In Grave Sightings, we visit graves of interest and curiosity to pay respects and ponder about life, death, and the bizarre things in between.
In the packed rolodex of Pennsylvanian history, there are many cards that warrant a special thank you for its contribution to American culture. Here lies a titan of American identity, one that captured pop culture so well that he became a part of it.
Andy, born as Andrew Warhola, was the youngest of three boys. His parents immigrated from Slovakia to the Pittsburgh neighborhood of Uptown. After graduating from the Carnegie Institute of Technology with a Bachelor of Arts in Pictorial Design in 1949, Warhol moved to NYC to be a commercial artist and illustrator. He soon transitioned into the fine art arena and became a major player in the Pop Art movement. His comic-inspired pieces and Campbell Soup Can series were a major success, making him an instant celebrity. His fixation on fame and sensationalized subjects bled into any artistic medium he tried his hand at, including painting, photography, films, and performance art. Sadly, he died in 1987 from post-surgery complications. His signature style, artwork, and photography is recognized worldwide.
Andy’s burial place is located at St. John the Baptist Byzantine Catholic Cemetery in Bethel Park, Pennsylvania. The grave marker faces the driving lane, woods, and adjacent street. It’s unmistakable with its collection of soup cans resting atop it. His parents are interred behind him.
The type of items left at a grave can say a lot about both the deceased and the people honoring them. It tells the dead that the living are still thinking of them, and it assures the living that this individual still matters greatly to them. Flowers, rocks, coins, or rosaries and other religious tokens are all kind symbols of remembrance.
Then there’s soup cans. These individuals took the time to go to the store, walk to the soup aisle, and buy something they probably haven’t reached for in years just to honor an artist. This act of homage is one of my favorite things about humanity. We need people to know that they mattered, that we care. We have to express how important, how impactful, someone was to us. It doesn’t matter if we’ve never met them. It’s so human it hurts.
And it makes me wonder what kind of person possesses this command, this unspoken power, to bring strangers to them, even beyond the grave? It’s gotta be the creators. People like Andy Warhol have transcended their own lives to become synonymous with the subject of their work, so ingrained into our cultural identity that his legacy is much more than what he did to canvases with paint. He was an artist, and us humans really, really value art.
This brings up another query of mine: if we stop talking about Andy Warhol, does Andy Warhol stop existing? If clandestine mourners stop leaving soup cans, will he become just another grave on a hillside cemetery? Two generations from now, will they teach their youth about art history? Will he make the cut?
That’s why you have to share what you love. That author that gets you high with just a single line? Talk about them. The photographer who stirred your soul with a single shot? Talk about them. Artists will never die if their admirers continue saying their name. It’s up to the living to continue such legacies. Keep talking. Keep supporting. Keep connecting. Keep buying the cans of soup.
Haunted by Deadlines 