PIRATES
AND
PARMERS
DAVE
HICKEY
RidinghouseIntroduction
On Taste
HERE are always absolutes. There are pirates
and there are farmers. We are all one or the other,
but even these genetic empires are scattered with
protean archipelagos of taste. We want what we
want, but like obsessive serial killers, we want it exactly the way
we want it. We want the corpse wearing Mama’s lipstick, so, along
with aroma, taste is the oldest most precedent sense. Our lizard
brains were tasting and smelling things long before we started
worshipping them. So I should start with Andy Warhol, because
his first masterpieces articulate the distinction between taste
and desire.
In Warhol's radical democracy, the vitrine of high culture is
a prison. There are desires endemic to the species that hold us
together; there are shifting local tastes and traditions that keep
us apart, and there are artists like Warhol whose ecumenical,
global fame, sans vitrine, can unite the two. Warhol began with
his soup-can paintings and his “Flavored Marilyns”—trademark
desires produced in individual flavors to suit your taste. Everyone
desires Campbell's Soup. It’s the best stuff. Everybody desires
Marilyn Monroe. She’s the most desirable woman. But we all have
our personal kinks, so Andy painted fifty-two Campbell soup-
can paintings, each slightly different in its configuration and one
npainting for every flavor of soup: Cheese, Mushroom, Tomato,
Clam Chowder, Bean and Bacon, etc. He painted about a dozen
Flavored Marilyns—or Lifesaver Marilyns, as they were called at
the Factory, since the candy provided the colors. All the Marilyns
are identical in these paintings, but the backgrounds come in lime,
orange, lemon, strawberry, pineapple, and licorice, to suit your
taste while fulfilling your desires.
John Baldessari and I saw Andy’s theory confirmed ata
Warhol survey at the Whitney Museum of American Art. We were
standing in a room hung with five large Electric Chair paintings
ina variety of monochromes. A group of Park Avenue matrons
strolled in, and without hesitation one of them said: “I like
the blue one,” and I could see her living room and imagine her
childhood, the blue haze in her heart, and the grim pleasure she
took in social executions. Standing there, I wondered, like Peggy
Lee, “Is That All There Is?” because, as likely as not, that is all there
is—not that there’s anything wrong with that-My positionis that
ideology is fashion anyway, and for the last two centuries most
ve
Tee :
Jocal, (Imagine Freud practicing in Rio.) Over the years, [have
seen fistfights erupt in casino lounges over the relative quality of
the whores at Soi Cowboy in Bangkok and the De Wallen whores
in Amsterdam. I have seen skirmishes over the relative virtues
of pickled herring and Japanese breakfast and over the relative
manliness of fox hunting and baccarat. Duels have been fought
over the silliness or sublimity of kilts, lederhosen, Mormon prairie
12 ON TASTEdresses, and the teased silver hairdos of Southern dowagers.
James Madison actually argued for this distinction between
taste and desire in the Tenth Federalist Paper. Since small
republics are vulnerable to virulent faction, Madison suggested
that this tendency would be mitigated in a large republic
composed of multiple public proclivities, products, needs,
climates, populations, and languages—multiple tastes but one _