Note For Art Lovers -

This unique limited edition (100 - 14.25" x 20.75") giclee art reproduction is one that Wes is quite happy with. While the image you see here does provide you with a quick glance it certainly can’t do justice to the subtle color and detail of the actual print. The next print of the remaining few I still have of this one is now up for sale for $375 - postpaid within the continental USA - add shipping costs for elsewhere.

By Wes Wilson

My path toward ‘world fame’ as an artist began in the fall of 1965 when I published my first poster “Are We Next?” I had become a loosely Bohemian ‘freelance’ artist who felt compelled to freely express my true feeling about our country’s ongoing ethical disaster in Vietnam by creating this poster. Like many others I was against our government’s obvious foreign policy agenda of the time - about how ‘money makes might and might makes right’ - directed first toward the Cuban and later the Vietnamese people. Having studied some eastern and western philosophy and having read parts of the New Testament of Jesus - I did know something better was possible on our planet and just couldn’t bear watching this kind of major ‘mistake’ continue to go down without even a peep - like so many millions of others seemed so readily inclined to do. America’s foreign policy strength should always be founded on the understanding that in the long run only ‘Right Makes Might’ - never the other way around. This I still hold dear.

In the fall of 1965 I got married for the second time - to my dear wife of 40 plus years - Eva Christine. From then on through the middle of 1967 there followed a period that was both exhilarating and exceptionally demanding for me - being an up and coming ‘freelance’ artist. During that brief wonderful period of artistic creativity I designed many well received posters for San Francisco dance/concert venues. Initially I designed, printed, and then personally delivered most of my earliest work. My first poster for the Family Dog was called the “Tribal Stomp.” I printed 300 good ones for Chet. The total cost for these 300 posters in 1966 was $60 or twenty cents apiece. Recently one of these, which was owned by a collector, sold at auction for over $24,700.

Early on the weekly attendance at the Fillmore and Avalon ballrooms seemed fairly modest, with attendance in the hundreds, but rapidly the numbers bumped up to a few thousand each week. With attendance increasing I was able to convince the promoters to spend more money to print posters with two or more colors on larger sheets. Larger stock sizes meant they could be cut to a ‘bleed’ line, have postcards included to be trimmed out and eventually tickets - all on the same sheet making the artistic possibilities ever more exciting. Because of their special uniqueness lots of people began zealously collecting these posters. Soon plenty of other artists became fascinated with these new artistic possibilities too. Before long an entirely new poster art ‘genre’ and its booming print industry had begun in earnest - all due to the development of the unique San Francisco ‘psychedelic’ rock poster.

My workload rather quickly expanded. I began doing just the artwork and arranged for others to do the printing. This all was evolving while I was meeting the difficult, inflexible, short term scheduling deadlines required for ‘dated’ dance/concert events. Each poster included several notable bay area and eventually even national and international entertainers and musical groups in the billing. ‘Time’ was always the most important single factor in event poster production. One of my most demanding considerations lay in dealing harmoniously with the often acrid personalities of promoters and their tight scheduling demands. All of which for me was characteristic of the unique post ‘Trips Festival Bohemian’ dance/concert poster scene of the mid-sixties’ San Francisco ‘hip’ culture.

The public awareness of my work quite rapidly increased. Early in 1966 I began to be contacted by local media and more clients. Soon many more from well beyond the city limits of San Francisco were calling requesting commission work and newspaper, television and film interviews. I did occasionally find time for other work other than posters including illustrations for RAMPARTS and later two TIME magazine cover commissions (though paid for, neither TIME covers were published.) I illustrated a NEWSWEEK poster/cover for their international edition. Ron Ziegler, later to be the press secretary for Richard Nixon, but then with the LA offices of the J. Walter Thompson Company (which was headed at that time by another future Nixon appointee - ‘Bob’ Haldemann.) They commissioned me to do poster for them that I call my “Open Up & See!” poster. The ‘Operational Research Society of America and the Technical Institute of Military Science’ (ORSA-TIMS) commissioned me to illustrate their convention’s program cover. I was asked to make the poster for the final Beatles concert tour event at Candlestick Park in South San Francisco. I had quickly become a notable artist - even perhaps ‘notorious’.

Though this was a grand and exciting period it was also plenty tough on me both physically and mentally. The deadlines, late nights and the harshness of over work took their toll. At first mostly local media were interested in me as a unique poster artist but when I became a national and then even an international artist of note this new ‘publicity thing’ and all its additional ‘work’ became almost as demanding as doing the artwork and producing the posters. My single-handed management of my new art career and its ‘PR’ expanded until ‘coping’ with it all became my daily concern. My first hard won copyright contract* with Bill Graham, a good one for artists, was at last fully ’shouted out’ in negotiations and was agreed to and signed by all. My oncoming fame brought the persistent calls requesting more and more public exposure as the media pressure intensified. All these regular media requests for information and personal interviews caused me to be almost constantly in need of additional restful sleep.

So by mid-1967 I had been well noted in scholarly, professional, art and design publications and most major news magazines - including TIME and LIFE. Several art museums wanted to buy my original artwork and posters. The MOMA requested and bought my posters for their collection. Many artists would’ve been proud just to have their work accepted when donated. My posters were moving abroad and amazing the art acquiring communities as far away as the Louvre in Paris and even the Hermitage in Soviet Leningrad. So many requests for my personal attention and my artwork were coming in that I was soon practically wore out by it all. Throughout the art world I had rather rapidly become ‘world famous’.

Sometime in the late fall of 1967 I met Andy Warhol. He had been in San Francisco in the spring of 1966 to perform at the Fillmore with a troupe of entertainment associates known as the “Exploding Plastic Inevitable.” Although I made the poster for that event I hadn’t attended the event. When Andy and his friends returned in 1967 I took part with them in an on-air arts interview one afternoon at a downtown San Francisco radio station. That’s where I met Andy. He had returned with the ‘exploding plastic inevitable’ - Nico, Ultraviolet and The Velvet Underground - to perform at an odd venue called ‘The Cinematique Coffeehouse & Palace of Pleasure’ - someplace in San Francisco. After the radio interview we exchanged small talk before heading off in our separate directions. Andy mentioned his latest film - his filming of a California sunset. We were getting ready to leave when Andy asked if I knew of anything ‘fun’ that was happening that evening? Well I knew of nothing special so I happened to ask him to drop in over at my place so maybe we could talk more about sunsets and art. Since Andy looked blank at that and said nothing I assumed he’d taken that option off the table. As I left the radio station to head home I left him my address and phone number just in case he might ever want to get in touch with me again for any reason. I left the station and drove on home.

I had had another full day of it - following several ‘long nights’ of work - so I was tired. As I drove up to Mill Valley late that afternoon I looked forward to getting to bed early and catching up on some sleep. My wife Eva had already left to attend her rehearsal at the Straight Theater where she was soon to perform in a play, which also included Fred Ward, called ‘The Interviewer’. Thankfully our infant son Colin was under my mother-in-law’s care that evening. So right after sunset I went straight up to bed and was soon fast asleep.

Suddenly I awoke at around 8:00 pm or so. Our doorbell was ringing. Soon I was awake enough to go downstairs and see who was at the door - still of course in my pajamas. I opened the door a crack and squinted out. Two strangers were standing there under the porch light. One said, “Is this Wes Wilson’s place?” I hesitated a moment and said “Yes.” They quickly explained that they, along with Andy Warhol, had come up from the City for a visit - if that’s ok? By now I was fully awake. “Why of course!” I probably said. They happily waved toward the street - “This is it!” they signaled. Soon several more came walking up from what looked like a long limousine parked out there on the street. Yes indeed, the one coming up the path wearing dark glasses was Andy Warhol. “Welcome!” I must have said as I ushered them all inside.

Sometimes people can muddle through such unexpected circumstances to happily benefit everyone in the end - and I had firmly decided that somehow this was going to be one of those times for me. There I was - still wearing my pajamas, sleep tousled and sleepy-eyed, with a fresh house full of guests to host (and having made up my mind not to complain about not getting a phone call first or anything). I was determined to do my best and be the undaunted, always generous host. As luck would have it, no one even mentioned my rumpled appearance or my pajamas. Two of my guests wordlessly sized up my situation and understood in a flash what needed to be done next! Immediately these two jolly, wonderful souls volunteered to help prepare and serve “party goodies.” So the three of us went directly to the kitchen to forage and soon enough sufficient party food and drink was located and being properly served. Nico, an exceptionally attractive, but somehow really sad looking, blonde chick from Munich (”Miss Pop Art ‘66″) quickly placed one of her newer records on the phonograph and turned up the volume. Someone else thoughtfully rolled up a few joints and passed them around. It didn’t take long before everyone was settled in and the ‘party’ thing was a-happening!

Again the doorbell rings! With some trepidation this time (Could it be the police?) I opened the door a crack. A man and a woman were standing there. ‘Who or what?’ I asked. They were smiling and explained that they were reporters from ‘The New York Post’ who had come to conduct their interview with me. I couldn’t remember this so I asked, “What interview?” They looked shocked and explained that they had scheduled an appointment for tonight’s interview over the phone with me only a few days earlier. “Don’t you remember?” they gently chided. “Well - no” I think I said. So, there I was - peering out the door all tousled, bleary eyed and still wearing only pajamas - while there was some kind of odd adult party obviously going on behind me. At that moment I realized that I certainly didn’t look like the type who ‘never forgets’ things like appointments. I remembered my promise to myself about remaining “undaunted” that evening - so I apologized for any misunderstanding - but - I simply could not give them their interview that evening I told them. However, when the two of them looked so disappointed I found myself opening the door and inviting them in to join our party anyway. They smiled in agreement and in they came.

Informally introducing them to all the party people - first names only - they were flabbergasted when they realized that the guest in the dark glasses named “Andy” was in fact - Andy Warhol! Wow! To everyone’s astonishment they suddenly plopped to their knees in a show of spontaneous reverential adoration - right there on the floor in front of ultra-super-cool Andy. Then, before they had recovered their senses - they began plying him with giddy questions - like maybe perhaps hoping they might score an interview with him instead? Andy’s unresponsive ‘blank look’ as he panned across the wide-eyed hubbub was especially funny - even hilarious! Andy’s silence was every bit as funny as Jack Benny’s at his classic best! Everyone except ‘cool Andy’ was obviously amused! Such fun!

Fortunately this serendipitous bit of humor had really ‘broken the ice’ for the rest of the evening - and a warmly entertaining party then ensued - thumping along merrily into the Mill Valley night - to various odd ‘Velvet tunes’ with fun titles like “Heroin.” (Whatever floats their boat I thought.) I soon felt sufficiently relieved of my hosting duties and I began to individually enjoy this unusual array of fascinating guests. There was our party’s centerpiece - Andy Warhol - parked in the middle of our living room couch - friends wedged in closely on either side - our two newest guests raptly kneeling nearby - with Andy not looking especially happy but deftly fending off each attempt at ‘meaning’ with his steady cooling emptiness. When I spoke with Andy again I found him not the least inclined to be ‘conversational.’ His shortness, his clipped speech meant that he preferred watching and listening - occasionally fielding brief irrelevant or comic phrases when he felt compelled to respond. This was, apparently, the ‘way’ Andy was. His friends seemed mildly entertained by these brief utterances; but soon I had to quit trying ‘to keep up’ with all this silliness. After all who ever really cares to know everything about nothing?

There was the beautiful Nico from Munich - obviously ‘proud’ of her latest recordings - which all seemed such basal tomes of cynical madness. She seemed to deeply enjoy being thoroughly enmeshed in her own kind of darkness - gracefully slouched there next to the speakers - clothed in purple and black - all folded womblike into her shroud. Maybe she’s on something besides pot and booze I thought? At least she talked some. No, I didn’t know that she had a part in a Felini movie - along with three hundred pounds worth of Richard Simmons and all! La Dolce Vita! Not much else was being said. Lou Reed might be a super guitarist but he didn’t seem at all friendly. Maybe he was worried about me hitting on Nico? I don’t know. I suspect that as a rule worried people are no fun at parties. One thing about Andy - he wouldn’t be jealous because of Ultra-Violet (she being a woman) or could he? The ‘party-helpers’ were slightly overweight but over all they were the kindest and jolliest of the bunch. How interesting this all was!

No one seemed to even notice - or care - that I was wearing only pajamas - except Ultra-Violet, sitting right beside Andy. She made note of my odd attire at one point by playfully jerking open my pajama waistband with a wicked little grin. Funny girl! It was interesting to note that she was the one who turned Andy on to the ‘Campbell soup can idea’ for his most famous painting - the one that brought him such fame. Wow - a soup can painting - what an idea!!! Mostly Andy sat quietly as if he were the ’shy child’ on a rowdy schoolyard. He was somewhere in there hiding behind cool dark glasses - protecting ‘his pinkness’. His expressionless ‘look’ seemed also a way of projecting arrogance - like maybe he was jealous of something? Maybe like a spoiled child always wants the other’s toy? After a long while Andy finally said something directly to me. He asked me to please show him my studio. I was most happy to oblige and change the focus so I agreed and up the stairs we promptly went to check it all out. This signaled the other guests to follow too. Everyone wanted to see what Wes Wilson’s art studio looked like.

My studio contained my current work in progress sketches and all, odd stacks of rock posters were scattered about on the floor, a sprayed on manikin or two, my work table and a business desk all covered at the time with numerous business cards, notes, receipts, newspapers and magazines, etc. Andy took it all in slowly and said very little. Andy’s only comment of note that evening that I can remember came about when he noticed a magazine (CA Magazine) on my desk which had pictured on its cover a number of political buttons depicting various symbols or funny sayings with contemporary 1967 meanings such as “Make Love, Not War,” etc. One button in particular caught Andy’s eye and he suddenly laughed out loud - for perhaps the first time that evening. He pointed out that one of the buttons read “Pop Art Stinks!” Then, grinning, Andy said, “It does.” In that instant I learned the essence of Andy’s artistic agenda - i.e. ‘making a stink!’ Now I could fully understand where he was coming from. Therefore shouldn’t one clarify all this and add another ‘o’ to the spelling of ‘Pop Art?’ You can certainly see this principle at work in all of Andy’s work I thought. We chuckled some more and soon returned to the downstairs where we discovered there were no more snacks or drinks left. Especially tough on everyone was that there were no more nicotine cigarettes. By then everyone had become ‘talked out.’ The hi-fi went silent and Nico gathered up all her records. My best pot had largely gone up in smoke, too. It was finally time for Andy and all to be driven off in their limousine.

When Andy rose to depart he had softened considerably. He politely thanked me and kindly made me promise to be sure and visit him whenever I came to New York City. He called his place ‘the factory’ and gave me his address and phone number. I thanked him and assured him that I most certainly would - maybe even the following year. Ultra-Violet adds a nice ’see ya’ - and off with lovely Nico they all went - slipping quickly off into the night. We’d had such fun! I then fell back into bed and slept like a log.

The following year, after receiving a hefty and helpful unsolicited award** from the National Endowment for the Arts (Thanks to a Mr. Roger Stevens) I did manage to fly to New York City the following summer (July of 1968). Unfortunately, however, Andy had just been shot and almost killed by a deranged female acquaintance and lay isolated in the intensive care unit of some New York City hospital. Consequently, I missed my chance to visit him. Within only a few years it seems - Andy Warhol died.

It’s been many years now since I’ve been as famous as I was during those heady ’60s days.

The surprise evening visit ended on a pleasant enough note when Andy sufficiently assured me that yes he had really enjoyed himself. After all, how interesting it all was for both of us – getting to know even in such a small way - yet another ‘world famous artist.’

“In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes.” –Andy Warhol, 1968

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An addendum from Steven Watson, author of Factory Made: Warhol and the Sixties:

“Dear Wes Wilson,

For me, it is the best moment of the day to get your email. I admire your posters, and I was in the Bay Area [undergratduate at Stanford from 1966-1970].

So we are roughly the same age, I think, and we shared an era.

I GREATLY enjoyed reading your article, and it seemed to me entirely accurate, in spirit and in fact. Two possible additions:

–the first EPI in SF was May 29, 1966

–On the 1967 trip was also Paul Morrissey and Allen Midgette.

You have captured something very well.

If you want, I will send you a copy of Factory Made.

Best – Steven”

(This pleasant note arrived as an e-mail from Steven on Feb.2nd. – However the style and spacing were different)

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* Tragically for me it would somehow subsequently be ‘lost’ a year or so later - according to the Graham office people.

** Awarded to me for my “contribution to American Art”

Early in 1966 Chet brought me both the picture of the ‘dead-pan’ Indian wearing the top hat and with his pipe - and this great ‘motto’ “May the Baby Jesus Shut Your Mouth And Open Your Mind” Chet may have found it as graffiti in some public place. Where ever it was that Chet found them - this combination of ‘Indian and motto’ was both humorous and at the same time Profound.

Using these two elements Chet asked me to design the logo for the Family Dog Company. I knew there wasn’t lots of money to be made nor time to spend on this nor was my design very difficult so I quickly sketched out what would soon become the official Family Dog logo for all time. I included this logo on the second poster I designed for Chet.

Chet apparently liked the logo - but he so disliked the rest of that poster design that he demanded that its production be halted - although some handbills were already printed - and a new poster design be produced. Chet expected me to design and draw up an entire new poster overnight. Consequently he wasn’t at all happy when I declined. Chet became quite angry and I felt that this had likely ended our relationship. I then suggested that in light of the ease of such a task like to do this one himself. There not being a wide variety of options open to him at that time - Chet decided he would do his own poster.

The following morning Chet arrived at the print shop with his associate John Carpenter. They spent the entire day focused on spacing, aligning and pressing down filmy letters from curled transparent plastic sheets of alphabets onto the picture of an aging orangutan. By late afternoon however - when they still had not yet managed to achieve a fully lettered poster - Chet asked if I might add one last little bit by hand - the title. I then quickly hand lettered for the top right section “King Kong Memorial Dance.” Chet liked the new logo from the rejected design so it was added to the top left portion. Humor was a big part of Chet’s Family Dog enterprise. So it was that the Family Dog logo made its very first debut on the shoulder of an ape.

Chet really liked this logo. Later he decided to ‘introduce’ the stoic top hatted pipe smoking Indian to the public - by featuring him center-stage on a later poster announcing the first Blues Project dance-concert at the Avalon Ballroom. Chet smiled big when he first saw it.

Several more FD posters - like these - would later be produced that were further elaborations of ton the theme of the original logo.

- Wes Wilson

“Hi Wes – This will knock your sox off . . .
Alisa watched the bidding & just sent it to me.”

(Wes’s First Family Dog - FD-1 – an original print poster – selling at auction for a total of $24,740.10)

“I visited David Singer Sat. eve. He is doing well, & we had a good party time, like those before he was struck down.

Love to all, Walter”