Page:Andy Warhol Foundation v. Goldsmith.pdf/69

18 if such commentary is perceptible”). And as for the District Court’s view that Warhol transformed Prince from a “vulnerable, uncomfortable person to an iconic, larger-than-life figure,” the majority is downright dismissive. Vulnerable, iconic—who cares? The silkscreen and the photo, the majority claims, still have the same “essential nature.”  (emphasis deleted).

The description is disheartening. It’s as though Warhol is an Instagram filter, and a simple one at that (e.g., sepia-tinting). “What is all the fuss about?,” the majority wants to know. Ignoring reams of expert evidence—explaining, as every art historian could explain, exactly what the fuss is about—the majority plants itself firmly in the “I could paint that” school of art criticism. No wonder the majority sees the two images as essentially fungible products in the magazine market—publish this one, publish that one, what does it matter? See ;. The problem is that it does matter, for all the reasons given in the record and discussed above. See. Warhol based his silkscreen on a photo, but fundamentally changed its character and meaning. In belittling those creative contributions, the majority guarantees that it will reach the wrong result.

Worse still, the majority maintains that those contributions, even if significant, just would not matter. All of Warhol’s artistry and social commentary is negated by one thing: Warhol licensed his portrait to a magazine, and Goldsmith sometimes licensed her photos to magazines too. That is the sum and substance of the majority opinion. Over and over, the majority incants that “[b]oth [works] are portraits of Prince used in magazines to illustrate stories about Prince”; they therefore both “share substantially the same purpose”—meaning, a commercial one. , ; see, , ,. Or said otherwise, because Warhol entered into a licensing transaction with Condé Nast, he could not get any help from factor