Andy Warhol's portraits of the 1980s are recognised as some of his most compelling works. After all, painting portraits of notable figures in fashionable circles is a centuries-old art historical tradition; from Titian and Van Dyke's stately portrayals of the great and the good to John Singer Sargent and Giovanni Boldini's images of society beauties, such paintings have been viewed as a vital element of the output of some of the greatest names in painting. Today, Warhol is credited with reviving that tradition and bringing the portrait back to the forefront of art where it so rightly belonged.
That the artist recognised the intrinsic beauty of his model is clear from his handling of this work; his acrylic additions, which in other portraits were bright, messy, and chaotic even, are kept to a carefully balanced minimum. In other, busier portraits, it is tempting to imagine that Warhol is drawing attention away from the face, but here there is no need for such distractions. Only Copley's piercing eyes and full lips are artfully enhanced, creating Warhol's typically glamorous Hollywood style with none of his New York 80s excess. It has been suggested that Warhol had no interest in trying to capture the character of his sitters but instead viewed them in the same way that he viewed coke bottles or soup cans, as objects to be photographed, painted, and screened. Nevertheless, it is hard not to see Warhol's vision of Mrs. Copley in this painting as something of an enigma, distant and aloof and yet undoubtedly alluring.
Warhol knew Marjorie through the celebrated American artist, William Copley, to whom she was married at the time the work was painted, but Marjorie had little interest in the frenzied, bohemian scene of Warhol's studio, The Factory. Her calmness and detachment are evident in the portrait, which rejects the bright chaos of other portraits; only her piercing blue eyes and cherry-red lips are accentuated, and the lines of her body and face are gentle.