06-29-02 - 5:08 p.m.
i met andy warhol in 1978, at a televised event called 'circus of the stars'. andy was leaving with his famous female entourage; viva on one arm, ultra violet on the other. he smiled beneath his bizarre white wig and politely signed a scrap of notebook paper i dug from my purse; it was my 15 seconds of fame. i hated his movies and respected his art. i loved his diaries; scathing chronicles of his social life and bitchy dissections of those famous and unfortunate enough to cross his caustic path and fail his expectations. whether you admired andy's bold vision or hated it, nothing changed the fact that we were all cheated by his early passing. in a museum yesterday, dwarfed before his towering, spectacular, chairman mao silkscreen, i felt insignificant. humbled. i could only imagine the artistic frontiers he would never explore.
note to richard; best birthday gift of year 49. thank you.