Susanne Stahel 1980

Curator: I’m struck by the rawness. Is it just me, or does this Polaroid portrait almost feel unfinished, vulnerable? Editor: We're looking at Andy Warhol's "Susanne Stahel," taken in 1980. He captures something intense in that gaze, even amidst the stark, almost theatrical makeup. Curator: The makeup… right? It’s like a mask, a shield. And yet, the eyes—they pierce through. Warhol loved those contrasts. Did he make everyone put on that much powder? Editor: Powder, the great equalizer. It’s not just a physical layer, is it? It evokes kabuki, maybe even death masks – traditions of ritualized presentation and transformation. It both conceals and emphasizes. The bright red lips become hyperreal, almost disconnected. Curator: Exactly! It’s a fascinating tension. It’s beauty, but with a wink, maybe even a bit of a dare. There's something almost punk about how stark the colours are. He's like, "Here, beauty. Deal with it.” Editor: Warhol always had a knack for isolating cultural signals. The portrait becomes a study in surface tension, a negotiation between the real and the artificial. She stares slightly up at the viewer and it carries an assertion. It's also of it's time in many ways. It holds visual echoes of the German 'Neue Welle' era. Curator: Absolutely. It feels intimate yet distant. It’s this collision of vulnerability and manufactured image. Did she choose how to do her face up like this? It begs questions! That gaze makes you think about how portraits lie and reveal simultaneously, don’t you think? Editor: Most definitely. Warhol, as usual, throws us headfirst into the question. Looking at her, I can’t help thinking about cultural codes, how performance and artifice play their endless games of hide and seek. The red of her lipstick stands out starkly. It seems to burn in our cultural memory with her steely glance as Warhol pulls out a raw moment for eternity. Curator: Right! Like he knew one day we'd be picking it apart, the mischievous scamp.