Why do these collectors feel so drawn to his silent creatures, his enfeebled, morbid youths, veiled in melancholy, like bystanders at a general depression in the prime of their lives? The paintings of Weischer and Ruckhäberle offer as little escape as dynamism. We're talking fin-de-siecle ennui in the flesh. (the author's emphasis)
I haven't read it carefully enough to say how the writer answers his questions, but hey: people love fin-de-siecle ennui! It's always been a big seller.
And if you're asking yourself, is this stupid website going to go the whole summer milking posts out of a weekend trip in June to the Berkshires, the answer is yes. Yes, it is. Until I get up to Salem and see what promises to be a beaut, at least. More pictures here.