AndyWarhol’s vision of ‘Sunset’ perfectly imperfect
Andy Warhol, abstract expressionist painter of ephemeral light? Don’t laugh. We think we know the slightly built, mop-wigged Pope of Pop Art because we remember him for so many things — the wildness of his 1960s studio, the Factory; his hip fashion magazine Interview, which cemented his reputation as a high priest of celebrity culture; many sharp and brashly colored paintings, shocking in their day and now iconic, including “Campbell’s Soup Cans” and “Marilyn Diptych.”
Warhol was the most influential and richest American artist of the post-World War II era, and through it all, he cultivated a famously superficial persona.
But another side of him surfaces during the 33 tranquil minutes of “Sunset,” a film commissioned in 1964 by John and Dominique de Menil that’s screening at the Menil Collection.
The film’s story begins, in all places, at the Vatican.
Hoping to install a pavilion at the 1968 Hemisfair World’s Fair in San Antonio, the Catholic Church commissioned the University of St. Thomas Art Department (and by default, the de Menils) in 1967 to organize an exhibition of religious art. Mark Rothko had just completed his monumental paintings for the Rothko Chapel, which was in development, so the de Menils planned to show them at the fair in a purpose-built octagonal space. They also invited Robert Indiana, Roberto Matta and Tony Smith to participate; and, working through their protégée Fred Hughes (who would become Warhol’s lifelong manager and confidant), they asked Warhol to create a spiritually significant film.
That wasn’t as outlandish as it might sound now. The youngest son of poor, Slavic immigrants, Warhol was a devout Catholic. He grew up attending an ornate church in Pittsburgh full of the Byzantine-inspired art the de Menils loved.
The commission came during an exceptionally productive, fiveyear period when Warhol made more than 600 films. John de Menil was a big fan of that work, which includes well-known films such as 1963’s “Sleeper” and 1964’s “Empire,” both of which — like “Sunset” — explore moving imagery through real-time footage and static shots.
For the Hemisfair commission, Warhol shot sunsets in San Francisco, East Hampton and New York City. More than five reels are known to exist. Warhol apparently wasn’t satisfied with any of them, but he liked a Pacific Ocean version enough to lay on an audio track of the German singer-songwriter Nico reciting a minimal poem.
Menil curator Michelle White said many people believe Warhol intended to create an installation that featured several sunset films, maybe even projected on top of each other.
“We’ll never know, but it’s fun to imagine,” she said.
The pavilion was never realized, for financial reasons.
White became fascinated with “Sunset” about five years ago, after learning about it in the Menil archives. After tracking down prints at the Museum of Modern Art, where it was restored and shown for the first time in 2000 as part of the Andy Warhol Film Project, she had a new appreciation for the artist.
“It’s an amazing work of art. For me it really showcases Andy Warhol as a colorist,” she said. “This color is extraordinary.”
“Sunset” is one of only two films Warhol made with no people, “unless you count the airplanes,” White said. She thought it was important to screen the film it in its original format, not a digital projection, even though it meant hiring a projectionist for several months.
“We have so few opportunities to see film,” she said. “It’s the saturation of colors and the materiality of the celluloid that makes this work really strong and really interesting.”
Warhol fixed his 16 mm camera lens on a horizon that’s barely in focus and blasted out in the beginning, against a white-ish sky. A sliver of water captures light near the bottom third of the frame, sparkling below a line of hills and a long, low-hanging, skinny cloud. Otherwise, it’s hard to tell what’s land and what’s water. Is it a river we’re seeing, with the ocean beyond the hills? Or is the reflection capturing the ocean’s edge, with a hilly island beyond?
Viewers have plenty of time to ponder this, and perceptions change with the atmospheric light, as the scene turns even more abstract and fuzzy. An orb you think might be the sun reveals itself to be a lens flare when the real, intense sun falls low enough to be discernible. A few planes pass by, and a bird or two. The longer the colors linger, the more they seem to vibrate and merge, until the film begins to feel as mesmerizing as a Rothko canvas.
It also starts to feel long — odd, since a sunset watched in person never seems to last long enough. Nico’s repetitive lines, cascading in little waves that double over and into themselves, keep you both grounded and floating.
You could interpret the poetry as Gertrude Stein-ish dribble — “the sea … is… black…” … “Infinity is always alive”… “Death wants to be here”… “They do not see you as you want to be… They see you as you are… you are… you are the light…” You might even feel like strangling her before it’s over.
Or, if your mood is open and you’re lounging on one of the Fatboy beanbags at the front of the screening room, you could emerge from “Sunset” feeling as if you’ve just finished a profound meditation on temporality.
Either way, you never forget that your experience is being mediated. The retro projector whirs. A thread of some kind — dust? — hangs at the top right corner of the lens, and flickers of black and white light up randomly, like fireflies. Warhol liked this kind of imperfection.
White has timed the screenings purposefully at 6 p.m. each day the museum is open. She thinks it would be a great way to start a date night before a quiet dinner.
“It’s such a romantic thing to do,” she said.
You can sit outside and watch sunsets any time, anywhere, but after seeing this “Sunset" — with or without a date — you might view nature’s nightly show with wider eyes.