In 2011, a chrome-plated statue of Andy Warhol, called “The Andy Monument,” was unveiled on the northwest corner of Union Square. (A project of the Public Art Fund, it was only a temporary installation and is currently being presented at the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston until April.) Made by artist Rob Pruitt—considered the Warhol of today—the statue is only a little bigger than Mr. Warhol was himself, and if you happened to have passed it during its brief residency in New York, you might not even have noticed it amid the throngs of people rushing by. For a monument honoring one of America’s greatest artists and provocateurs, it seems conspicuously unimportant. Mr. Warhol did so much for art and culture in New York that it’s hard to take a step back and assess just how influential he really was. But there is no denying that when he died, he left a gaping hole in the world of art, and the cultural milieu in general. Mr. Warhol was an openly gay artist operating in the middle of the 20th century—an inhospitable time for homosexuals, to say the least—but that didn’t hamper his progress or ambition. His Brillo boxes are, of course, sui generis, and his ingeniously simple Campbell’s soup prints are probably the most instantly recognizable artworks ever. His Factory incubated scores of great artists and an artistic clique that you might say is largely responsible for imbuing today’s hipster culture with a dire sense of anomie. Mr. Warhol also founded Interview magazine and introduced Nico to the Velvet Underground, among many other feats. Last year marked the 25th anniversary of the pop artist’s death, and there is no disputing that his influence lives on, has permeated our culture. It’s difficult to say if his visual art carries more weight than the life he led, but then again, perhaps they can’t be separated. You might say that Mr. Warhol’s life was his magnum opus. And in a way, the chrome statue that honors his legacy and wanders about our country could be seen as his last great work of art.