Andy Warhol: Wild Raspberries

Andy Warhol’s  “Wild Raspberries” show ran from December 2 – 24, 1959 and was accompanied by a self-published limited edition book of the same name. Wild Raspberries, a collaboration between Andy Warhol and Suzie Frankfurt, featured Warhol’s hand colored illustrations of food items accompanied by whimsical faux recipes.

My uncle, Loy Hanna, met Andy Warhol in the 1960’s and received a copy of Wild Raspberries from Warhol, himself.

“Wild Raspberries,” according to Frankfurt:

Lunching and shopping became a ritual. During one of their excursions, Mrs. Frankfurt told the artist, “We had to write a funny cookbook for people who don’t cook. My mother, who was a hostess sine qua non, deemed the most important thing for a new bride was to be a good hostess. I wanted to emulate my mother, of course, and it was the year all these French cookbooks came out. I tried to make sense of them. ‘Make a béchamel sauce,’ they’d say. I didn’t even know what that was.

“So we did the book, Andy with his Dr. Martin’s dyes and Mrs. Warhol [Andy’s mother], her calligraphy. She was gifted and untutored, and we left all the spelling mistakes. I wrote the recipes.” Schoolboys were hired to hand-color the books, a wonderful shiny paper was selected for the covers, and the books were brought to rabbis on the Lower East Side for binding. “There were two versions, colored” of which there were 34, “and semicolored. We thought it would be a masterpiece and we’d sell thousands. I think we sold 20.”

http://www.observer.com/1997/12/warhol-cookbook-coauthor-tells-all/

One thought on “Andy Warhol: Wild Raspberries

  1. I feel particularly lucky that I got to spend a good amount of time in Warhol’s loft in NYC. My mom lived there and worked for Chelsea literary magazine as a fiction editor. The man who ran the mag lived in Warhol’s loft. Whenever we would go to pick up manuscripts or drop them off, my mom would speak with the editors and I was allowed to wander the loft. Although it might be imagined on my part, I honestly felt a palatable energy running through the space and constantly hoped some of that artistic magnetism would rub off on me.

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