![]() ![]() But while other protagonists of the movement - like Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein - used their art as a commentary on commercialism, Mr. Eventually, the Finkelsteins moved to Brooklyn, and by 1968 their son was a bona fide Pop Art sensation. ![]() Max discovered the primary hues he’d been deprived of under bleak Nazi rule. He was the son of German Jews who fled Berlin in 1938 and settled in Shanghai, where Mr. Peter Max Finkelstein was never very discerning about his art. ‘Portrait of the Artist as a Very Rich Man’ Max’s life have produced a pursuit of art-auction profits and a trail of misfortune as surreal as his trippiest works. From Shun Lee to the high seas, the twilight years of Mr. Max’s studio, drastically increasing production for a never-ending series of art auctions on cruise ships, even as the artist himself could hardly paint.įor five years and counting - the latest lawsuit came Friday - the artist’s family, friends and associates have been trading lurid courtroom allegations of kidnapping, hired goons, attempted murder by Brazil nut, and schemes to wring even more money out of what was already one of the most profitable art franchises in modern times. ![]() His estranged son, Adam, and three business associates took over Mr. He doesn’t know what year it is, and he spends most afternoons curled up in a red velvet lounger in his apartment, looking out at the Hudson River.įor some people, Mr. Max, 81, hasn’t painted seriously in four years, according to nine people with direct knowledge of his condition. But several years ago, he received a diagnosis of symptoms related to Alzheimer’s, and he now suffers from advanced dementia. His psychedelic renderings could be found on the cover of Time, the White House lawn and even a postage stamp. Max was a countercultural icon, a rare painter to achieve name recognition in the mainstream. The arrangement, which continued until earlier this year, was described to The New York Times by seven people who witnessed it. Max would be instructed to hold out his hand, and for hours, he would sign the art as if it were his own, grasping a brush and scrawling Max. Inside, he would see painters - some of them recruited off the street and paid minimum wage - churning out art in the Max aesthetic: cheery, polychrome, wide-brushstroke kaleidoscopes on canvas. A pair of security doors would buzz unlocked once surveillance cameras identified him as the artist Peter Max. Thin as a rail, with a sparse mustache, he would sometimes have little idea about where or who he was. Twice a week, in the late afternoon, above the Shun Lee Chinese restaurant on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, a creaky elevator would open, and out would step an elderly man. ![]()
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