mixed up. But I was mad about her.n. ; . I remember saying [to Vreeland]n’We’ve got a star! There’s no doubtnabout it, she’s terrific! A greatnmodel! We should do a whole issuenon her.’nWhen questioned, Vreeland reminiscesnabout diis charming creature withnthe lovely skin whom she considers “onenof the true personalities of the Sixties.”nShe compares the 60’s to the 20’s—thenother American decade where youth wasnthe dominant cultural force—and concludesnthat although the two eras havenmuch in common, the 20’s “unfortunatelyn. . . added up to very little. … Inthink the Sixties will add up to muchnmore.” And she says this with total lacknof embarrassment, dismissing the timenof Fitzgerald, Hemingway, and BessienSmith while extolling that of TimothynLeary, Charles Reich, and Mickjagger.nThe movie Ciao! Manhattan, a sortnof camped-up, cinema-verite version of anfew years in the life and death of EdienSedgwick (and having an extravagantlynpopular revival these days) chronicles,namong other activities, her drug abuse,npromiscuity, and even shock-treatmentnsessions. Appearing here, Edie has perhapsnthe final word:nI was Girl of the Year and all thatncrap. . . .I’d freak out in a verynphysical way. And it was all taken asna fashion trend. Vogue photographednme . . . then the newspapersntook it up because Andy and I endednup appearing in the same places.. . .nI’m a little nervous saying anythingnabout “the Artist” because it kind ofnsticks him right between the eyes,nbut he deserves it. Warhol reallynf—- up a great many people’s—nyoung people’s—lives. Myintroductionnto heavy drugs came throughnthe Factory. I liked the introductionnto drugs I received. I was a goodntarget for the scene; I blossomed intona healthy young drug addict.nJL/die Sedgwick is dead. She paid fornher weaknesses, her errors of judgment,nher bad choices. Andy Warhol andnDiana Vreeland are not only very muchnaround, but overthrown with honor,nwealth, and recognition. They are thenparadigmatic archetypes of our lamentable,nwretched, abused “national” culture.nThey influenced countless Edies tonVasilashncontinued from page 6, column 1nareas fell into step. Glamour, Vogue,nand the rest set the key—or do withoutnit, if atonal is big—and, like it or not,neveryone ends up listening. It is nowncritically vital to be chic, even in burgsnwhere that state of being is pronouncednlike the word for a baby fowl.nConsider Andy Warhol, a man madenby and, in a sense, living on fashionnmagazines and the ancillary activitiesnthey chronicle. Few 20th-century Americannartists have a name with such cachetnas that of the graduate of Schenley HighnSchool, Pittsburgh, class of 1945, andnCarnegie Institute of Technology, classnof 1949- Mention the name GeorgenSegal, and most people will immediatelyncall to mind the actor, not the creator ofnplaster people. There’s no mistakingnWarhol. Warhol is the son of Czech immigrants;nhis father was a coal miner innWest Virginia. After Carnegie Tech,nAndrew Warhola II went to New York.nWarhol—he shortened it and stoppednusing Andre, a name that appears onnworks in the ’48-’49 period (as shown innAndy Warhol, His Early Works,n1947-1959, compiled by AndreasnBrown, Gotham Book Mart Gallery,nNew York, 1971)—hit the streets, lookingnfor a spot to place his cartoonlikendrawings. He met a woman named TinanFredericks, who was, at the time, artneditor at Glamour. She gave him hisnbreak. His first commercial work is a fullpagendrawing of shoes and illustrationsnfor an article entitled “Success is a Job innNew York,” all for the September 1949nissue of Glamour. From Glamour, annumber of other jobs sprang up, such asnfor Mademoiselle. A most importantnbreak—in terms of both money andnpublicity—came from I. Miller, a fairlynexclusive shop, for which he drew morennnchoose the so-called glamorous and excitingnlife they endorsed. Jean Steinnpresents these people nonjudgmentallynand gives the reader the opportunity tonrender his or her own judgment. Well,nthis reader certainly has. Dnshoe ads. Warhol was—and is—a commercialnartist in that his is a craft practicednto make money, not to aeate somethingnof a noneconomic value. However,nWarhol was working in New York at antime when there was much ferment innthe art world, when Oldenburg, Rauschenberg,nand Johns were emerging. Henscurried about in his blonde wig andn”slumming” clothes, picking up on andntaking part in the action. One portrait ofnWarhol that appears in Edie is very telling.nIn 1961, Walter Hopps was an artndealer. Describing a visit to Warhol duringnthat year, he says, “the floor . . . wasnnot a foot deep, but certainly coverednwall to wall with every sort of pulp movienmagazine, fan magazine, and tradensheet having to do with popular stars ornrock ‘n’ roll. Warhol wallowed in it.”n(The alliterative verb in the finalnsentence makes associations inevitable.)nIt’s clear that Warhol was acutely consciousnof fashions and stars, and his life’snwork was—and is—making himself onenof the trend-setters, a star, both vicariously—asnthrough Edie Sedgwick—andnin his own right. In Andy Warhol’s Exposuresn(Andy Warhol Books/Grosser &nDunlap, New York, 1979), the title pagensays: “photographs by Andy Warhol,”nyet in the book there are shots of Andynand Isabel Eberstadt, Andy in Plains,nGeorgia, Andy in Kuwait, Andy shootingna Polaroid of Willy Brandt, Andynand Christopher Isherwood, and more.nAndy is showing himself to be a star.nThat he shouldn’t be the man behindnthe camera for “photographs by AndynWarhol” is not particularly surprising—nhe is the man who once had a stand-in dona college lecture tour.nL«egitimacy for Warhol came in a bignway when he hooked up with Henryn9nFebruary 1983n