Narrator: In the spring of 1911, a prominent New York lawyer named John Quinn walked into a small gallery on Fifth Avenue to see the first-ever American exhibition of a Spanish artist he’d heard whispers about: Pablo Picasso. What he saw shocked him. The fragmented, disorienting drawings felt, in his words, "blood-curdling," like "some awful dream partly forgotten but haunting still." Critics were even less kind, dismissing one work as a "fire escape, and not a good fire escape at that." The show was a commercial disaster, and when the entire collection was later offered to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for a mere $2,000, the curator scoffed, declaring that "such mad pictures would never mean anything to America."

Yet, within a few decades, that same artist would become a cultural icon in the United States, and the museum that rejected him would be eclipsed by a new institution, the Museum of Modern Art, built around his work. How did this radical shift happen? Neil Baldwin's The Picasso Century unravels the fascinating and often dramatic story of how a visionary dealer, a renegade collector, and a determined museum director fought against cultural conservatism to make modern art in America.

Narrator: In the early 20th century, the American art world was dominated by a preference for "dead art." Wealthy industrialists and institutions, advised by dealers with a vested interest in the old, spent fortunes on European Old Masters, often of dubious quality. John Quinn, a brilliant and combative Wall Street lawyer, grew disillusioned with this trend. He saw the obsession with "brown gravy" paintings—works darkened by excessive varnish—as a sign of cultural stagnation. He famously declared that every generation has its own art, one "full of radium," and that the radium had long gone out of the old paintings.

This conviction drove Quinn to become a champion for living artists. His first major battle, however, was not in a gallery but in the halls of Congress. At the time, a punitive tariff was levied on any imported art less than twenty years old, effectively penalizing contemporary art while giving a free pass to the historic works favored by magnates like J.P. Morgan. After being hit with a surprise tax on a collection of contemporary Irish paintings, Quinn launched a relentless lobbying campaign. He argued that the tax was discriminatory, favoring the rich and stifling the country's cultural vitality. In 1913, through sheer force of will and political maneuvering, he succeeded in getting the law overturned. This legal victory was the first crucial step in leveling the playing field and opening America's doors to the art of the modern age.

Narrator: While Quinn was fighting his battles in America, two very different dealers were shaping Picasso's career in Europe. The first was Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler, a quiet, intellectual German who discovered Picasso in 1907. Kahnweiler recognized the artist's genius in the shocking, revolutionary canvas of Les Demoiselles d'Avignon. His strategy was to buy Picasso's entire output, creating scarcity and building a market not in the conservative Parisian scene, but among wealthy, forward-thinking collectors in Germany and Russia. This approach provided Picasso with financial stability and allowed him to develop Cubism without the pressure of public exhibitions.

In stark contrast was Paul Rosenberg, a chic and savvy Parisian showman. Rosenberg believed modern art shouldn't be hidden away; it should be integrated into the lives of the French elite. He opened a lavish gallery on a fashionable street, presenting Picasso's work in elegant, domestic-style settings. He skillfully managed Picasso's image, transforming the bohemian artist into a society figure. While Kahnweiler cultivated a niche group of connoisseurs, Rosenberg aimed to make modern art a desirable luxury for the mainstream, setting the stage for a fierce rivalry over who would control the legacy—and market—of the world's most important living artist.

Narrator: The outbreak of World War I in 1914 shattered the European art world. Artists like Georges Braque and André Derain were sent to the front, severing the creative partnership that had forged Cubism. The most devastating blow, however, fell on Kahnweiler. As a German national in France, he was declared an enemy alien. He was forced into exile, and his entire gallery—including hundreds of priceless works by Picasso, Braque, and other modern masters—was seized by the French government. In a single stroke, the world's most important collection of Cubist art was locked away, effectively halting the movement's progress for nearly a decade.

This European catastrophe inadvertently created an opening for America. With Paris, Berlin, and Moscow embroiled in conflict, New York began to emerge as a potential new center for the art world. John Quinn, sensing the opportunity, ramped up his buying. However, the American market was still far from mature. The apparent boom was largely an illusion created by Quinn himself, who secretly bought out entire exhibitions to support artists and create the impression of a thriving market, a fact he confided only to his closest friends.

Narrator: John Quinn's health began to fail in the early 1920s. After a near-fatal illness, he refocused his energy, acquiring masterpieces like Henri Rousseau's The Sleeping Gypsy in a final, brilliant burst of collecting. But when he died in 1924, his will revealed a tragedy for the American art world. Fearing a "slaughter" if his avant-garde collection were sold in an unprepared American market, his will mandated its liquidation. Despite the efforts of his friends, the collection was broken up. The most important Picassos were sold in a private deal to Paul Rosenberg in Paris, and the rest were auctioned off, many for a fraction of their value.

The loss of the Quinn collection was a profound setback. However, it served as a powerful catalyst. A trio of determined society women—Lillie P. Bliss, Abby Aldrich Rockefeller, and Mary Sullivan—were appalled that America had no institution capable of housing such a collection. They recognized that without a dedicated home, modern art would never gain a foothold. Motivated by the void Quinn left behind, they resolved to create a new museum, one dedicated solely to the art of their time.

Narrator: The new institution, the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), opened its doors in 1929, just days after the stock market crash. Its first director was a young, fiercely intelligent, and methodical scholar named Alfred H. Barr, Jr. Barr understood that to succeed, MoMA couldn't just display art; it had to educate the public and create a narrative for modernism. He faced immense challenges, from reluctant trustees to a shoestring budget.

Barr's masterstroke was the 1935 Van Gogh exhibition. Recognizing the artist's tragic, romantic appeal—popularized by the bestselling novel Lust for Life—Barr framed the show to connect with ordinary Americans. The exhibition was a phenomenal success, touring the country and drawing nearly a million visitors. It proved that modern art could be a blockbuster. This triumph paved the way for Barr's ultimate goal: a comprehensive Picasso retrospective. The exhibition, "Picasso: Forty Years of His Art," opened in 1939 as war erupted in Europe. It became a symbol of cultural freedom, a sanctuary for art threatened by totalitarianism. The show toured America for years, cementing Picasso's status as a household name and marking the definitive shift of the art world's center from Paris to New York.

Narrator: The journey of modern art into the American mainstream was not a gentle evolution but a hard-fought campaign. As Neil Baldwin's The Picasso Century reveals, this cultural revolution was driven by a small, interconnected group of individuals whose passions, rivalries, and strategic visions converged at a pivotal moment in history. From John Quinn's renegade collecting and legal battles to Alfred Barr's institutional strategy at MoMA, their efforts transformed "mad pictures" into treasured masterpieces.

The book's most powerful lesson is that cultural change rarely happens by accident. It is the result of relentless, often thankless, work by individuals who are willing to champion the new and the challenging against the tide of public opinion and institutional inertia. It leaves us with a compelling question: what vital art of our own time is being overlooked, and who are the renegades fighting to ensure it isn't lost?