Andy Warhol

each signed in pencil and numbered 180/250 (lower left or lower right)

each sheet: 36 by 36 in.

91.4 by 91.4 cm.

Frayda Feldman and Jorg Schellmann, Andy Warhol Prints: A Catalogue Raisonné 1962-1987, New York 2003, pp. 154-155, nos. II.377-386 (other examples illustrated in color)

Andy Warhol’s infatuation with the American West began as a child, when he routinely went to see B-Westerns at the movie theaters, and only deepened over the course of his life: from frequently donning cowboy boots to collecting Western landscapes by artists including Albert Bierstadt, and even directing and producing two experimental Western movies in the late 1960s. Warhol’s Cowboys and Indians (1986), one of his last major print portfolios, is the culmination of a life-long interest in the frontier. Each of the series’ ten screenprints features a different icon of American Western culture, including Hollywood’s favorite cowboy John Wayne, sharpshooter Annie Oakley, and the legendary Apache leader Geronimo. 

Although Warhol traveled often to the West —spending time in Arizona, Texas, and New Mexico—Cowboys and Indians is grounded in the mythology of the place more than its reality. Like so many American children during the 1930s and 1940s, Warhol fell in love with the genre through the movies. His choice to assemble the portfolio reflects his continued fascination with how objects and faces are imprinted onto the collective American psyche; be that soup cans, advertisements, or larger-than-life cowboys. Arthur C. Danto writes that “Warhol’s political gift was his ability to make objective as art the defining images of the American consciousness” (Arthur C. Danto, Warhol and the Politics of Prints,” Andy Warhol Prints: A Catalogue Raisonné 1962-1987, New York, 2003, p. 13). If objectifying Coca-Cola bottles represents democratic consumerism, then objectifying the icons of the American West, both fictional and historical, represents something grander. 

Across the ten screenprints, Warhol juxtaposes American generals and cowboys with Native American people and objects. More subtly, though, Warhol crafts a narrative that forces us to reconsider our own understanding of Westward expansion and its mythology. Warhol’s portrait of General Custer evokes stories of his last stand at Little Bighorn, a resounding victory for the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho in the Great Sioux War of 1876. Custer's widow worked hard in the following decades to redeem her late husband's public perception, enhancing the kind of mythic status Warhol often seized upon. His portrait of Geronimo is based on a photograph of the Apache leader taken by A.F. Randall in 1886 shortly after his surrender to American forces. Warhol chooses to frame just his face, allowing us to focus on his fierce, dignified expression rather than his status as a prisoner. 

Even the portfolio’s objects display this contrast between violence and tradition. Plains Indian Shield depicts a Crow Tribe shield used by Native American warriors in the Great Sioux War, but the beauty of the indigenous design is accentuated by a vivid and striking color palette. Warhol leaves us unsure as to which aspect of the shield’s mythology we should focus on. The same can be said for Northwest Coast Mask, which features a Kwakwaka'wak ceremonial mask depicting Sisiutl, a two-headed sea serpent commonly tied to themes like war and protection. Once more, Warhol’s choice in subject blurs the distinction between conflict and cultural significance.

These ambiguities are in sharp contrast to the instantly recognizable portraits included in the portfolio. By placing objects with complex cultural significance alongside well-known images of John Wayne and Teddy Roosevelt, Warhol suggests we consider both the US President and the Hollywood star with the same nuance. In some ways, Cowboys and Indians is in conflict with the typical, frictionless qualities of Warhol’s most well-known portfolios. While the point of Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe and Campbell’s Soup Cans is their equal unimportance, Cowboys and Indians carries an abundance of political and cultural depth that forces us to ask questions about America’s history. 

Warhol’s thoughtfulness in choosing his subjects and unrelenting ability to imbue them with vibrant, unexpected color are evident throughout Cowboys and Indians. These qualities are why Warhol became, writes critic Peter Schjeldahl, “the instrument with which American culture designated itself” (Peter Schjeldahl, “There’s Still No Escaping Andy Warhol,” The New Yorker, 2018). Of all of Warhol’s print portfolios, Cowboys and Indians is perhaps the most explicit display of the artist's love for and fascination with his own country, and overtly captures the intersection of American history, mythology, and consciousness that underpins so much of his work.