Andy Warhol’s
Diamond Dust Shoes evidently no longer speaks to us with any of the
immediacy of Var Gogh’s footgear; indeed, I am tempted to say that it does
not really speak to us at all. Nothing in this painting organizes even
a minimal place for the viewer, who confronts it at the turning of a museum
corridor or gallery with all the contingency of some inexplicable natural
object. Or the level of the content, we have to do with what are now far
more clearly fetishes, in both the Freudian and the Marxian senses . .
. (Jameson)