In 1963, New York-based photographer William John Kennedy (1930–2021), a seasoned editorial contributor to LIFE magazine, was introduced to a young artist rising in eminence, Andy Warhol, through their mutual friend, the artist Robert Indiana, at MoMA’s 1963 exhibition 'Americans'. What followed was a year of intimate, singular access to Warhol at his legendary studio, the Silver Factory on East 47th Street — encounters Kennedy photographed for his own private practice.

This portrait by William John Kennedy was captured in early 1964 during his inaugural photographic session with Andy Warhol at the Factory. It was Kennedy himself who conceived the present image: posing Warhol behind the large, clear acetate of Marilyn Monroe that would generate some of the artist’s most celebrated silkscreen paintings, collapsing artist and subject into a single, brilliant frame.

The photographer recollects, “I was seeking the most suitable location to photograph Andy and came upon the natural light streaming through the open fire exit door. Among the detritus was a large roll of plastic sheets leaning nearby. I inquired about them.” Warhol responded, “These are the acetates used in my silkscreens.” Kennedy continues, “Andy positioned himself in the doorway of the fire escape as he removed the first sheet from the roll and held it before him, with the light illuminating the image—of Marilyn Monroe. As Andy peered through, I immediately captured the moment.” As Kennedy and Warhol discussed the late star, Kennedy came to perceive that Marilyn epitomised Warhol’s view of celebrity’s duality, embodying both glamour and tragedy.

Patrick Moore, former Director of The Andy Warhol Museum, has observed of this photograph that “We see Warhol in a fresh light — young, victorious, on the verge of dominating the art world… We see Warhol through his art.”

This photograph presents an aesthetically compelling and intricate composition, in which Kennedy deftly interweaves the artist with his oeuvre. It also serves as a provocative and revealing portrait of Warhol’s conflicted and luminous personality—one he meticulously shielded from public scrutiny during his lifetime by cultivating a deliberately detached, aloof public persona. Within this image, does Warhol conceal himself behind Monroe’s exquisite beauty, or rather display his intellectual prowess, akin to a gleeful childhood moment, for having selected her as his muse?

Warhol, acutely aware of his physical insecurities—ranging from skin conditions, premature baldness, an ungainly nose, to ailments too delicate for polite discourse—held a deep admiration for Hollywood’s glamour. Following Monroe's tragic death in 1962, he produced portraits of the actress that have since become amongst his most renowned and iconic works. Throughout the subsequent decades, Warhol recurrently revisited Marilyn’s visage in various series of prints and paintings. The acetate featured in this image originates from his 1964 series of large square canvases, each commanding a formidable forty inches. Among these, the five paintings stand out as arguably Warhol's most extraordinarily exquisite creations.

The 1964 Marilyn series received considerable notoriety following an incident in which two of the works were struck by bullets fired from a small-calibre firearm. During a visit to the Factory, fellow artist Dorothy Podber inquired of Andy Warhol whether she might 'shoot' the paintings. Warhol, interpreting her request as pertaining to photography or filmmaking, consented. However, Podber subsequently produced a firearm from her bag and, in an unpremeditated act, discharged a bullet into the recently completed works stacked against a wall. Although only two paintings sustained damage, four of the five became famously known thereafter as the 'Shot Marilyns'.