The 33rd Soup Can Artwork
Why did Andy Warhol discard it?
“Mark, you won’t believe what I found at the flea market!” Liza, the assistant, burst into his office, clutching a large canvas wrapped in brown paper.
Mark, the art dealer, didn’t look up from the report he was writing. “What is it, Liza? I’m in the middle of something.”
Liza carefully placed the canvas on the table. “It’s an Andy Warhol Campbell’s Soup Can painting!”
Mark looked up from the desk. He smiled and leaned back. “Do me a favor and throw it away. It’s a fake, Liza.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Simple. Between 1961 and 1962, Warhol produced 32 works of art — each one depicting a specific soup flavor Campbell sold at that time. They were all acquired by the New York Museum of Modern Art in 1996, where they are still on display for public viewing.”
Without saying a word, Liza picked up the canvas and tore open the wrapping paper to reveal the iconic painting of the Campbell Tomato soup can.
Mark’s eyes widened as he stood up to examine the artwork. The familiar red and white label, the bold black outlines, the style, the brushstrokes, the colors — it certainly looked like a Warhol. How could that be?
Mark furrowed his brow. “Where did you find this?”
“I told you. At the flea market.”
“I can’t believe I am saying this… let’s get this authenticated by an expert.”
“Oh… Ok. Do you…know its worth?”
“If it’s a genuine Warhol, it would go for 15 million dollars!”
Liza’s heart skipped a beat. She had to grab the chair’s handle to steady herself.
Three days later, Mark brought in a professional authenticator. After a thorough examination of the artwork, the authenticator was able to confirm it — it was indeed a genuine Warhol. Before leaving, he said, “This seems to be the 33rd soup can artwork no one knew of. It would remain a mystery why Warhol discarded it after creating it.”
Mark shook Liza’s hand. “Congratulations. You are a millionaire now.”
Just then, Mark’s eleven-year-old daughter, Layla, walked in. She ignored them and went straight to the artwork that leaned against the wall. “It has a typo,” she said calmly.
“What are you talking about?”
“Here…” Layla pointed at the center of the artwork. “It says Tamoto. It’s spelled wrongly.”
There was a stunned silence. And then Liza collapsed into the nearby chair, muttering, “I guess that explains why Warhol discarded it and created another one with the correct spelling. What I have now is worthless!”
“Are you nuts?” blurted Mark as he walked towards the artwork. “A genuine Warhol is worth 15 million. If it has a typo, it would be considered extremely rare and unique. It would fetch more than 50 million!”
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