Andy Warhol's Skull as a Memento Vivere
In the Andy Warhol museum in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania a skull the size of a human being takes its repose. Screened on canvas, its pink visage eternally casts its yellow shadow and fixes its unblinking, empty eye sockets on passersby. In spite of its nature, or perhaps because of it, it wears a permanent grin.
I found this painting by accident, wandering through the museum on an unplanned corollary of the trip I was on. Suddenly, I was face to face with my own mortality, taking up an entire wall, billboard-sized.
It was enchanting.
We live in a world wherein we treat death paradoxically: it is to be ignored if at all possible, yet when it is faced, it is done so to the highest extent, in scenes of gruesome loss and mournful tragedy. Warhol breaks with both of these traditions in this one piece. The size of Skull renders it unavoidable; it is a vision of one’s own decay blown to epic proportions. At the same time, it is a far gentler reminder of death than what we are accustomed to: a memento mori in pastel, the body already having done the dirty work of returning to the earth, now finding itself at peace, forever washed in the rays of a sunset that never dips below the horizon.
Looking at the tumult of the past year, it almost seems as if this everlasting sun has set, and if one were to view this painting again, he would find it composed of nothing but dull shades of grey. For an entire year, we have been bombarded with constant articles and announcements of death in its many confusing and frightening forms. The beauty of human life and the mystery of its end have been reduced to nameless statistics and bylines. All of us have found ourselves staring down our own mortality, as well as that of our loved ones and idols; but this time, in newsprint black and white instead of Warhol’s mélange of bright colors. Is it any wonder, then, that things have felt so hopeless for so long?
“It was enchanting.”
But the way forward is not paved in despair. We can look to Warhol for guidance in these trying times. In Warhol’s Party Book, published in Cosmopolitan, he wrote, “I always notice flowers”. While he was, admittedly, talking about noticing luxury at a party, many have taken this quote out of context, and I think that we would be well-served to do the same. While we cannot change the circumstances of a global pandemic, we can change what we take note of within these circumstances. To keep moving onward, we must notice the flowers. We must render smiling skulls in soft shades. If there are to be shadows, we must blend them with halos of golden light.