In April, Putnam will release the picture book Uncle Andy's: A Faabbbulous Visit with Andy Warhol. Written and illustrated by Andy's nephew, children's illustrator James Warhola, the story gives readers a peek into the world of the famous artist, and the influence he had on the author and his creative style.
PW: What made you decide to write this account of your childhood visits to Andy Warhol?
James Warhola: I started out with an idea for a story of my father and his junkyard. As I was developing that picture book, I kept coming back to the idea of trips to visit my Uncle Andy. I thought I could link the two of them, and I got encouragement from my editor, Nancy Paulsen. My memories were so rich in quirky, interesting things, with the contrasts from the country to the city, from my blue-collar dad to my famous uncle.
PW: In 1962, you were a seven-year-old boy from western Pennsylvania and your uncle was becoming a pop-art icon. Did you and your siblings see him as a glamorous figure?
JW: He was always bragging about the famous people he would meet, and we were impressed. We didn't understand his art at first—we were in awe of it, I would say. But actually, he was just a regular uncle to us. We had nonstop fun around his house. There were not only all his paintings, but there were antiques, carousel horses, arcade machines. It was really neat for us kids.
When we would get into his hair, he'd put us to work. He had that Eastern European work ethic inherited from his parents, and he liked keeping us busy. For the paint-by-numbers pieces, I put press-on numbers in different areas; we'd stretch canvases for him. He was very good at delegating work, and when he got his studios, that's where the "factory" system came from.
PW: You have some fun at your uncle's expense, by picturing him without his wig and showing him befuddled by your family's unannounced visit to New York City. How might he feel about all this?
JW: I think he would be impressed. There is nothing I exaggerated. When I was working on the book, I asked my father, "Did you call ahead?" and he said, "No, they loved surprises, especially Grandma."
I did take advantage of some secrets, like the fact my uncle was bald. But in later years, he made it obvious he wore a wig, and it even became his trademark.
PW: Your book gives a glimpse of your uncle's home life, but he remains elusive. Do you remember him as friendly? Did he let his guard down with his family?
JW: Andy was always portrayed as disconnected from his family, but this was definitely not the case. He was close to the family he had, his two brothers and their kids. Some biographers have written that he kept his mother in a basement, like a dungeon, and I always found that odd. My grandmother lived in a beautiful apartment on the ground floor, and we hung out in her kitchen and living room.
Andy was playful, and he laughed a lot. He would always buy us gifts. There was a magic shop in Times Square, and he would get us cameras with birdies that popped out; he had an affectionate side. But it was important for him to keep up his persona, with the sunglasses and the silverish wig. He tried to stay in character.
PW: You picture your father as a hefty guy in overalls, working as a "junkman" and assembling scrap-metal sculptures. Like Andy, he is a pack rat. Do you mean to suggest that only certain kinds of creativity get art-world respect?
JW: My dad—he's now 80—was a frustrated artist. He had the ambition, but he was trying to support seven kids. I was not as avant-garde as he was, though. I was traditional, and I rebelled against his suggestions of making abstract sculpture.
I think the creativity he and my uncle had was from their mother. My grandmother had that Old Country magic folksiness evident about her, and she drew a lot. This also relates to the whole idea of pop art and making art out of ordinary things. Art can be anything, whether you're trying to build something out of junk or putting everyday objects on a canvas.
PW: How did your uncle influence your decision to become a visual artist?
JW: I always admired his illustration more than his pop art. The illustration was more personal, and the pop art was more conceptual. He was a superb draftsman, and that's why I wanted to become an illustrator.
PW: Now that the picture book is finished, does anything surprise you about the process of writing and illustrating it?
JW: About four months ago, I had a chance to visit the place that used to be Andy's. It was up for sale, so it was easy to go in. In one room, there had been a John Chamberlain sculpture, part of a wrecked car. My uncle was afraid we would play on it. In the book, I picture it as 10 feet tall, but given the space, it couldn't have been any bigger than four feet by four feet.
Also, I was amazed that the material was so perfect, as if it was waiting to be written. We hardly ever took photos up in New York, but I got the visual material out of my memory, from 40 years ago. It was a pleasure to work on.
