One horrific war had just ended, pitched sectarian street battles were practically an everyday occurrence, but despite it all, denizens of the Weimar Republic partied hard, and a cadre of great artists, some of whom had suffered in the trenches of World War I, documented the scene. In a harsh self-portrait, a stern, helmeted Otto Dix hefts a machine gun. He was equally unsparing with his sitters, portraying one prostitute with saggy breasts, her prominent buckteeth visible behind her electric-blue veil. George Grosz's hatred of The Pimps of Death (as he labeled generals and industrialists in one of his scabrous drawings) comes through in every slash of ink; equally visceral is Max Beckmann's self-portrait set in a nightclub of veering angles, in which another patron, sliced in half by a red wall, laughs maniacally. Christian Schad's androgynous subjects have schadenfreude to burn: They gaze morosely, but the festive trappings suggest that they're still having a better... More >>>