. Used the crab soap, it didn’t work. Fell asleep in the bathtub. In bed couldn’t sleep. Read the Ruth Kligman book again, she was driving Jackson Pollock crazy in the car and that’s when he ran into the pole. Gave it to Fred to read.
Tuesday, January 18, 1977—Kuwait
Up after restless night at 9:00 (tip $1, laundry $2). James Mayor urgently calling—we were always late because it was always so boring we weren’t in a hurry. Visited a Kuwaiti artist atelier. Three artists in each room. This time tea or orange pop. Visited each stall, had to. One guy painted in Picasso-Chagall style. Not one original style. They sit on the floor and paint on rugs and pillows, it looked like hippie streetwares, like the sixties. It was the only nicely designed building in Kuwait because it was a copy of the Ford Foundation. Got a tour of the building. The man said it was very Kuwaitian.
Picked up at 4:30 for the opening of the exhibition in the Arts Council Hall. We had to meet the minister of state there. I think his name was Ahmad Al-Adwani—have that name written down. But maybe that name goes with someone else. I had sent him a copy of the Philosophy book [see Introduction] and he said he’d read it and that it had clever ideas, he was old and cute. There was a red ribbon in front of the door, I had to carry a pair of gold scissors on a red pillow to cut the ribbon. A lot of TV and press there.
Wednesday, January 19, 1977—Kuwait
Went to the exhibition for a tea party and had to drink more tea and then we were invited by the English ambassador to drop by. His daughter was there, she was seventeen and drew cartoons about fags. She was cute and funny. Had her father’s chin, which was no chin. There were a lot of English people there who’d been living and working in Kuwait for years. Left. Big rainstorm.
Picked up by Nadja and had a fight with Fred about not going to Germany. He said I had to go because “you’re a fading star there.” It was the way he said it that got me mad.
Dinner at Nadja’s house. There were sixty people. The best party the whole trip. She had eight or ten brothers and a mother and sisters and all the men dance together, looks like the twist. The food was really good. Then men began dancing with Fred. Someone gave him $40 for dancing so well. Had to stay until everybody left—2:30. James admired somebody’s robe and they gave it to him. Jed admired someone’s nose ring and he got it. I didn’t know about the custom, so I didn’t get anything.
Thursday, January 20, 1977—Kuwait—Rome
Alitalia flight. Five and a half hours. Read the Rome Daily American. Carter inaugurated. Disgusting drunks on the plane. Airport empty, disorganized. While standing there ran into Marina Cicogna and Florinda Bolkan coming from St. Moritz (cab to the Grand Hotel $20). Hotel suite wasn’t ready so we had to have lunch in the dining room. While we were there we ran into Helmut Newton and Patrick the makeup artist. And Suni Agnelli came in.
Had the suite Man Ray stayed in, he just died—he’d had a big opening in Rome right before. Fred said to forget what he’d said about me being a fading star in Germany, he sobered up, said that I didn’t have to go.
Sunday, January 23, 1977—Paris
Up at 10:00. Staying at Fred’s apartment. Made a lunch date with Peter Beard. Went out shopping and ran into Mick Jagger.
Went to Schiaparelli’s show (cab $3). They gave us a good seat and lots of attention. The show was awful, based on “The Three Graces” by Botticelli. One dress was worth $2 million or something and the best thing was the armed guards around it.
Monday, January 24, 1977—Paris
People kept coming in and out of the apartment all day starting at 5:00. Mick arrived so drunk from an afternoon with Peter Beard and Francis Bacon that he fell asleep on my bed. At 11:00 we tried to wake him up but he was too asleep. Club Sept ($120) with Peter and Mona Christiansen and Jed (cab $2, back $2).
Saturday, January 29, 1977—New York—Nashville
Catherine off the plane first, given a bouquet, and then everyone was. About eight cheerleaders were there to greet us in blue outfits with “W” on them, pom-pom girls, doing Warhol-Wyeth cheers.
Staying with a guy named Martin and his wife Peggy who are the Jack Daniel’s people.
Went backstage at the Grand Ole Opry, went into the dressing room. Marty Robbins was practicing.
Sunday, January 30, 1977—Nashville
The museum opening of the portraits by Jamie and me was at 6:00. The tour organizer took Catherine and me around the Fine Arts Center at Cheekwood. We tried to grab hot dogs, we were so hungry, but he whisked us away. There was a staircase there brought from England. The popcorn machine was at the top of it and Catherine and I went to get some, we were eating and talking and we noticed that the stairs were lined with people and then we realized that they were lined up because they thought it was a receiving line to meet me, because they saw me at the top. We filled up some bags with popcorn and tried to get out, but then someone asked for some and I gave them a bag, and then I wound up giving autographs for an hour and a half. Then dinner was served.
A few of the locals came, and Don Johnson, that cute actor we know from Magic Garden of Stanley Sweetheart, he’s a friend of Phil Walden’s.
Suzie Frankfurt came down to Nashville to social-climb. She’d pre-written thank-you notes before she even got there and she made out well, she got on the front page with me instead of Catherine who didn’t step forward fast enough.
Monday, January 31, 1977—Nashville—New York
Vincent heard that Joe Dallesandro’s [see Introduction] foster mother died on Long Island last week. This is two weeks after his brother Bobby died, and Joe’s still here in this country—he hasn’t gone back to Europe yet.
Worked until 7:30. Went to Regine’s. Warren Beatty was there looking a little older and heavier. Jack Nicholson was there looking a little older and heavier. Anjelica Huston and Apollonia the model were there. I like Apollonia now, she’s really sweet. And Catherine Deneuve was there, who the party was for. Warren was dating Iman, the black model.
Barbara Allen and her beau Philip Niarchos were there and James Brady and the Women’s Wear Daily guy, Coady. He was carrying on at Barbara and Philip’s table and Philip was trying to be charming, and Coady was with a beautiful girl—I couldn’t figure out how he would be—and they left early. Barbara Allen came over and told me that Coady had been saying, “I hate everything here. I hate Jack Nicholson, I hate Warren Beatty, I h
ate Andy Warhol, I hate Diana Vreeland, and most of all I hate James Brady.”
Oh and the food. He also hated the food.
Philip was drinking and getting cuter. Barbara really seems like she wants to get married, I think she wants to have children with him.
Ruth Kligman had called me that afternoon and I told her I was seeing Jack Nicholson and would talk to him about starring in the Jackson Pollock movie. She asked me if I could take her to meet Jack and I said no. (laughs) I wouldn’t take her anywhere after reading her book. She actually killed Pollock, she was driving him so nuts.
A fifteen-year-old girl Philip knew from St. Moritz was there with her father and she was talking to Philip and Barbara was nervous because when you saw them together you could really see that girls like Barbara and Apollonia had lived—they looked old—and this fifteen-year-old’s charm was that she was so young and like a little girl, like she hadn’t been used yet.
Jack stopped by the table and I said I was going to send Ruth Kligman’s book and he said she’d already called him.
Tuesday, February 1, 1977
Joe Dallesandro came by 860 for lunch. I asked him how his brother Bobby had really died, and he finally changed it from the “accident” he said it was originally to what really happened. Bobby hung himself. Joe was quiet at lunch.
Finally got to bed early for a night. The cold wave is the big news. And the gas shortage they’re playing up.
Wednesday, February 2, 1977
Ronnie and I had a fight. He was upset when I said I didn’t want the Hammers & Sickles cut and stretched the way he’d done them while I was away, and he said that he’d done all the work for nothing. I asked him what he would have been doing if he hadn’t been doing that, anyway, so what did it matter if it wasn’t necessary. I said I never know what I want until I see what I don’t want, and then he said well then that was okay if I “bounced off that,” that it was worth the effort, that he just resented it if he’d done it for absolutely no reason.
Worked late, didn’t leave until around 7:30. Talked to PH about Popism, she told me about her interviews with Jonas Mekas and Kenny Jay Lane the day before. Jonas had been good, Kenny was lousy.
Dropped Catherine off (cab $3). Went home and did some work, then at 11:00 Catherine and I went over to Regine’s to interview Michael Jackson of the Jackson 5. He’s very tall now, but he has a really high voice. He had a big guy with him, maybe a bodyguard, and the girl from The Wiz. The whole situation was funny because Catherine and I didn’t know anything about Michael Jackson, really, and he didn’t know anything about me—he thought I was a poet or something like that. So he was asking questions that nobody who knew me would ask—like if I was married, if I had any kids, if my mother was alive…(laughs) I told him, “She’s in a home.”[see Introduction]
We tried to get Michael to dance and at first he wouldn’t but then he and the girl from The Wiz got up and did one dance.
Thursday, February 3, 1977—New York—Denver
At the airport in the morning I ran into Jean Smith, who was on the same flight. She was with her son, who was sort of big and heavy. She asked about Jamie Wyeth. In Denver there was a blonde girl driving a Rolls Royce, she had on a chauffeur’s cap and gave a tour of the city. Dropped us at the Brown Palace Hotel, an old hotel with a new annex but I decided to stay in the old part. The lobby looked better than the room, service very fast, lots of extras like showercaps, a new TV, and soap. Room had a basket of fruit. I called my nephew Father Paul and said I’d meet him the next day at my opening. Picked up at 6:30 for the preview for the patrons. Fred got really drunk. He got mad at some tough ninety-year-old lady and told her that he was only there for the money, honey, and I tried to shut him up, but he just hated the whole thing so much, and he decided that next time I did personal appearances he would stipulate that they had to buy something. All the women too ugly for portraits.
Friday, February 4, 1977— Denver
Weather beautiful, fifty or fifty-five, blue skies. Tried to walk as much as possible. Walked to museum at 2:00, had to do some press interviews. They were boring.
The opening was at 7:00 but we decided to go at 8:00. We were getting the Rolls Royce again. At 7:30 Father Paul arrived and my niece Eva. Ordered double drinks and Father Paul got a little high and they wanted to ride with me so they got into the Rolls Royce, full of girls. Father Paul tried to convert them. Crowded at the museum. Dreadful dinner, sold Interview shirts and Philosophy books and posters.
Got handed some mash poems.
At 10:00 they let the $10 people in, they were all the freaks of Denver, a lot of cute boys and nutty girls.
Sunday, February 6, 1977—Carbondale, Colorado—Denver
Went with John and Kimiko Powers to the forty acres I bought out near Aspen. Ran into two girls on the property riding horses. They said it was the most wonderful country they’d ever spent time in.
Caught a flight to Denver. Took forty minutes. Checked into the Stouffer Hotel near the airport.
At 3:00 in the morning thought I heard the doorknob being turned—it was the little brats in the room next door listening to TV. Scary.
Monday, February 7, 1977—Denver—New York
Woke up at the crack of dawn, went to the airport. There was a guy cleaning the windows of the plane as I was going on, and some people can just look up and say, “Hi, Andy” so casually, and he was great, he did that. Later he came to find us and asked for an autograph for his high school teacher.
Cab in from the airport ($20). Dropped off the bags and Fred (called Vincent from the airport $.10). Sent Ronnie for supplies ($10.80). Went to 860 (cab $4). Jamie Wyeth was there, talked to him (tea $10). Lester Persky called to invite me to dinner in honor of James Brady, who’s the new editor of New York.
Géraldine Stutz was there. It turns out she’s on the same council as Jamie, the American Council for the Arts, that gives money to artists. I think it’s disgusting the artists they give the money to. They always pick the ones that are very “serious.” Walter Cronkite was there.
Lester started getting drunk and was really funny, telling me how great it was that we were still friends, even though he’d never done anything for me and never would. And then he did his “I’m so rich now and I’m still unhappy” routine. Really, does he do it at every dinner every night? He must.
A famous male model came and sat down, from Zoli. He’d just had a baby in Alaska. I met the editor of the Daily News, Michael O’Neal. I’d never met him in all these years, and I was thrilled to meet him. When I found out the guy knew all about Interview, I really loved him. He was big and Irish with lots of hair, grey. I introduced Catherine as the “editor” of Interview just so they could talk, but she was being in a funny mood and didn’t really answer his questions. Jamie Wyeth had gone off to Elaine’s. Catherine said she wanted to take a cab home. She must have made a date with someone, maybe Jamie.
An English kid came over from the bar where he’d just been talking with Lester Persky and asked if Lester was really the Lester Persky the big producer, and I (laughs) had to say yes.
Larry Freeberg from Metromedia who first proposed that we do a TV show, and then turned it down when Bob handed in our budget, was there, but I didn’t recognize him and stared at him blankly when he walked in. But that was good—maybe he’ll think twice about what he did to us.
Tuesday, February 8, 1977
Leo Lerman called in the afternoon and commissioned a portrait for Vogues one-time-use only of Queen Elizabeth.
Friday, February 11, 1977
Cabbed up to Suzie Frankfurt’s and there was a lot of traffic ($5). Suzie is designing clothes for women who’re over the hill, and it’s a funny idea, they’re the wrong colors and they emphasize the wrong places, she’s going to try to get into that business on Seventh Avenue and she’s also trying to go into antiques as a business. She’s going to go with us to California on Wednesday— Norton Simon, remember, is her cousin.
Wednesda
y, February 16, 1977—New York—Los Angeles
Arrived in sunny California. Dropped Suzie Frankfurt off at the Simons’ on Sunset Boulevard in glamorous Beverly Hills. Called the Beverly Hills Hotel but they were out of rooms so we had to stay at the Beverly Wilshire. Catherine called her half-uncle Erskine who was in town, he’s just a little bit younger than she is. He’s been traveling around the world all year with his cousin Miranda Guinness, the twin sister of Sabrina. Went to Allan Carr’s. He has a great house. As soon as we got there he wanted us to leave because he was having a dinner and his guests were arriving and when we turned the corner Jed and Catherine almost fainted because they saw the Fonz sitting there. Allan gave us a tour of the house, he said Ingrid Bergman built it and Kim Novak lived there after her. Took us to every bathroom and closet, showed us how the bed went up and down like a barber chair. Meanwhile Suzie was talking to the Fonz. She asked him what he did, he said he was “An Olympic swimmer,” and Suzie was so excited because she’d “never met one before”—she kept asking him what year and if he knew Mark Spitz and everything. By this time the Fonz sort of got annoyed and couldn’t believe anybody didn’t know who he was. She still didn’t know who he was after I said, “He’s the Fonz.” The Fonz talked very serious, he tries to be very heavy. He told me how much he liked me because of “famous for fifteen minutes,” and something about closets from the Philosophy book—empty spaces and things like that. I was so excited meeting him that I couldn’t think of anything to say.