“You’ve got to get Rupert out of here. He’s telling everyone that he does all my work.”
—Andy Warhol to Bob Colacello, from Holy Terror: Andy Warhol Close Up
Did Andy Warhol make his own art? It’s a question that echoes through art history and leads many to Warhol’s Silver Factory, where creativity met industry in ways that broke ground and blurred boundaries. Warhol famously employed studio assistants, beginning with Gerard Malanga, to execute much of his work, setting in motion a collaborative art-making process that allowed him to explore mass-production aesthetics while maintaining his distinctive visual language. The question of authorship becomes even more intriguing when we consider Warhol’s partnership with his master printer, Rupert Jasen Smith.
From 1974 until Warhol died in 1987, Smith was more than just a skilled hand in Warhol’s assembly line; he was a creative force whose technical precision, sense of color, and innovative techniques brought a new dimension to Warhol’s later works. Warhol’s early collaborations may have been a calculated move to disrupt conventional notions of the artist’s hand, yet Smith’s influence offered much more than detachment. He brought a mastery of printmaking that allowed him to introduce techniques like diamond dust and line highlighting to Warhol’s works, enriching them with effects that became signatures of Warhol’s later style.
Though Warhol’s celebrated collaborations with Jean-Michel Basquiat are recognized for the dynamic contrast they brought to the canvas, Smith’s role was quieter but no less involved. With a technical finesse and unyielding commitment to Warhol’s vision, Smith helped achieve a seamless synthesis where the artist’s commercial ambitions met the printer’s artistic ingenuity. This unusual partnership blurred the boundaries of authorship and, in some cases, even raised tensions—Smith occasionally took such creative liberties that Warhol had to reel him back in. Yet, Warhol’s late period is deeply indebted to the unique contributions of his master printer, whose artistic identity would, in time, intersect with and complicate Warhol’s own.
So, to what extent did Warhol actually craft these works himself? Where does his hand end, and Smith’s begin? These questions linger at the heart of the Warhol-Smith collaboration, unknown to many even decades after Warhol’s death. In exploring the life and legacy of Rupert Jasen Smith, we’ll delve into the genius behind Warhol’s final era and the techniques that allowed Warhol’s most ambitious visions for the Factory to flourish. Read on to discover the often-unseen hand behind some of the most iconic works in contemporary art—and the lingering questions surrounding them.
Laying the Foundations: Smith's Path to Printmaking
Before he became an essential part of Andy Warhol’s artistic production, Rupert Jasen Smith was already charting his own path as an artist; one that would blend classical training with street-smart business acumen.
Born in 1953 in New Jersey to Rupert Jasen Smith, Sr. and Peggy Hamilton, an attorney and an interior designer, Smith was surrounded by creative influences from an early age. His family moved to Palm Beach, Florida, where he underwent classical training in visual arts and found a nurturing environment to explore his talents. Under the mentorship of the distinguished Floridian landscape painter, A. E. Backus, Smith honed his skills and had his first art show in 1967 at just fourteen years old—a prequel to the prolific artistic output he would have in years to come.
Though naturally gifted, Smith chose to pursue a formal education in printmaking and painting at the prestigious Pratt Institute in New York City, graduating in 1973 with a Bachelor of Fine Arts. His time at Pratt marked the beginning of his rise in the art world, but Smith never forgot his Floridian roots. Reflecting on his journey, he told the Fort Pierce News Tribune in 1982, “I’ll always be indebted to the people in Fort Pierce who believed in my work. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be in New York.”
Meeting Warhol: The Encounter That Changed Everything
Smith’s casual first encounter with Warhol evolved into a professional connection in 1974 when a fellow Pratt student, Charlie Yoder, invited him to help curate and collate Warhol’s Hand-Colored Flowers series. While working on Flowers, Smith noticed that Warhol was dissatisfied with the printing on other recent works, like the Mick Jagger series, and wanted to be more closely involved in the hand-colored elements of the Flowers prints. Warhol and his assistants would hand-color the prints with Luma dyes, though these colors tended to fade quickly over time, leading Smith to restore them in later years regularly.
After a few weeks of assisting with the Hand-Colored Flowers series, Smith continued his independent work as an art director at a nearby commercial print house. Yet he often returned to the Factory, where he connected with Warhol and his team, especially Ronnie Cutrone. Over time, Warhol confided his dissatisfaction with his then-printer, Alexander Heinrici. Seeing an opportunity, Smith boldly suggested that Warhol let him proof something. In 1977, Warhol handed him the Hammer and Sickle series, an exploration of political imagery that would become their first major project together.
Warhol, always on the lookout for skilled collaborators to realize his expansive vision, quickly recognized in Smith the technical precision and reliability his process demanded. Smith’s contributions to this series left a lasting impression, and from then on, Warhol made Smith his primary printer and art director.
Experimentation and Trust: Warhol and Smith's Early Work
After the success of the Hammer and Sickle series, Smith entered what he would later describe as a “honeymoon period” with Warhol, characterized by intense productivity and creative freedom. In these early years, much of Warhol’s publishing was handled directly through the Factory, allowing Smith and Warhol to experiment without the immediate pressures of external publishers. Working together on weekends and often putting in long hours on Saturdays, the two maintained a rhythm of producing portraits and prints that felt, to Smith, “like working for a master.”
Warhol’s initial trust in Smith as a printer grew into a more collaborative dynamic, with Smith mixing colors, setting up workstations, and even offering creative suggestions. “I’d mix all fifteen colors at once and say, ‘This is what we’re going with,’” Smith recalled, noting how he began influencing Warhol’s vision while meeting the studio’s demanding production schedules. “My main input with Andy is that I controlled the physical look of the paint and printing, along with my colorist and assistants,” Smith noted, reflecting on his evolving role. Warhol famously claimed his work was “really done by a machine,” a comment that, on one hand, flattered the precision and efficiency Smith brought to the production process. But in another sense, this comparison stripped away the complexity of Smith’s all-consuming role—an intricate blend of technical expertise, creative intuition, and endless hours of work.
Smith’s influence wasn’t limited to technical execution. As their partnership deepened, Warhol granted Smith more leeway, allowing him to experiment with the visual elements of Warhol’s pieces. Smith moved from simply preparing film positives and assembling prints to introducing new techniques, such as diamond dusting—a method he’d explored since art school—which soon became a signature feature in Warhol’s prints. Occasionally, Smith’s work was “too artistic” for Warhol’s taste, prompting Warhol to rein in the creativity. But Smith remained steadfast, driven by his belief in creating art with integrity, later saying, “…if a person is surviving but not doing the type of art he wants to, then that’s not being happy.”
Over the next several years, they built momentum, producing prints and paintings with remarkable speed and consistency. Warhol’s desire to be “the fastest paint in town” was matched by Smith’s drive to deliver quality work quickly. This early phase of collaboration was both prolific and creatively rich, as Warhol and Smith pushed each other to new levels of output and invention. For Smith, these years were a unique learning experience where he felt valued and respected, with his role expanding alongside their growing creative synergy.
Art by Telephone: The Warhol-Smith Studio Dynamic
By the early 1980s, Warhol’s dependence on Smith’s technical and creative expertise had grown undeniable. Warhol’s business operated like an advertising agency, where the client’s expectations, the publisher’s preferences, and Warhol’s vision had to be carefully balanced. Smith was at the center of this production chain, navigating between Warhol’s hands-off instructions, the publisher’s demands, and the logistics of executing the prints. The Factory became a well-oiled machine, with each member fulfilling a specific role—Warhol as the figurehead, Fred Hughes handling business, Ronald Feldman as publisher, and Smith overseeing technical production.
While the Factory at 860 Broadway remained the conceptual center for Warhol’s designs, it was in Smith’s Duane Street loft where these concepts were transformed into finished works—often under the intensity of Smith’s relentless work schedule. Smith described his role as demanding “126-hour work weeks,” where he tirelessly executed Warhol’s visions, balancing meticulous technical demands with his own creative input. His expertise, particularly in color separation and screenprinting, brought Warhol’s ideas to life with unprecedented efficiency and quality. As Warhol’s primary printer and art director, Smith not only upheld the rigorous pace of the Factory but also helped define the distinctive look of Warhol’s later work.
Despite their close working relationship and frequent socializing, Warhol rarely set foot in Smith’s studio, preferring to manage production by phone rather than confront the intense conditions at Duane Street. This arrangement soon became an inside joke between them—“Art by Telephone”—underscoring the industrial, almost detached nature of Warhol’s creative process.
Yet, Smith’s role was anything but impersonal: his studio was often chaotic and intense. Descriptions from Smith’s assistants depict a gritty environment, with inadequate ventilation, heat turned up to speed drying, and even cigars smoked near flammable solvents. Smith and his team would create dozens of test prints in varying colorways, which Warhol then chose based on commercial appeal. Interestingly, Smith’s team often retained extra proofs that were intended to be destroyed, considering them part of their own artistic expression. This informal practice at Smith’s studio would later contribute to art market disputes over Warhol’s work, hinting at the blurred lines between art and authorship that defined their collaboration.
Smith’s responsibilities extended beyond printing. He handled logistical and administrative aspects of production, managing print editions, negotiating with publishers, and overseeing distribution. In this sense, he was not only a craftsman but also a vital engine behind Warhol’s vision of mass-produced art, enabling it to reach new heights. Smith shouldered the pressures of maintaining the Factory’s high standards and rapid output, balancing Warhol’s relentless pace with his own exacting standards.
Describing a typical day, Smith recounted:
“The telephone rings. It’s probably a European dealer, checking on a current project, shipping dates, and so forth. Then I plan the day. I don’t eat breakfast so I organize the schedule; call Warhol… I have to be organized by the time my assistants arrive at 10 a.m. We paint and print for three or four hours and then I break for lunch after setting up the assistants to work for the afternoon. After lunch, I have a meeting with art dealers or with one of the photographers I use, and if there isn’t an afternoon portrait session at Warhol’s, I get to his factory (studio) at 5 pm. We paint together until 7 or 8 p.m. and then I go home to change and rest again for a few minutes before heading out again.”
Balancing Warhol’s “hands-off” approach, Smith’s desire to infuse the personal into his work significantly enhanced Warhol’s body of work in the years they collaborated. In the late 1970s, Andy Warhol revisited subjects of his that had become iconic by then—such as Marilyn Monroe and other notable works—by inverting their color schemes to create negative images in the Reversals series. Rupert Jasen Smith was essential to bringing this series to fruition, executing the complex color separations and printing techniques required to achieve the striking visual effects characteristic of these “reversals.” His technical proficiency ensured that Warhol’s vision was meticulously translated onto the canvas to offer a fresh perspective on familiar themes. The seamless integration of their collaborative efforts produced iconic portfolios such as Shoes (1980), Myths (1981), Reigning Queens (1985), and Camouflage (1987), which echo back to his common themes of celebrity, fame, and fashion.
Smith also encouraged Warhol to dig deeper and explore newer themes, helping him to produce Endangered Species (1983)— a venture that went beyond his more removed works and acted as both a call to action for nature and a reflection of Warhol’s genuine concern for animals. The Endangered works exemplify the artistry and skill that Rupert brought to the factory. His influence can be easily noticed in the vivid color schemes and highlighted tracing lines that adorn every print in the series.
Ronald Feldman’s role in revitalizing Warhol’s market was pivotal to this collaboration and exploration of new subjects. Feldman introduced a structured approach to marketing Warhol’s work, treating each print portfolio as a cohesive, thematically unified series. This influence stabilized Warhol’s works, and his prints gained renewed value, striking a balance between aesthetic consistency and commercial appeal. Smith’s technical skills, along with Feldman’s involvement, created a “rebirth” in Warhol’s print market, allowing for more output and helping Warhol realize the commercial potential of his work. This teamwork between publisher, artist, and printer made Warhol’s later works more systematic, giving rise to the “business artist” approach Warhol was sometimes criticized for during this time.
Adding Layers: Diamond Dust and Smith's Embossment
One of Smith’s most influential contributions to Warhol’s work was the introduction of “diamond dust” to his prints—a shimmering material that added a layer of Studio 54 glamor to pieces like Shoes (1980), giving them a multi-dimensional, iconic quality. As Smith explained to the Fort Pierce News Tribune, “The original idea came from Florida road signs with numbers and messages spelled out with reflective ground optical glass.” Diamond dusting quickly became a hallmark of Warhol’s later work, adding both literal brilliance and a layer of metaphorical value.
Among Warhol’s vibrant, commercially-driven pieces, projects like Shadows (1979) stand out as unique explorations of abstraction. Rooted in the simplicity of natural forms, Shadows was a 102-canvas series that ventured into interpretive territory. “They have some geometry to them, but not a lot. We then diamond dusted them,” Smith recalled. Together, Warhol and Smith even reworked earlier series they had produced, creating multiple versions that blurred traditional categorizations—some pieces signed on the front, others on the back, and some oriented upside down or doubled up. This technique enriched Shadows and many other works, such as the Grapes portfolio, making it one of the most innovative aspects of their collaboration.
Smith’s influence also extended to the development of new subjects and techniques, beyond diamond dust, into flocking—a technique that involves applying tiny fibers to the surface of a material to create a soft, textured effect that feels almost like velvet—as well as the camouflage patterns introduced into Warhol’s works. Warhol’s openness to ideas from within his circle, including Smith’s technical and thematic suggestions, added layers of experimentation essential to the late Factory works. For instance, Smith shared how they explored camouflage as a “funny veil over [the Statue of Liberty]” rather than a political statement, yet the timing of its release led to complex and sometimes unintended interpretations.
For Smith, working with Warhol brought both professional recognition and financial stability. Yet this intense commitment also tied him to the Factory’s demanding schedule, often overshadowing his individual artistry. Though his work with Warhol aligned him with one of modern art’s most influential figures, it also bound his career so closely to Warhol’s that his own public identity as an artist was inevitably diluted. Yet while the collaboration was happening, Smith was so integral to the Factory’s production quality that Warhol’s prints began bearing an “S” embossment alongside Warhol’s signature, symbolizing the artistic symbiosis they had achieved and the imperative role that Smith now played.
This understated mark, just visible upon closer inspection, serves as both a literal and metaphorical symbol of their relationship: Warhol’s name is prominent on the surface, while Smith’s presence, though often in the background, is firmly imprinted into the fabric of each piece. Expert collectors know to look for this mark, typically in the bottom left or right corner of Warhol’s screenprinted artworks on paper, as a necessary indicator of authenticity.
The 1980s saw some of Warhol’s most prolific and commercially successful works, and Smith was at the heart of this creative renaissance. Over years and years the two had developed a working vocabulary that had melded them artistically, yet this unity of styles, mutual respect, work ethic, and tension leaves even more lingering questions: Without Smith, would Warhol’s production have been as voluminous, innovative, and refined as it became? And without his experience with Warhol, would Smith’s own work have been more distinct, recognized as an independent style rather than as an extension of Warhol’s?
Beyond the Factory: Smith's Artistic Path After Warhol
Andy Warhol’s sudden death in 1987 left a void that was deeply felt by those closest to him. Just as Warhol had left his mark on the art world, he had also left a strong influence on those he worked with. For Rupert Jasen Smith, the impact was profound. Warhol had been more than just a collaborator; he was “Pops” and “Dad,” the figure who brought in the work, allowing Smith to focus on the art. “I always told Andy to keep his name famous, and we would take care of the art,” Smith reflected. In the wake of Warhol’s passing, Smith faced the question of what his own legacy would be—one he began to forge through both homage and innovation.
His first major project after Warhol was a striking collaboration with Keith Haring and William Burroughs on Apocalypse, a portfolio released in 1988 that pushed the boundaries of contemporary printmaking. Haring, who had also seen Warhol as a mentor, shared Smith’s drive for art that could defy expectations and speak to something greater than commercial popularity. Together with Burroughs, they created Apocalypse, a portfolio that diverged from the consumer-focused Pop Art of Warhol’s era. The series was rooted in an ethos of authenticity and collectivism, rejecting the nonchalance of appropriation art for a more raw and layered vision.
“This is a very different direction from Duchamp, Klein, and Manzoni, of appropriating everything in sight by signing it or putting it on a pedestal,” Burroughs wrote in the introduction. “Instead of appropriating by framing and signing, remove the frames and pedestals, yes, even the signatures.” For Smith, who had spent much of his life perfecting his craft in service to Warhol’s vision, the principles of Apocalypse aligned with his own dedication to art as a collaborative force. With its vibrant imagery and bold themes, Apocalypse celebrated the spirit of art beyond individual authorship, embracing a collective vision that Warhol himself had championed in his Factory.
Another notable collaboration during this period was Fashion Portrait of Andy Warhol (1988), created with artist Hedy Klineman.
Rather than a traditional portrait, this piece features an image of Warhol’s iconic glasses in delicate lines and pink hues, distilling Warhol’s public image into one of his most recognizable personal items. Smith’s precision in screenprinting combined with Klineman’s conceptual layer, paying homage to Warhol’s fascination with celebrity and self-presentation, results in a piece that subtly memorializes Warhol through a symbol of his persona.
This transitional period in Smith’s life was further supported by his collaboration with art dealer Fred Dorfman, who recognized Smith’s talent and became a crucial force in promoting his work. Beyond acting as Smith’s dealer, Dorfman published many of Smith’s editions, distributed his art to galleries and collectors, and organized exhibitions that helped establish Smith’s independent identity as an artist. Their collaboration allowed Smith to create and distribute new portfolios while still reflecting Warhol’s influence. Years later, Dorfman would serve as the executor of the Rupert Jasen Smith Estate.
Even while collaborating with Warhol, Rupert Jasen Smith developed a distinctive body of work that showcases his personal artistic vision. His abstract Untitled pieces from the early eighties, demonstrate his proficiency in screenprinting and his exploration of texture and form. With vibrant colors and dynamic compositions, these works blend abstraction with the tactile shimmer of diamond dust.
What makes these paintings particularly interesting is that they diverge from Warhol’s well-known pop art aesthetic and mass-media imagery. While these pieces might appear to reflect a more personal, expressive approach leaning towards abstraction rather than Warhol’s iconic, recognizable subjects, they resonate with the expressive quality Warhol’s art took on after his near-fatal shooting. This shift is evident in works like his Shadows series and in the backgrounds of other pieces from that period, where abstract patterns in the background and a darker tone began to emerge in Warhol’s practice.
Smith combines his abstract sensibilities with figurative themes to explore the human form and sensuality in works such as Double Male Torso (1981), Bianca Jagger (1983), and Woman (1983). These screenprints, enhanced by diamond dust, showcase Smith’s technical expertise and his ability to bring depth and texture to his compositions. While these pieces reflect Smith’s independent artistic identity, they also underscore the interconnected worlds of art and celebrity in which he operated. Notably, Bianca Jagger, the faceless model for his female figure works, was part of the same social circles as her husband Mick Jagger, who was also immortalized in a portrait series by Warhol.This connection highlights the shared social circles and artistic exchanges of the era. However, when viewed alongside Warhol’s works such as Torso (Double) (1982) and the Love portfolio (1983)—which share similar themes and color schemes—questions arise about influence. Did Smith develop these techniques and motifs independently before incorporating them into Warhol’s projects, or was there a more reciprocal exchange of ideas?
After Warhol, Rupert Jasen Smith’s Lures series, which he created in 1987-88, infused everyday objects with artistic significance, featuring vibrant depictions of fishing lures, rendered with bold colors and intricate details that elevate these utilitarian items to subjects of fine art. Smith’s application of diamond dust enhanced their visual appeal but also reflected his fascination with transforming mundane objects into compelling visual statements, a theme resonant with the Pop Art movement and his collaboration with Warhol.
Fred Dorfman recalls frequently discussing Smith’s evolving style with him as he moved away from Warhol’s shadow. In the early 1980s, Smith’s works “looked similar to Andy’s,” Dorfman notes, and their conversations may have helped steer Smith toward exploring more distinct themes, techniques, and styles in his later work.
Homage to Andy Warhol (1989) is one such collection of works that illustrates Smith’s efforts to both celebrate Warhol’s legacy and stake his own claim as an artist. In this series, Smith reimagined the Warholian style he had helped bring to life, printing on the same paper he once used for Warhol’s pieces.
The Homage to Andy Warhol series recalled the master’s Ads portfolio (1985), with in its vivid neons and references to popular brands like Nikon and Seiko, while introducing a Japanese-inspired twist through characters like Astro Boy and nods to iconic names such as Issey Miyake and Shiseido. The name “Homage” encapsulates Smith’s dual intent: to celebrate Warhol’s legacy while marking his own place in the art world.
Smith’s Greta Garbo (1988) is another series that echoes the style of Warhol’s works, specifically his celebrity portraits, while demonstrating Smith’s unique aesthetic sensibilities. The Greta Garbo silkscreens call to mind some of Warhol’s last iconic portraits—Ingrid Bergman (1983), Grace Kelly (1984), and John Wayne (1986)—yet Smith’s influence in the genesis of these works challenges any notion of mere imitation.
Through Homage and Greta Garbo, Smith blurred the line between influence and innovation, crafting a legacy that was at once his own and an indelible part of Warhol’s. These works not only honored his late mentor but also posed a playful question to the art world: Was it Smith’s hand, all along, that had given Warhol’s late works their distinctive flair? By revisiting themes of fame and pop culture with his own touch, Smith’s post-Warhol pieces stand as independent expressions while subtly reinforcing the myth that blurred the lines between his own contributions and those of Warhol; a testament to their complex, intertwined legacy.
Unseen Hand: The Dual Legacy of Rupert Jasen Smith
Rupert Jasen Smith’s legacy is distinguished not only by his technical mastery in printmaking but also by the sacrificial dedication that permeated his work. Each piece he crafted reflects a commitment to art that transcends skill alone—his work required a willingness to pour all of himself into his craft and, at times, to remain in the shadows, allowing Warhol’s vision to take center stage. In the process, Smith introduced a new dimension to Warhol’s later works, quietly blurring the lines of creative authorship. His devotion to Warhol’s art helped usher in an era defined by its aesthetic richness, raising the question: what does it mean to be the “author” of a piece?
With techniques like diamond dusting and innovative screenprinting, Smith added to Warhol’s visual vocabulary while simultaneously building his own. His legacy is felt in the precision and quality of works produced during Warhol’s late period and in the personal works that followed Warhol’s death—works that continue to be exhibited and celebrated by collectors worldwide.
After Warhol’s death, Smith faced the task of defining his own place in the art world, emerging from behind the veil of collaboration with the same spirit that had sustained him in the Factory. He carried on creating, revisiting familiar styles, and ultimately making them his own, all the while keeping one foot in the Warholian mythos he had helped to shape. Tragically, his post-Warhol career was cut short in 1989, only two years after Warhol’s passing, when he died from complications related to AIDS at the age of 37.
Rupert Jasen Smith’s dual legacy—as both visionary artist and devoted collaborator—left a lasting imprint on Warhol’s own, much like Smith’s unique embossment, which appeared along with Warhol’s signature on the works they produced together. The underlying tension between his own artistic vision and his unwavering commitment to Warhol allowed him to redefine the role of the master printer. Yet the “Art by Telephone” ethos, born out of the collaboration between Warhol and Smith, left behind a legacy of uncertainty—a reminder that Warhol’s vision of “art as commodity” was itself complex and open to interpretation. The blurred lines of authorship cast him as both a celebrated collaborator and an inadvertent participant in an art market still trying to reconcile traditional notions of authenticity. As the “unseen hand” behind Warhol’s later works, Smith’s contribution speaks to the intricate dynamics of creative partnership—a story rich with skill, sacrifice, and moments of ambiguity.
At Warhol’s insistence, as Bob Colacello recounts, Smith often found himself out of his element at social gatherings, dragged into the orbit of New York’s glittering elite. There, in the glitzy atmospheres of Regine’s or Halston’s, Warhol would sidle up to him, proposing that they “get really drunk.” For Warhol, the lure of the spectacle was half the fun, but for Smith, getting drunk at these gatherings emboldened him to finally speak freely about his role in creating Warhol’s art. While Warhol enjoyed his role as the star, the myth, and the name in lights, Smith was the invisible partner who transformed Warhol’s ideas into tangible forms. Inevitably, Warhol would then turn to Colacello or Fred Hughes and complain with mock exasperation, “You’ve got to get Rupert out of here. He’s telling everyone that he does all my work.” In these rare moments, Smith’s own role—steadfast and largely uncredited—came into contrast with Warhol’s carefully curated public persona. It brings us back to the essential question at the heart of their collaboration: where does Warhol’s hand end, and Smith’s begin?
For both men, the answer may lie in the blurred lines of brilliance—a testament to the interplay of ego, sacrifice, and creativity that defined their work and, ultimately, their art. The complex, dual legacy of Rupert Jasen Smith serves as a reminder that sometimes the most influential figures in art are not always those fully in the light, but often those who shape it from the shadows. Rupert’s uncredited role was as present as Warhol’s public persona, each essential to the lasting impact of Warhol’s late-period works and the everpresent mythos surrounding them. Through Smith, we are left with a portrait of two artists bound by an invisible line—a line as indelible as the works they left behind.
Sources:
Bob Colacello, Holy Terror: Andy Warhol Close Up (Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition)
Richard Dorment, Warhol After Warhol: Power and Money in the Modern Art World (Pan Macmillan Kindle Edition).
Blake Gopnik, Warhol (HarperCollins Kindle Edition).
Bill Sayer, Unpublished interview with Rupert Jasen Smith (9 November 1987).
Acknowledgements
We wish to extend heartfelt thanks to Fred Dorfman for his invaluable insights into Rupert Jasen Smith’s life and career. His generous sharing of personal accounts and access to the unpublished 1987 Bill Sayer interview provided essential context and deepened our understanding of Smith’s role in the Warhol legacy.
