The Minnesota winter has decreased foot traffic to the libraries. Go figure. Not everyone likes perusing books in below zero. Still, the occasional gems find their way to the library, along with the occasional piece of personal mail put there by confused substitute mail folk. (Thank you passersby for not picking up my bank statements).
This evening, stuffed amongst the usual Danielle Steele, conspiracy nonfiction, and Oprah’s book club choices, I discovered Pop Art…And After: A Survey of the New Super-Realism and Kiss Me Like A Stranger, Gene Wilder’s autobiography.
Warhol’s infamous Campbell Soup Can prints are in there. Apparently he started painting the soup cans because “I used to drink it. I used to have the same lunch every day, for twenty years, I guess; the same thing over and over again.” There’s a particularly illuminating interview with Warhol about his art:
Interviewer: Do you know what you are doing?
Warhol: No.
Some other non-tomato soup-inspired pop art makes the cut too:
Roy Lichtenstein’s DROWNING GIRL
James Rosenquist’s SILVER SKIES
Richard Hamilton’s JUST WHAT IS IT THAT MAKES TODAY’S HOME SO DIFFERENT, SO APPEALING?
Claes Oldenburg’s GIANT ICE CREAM CONE
Claes Oldenburg constructs giant sculptures of food items. (See his Giant Hamburger or his Giant Layer Cake under construction.) But art is never as tasty as it looks: “It has been said that his food ‘sculptures,’ particularly the Ice Cream Sundaes, Chocolate Eclairs, Pecan Pies, Hot Dogs, and so forth, are ‘filled with the joy of sensation, mouthwatering, and brightly enameled.’ But that is to oversimplify their power: the sheer vulgarity and tastelessness of such objects, in direct contradiction to nostalgic assocations with childhood or fun-fair eating, makes them repulsive to the eye while they bring to the subconscious salivary memories of the past.” Got that?
And then there’s Gene.
I both adore and have occasionally nightmares about Mr. Wilder, both reactions that stem directly from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (you haven’t forgotten that tunnel ride, have you? There is no earthly way of knowing…which direction we are going…).
His memoir is packed with star-filled stories, like getting patted down by police with Bob Newhart and hanging out in long johns with Harrison Ford. The small, personal bits are quite captivating too, like 23 year old Gene Wilder being drafted for World War II, packing up his underwear, socks, and a copy of Dear Theo, a book of letters from van Gogh to his brother. He was eventually stationed at Fort Houston, where he helped the officers’ wives stage variety shows. Worth a read.
Upcoming star Harrison Ford and that heart throb Wilder.
In fact, Gene Wilder’s memoir makes me want to turn him into the new hot catch phrase, like, “Yeah, this party’s pretty rocking, but it’s about to get Gene WILDER in here.” Take it, make it your own.
And stop by the library. Things are Gene WILDER than ever ’round here.
Headless Books 
