A building I go to regularly has set after set of photos of the local great and good of the 1940s, 50s, 60s and 70s hung on its walls in room after room. They are oddly disturbing photographs. I am sure that individually they were perfectly normal men for their times, but collectively they look decidedly creepy, as if every member of the Manhattan Project had been photographed all at once. It may be all those tie pins and brylcreme. I’m not sure.
I’ve wanted to Warhol them ever since I first saw them. I finally got a photograph with little enough reflection in it to have a go, though it’s intriguing how persistent the reflections on the left are. I’m not entirely happy with this for lots of reasons, not least because its harder than it looks to balance bright splashes of colour in a space. He knew a thing or two, did Andy Warhol.
Anyway, here they are.