A Rare Glimpse at Genius in Marisol and Warhol

If you know Judy Chicago’s “The Dinner Party” (1979), it may surprise you that another famous party predates that iconic feminist installation, and it’s on display right now in all its satirical glory at Pérez Art Museum Miami (PAMM) through Sept. 5 in an exhibition called “Marisol and Warhol Take New York.”

But let’s take a step back. This show follows the 1960s timeline when Andy Warhol and Marisol (born Maria Sol

Escobar) became friends and were enchanting the art world with their intriguing creations.

It’s fascinating to watch their parallel yet interconnected artistic climbs through displayed documents, cards, letters and photographs, but the real intended star of this show is Marisol.

That the exhibition was originally curated for the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh is even more intriguing because the French-born artist of Venezuelan heritage upstages Warhol at every turn. The curators generously recognized right up front that it was Warhol who was first inspired by and looked up to Marisol and not really the other way around, as is often written in brief biographical posts about her.

By all accounts, she continued to overshadow Warhol through her work, although the eccentric and white-haired artist was far more flamboyant than the serious and mysterious Marisol.

Noted in one display panel is that in April 1965, Marisol continued to attract the attention of New York’s social elite and was invited to an exclusive party hosted by Lee Radziwill, Jacqueline Kennedy’s sister, while Warhol was notably snubbed. Then a July New York Times article headlined, “The In Crowd and the Out Crowd,” listed Marisol as “In” and Warhol as a notable “Out.”

Let’s face it, once you’ve seen Warhol’s work a few times – with his soup can series, Brillo boxes, flowers, cow wallpaper and a few of his famous silk screens – you’ve likely had enough, but you’ll never get enough of Marisol.

Her style defies categorization and cannot be neatly defined as “pop art,” like that of Warhol’s. She was a skilled

sculptor who combined folk art, dadaism and surrealism with the use of wooden blocks, wood carving, plaster casts, drawings, photography, paint and pieces of contemporary clothing to bring her creations to life.

Now back to “The Party” by Marisol (1965-1966). The 15 freestanding, life-size figures and three wall panels, with painted and carved wood, mirrors, plastic, television set, clothes, shoes, glasses and other accessories, is a satire of New York high society, right down to the male hand getting ready to cop a feel of an exposed breast.

There is an innate sense of disconnectedness between the figures, each of which bear some version of Marisol’s face, which contributes to their anonymity. Each figure is showing off yet not being seen in their four-square isolation. Despite the colorful fabrics and baubles, you feel that the people they represent are grappling with loneliness, of being lost in a crowd. One also perceives that Marisol is deconstructing the notion of “true femininity” within the cocktail party circuit, mocking the absurd feminine stereotypes at a time when the country was grappling with the Vietnam War, the civil rights movement, and the aftermath of JFK’s assassination.

No matter how much you examine “The Party” through photos and video, nothing compares to seeing it in person. Just like all of Marisol’s sculptures, you must look at them on all four sides and from top to bottom to be able to appreciate all the detail and humor that went into them. The only mistake in this display of “The Party” is the use of Warhol’s cow wallpaper as a backdrop, which grotesquely draws oxygen away from Marisol’s genius.

It clashes again with Marisol’s “John Wayne” sculpture, although one could argue cows and the hero of Western film

pair together more logically. In 1963, Life Magazine commissioned Marisol to create the sculpture, which she modeled after a Mexican toy, although many compare it to a weathervane or a merry-go-round figure. Wayne’s masculinity is fantastically spoofed by Marisol, who depicts the star with three hands, made from casts of her own, and a rotating head with different expressions. Now, if we could only get rid of those damn cows.

Equally enjoyable, although completely different, are the double portraits of powerful art curator Henry Geldzahler (1967) and Sidney Janis (1969), Marisol’s dealer. Geldzahler, who was on staff at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and one of Warhol’s closest friends, is depicted by Marisol in two whimsical, almost cartoonish sculptures that accentuates his physical awkwardness. In contrast, the double sculpture of Janis presents his dapper formality in a tuxedo, pronounced further by the square head. The Geldzahler heads are round. The bended knee with the popped-out dress shoe is a standout detail in one of the Janis pieces, along with Marisol’s plaster hand over his.

Marisol’s “Dinner Date” (1963) is a delightful and assertive self-portrait of the artist dining with herself on TV dinners in the divided aluminum trays they were famous for. A walk around the assemblage leads to the charming discovery of plaster hands, feet and shoes, and multiple angles of Marisol’s face in what can be interpreted as expressions of indifference and defiance. The piece was a wonderful, silent response to reporters who constantly harped on her childlessness and unmarried status.

In sharp contrast to the informality of “Dinner Date,” with one foot kicked out from a shoe, is her portrayal of the Kennedy family prior to the birth of JFK Jr. Their forms are stiff, rudimentary and void of emotion – a reflection of the conformity their public personas demanded. Alongside this display are Warhol’s portraits of Jackie Kennedy before and after her husband’s assassination. This is perhaps the best integration of Marisol and Warhol’s work in the exhibition.

This critique of the show walks you through from the back to the front, so it’s only fitting to end at the beginning, where the exhibition aptly opens with Marisol’s wooden portrait of Warhol, made in 1962, shortly after they became friends. Note that at his feet are a pair of shoes Warhol actually wore. The exquisite four-sided sculpture is said to depict a more reserved side of Warhol prior to the creation of his public persona. Perhaps this is the private side of Warhol Marisol felt most connected to, and the one that she identified with most.

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