New York

Max Weber

Danenberg Gallery

Were we speculating—we, a small body of “in touch” mandarins of contemporary art—about ten years ago, on those American masters of the 1930’s and 1940’s Establishment who had contributed most to our pictorial sensibility, then, I suppose, that Edward Hopper and Stuart Davis’s names would fly to our lips; one for a Cézannishly rigorous form and utter neutrality before objects usually regarded by the “profane” as banal and devoid of esthetic merit, the other for the flagrant sensuousness and vulgar jazziness of his later compositions. The issue at hand would of course be the emergence of Pop. Were this same alert cenàcolo to have reassembled say but five years ago, they might have noted in turn the later compositions of Milton Avery for their seeped-in, turned-out, field-like shapes and the new issue would have been post-painterly abstraction. The present retrospective of Max Weber’s paintings

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