Andrew Warhola.

The most well known artist of all times as he transcends ages and our adulthood, stereotypical categorizations of people.

Over this past weekend, more than once I would ask or think of something and POOF it happened.  We laughed about how I asked for someone to speak Polish because we needed to convey a clear message to our Polish teams.  In walked a Polish interpreter.  Tonight, I pushed myself out of the hotel in Milwaukee and instead of going to Jazz in the Park, as that was part of the conference's dinner and entertainment, walked many blocks to the waterfront and the Art Museum.  I heard Andy Warhol was opening here, but unfortunately privately to members only.  Thinking I might be able to see their standing collection and secretly hoping the stars would align again, I ventured over there.  Their fountains and the architectural wonder of a building is currently robed in passion pink in honor of the Susan Koman race this weekend and Andy Warhol.

A breeze off Lake Michigan continued while the articulating wings of the museum closed.  Captured on video.

Upon entry, I discovered many people milling about with a variety of beverages and appetizers.  Asking if I may stay even though not a member, I was welcomed for just a smidge above normal entry fee.  Additionally, I had arrived just in time to receive a ticket for their limited seating lecture by a visiting, renown curator.  Some appetizers, a flavorful pan-seared tilapia, and Summer Shandy later and I was ready to explore.

The pieces.

His last ones.

Andy Warhol is the epitome of contradiction.

Perhaps of no surprise to you, I relate.

In his final years, he was working around the clock on a multitude of pieces.  More graphic and poppish, totally abstract, and also quietly religious.  Andy was a devout Catholic and that was extremely unknown with the exception of a few of his closest friends until openly announced at his eulogy. 

His self-portraits through the years reflected how he saw himself first cleanly and young to confused and aging.

The year preceding his death, he lost his best friend, a fellow artist, to whom he shared and journeyed professionally and personally.  The man did not die.  The artist was introduced as his mascot during an unveiling and from that awful day forward, with the exception of a phone call once in a while, they were no longer bonded.  He was devastated.

It's been an interesting week.  As you know through prior blog entries, I am the combination of two opposites.  Last weekend, truck romping in Colorado at a race; this week, in Milwaukee appreciating the arts and the smells of a very fine spice store.

Balance.

Seek it.