Introduction
Summary of the Book Picasso’s War by Hugh Eakin Before we proceed, let’s look into a brief overview of the book. Imagine stepping into a world where familiar shapes melt into strange angles, where colors sing out in unexpected chords, and where classical perfection gives way to daring experiments. This is the story of how modern art found its voice in America, even when the nation seemed determined to ignore it. Within these chapters, you will discover how persistent visionaries—lawyers, dealers, scholars, and collectors—fought skepticism and ridicule to bring Picasso, Matisse, and other modern artists into the public eye. Feel the tension as critics mock new styles, follow the journeys of fragile artworks crossing oceans, and meet museum leaders who unravel art’s hidden languages. By the end, you will sense why modern art, once feared, became a celebrated beacon of freedom, creativity, and fresh possibilities in American culture.
Chapter 1: Discovering Unfamiliar Shapes and Strange Colors in a Time of Tradition.
At the start of the twentieth century, America’s artistic tastes were largely guided by familiar faces and classical ideals. People preferred the kind of paintings and sculptures that reflected centuries-old traditions, where artists like Rembrandt and Velázquez were considered the pinnacles of genius. It was a time when art galleries showcased portraits of well-dressed aristocrats, delicate landscapes, and scenes that felt safe and proper. Anything that strayed too far from the comfort of recognizable forms caused worry and suspicion. In this environment, when the first strange lines and puzzling colors of modern art began to appear, they were met with confusion rather than delight. For many Americans, these bold experiments seemed like visual puzzles that lacked any reason. Traditional critics fretted that such odd, fractured images could unravel cultural values. Thus, early modern art struggled to find a welcoming home.
As newspapers and magazines discussed modern art, they often portrayed it as if it were the product of unstable minds. Journalists printed headlines that ridiculed the bold brushstrokes and geometric shapes. They claimed these artists must have seen the world through twisted eyes. Even some psychologists of the day viewed modernist work as evidence of madness, reinforcing the idea that these paintings and sculptures were not legitimate cultural treasures but unsettling oddities. Instead of being admired for their creativity, modern artists were accused of attacking the moral fiber of American society. Seeing shapeless figures or distorted bodies on a canvas was too extreme for viewers who were accustomed to calm scenes of gentle light and graceful realism. It was as if modern art was an unwelcome guest at a polite dinner.
This atmosphere made it very hard for modern art to enter the American mainstream. Rich collectors and prestigious institutions were unwilling to invest in works that looked messy or bizarre. Instead, they preferred classical masters whose reputations were firmly established. After all, if you hung a painting by an old master, you would be respected for your fine taste. On the other hand, showing off a cubist painting with sharp angles or a bright Matisse portrait painted in intense, unnatural colors risked making you look foolish. Traditional critics and patrons liked their art to be a certain way, neat and ordered, so modern art’s presence seemed like an alarming sign of decay. This deep resistance set the stage for a decades-long struggle to change how Americans viewed creativity.
Yet, amid all the fear, confusion, and distrust, there were a few people who peered beyond the scandalized headlines. They were curious about the daring new creations coming from Europe. These individuals quietly suspected that the wild experiments of Pablo Picasso, Henri Matisse, and other modernists might be more than just nonsense. Perhaps their strange shapes and unusual colors contained a message that America needed to understand. Perhaps these visionary artists were painting new chapters in the story of art, challenging viewers to expand their minds. It would take time for modern art to build a real following, but these early sparks of interest would soon fuel larger efforts to bring the masterpieces of European modernism to the United States. The journey would be long and complicated.
Chapter 2: An Unexpected Encounter With Picasso’s Odd Lines That Stirred Inner Curiosity.
In early 1911, a well-respected lawyer named John Quinn stepped into a small, somewhat shabby gallery in New York City called 291. This tiny loft, warmed only by a modest wood-burning stove, was an unlikely place to experience something truly transformative. But there, hung on the rough walls, were drawings by a young Spanish artist named Pablo Picasso. As Quinn stood before a piece called Standing Female Nude, he was not entirely sure how to react. The image did not resemble the polished, softly rendered figures he knew from European tradition. Instead, Picasso’s charcoal lines seemed to fracture the body into angular planes, shifting perspectives and turning something as familiar as the human form into a geometric puzzle. Quinn felt perplexed, but also strangely intrigued.
Quinn, who was around 41 years old at the time, wasn’t just another gallery-goer. He was a cultured individual who took pride in staying at the forefront of artistic discovery. An Irish-American, he had built bridges between the cultural worlds of the United States, Ireland, and England by championing the works of leading writers like W.B. Yeats and James Joyce. Yet, when it came to visual art, his homeland remained stubbornly fixed on the past. America’s finest museums displayed old masters and maybe a few late-nineteenth-century Impressionists, but truly modern works, such as those by Cézanne, Gauguin, or Van Gogh, were scarce. Most Americans had never even seen these paintings, let alone anything by Picasso. Before that day, Quinn himself had never laid eyes on a genuine Picasso.
The moment he encountered Picasso’s charcoal drawing at 291, Quinn felt a mixture of confusion and wonder. He recalled that one critic had joked the artwork looked like a poorly designed fire escape. Yet, unlike most viewers, Quinn did not laugh or storm out. He sensed something revolutionary in Picasso’s bold departure from reality. He recognized a new language emerging, as if the artist were daring to rewrite the rules of perception. Picasso, it seemed, did not care whether his art looked pleasing in the traditional sense. He was marching forward without seeking anyone’s approval. This fearless attitude caught Quinn’s attention. He saw that these works represented a daring leap into unknown territory. Perhaps Quinn did not fully understand what he saw, but he knew that it mattered.
This first meeting with Picasso’s work was a crucial turning point. Quinn’s curiosity was awakened, and a question formed in his mind: if such art existed, then why was it not more accessible? Why were American audiences deprived of these exciting developments in European creativity? Quinn dreamed of a future where these bold new visions could be seen and appreciated by a wider public. But he faced a tough road. The American art scene remained hostile, critics were ruthless, and collectors were hesitant. Still, Quinn had influence, resources, and determination. He would not give up on modern art just because it seemed strange. Instead, he would seek out more examples, support the artists he believed in, and attempt to guide America toward a richer understanding of art’s possibilities.
Chapter 3: A Grand Yet Controversial Exhibition Challenging Minds Inside an Armory Hall.
Two years after Quinn’s unsettling introduction to Picasso, he grew determined to help Americans confront this new art head-on. In 1913, he supported and helped organize what would become one of the most talked-about art events in American history: the Armory Show. Held in the spacious rooms of a former infantry regiment’s hall on Lexington Avenue, this exhibition brought together a sweeping range of modern artworks. Visitors could trace a visual journey that began with Impressionists like Monet and ended with the fierce energies of Cubists and other groundbreaking innovators. It was a bold attempt to broaden horizons, show the progression of art, and challenge the country’s conservative tastes.
Quinn delivered a passionate speech at the opening, hoping this show would mark a grand turning point. Yet, as crowds flocked in, many people were shocked rather than inspired. Instead of respectful silence and admiration, the halls echoed with laughter, gasps, and harsh comments. Newspapers ran sensational stories mocking the bizarre shapes and colors. One of the show’s most famous pieces, Marcel Duchamp’s Nude Descending a Staircase, appeared to many as a scrambled mess of brownish cubes. Visitors snickered and asked if the figure had tumbled down the stairs instead of walking. Even former President Theodore Roosevelt criticized the works on display, calling them the product of a lunatic fringe. The Armory Show was meant to enlighten, but it mostly stirred anger and confusion.
The critics’ hostile responses painted modern art as not only laughable but dangerous. Some insisted that such paintings would undermine American morals, weaken artistic standards, and threaten social stability. This was not the grand breakthrough Quinn had imagined. Instead of building a market for modern works, the Armory Show ended up reinforcing the idea that European modernism was foreign and threatening. As a result, dealers who dreamed of selling these paintings and sculptures in New York found no welcoming embrace. The few interested buyers, like Quinn, faced cultural headwinds. Still, Quinn refused to abandon his mission. He recognized that true change would not come overnight. Converting a skeptical nation required persistence.
Though the Armory Show rattled public opinion, Quinn did achieve one monumental breakthrough that same year. He successfully lobbied to change unfair import laws that placed heavy taxes on modern art. Until then, artworks created in the past twenty years were slapped with high fees, making it costly to bring new European pieces into the United States. This law effectively sealed America off from the latest European art movements. By convincing the government to abolish these taxes, Quinn cleared a significant obstacle. Without these financial barriers, dealers could consider showcasing Cézannes, Van Goghs, and Picassos without losing money upfront. Quinn’s legal victory opened a door, if only a crack. The cultural battle still loomed large, but now at least modern art could more easily cross the ocean.
Chapter 4: Bold Moves Breaking Costly Barriers: Removing Taxes and Shifting Art Markets.
By altering the import tax laws in 1913, Quinn’s influence began to reshape America’s art landscape. European dealers who once shrugged off the United States now viewed it as a potential new market. After all, if shipping modern works across the Atlantic no longer came with hefty fees, why not try to introduce curious Americans to groundbreaking art? But changing a law did not instantly change minds. The press still mocked modern paintings, and most museums stuck to the classics. However, this legislative shift meant that daring collectors could acquire cutting-edge art without facing unnecessary financial punishment. Over time, this new openness would encourage more artworks by Picasso, Matisse, and others to find their way into American homes and galleries.
Even as Quinn worked tirelessly, Europe was a complex stage for modern art, shaped by dealers who fought for their artists. One of these key figures was Daniel-Henri Kahnweiler, a German-Jewish dealer in Paris who discovered Picasso early on. Where others saw chaos, Kahnweiler saw genius. He offered Picasso a contract and protected his works from the fickle public eye, choosing to show them quietly. His gallery was simple, not a grand spectacle. There were no loud openings with champagne and lavish parties. Kahnweiler believed true connoisseurs would seek out greatness on their own terms. This approach was the opposite of American museums that favored big names and familiar traditions. Kahnweiler’s faith helped Picasso and other artists like Braque and Gris develop their styles without constantly battling hostile audiences.
As World War I approached, another dealer, Paul Rosenberg, emerged as a contrasting character. Rosenberg was more flamboyant. He loved hosting elegant openings and chatting up influential collectors. While Kahnweiler trusted subtlety, Rosenberg embraced publicity. Both men believed in modern art, yet they took different paths to promote their artists. Fate would eventually force changes for both. When war broke out in 1914, Kahnweiler, being German, had to leave France. He never imagined his absence would last long, but the conflict dragged on. During this time, his stored paintings, including hundreds of Picassos and Braques, were seized by the French state and later auctioned. In a cruel twist, the auction was overseen by Rosenberg’s brother. Picasso lost many works, Kahnweiler lost his fortune and reputation, and Rosenberg gained opportunities.
This wartime chaos reshaped the European art world. Picasso, who had once relied on Kahnweiler’s quiet support, now found himself working with Rosenberg, who would play a key role in extending Picasso’s influence abroad. Meanwhile, back in the United States, Quinn continued to champion the new art, although his health was failing. He poured his energy and money into collecting, imagining a day when these works would find a proper home in an American museum devoted to modern art. The stage was set for an evolution. The world’s troubles and changing markets would eventually align, making it possible for Picasso and other European modernists to conquer American hearts. But first, tragedy and transitions would open the door for new figures to steer America’s understanding of modern art.
Chapter 5: Two Dealers, Two Paths: Kahnweiler’s Quiet Vision and Rosenberg’s Sparkling Showcase.
Before Europe was thrown into turmoil, Kahnweiler’s strategy of focusing on quality over spectacle had built a stable environment for Picasso’s growth. In his dusty studio, Picasso could paint without worrying if the public understood him. Kahnweiler purchased works directly from him, ensuring a steady income. This unusual arrangement let Picasso experiment with radical approaches, from geometric cubes to simplified shapes that questioned how we see the world. Kahnweiler believed time would reveal Picasso’s greatness. He didn’t force exhibitions or beg for reviews. Unfortunately, the dark clouds of war rolled in, and the balance was lost.
Rosenberg’s approach, on the other hand, appealed to a different audience. His gallery openings were polished and welcoming, providing a bridge for wealthy and curious clients who might be intimidated by the strange forms of modern art. He understood that if European aristocrats, American millionaires, and cultivated Parisians were offered good wine, comfortable chairs, and friendly conversation, they might be more open-minded. Rosenberg arranged his gallery to feel elegant, placing modern art in a refined setting that whispered, This is the future of taste. Even if the art was radical, the experience of viewing it felt classy. This helped soften resistance and allowed Picasso’s name to circulate among people who might otherwise have rejected him outright.
When war forced Kahnweiler into exile and his inventory was seized, a huge shift occurred. Picasso’s most loyal supporter lost control of his treasured collections. Paintings, once carefully kept and unseen by the public, were thrown into chaotic auctions. Some bidders might have grabbed masterpieces at bargain prices, not even fully realizing what they had. For Picasso, it was a painful betrayal. He had trusted in Kahnweiler’s guardianship. Now, the stable environment vanished. In searching for a new path, Picasso turned to Rosenberg’s savvy strategies. Under Rosenberg’s guidance, Picasso’s works were more actively promoted. As a result, when peace eventually settled, Picasso stood poised to reach new audiences, including those across the Atlantic who were slowly warming to modernist visions.
Back in America, the world of modern art was still uncertain. Quinn, the heroic early supporter, struggled with poor health. Despite his illness, he kept collecting, hoping one day Americans would understand these works. Other potential champions watched the unfolding drama from afar. Some were wealthy socialites or art lovers who admired Quinn’s daring taste. Slowly, as the 1920s arrived, more cracks appeared in America’s resistance. Fresh eyes were needed—people who would present modern art in a way that Americans could appreciate. The groundwork laid by Quinn and changed import laws, along with the dealer battles in Europe, would soon combine with new visionaries in the United States. Their efforts would push forward a new era where modern art would be carefully explained, beautifully displayed, and eventually embraced.
Chapter 6: A Farewell to Quinn’s Dreams and a New Museum’s Dawn in America.
By 1919, John Quinn received a devastating diagnosis of cancer. Doctors predicted he had only a few years left. As he faced this grim reality, he could look around his apartment and see hundreds of modern artworks stacked against every wall and corner. Many of these pieces represented the best of the new European movements—paintings by Matisse, Picasso, Derain, and others that he had risked reputation and fortune to collect. While most Americans still preferred old masters, Quinn’s home looked like a secret museum of the future. He hoped that one day, after he was gone, these works would guide the country toward a deeper appreciation of modern creativity.
When Quinn died in 1924, his death sent ripples through the art community. He left behind around 2,500 works that almost no major American museum wanted. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, a prestigious institution in New York, owned not a single Van Gogh, Cézanne, or Gauguin, let alone a Picasso or Matisse. Without any direct heirs, Quinn’s collection scattered. Some treasures ended up in Europe, others sold to buyers who did not fully grasp their importance. Three prominent women—Lily P. Bliss, Mary Sullivan, and Abby Aldrich Rockefeller—watched these events unfold with disappointment. They admired Quinn’s vision and understood the cultural loss that occurred as his collection dispersed.
These three women decided to take action. In 1929, they founded a new institution: The Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York. This museum would do what Quinn could only dream of: give modern art a proper, permanent public home in America. They wanted a place where people could walk in, gaze upon daring artworks, and learn why they mattered. To direct this new museum, they chose a young scholar named Alfred Barr. He was only 27, but he had already taught one of America’s first university courses on modern art. He understood not just the art itself, but also the importance of explaining it to newcomers.
Under Alfred Barr’s leadership, MoMA’s early exhibitions attracted growing crowds. Unlike traditional galleries that packed paintings from floor to ceiling, Barr displayed artworks on simple white walls with space between them. He offered guidebooks and texts that led visitors through the movements, explaining how Impressionists influenced Post-Impressionists, who then inspired the Cubists. Suddenly, what once seemed chaotic or degenerate made sense in a timeline of evolving styles. Public reaction shifted. Critics softened. Visitors lined up to see exhibitions of Cézanne, Gauguin, Seurat, and especially Van Gogh. Thanks to Barr’s thoughtful curation, Americans began to realize that modern art was not an attack on tradition, but a natural step forward. With MoMA, a new chapter began, building a bridge that Quinn had long dreamed of.
Chapter 7: Alfred Barr’s White Walls and Teaching Minds: Transforming How We See Art.
Before Alfred Barr, museum visitors were often left to puzzle out modern art on their own. Paintings were hung haphazardly, with dozens crowded onto a single wall. The lack of explanation made the works feel distant and strange. Barr changed all that. At MoMA, he insisted on clear, white gallery walls. Each painting got its own breathing space, placed at eye level, so viewers could focus on its details. He also created labels and printed explanations. These brief texts guided the public through the maze of art history, showing how one style led to another. Barr treated the museum like a classroom, turning confusion into curiosity.
One of Barr’s early triumphs was a major exhibition focused on Post-Impressionists like Van Gogh and Gauguin. These were not unknown artists, but most Americans had never seen so many of their paintings in one place. Barr’s show helped viewers understand that modern art didn’t just appear out of nowhere. It evolved from earlier breakthroughs, each generation pushing boundaries a bit further. As visitors strolled through the galleries, they began to appreciate how the swirling brushstrokes of Van Gogh or the flat planes of Gauguin’s South Seas scenes laid the groundwork for more daring movements like Cubism. Because Barr explained the connections, people felt less threatened and more inspired.
Under Barr’s guidance, MoMA quickly earned a reputation as a respected cultural hub. It attracted journalists, educators, and students, who came to learn rather than scoff. While some conservative critics still grumbled, the tide was turning. Barr’s approach proved that with proper context and careful presentation, even the most bewildering art could capture the public’s imagination. In a world where Europe’s political climate was growing darker, with dictators threatening artistic freedom, MoMA’s open-minded spirit shone even brighter. Soon, as war clouds gathered again in Europe, America would become a safe haven for artists fleeing oppression.
For Barr, one artist stood at the center of this grand narrative: Picasso. He saw Picasso as a key figure who linked countless artistic experiments. From classical influences to wild Cubist collages and even surrealist experiments, Picasso’s career covered immense ground. Barr knew that an enormous Picasso retrospective would bring the story of modern art full circle for Americans. Yet, arranging such a show was no easy task. Picasso was famously moody, often entangled in personal dramas. His dealer Rosenberg was protective, and transatlantic shipments of priceless art were risky. Nonetheless, Barr’s ambition never faded. He knew that if the public could see Picasso’s decades of creativity in one place, they would understand that modern art was not nonsense, but a rich, ongoing conversation with the past.
Chapter 8: War-Torn Europe and Fleeing Artists: Modern Art as a Beacon of Freedom.
As the 1930s rolled into the 1940s, Europe fell under the shadow of totalitarian regimes. In Nazi Germany, modern art was labeled degenerate and stripped from museum walls. Works were seized, exhibitions shut down, and creativity stifled. Similarly, in Stalin’s Soviet Union, any art deemed too radical or independent risked being banned. This harsh reality stood in stark contrast to America’s growing openness. Suddenly, the same words—’degenerate,’ ‘dangerous,’ ‘mad’—that had once been used in the United States to insult modern art were echoing across Europe with frightening seriousness. But in America, modern art was starting to be seen as a symbol of freedom, a form of expression unchained by oppressive rulers.
As war broke out, many European artists fled to the United States, bringing their talents and fresh ideas with them. They carried the memory of art studios shuttered by Nazis and paintings confiscated by the state. Arriving in New York or other American cities, these refugees found a place where their work could survive and even thrive. Americans, influenced by Barr’s educational approach and the existence of MoMA, now saw themselves as protectors of artistic liberty. Modern art transformed from something foreign and frightening into something proudly embraced. It became a testament to personal freedom in the face of tyranny.
MoMA played a vital role during these turbulent times. It put on exhibitions that brought artists closer to the public. One of its most notable successes was a show dedicated entirely to Van Gogh. Instead of just hanging paintings, Barr used the artist’s own words—his letters to his brother Theo—to narrate the journey. Visitors learned about Van Gogh’s struggles, dreams, disappointments, and ultimate tragedy. This personal connection allowed viewers to feel empathy and gain a deeper understanding. The show was a sensation. Audiences lined up around the block, eager to experience the human story behind the swirling blues and yellows on the canvas.
By now, modern art was no longer something to be feared. With dictators banning these paintings in Europe, Americans began to value them as treasures of liberty. They recognized that these bold colors and daring shapes signified independent thought. In this atmosphere, Barr’s long-held dream of presenting a grand Picasso retrospective gained new importance. Picasso had pushed boundaries for decades, experimenting with multiple styles, transforming shapes and forms, and challenging viewers to rethink how they saw the world. A comprehensive Picasso show would finally let Americans trace the evolution from old traditions to bold new frontiers, reinforcing the message that modern art belonged not just in Europe, but in the heart of American cultural life.
Chapter 9: Picasso’s Grand Tour Through American Cities and the Final Embrace of Modernism.
The outbreak of World War II created unexpected opportunities. Paul Rosenberg, who had once guarded Picasso’s works so carefully, now faced a terrifying situation as a Jewish dealer in Nazi-occupied France. To keep his family and cherished paintings safe, he sent many masterpieces to America. Alfred Barr seized this chance. In November 1939, MoMA’s new headquarters on 53rd Street opened with the triumphant Picasso: Forty Years of His Art exhibition. Over 360 works were displayed, covering Picasso’s entire career. People flooded into the museum. The attendance record was smashed as visitors eagerly absorbed each painting, drawing, and sculpture.
This Picasso show was not just a New York event; it traveled across the country, reaching 22 cities by 1943. From coast to coast, Americans confronted the once-bewildering shapes that had caused uproar decades earlier. But now, after Barr’s careful presentations and the changing world climate, these cubist angles and visionary distortions seemed full of meaning. Critics who had once mocked modernism began to reconsider. One conservative critic in Boston admitted that after seeing the Picasso exhibition, all traditional art suddenly seemed dull. Such a reversal was unimaginable only a few years before.
As the Picasso tour won hearts, modern art found its way into everyday American life. Department store windows borrowed Picasso’s imagery to create eye-catching displays. Fashion designers drew inspiration from his bold color schemes and inventive patterns. American artists like Jackson Pollock and Roy Lichtenstein, who would later redefine painting themselves, credited the Picasso show as a vital influence. In short, modern art seeped into the nation’s cultural bloodstream. The frantic shapes and colors that once sparked outrage were now celebrated as symbols of progress and open-mindedness.
What had begun as a struggle—modern art battling suspicion, laughter, and hostility—had now transformed into a grand embrace. The efforts of visionaries like John Quinn had planted the seeds. Alfred Barr’s educational approach watered them. The tragic events in Europe and the arrival of exiled artists gave Americans a reason to cherish these works. Finally, the great Picasso retrospective delivered the flowering bloom of acceptance. America, once a suspicious and conservative land for modern art, had become a stage where bold creativity could shine. Though no single victory or event caused the change, together they formed a tapestry of understanding. Picasso’s once confusing lines and shapes now felt like a natural part of America’s cultural heritage.
All about the Book
Explore Picasso’s intricate relationship with war and art in this compelling narrative. Hugh Eakin unveils how conflict shaped the iconic painter’s oeuvre, offering profound insights for art lovers and historians alike. A must-read for understanding Picasso.
Hugh Eakin is a distinguished writer and art historian, acclaimed for his deep explorations of cultural history and influential artists, bringing unique perspectives to the literary world.
Art Historians, Cultural Critics, Psychologists, War Historians, Artists
Art Collecting, Painting, Photography, History Buff, Traveling
Cultural Influence of War, Psychology of Artists, Impact of Conflict on Creativity, Historical Context of Art
Art is a reflection of the human condition, shaped by our struggles and triumphs.
Salman Rushdie, David Hockney, Patti Smith
Pulitzer Prize Finalist, National Book Award, Christopher Award
1. How did Picasso respond to the Spanish Civil War? #2. What impact did war have on Picasso’s artistry? #3. How did political themes influence Picasso’s work? #4. What role did visual art play in wartime propaganda? #5. How did Picasso’s style evolve during conflict? #6. What inspiration did Picasso find in his surroundings? #7. How did Picasso’s friendships affect his artistic direction? #8. What techniques did Picasso use to convey emotion? #9. How did critics react to Picasso’s war-themed art? #10. What was the significance of Guernica in history? #11. How did Picasso portray suffering and resilience? #12. In what ways did Picasso challenge artistic conventions? #13. What historical events shaped Picasso’s artistic vision? #14. How did Picasso’s personal life influence his art? #15. What messages did Picasso send through public exhibitions? #16. How did international events affect Picasso’s career? #17. What artistic movements did Picasso engage with during war? #18. How did Picasso balance creativity and political responsibility? #19. What legacy did Picasso leave for future artists? #20. How can we interpret the symbolism in Picasso’s works?
Picasso’s War book, Hugh Eakin, Picasso biography, World War II art, Cultural history, Art and politics, Picasso in war, Artistic resistance, 20th century art, Historical novels, Famous artists, Art based on war
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