Wandering through the Revolver Gallery at 77 Bloor Street West, I get the sense that Andy Warhol would have done really well on Instagram. His square portraits of various filters seem made for the photo-sharing platform, perhaps even anticipated it.
Compared to his oversized canvases filled with bright colours, Warhol himself seems small to me, the opposite of larger than life. Â At the centre of the gallery, a TV plays a documentary on his life. He is a think waif of a man, a flickering black and white memory.
Realizing that everything Warhol did was informed by fame, I wonder what he’d think of our current culture of celebrity, of Lady Gaga and the Kardashians, of selfies and Snapchat.