My God! What have the Nine Muses wrought?! I just discovered via Henry Brevoort’s letters to Washington Irving, that Henry is related to Eidth Sedgewick, Andy Warhol’s Muse. My kindred, Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor, was Andy’s Muse. Rena Easton is/was Christine Rosamond and my Muse. Donald Trump – stiffed Andy! This is…The Greatest New York Story – ever! The king of new York – is defiled! Long live Andy and Edith!

If you want to read a great book, read ‘Edith’ who was born into the Bluest Boston Blood, and ends up getting vitamin shots from Doctor Feelgood!

Robert Brevoort Buck is guilty of legal maleficence. He comes from one of America’s foremost literary and historic families – that he knew nothing about! Yet, he launches his law firm against Rosamond’s brother, teacher, family historian, and genealogist.

Andy knew who his muses were. He is the most famous artist to work in New York, that was once known as New Amsterdam. I want to sue Donald Trump for political maleficence, and for destroying the reputation of the Republican Party founded by John and Jessie Benton. I will be looking at the Bi-laws, and the ethical guidelines for a candidate, in hope I can get the greatest fraud to come out of New York – disqualified!

John Presco

President: Royal Rosamond Press

https://rosamondpress.com/2017/08/18/big-buck-think-tank/

Trump Stiffs Andy – With Liz

http://www.sedgwick.org/na/families/robert1613/ged/d0013/f0002687.html

https://www.masshist.org/collection-guides/view/fa0248

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edie_Sedgwick

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Dwight_Sedgwick

https://www.vanityfair.com/style/2017/12/andy-warhol-and-edie-sedgwick-a-brief-white-hot-and-totally-doomed-romance

http://www.archive.org/stream/cu31924022056786/cu31924022056786_djvu.txt

Acknowledgments are also due to another member of the Brevoort family, Mrs. Robert Sedgwick, through whom have been secured excerpts from letters written by her grand- mother Margaret, who was the sister of Henry Brevoort and who became the wife of Pro- fessor James Renwick. Margaret Brevoort was a charming correspondent, and the Editor has been glad to utilize in his pages passages from these lively and characteristic letters. The publishers desire also to express their appreciation of Mrs. Sedgwick’s courtesy in PUBLISHERS’ NOTE placing at their service the portrait by Jarvis of Mrs. Renwick, now in the home of her great-granddaughter, Mrs. Sedgwick; and of Mr. Kane’s similar courtesy in regard to the portrait by Rembrandt Peale of Henry Brevoort. These portraits are now for the first time reproduced.

Many personages known to fame are present in the next letter, written June 24**^, 1813, at London, where Brevoort, accompanied by Peter Irving, had arrived a fortnight earlier. Distinguished women figure preponderantly in these pages. Brevoort meets Joanna Bailey and Miss Edgeworth; sees, at Drury Lane Theatre, the great Madame de Stael with her “very reverend black beard and fea- tures that correspond to it”; hears Mrs. Siddons read the whole play of Hamlet; describes Madame D’Arblay whose Evelina, now almost forgotten, vied in popularity with the works of her rival French novelists. His words concerning the sublimity of Mrs. Siddons’ art, when “the theatre echoed with sobs and shrieks and ‘Bravos,'” recall the emotional power of that supreme tragic ac- tress of England ; and this intense scene finds an amusing contrast in the following para-

They were one of the great romances of the 1960s. Pop art’s golden couple, even if silver was their signature color. Romeo and Juliet with kink. Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick. The two were opposites. Were, in fact, radically, diametrically, almost violently opposed. So how could the attraction between them have been other than irresistible? She was the beauty to his beast, the princess to his pauper, the exhibitionist to his voyeur. They were also, of course, opposite sexes, which should have made their pairing all the more inevitable, only it did, well, the opposite since he preferred the same. As impediments to heterosexual unions go, homosexual impulse is a biggie. Edie got around it, though, no problem because she intuited that Andy’s gayness was incidental. Fundamental was Andy’s narcissism. No, fundamental was Andy’s frustrated narcissism. He was the boy who didn’t like what he saw when he gazed into the pool, and thus was doomed, in a permanent state of unfulfilled desire. Edie’s method of seduction was to take her shoulder-length dark hair, chop it off, bleach it a metallic shade of blond so that it matched his wig, and dress herself in the striped boatnecked shirts that had become his uniform. In other words, to turn herself into the reflection of his dreams. At long last—oh, rapture! oh, ecstasy!—his self-love was requited.

Until it wasn’t. Andy and Edie’s mutual platinum obsession lasted not quite one calendar year. In 1965 she was his leading lady in 10 movies, give or take. (Andy couldn’t bring himself to be organized enough for a filmography un-rife with holes and question marks.) Their final official movie, Lupe, released more than half a century ago, in 1966, began when Andy offered writer Robert Heide a sole directive: “I want something where Edie commits suicide at the end.” This line, delivered in his usual uninflected, unemphatic tone, is chilling, something that the villain in a Hitchcock thriller, one of those immaculately amoral gentleman-monsters, might have said. Or it would be if there hadn’t been heat beneath the frost, a passion that smoldered before it burned, turned fatal.