Goya’s a great guy—you’d be happy to go on vacation with him, see exhibitions together, or just shoot the breeze, and you can always call him when you’re feeling down. Or so it would seem, based on Amelie von Wulffen’s latest paintings. Max Beckmann, on the other hand, comes off as a little less approachable: Although the weather’s perfect for sailing, he just stands there in his blue jacket, smoking and staring blankly at nothing in particular. Then there’s van Gogh, another member of von Wulffen’s posse, gazing from the wooden backrest of an old-fashioned classroom chair with an expression