Andy Warhol is my number one Art Hero of all time, and if you want to know who really inspired all these crazy postcards — well, that’s who. Actually, I consider Your Burning Desire postcards to be the grandchildren of Warhol’s grand legacy of Pop Art — simplicity, vulgarity, blatant commercialism, and all. Did you know that Warhol once put together an exhibition of his large-scale photographs of male genitalia? Moreover, he took great pleasure and fun in recruiting his subjects, many of whom came from the homosexual hustler community. (Jed Johnson, who was Warhol’s live-in boyfriend at the time, was less amused.) Likewise, I can imagine that there will be a good number of people who fail to see the good in my art — and all the positive messaging, as well as the exaltation of the human condition (both lovely and unlovely), will fall on deaf ears and blind eyes. These people might be quick to label my postcards as derivative, disreputable nonsense. To which I would say… well, sure! Because who am I to disagree or dispute their opinions? There is plenty of bad art of sunsets, lighthouses, and kittens to keep those folks amused, and I shall not stand in their way of finding it. Sure, I will do my best to keep the youngsters away from displays of postcards that drop the F-bomb prodigiously. But other than that, I present them proudly, without a trace of apology or shame. When confronted with a critic who questioned the integrity or the value of his art, Warhol, my idol, was always good for a witty remark just this side of snide. I am a deeply superficial person, he admitted publicly. And so am I, Andy, so am I. Fortunately, there is a snug little space in the art world for the both of us. ❤️‍🔥—Y.B.D.