Whenever I am asked to write something about American modernism, I do two things. First, I think about the great gulfs between that period, which begins over a century ago, in the years prior to 1900, and our own, gulfs in every aspect of life on this planet, from the cellular to the galactic. We seem to know more, but love less; and art, despite its cliched, storefront preaching claims to healing powers, resilience, and telling truth to power sits feebly beneath the tidal waves of 3D printed, digitally projected, and AI-generated slop.
Gertrude Abercrombie (1909-1977), Search for Rest, 1951. Collection of Sandra and Bram Dijkstra.
Beneath the blizzard of bytes, art isn’t working wonders. Maybe it isn’t working at all. Maybe it never has. Maybe that isn’t what it’s for: healing, resilience, telling today’s truths to today’s power. Frankly, I miss the image of Georges Braque in his run-down Paris flat gluing pieces of wallpaper to his canvases. The second thing I do is to reread some passages out of Friedrich Nietzsche’s early philosophical essay, “The Birth of Tragedy.” In the essay, Nietzsche locates the roots of Athenian tragedy—and, by extension, all art—in the necessary friction between and interweaving of two aesthetic impulses: the Apollonian—after the Greek sun god, Apollo—and the Dionysian—after Dionysus, the very ancient god of wine, fertility, and the theater. By Apollonian, Nietzsche meant illumination, individuation, intelligibility, logic, light, the seen; by Dionysian, he meant the shadowed, unified, mysterious, mad, intoxicated, ecstatic, dark, unseen. Yin and yang are close by, but only superficially.
For Nietzsche, art requires both the Apollonian and the Dionysian. And when he writes: “The entire comedy of art is neither performed for our betterment nor are we the true authors of this art world. On the contrary, we may assume that we are merely images and projections for the true author, and that we have our highest dignity in our significance as works of art—for it is only as an aesthetic phenomenon that existence and the world are eternally justified…” Who the “true author” is, I do not presume to know—nor did Nietzsche—but this idea that we are works of art is entirely amazing. I maintain that we are all artists, but if we are all artists and works of art then we have an obligation to act on that.
Ralph Albert Blakelock (1847-1919), Moonlight, ca. 1885-1893. Oil. Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Gift of Miss Ima Hogg.
A humble beginning: For what it’s worth, I’m going to propose a hypothesis: American modernist painting has its roots in a poetics of darkness and denial while European modernist painting centers on light and the affirmation of color, movement, and speed as they distort forms. The Dionysian here, the Apollonian there. None of this, of course, stood still, and the cross-pollination of continents quickly led to overlapping, hybrid factures. Further, both European and American modernism were direct responses to the advent of artificial illumination—gaslight first, then electric light—and the swift rise of photography. Even as Mary Shelley, the Brothers Grimm, and Baudelaire were finding the darkness in the throes of the Industrial Revolution and in the Gothic throwbacks to folk tales of the forest, European modernism in painting responds, at first, in impressionism, in the breaking of white light—the light of lamps, and the whites of photographs—into prismatic shards. American modernist painting, on the other hand, moves alongside the dark prose of Poe, Hawthorne, Bierce, Crawford, Perkins, Chambers, and others, leaving the Apollonian to the camera and streetlamp, and taking on the night, darkness, shadows, and the Dionysian moon. Artists as diverse as Whistler, Inness, Keith and Remington mine the darkness for new modes of expression. Then, as American artists begin to travel to Europe to study, Impressionism, Post-Impressionism, Symbolism, Fauvism, Cubism, Futurism, and all the other -isms make, well, an impression. Then, here and there, the curved field and shadowed scumble give way—quite quickly at the turn from the 19th to the 20th centuries—to the precise straight line and French curve of the draftsman. Together, they form high American Modernism, symbolizing the age of machines and the ghosts that haunt them. The Dionysian in American modernism extends back to Indigenous forms, rooted in collective spirituality, and runs the length of the hemisphere in the strangeness of hybrid colonial imagery. This is perhaps why surrealism found such a home in Mexico and in Central and South America, and this is perhaps why Van Gogh and his “starry nights”—Van Gogh who spoke, read and wrote in English, and who loved the drawings of Howard Pyle—are the most beloved of all the works of European modernism in America.
The 10 artists whose artworks adorn these pages—some familiar, some less so—are intended to spur your own voyage, send you down your own wonderful rabbit hole.
Georgia O’Keeffe (1887-1986), No. 17 – Special, 1919. Charcoal on paper, 193/4 x 123/4 in. Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, Gift of The Burnett Foundation and The Georgia O’Keeffe Foundation, 1997.5.15.
Oscar Bluemner (1867-1938), Death, 1926. Gouache and watercolor. Smithsonian American Art Museum, Bequest of Helen Hayes Smith, 2009.31.2.
I’ve looked at Martin Johnson Heade’s Approaching Thunder Storm, 1859 many times. Often seen as a harbinger of the Civil War, its flat dark fields of water, cloud, sky, and the sunlit circuits that define them make it, to me, the first work of American modernism—maybe the first modernist painting anywhere? And that flaccid sail at left? For years I saw it as a huge, dead halibut, draped over and left out to cleave to the rocks and dry, which is when it became, in my mind, one of Dali’s melted clocks.
Blakelock (Ralph Albert) hid light, even moonlight, under the foliage of unknowing and layer after layer of paint. His madness and sadness allow his story to overwhelm his art—like Van Gogh, like Kahlo, like others. Moonlight, ca. 1880, speaks for itself. Proto-modernist? Surely. Fully modernist to me. In Moonlight, the ocular, oracular moon unites us but the night denies us: this is the zenith of the Dionysian.
Charles Burchfield (1893-1967), Night Sky Over Roof, ca. 1916. Watercolor, gouache and pencil and paper laid down on board, 20 x 14 in. Courtesy Christie’s Images LTD.
Resolving the mystery in the unity of forms, the Dionysian moon turns sail into boat, cloud into sail, boat into wave, in Albert Pinkham Ryder’s, Under a Cloud, painted ca. 1900. Like Blakelock, Ryder sought shadows, not out of fear, but to remind us that that shadows unite us, that they have an incandescence of their own. We need not always light up the night.
Manierre Dawson’s Xdx, 1910, undermines and subverts the Apollonian logic of mechanical engineering and meaning in language in one single small painting. Dawson, a skilled draftsman, developed his aesthetic on his own, without a European sojourn. Text artists would come much later. Ironically, Dawson didn’t feel his work was strong enough for the famous New York Armory Show of 1913, which introduced the American aesthetic public to Picasso, Matisse, and so on, shocking the sensibilities of the American realism-industrial complex.
Martin Johnson Heade (1819-1904), Approaching Thunder Storm, 1859. Oil on canv, 28 x 44 in. Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Erving Wolf Foundation and Mr. and Mrs. Erving Wolf, in memory of Diane R. Wolf, 1975,
After the Armory Show, the first American -ism, Synchromism, arose through the efforts of Stanton Macdonald-Wright and others. Wright’s brother, Willard, wrote the first and still perhaps the most important book on modernism, Modern Painting, Its Tendency and Meaning, in 1915. It’s free online and reads easy. In keeping with the color experiments that characterize Synchromism, Stanton’s painting, Synchromy No. 3, 1917, is a kind of deliberately soft harmony of Cubism and Futurism—Modernism is already beginning to lose its Dionysian edge.
H. Lyman Saÿen designed the first self-regulating X-ray tube, and then devoted himself to painting, studying in Philadelphia and then in Paris, where he met Picasso, Edward Steichen and Gertrude Stein. Matisse’s influence permeates the figures in The Thundershower, a bold work painted ca. 1917-18, but the wallpaper-like patches and suggestions of fields seen from above testify to a mixture of Cubist and other elements—folk art quilts perhaps—while the rain deities themselves seem inflected by Indigenous origins in their benevolent, spiritual posture.
Stanton Macdonald-Wright (1890-1973), Synchromy No. 3, 1917. Oil on canvas, 39 x 38 in. Brooklyn Museum, Bequest of Edith and Milton Lowenthal, 1992.11.24. Photo: Brooklyn Museum.
Georgia O’Keeffe (1887-1986), Train at Night in the Desert, 1916. Watercolor and pencil on paper, The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Acquired with matching funds from the Committee on Drawings and the National Endowment for the Arts, 1979. © 2022 Georgia O’Keeffe Museum / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.
I always associate Oscar Bluemner with Charles Burchfield, though I have no idea whether they ever met or even knew of one another’s work. In Bluemner’s Death, 1926, and Burchfield’s Night Sky Over Roof, 1916, everything is alive, or about to be, vital with spirit, clawing its way into being. This is true of clouds, of the ocular windows in structures, of stars and the moon, of shadows, and even of the dead tree in Bluemner’s Death, trying to stand against time.
In Georgia O’Keeffe’s early watercolor, Train at Night in the Desert, 1916, the headlamp of a locomotive is a kind of moon, the track is a single swoop, the soon-to-be-vanished cloud of smoke is the most prominent element in the watercolor, and the desert is an absent presence, almost as eternal as the obscured night sky. Even industry is rendered as mystery, absorbed in scales of time we scarcely perceive, much less comprehend.
Albert Pinkham Ryder (1847-1917), Under a Cloud, ca. 1900. Oil on canvas, 20 x 24 in. Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Alice E. Van Orden, in memory of her husband, Dr. T. Durland Van Orden, 1988.
Last, near the end of American Modernism, Gertrude Abercrombie’s Search For Rest, 1951, brings us back to Heade’s mood, to Blakelock’s and Ryder’s moons, and to aspects of all of the rest of the art on these pages as the woman at right sleepwalks her way through what is now a dreamscape rather than an aesthetic landscape.
I had occasion to try one of the AI chatbots. I asked it to write a 500-word essay on an artist in the style of James D. Balestrieri. Ten seconds later, one unscrolled on my screen. It sounded like me, but that’s all. It was full of sound, lacked fury and signified nothing. But it has made me doubt everything I see and read online—art, stories, poems, news. I’m told that the use of the em dash is a tell for the use of AI. I like the em dash. Always have. It’s a parenthesis ( ) stretched out into a kind of arrow—and it mimics the way I think. I fully intend to keep using it—AI be damned—as often as suits what I am writing.
H. Lyman Saÿen (1875-1918), The Thundershower, ca. 1917-18. Tempera on wood, 36 x 46 in. Smithsonian American Art Museum. Gift of H. Lyman Saÿen to his nation.
Before art can heal the world, heal us, it has to heal itself. In order to heal itself, artists will have to remember that the first responsibility of art is not to heal. Quite the opposite. The first responsibility of art is to wound our complacency and our preconceptions, to doubt everything, even art, especially art, and to move viewers even as it moves away from them, eluding them, thus preventing new complacency and preconceptions.
Friends—art has to be hard again. Difficult. Mysterious, challenging, intoxicated and intoxicating. In short—Dionysian. Mashups, revivals, pastiches and old forms, whether they are well-made or artfully fractured, won’t cut it. Prompts aren’t art, any more than a menu is a meal (as Ibsen showed us in his 1884 tragedy, The Wild Duck). Art without artists isn’t art. It isn’t the image of Georges Braque in his Paris flat gluing pieces of wallpaper to his canvases that I miss; it’s that I can still see the glue around the edges a century later.
Manierre Dawson (1887-1969), Xdx, 1910. Oil on paperboard attached to particleboard, 191/8 x 147/16 in. Brooklyn Museum, Purchased with funds given by an anonymous donor and Dick S. Ramsay Fund. © Obiarts, Inc.
Modernism was never meant to decay to banality, to the inoffensive decor on the wall of the boardroom and the doctor’s office. It was meant to encourage further experiments in expression, to seek out the human abstractions—intellectual and spiritual—that underpin the realistic illusions of our separateness. We’re way overdue for a species-wide cultural and philosophical evolution towards transgressive empathy and as a rebalancing swing of the pendulum towards the Dionysian and away from the Apollonian—away from tribalism, nationalism, and any of the artificial lines that divide us.
Making, and the inspiration to make art, must, once again, precede the destructive tailoring of meaning to marketing. We need to create new poetic languages in all the arts—elliptical, allusive, metaphoric, alogical, and endlessly generative lexicons, syntax, grammar—that elude and disrupt the logic of the machines we’re creating. It’s a race, my friends. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. To end with Walt Whitman, still perhaps the most modern of American poets:
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
I’m sure you will disagree, give me a hundred counter arguments. Excellent. The first round’s on me.
In the following pages, we continue to explore American modernism and its manifold expressions from its nascent beginnings in the early 1900s to its reverberating influence throughout the 20th century. In this special section, art galleries, fine art dealers ans auction houses highlight important modernist works that are either on the market, have been recently or will be soon. Read on for more scholarly insights into this hard-to-define but endlessly fascinating and widely collected category of historic American art.
Debra Force Fine Art, Untitled, ca.1940-1944. Oil on canvas, 37½ x 32 in., by Rolph Scarlett (1889-1984).
Debra Force Fine Art, Top of Radio City, New York City, 1937. Watercolor and pencil on paper, 20¾ x 247/8 in., by John Marin (1870-1953).
Located on New York’s Upper East Side, Debra Force Fine Art offers exceptional American paintings, drawings and sculpture from the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries across a range of styles and subjects. Among the gallery’s modernist works is John Marin’s Top of Radio City from 1937, a year after his major retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art. “Top of Radio City is unusual within John Marin’s New York City subjects as it is not a depiction of the skyline from the water or a bustling street scene,” explains the gallery. “Instead, it is an elevated view looking across the rooftops from Radio City Music Hall, which opened December 7, 1932. At that time, it was the largest theater in the world and included a landscaped rooftop terrace for leisure, where the artist painted the current example.” Another highlight is an untitled work by Rolph Scarlett created around 1940 to 1944. It was one of two paintings by Scarlett included in the renowned 1983 to 1984 exhibition Abstract Paintings and Sculpture in America: 1927-1944. “The show explored an important period in American art, which gave rise to the complex and lively abstract movement that produced some of the finest painters and sculptors of the time and nurtured many younger talents who would become leaders of the abstract expressionist movement,” shares the gallery. “The exhibition was organized by the Carnegie Institute, Pittsburgh, and traveled to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, Minneapolis Institute of Arts, and Whitney Museum of American Art.”
Vallarino Fine Art, Omega XII, 1961. Acrylic on canvas, 80 x 100 in., signed and dated verso, by Alexander Liberman (1912-1999).
Vallarino Fine Art, Untitled, ca. 1960-70. Acrylic on board, 48 x 48 in., signed lower right, estate stamped verso, by Walter Allner (1909-2006).
With an expansive but meticulously curated portfolio, New York-based Vallarino Fine Art specializes in post-war American abstract paintings. Works by a group of Bauhaus artists are among the highlights in its current collection. “Walter Allner and Alexander Liberman were influential figures who bridge modern art and publishing, shaping the visual culture of the 20th century through both editorial leadership and personal artistic practice,” shares the gallery. “Trained at the Bauhaus under masters Josef Albers, Wassily Kandinsky and Paul Klee, Allner brought a rigorous modernist sensibility to American magazine design as art director of Fortune from 1962 to 1974, creating 79 covers that ranged from bold abstraction to inventive photographic collage.” Liberman, who began his career at the Paris magazine Vu before joining Condé Nast in 1941, served as its editorial director from 1962 to 1994 and championed a similarly forward-looking visual language. The gallery continues, “Beyond publishing, both artists developed independent bodies of work in geometric abstraction: Allner through hard-edge paintings of the 1960s and ’70s, and Liberman through minimalist paintings and monumental steel sculptures now held in major museum collections worldwide.” Vallarino Fine Art is pleased to represent both artists’ estates and presents two examples here.
Godel & Co., The Gathering, ca. 1959. Oil on canvas, 36 x 48 in., signed lower left: Gwathemy, by Robert Gwathmey (1903-1988).
Helicline Fine Art, Abstract, ca. 1940. Gouache on board, 21 x 16 in., signed lower right, by Louis Stone (1902-1984).
Godel & Co.’s extensive inventory of 19th and early-20th century American art often includes landscapes in the Hudson River School and luminist styles, as well as still life, genre and marine subjects. Open by appointment, the Bedford, New York, gallery’s collections also encompass impressionism, post-impressionism, the Ashcan School and early modernism by artists like Robert Gwathmey. “As abstract expressionism became popular during the 1940s, Robert Gwathmey continued using figurative imagery to express his social realist message,” shares a Godel & Co. representative. “His frequent use of commercial imagery in works such as The Gathering, however, presaged the techniques of Pop Art in the 1960s. This ambitious, large-scale work depicts an African American community composed of humble homes, a church and a few stores, partially silhouetted against the pale orange of a sunset sky. Gwathmey indicated the buildings’ functions using the store signs he remembered from his childhood in Virginia: an open scissor for the barbershop, a large shoe for the cobbler and stained glass for the church. Gwathmey also included the gaudy advertisements that embellished poor Southern towns at that time, such as the bottle and pack of cigarettes by the general store in the foreground. The ’666’ advertised on the store’s wall was a popular cure-all sold throughout the South, and may symbolize Southern self-deception, or hint at the biblical Apocalypse. In the foreground, people gather outside a restaurant while others watch from porches or approach the crowd, showing everyday community life and work.”
Addison Rowe Gallery, North Rim of the Ranchos Valley, ca 1960s. Oil on canvas, 18 x 30 in., signed lower left, by Andrew Dasburg (1887-1979).
Addison Rowe Gallery Prismatic Night No 7, 1951. Oil on canvas, 24 x 40 in., signed lower right, by Howard Cook (1901-1980).
One of Santa Fe’s premier fine art galleries, Addison Rowe Gallery specializes in American modernism, with a particular focus on the movement’s rich expression in the Southwest by collectives like the Transcendental Painting Group, the Stieglitz artists, Los Cinco Pintores, Taos Society of Artists, and others. Andrew Dasburg was greatly influenced by the important founders of the Synchronist art movement, Morgan Russell and Stanton Macdonald-Wright, and exposure to French Impressionists Matisse and Cézanne. He showed three works at the important Armory Show of 1913. By 1918 he was spending his time between New York and New Mexico and focusing on the development of work representing the Southwest landscape with its jagged mountains, adobe block buildings and dazing light elements. Dasburg was a central figure in the Southwest modernist movement of the 1920s and ’30s, and became an internationally recognized artist known as a pioneer of American modernism. His works changed dramatically after the 1950s into a more minimal style, however he never tired of creating works representing the New Mexico landscape.
Helicline Fine Art, Black Glass Bowl and Napkin, 1928. Oil on board, 16½ x 14 in., signed lower right, titled and dated 1928 verso, by Konrad Cramer (1888-1963).
J. Kenneth Fine Art, Mandarin, 1951. Intaglio, color stencil and aerosol on paper, 11½ x 9 in., by Malcolm Myers (1917-2002).
Howard Cook met Dasburg while studying at the Art Students League from 1919 to 1921 and the two established a life-long friendship. Cook moved to Taos in 1926 where he applied the modernist styling of angular shapes and forms to urban subject matter developed during his time in New York. His style of painting helped him fit in with the artists painting in a similar style in Taos around that time, especially the Taos Moderns who were very active in the area after World War II, many of whom had moved there from New York.
Thomaston Place Auction Galleries, The Nightmare and Her Foal, 1990. Oil on canvas, 24 x 58 in., signed and dated on verso, by Dahlov Ipcar (1917-2017). Estimate: $6/8,000 SOLD: $11,400
Rubine Red Gallery, Agonia (Edition I), 1946, ed. of 8. Engraving, aquatint, soft ground and etching, sheet: 26 x 17 ¼ in., image: 17¾ x 13 in., by Malcolm Myers (1917-2002).
These two artists were strong proponents of modernist techniques and active in New Mexico, while highlighting the strong connection between New York artists and those working in Santa Fe and Taos. They brought a strong element of creativity, uniqueness and energy to the art scene that developed in New Mexico.
Founded in 2008 by Keith Sherman and Roy Goldberg, Helicline Fine Art specializes in American and European modernism, with a focus on WPA-era American scene painting, social realism, mural studies, industrial landscapes, regionalism and abstraction. Highlights in their current inventory include works by modernists Louis Stone and Konrad Cramer. In the 1920s, Stone studied at the Art Academy of Cincinnati, the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts and the Art Students League in New York City with Boardman Robinson and Thomas Hart Benton. In 1935, after a number of years studying and living in France and Germany, Stone and his family settled in New Jersey, close to New Hope, Pennsylvania, where he became a leading member of the Independents, a New-Hope-based modernist artist’s collective founded by Charles F. Ramsey. Born in Wurtzburg, Germany, and buried in Woodstock, New York, Cramer is often considered an important link between German and American modernism. His piece Black Glass Bowl and Napkin was created in 1928. In the next several years, Cramer would exhibit at the Carnegie International, have a two-man show at the Dudensing Gallery and, in 1935, have his work in the exhibit Abstract Painting in America at the Whitney Museum.
Thomaston Place Auction Galleries, Floral Supreme, 1991. Oil on canvas, 21 x 11 in., signed, titled verso in paint, in the artist’s hand, by Lynne Drexler (1928-1999). Estimate: $3/5,000 SOLD: $10,800.
J. Kenneth Fine Art, Untitled, 1956. Ink on paper, 8 x 6½ in., by Judith Lindbloom (1933-2016).
Based in Shelburne, Vermont, J. Kenneth Fine Art has remained committed to a well-curated group of artists and estates within the secondary and blue chip markets with an emphasis on the contributions of post-war artists who had been overlooked. He represents the estates of Frances Kornbluth, Judith Lindbloom and, on the East Coast, Malcolm Myers. In 1950, Myers received a Guggenheim Fellowship and spent almost two years in Paris, working in Bill Hayter’s iconic printmaking studio, Atelier 17. It was here that he met Joan Miró, Enrique Zanartu and other artists involved in the art of printmaking. Mandarin was executed in 1951 in Paris. A well-known figure in the art and jazz scene in 1950s New York, Lindbloom is currently the subject of an ongoing exhibition at J. Kenneth Fine Art covered in this issue. Executed in 1956, Lindbloom’s untitled ink drawing is part of a series of the artist’s abstract figure drawings.
Rubine Red Gallery, Miles Mood (Edition I), 1959, ed. of 35. Intaglio, sheet: 26 x 38 in., image: 23 x 35 in., signed Jazz Series, Ford Foundation Award 1959, by Malcolm Myers (1917-2002).
On the West Coast, the estate of Malcom Myers is represented by Rubine Red Gallery in Palm Springs, California. “Malcolm Myers is considered one of the greats in American intaglio printmaking, especially in mid-century styles,” says gallery owner Jason Howard. “He is widely recognized for revolutionizing the art department and developing printmaking at the University of Minnesota, where he began teaching in 1948…Malcom Myers was a prolific creator in an artistic and teaching career spanning more than six decades,” Howard continues. “His concentrated works from the 1950s and 1960s secure his standing as a master of mid-century modernism in art with exquisite examples and subjects such as abstracts, abstract expressionism, atomic design, jazz music, animal characters and his love of Don Quixote.”
The market for American modernism remains brisk at Thomaston Place Auction Galleries in Thomaston, Maine, with the house continuing to emphasize important, but often overlooked, female American painters. Floral Supreme, a bold 1991 impasto oil by Monhegan, Maine’s Lynne Drexler far exceeded estimates in a November 2025 auction, realizing $10,800. In its February 2026 sale, Thomaston Place saw continued strong performance from Dahlov Ipcar, with her expansive 1990 book jacket image The Nightmare And Her Foal realizing $11,400.
CW American Modernism, Moving Forms, ca. 1947. Oil on canvas, 23½ x 20 in., by Beulah Barnes Weaver (1882-1957).
Also in February, Thomaston Place built on its reputation as a significant outlet for the works of another Monhegan modernist, James Fitzgerald, whose standing in the art market since his death in 1971 continues to rise. The artist’s exquisite 1950s watercolor-and-ink At The Dock, Katahdin realized $5,700. Alongside the house’s sale last fall of the double-sided work Two Dories/Island Women at $13,200, it is evident that the Fitzgerald market bears watching.
CW American Modernism, a private gallery in Los Angeles, deals in 20th-century American art, primarily the period between 1910 and 1940, a critical time in the development of the world we find ourselves in today. One highlight in the gallery’s current holdings is a 1947 oil by Beulah Barnes Weaver, a Washington D.C.-based painter, sculptor and art instructor. “Educated at the Art Students League and the Corcoran School of Art with Peppino Mangravite and Karl Knaths, Weaver deeply explored the American scene during the 1920s and ’30s,” explains gallery owner Chris Walther. “By the immediate post-war period, Weaver was steeped in the aesthetics of modernism informed by the teachings of Kandinsky and European Cubism. Moving Forms is typical of her work from this period. Weaver exhibited extensively along the East Coast, including at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, where Moving Forms was included in the Seventh Annual Exhibition of the Southern States Art League in 1947.” —
Featured Galleries & Auction Houses
Addison Rowe Gallery
229 E. Marcy Street, Santa Fe, NM 87501
t: (505) 982-1533
addart@addisonrowe.com
www.addisonrowe.art
CW American Modernism
Los Angeles, CA
t: (310) 383-0463
cwamericanmodernism@gmail.com
www.cwamericanmodernism.com
@cwamericanmodernism
Debra Force Fine Art, Inc.
13 E. 69th Street, Suite 4F New York, NY 10021
t: 212-734-3636
info@debraforce.com
www.debraforce.com
Godel & Co. , Inc.
Bedford, NY t: (914) 205-3695
info@godelfineart.com
www.godelfineart.com
Helicline Fine Art
New York, NY
t: (212) 204-8833
hello@heliclinefineart.com
www.heliclinefineart.com
J. Kenneth Fine Art
145 Pine Haven Shores, Shelburne, VT 05482
t: (802) 540-0267
jkennethfineart@gmail.com
www.jkennethfineart.com
Rubine Red Gallery
668 N. Palm Canyon Drive, Suite 102
Palm Springs, CA 92262
t: (760) 537-7665
info@rubineredgallery.com
www.rubineredgallery.com
Thomaston Place Auction Galleries
51 Atlantic Highway, Thomaston, ME 04861
t: (207) 354-8141
info@thomastonauction.com
www.thomastonauction.com
Vallarino Fine Art
222 E. 49th Street, New York, NY 10017
t: (212) 628-0722
info@vallarinofineart.com
www.vallarinofineart.com
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