When Andy Warhol in the Sixties started making his silkscreens of Marilyn Monroe and Mao Tse Tung, he changed what art had been for twenty five hundred years or so and did something very different and not for the better. Previously, art had been a window into life, a depiction of scenes and arrangement and color that conveyed meaning and emotion, within a frame even if there was no frame and even if very large, as was still true in the Abstract Expressionism of the Fifties. Instead, the difference of one object to the other of his silkscreens were colors that added nothing to the emotion or meaning, instead only providing a differentiation that could allow even the multiple copies of one of the images differentiated enough to be peddled as being something different. Nothing changed after that revolution in that art has dry ironies but little emotion or arrangement, one exception being the quartet of women whose photo was taken every year and so allow how these distinct but familially related people age over time, true to the oldest instinct of portraiture, which is to see what is the person behind the face. I want to look at some of the holdings in the contemporary wing of the Chicago Art Institute to see whether I can reap something of value for my pre Warhol aesthetics.