From worship to friendship: The relationship of Andy Warhol and Truman Capote
The magnitude of Andy Warhol’s influence on pop art and his determination to rewrite the guidelines of accessible art is indisputable. One would struggle to find a counterpart with as much stature and distinction. However, in Warhol’s eyes, Truman Capote was to be worshipped.
Capote, the author of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, was a revered novelist who advanced New Journalism with his work about the murder of a Kansas farm family. Both prominent figures orbited each other as socialites and enjoyed New York nightclubs with extravaganza and hedonism.
Their peculiar orbit could be associated with Warhol being the Earth and Capote being the Sun. Warhol treated Capote almost like an unknown specimen under a magnifying glass – analysing, criticising, and admiring him for his benefit. The artist even dedicated his first solo exhibition to him, “Fifteen Drawings Based on the Writings of Truman Capote”, in 1952.
The obsession continued as Warhol dissected him even more personally with collages inspired by Capote’s shoes. Warhol longed to capture Capote on his walkman, or his ‘wife’, as he named it. He yearned to talk to the idealised version that he had created of Capote without even having spoken to him in reality. The artistic delusion that would ultimately ruin their friendship.
This infatuation did not go unnoticed by Capote, who reflected: “When he was a child, Andy Warhol had this obsession about me and used to write to me from Pittsburgh … when he came to New York, he used to stand outside my house, just standing out there all day, waiting for me to come out. He wanted to become a friend of mine, wanted to speak to me, to talk to me. He nearly drove me crazy”.
When Capote’s 1965 book In Cold Blood earned him the title of a socialite, their paths finally met.
Warhol was added to the guestlist of Capote’s masquerade ball, where he deliberately unmasked himself for maximal recognition. It wasn’t until 1969 that, in true artistic fashion, they exchanged one portrait of Capote and one year’s worth of columns for Warhol’s Interview magazine.
Their bond became peculiar, containing plenty of judgement and unrestrained artistic inspiration. At first, admiration flowed from both sides, making their friendship a fertile ground for creativity. Warhol’s behaviour in this friendship would often be temperamental and childlike. He swung from gushing about Capote with excitement: “I told Truman I would tape him and we could write a Play-a-Day, he could act out all the parts himself,” he said.
Adding: “I think Truman likes me because I like everything he doesn’t. He’s so nuts; you’re embarrassed sitting there with him”.
From being cold and resentful when Capote’s addiction was prioritised over him, Warhol’s polarity eventually led to their demise, switching between unwavering support that one would equate religion to and unfiltered disgust.
It is clear that Warhol had difficulty reconciling his idealised version of Capote and the real issues and faults his friend had. As a result, he started to question everything about him – in an unforgiving manner: “Maybe Truman never did write any of his stuff … Truman showed me a script he did, and it was just awful, and when he shows you these things you can’t imagine that he could ever THINK they’re any good, they’re so bad … the things Truman SAYS are interesting so somebody else could find clever ways to make them good on paper.”
One can see Warhol’s pitiless demeanour at the height of his addiction, furiously writing down: “Truman wasn’t drinking, so he was boring again”. The dynamic of the friendship remained the same until Capote died in 1984. Capote would’ve always fallen from grace because, contrary to Warhol’s vision of him, he simply wasn’t a saint.
