In 1985, in between the skittish irony of his Camouflage series and the flocked-wallpaper symmetry of the Rorschach paintings, Andy Warhol found time—as he always did—for another portrait. The subject: Seymour Horace Knox II, art-loving son of retail tycoon Seymour Horace Knox. The composition: besuited and wearing the propitious grin of a philanthropist, Mr. Knox looks at us as though we’ve been summoned to his office; we can assume who has the nicer chair. His image is repeated five times, washed in Warholian colors: sallow yellow, gunmetal blue, mustard, moneyed green, Florida coral. Mr. Knox’s left eye wanders, his tie is slightly off-center. An imaginative viewer might guess the subject to be the ambassador to San Marino or some other benevolent microstate. Warhol never allowed cynicism to overwhelm his vision, but Portrait of Seymour H. Knox comes close; contrasted with the portraits of Elvis and Marilyn, the dull repetition of Mr. Knox gives credence to critics who still insist Warhol was only famous because he painted famous. That argument is long over, but viewing Portrait of Seymour H. Knox revives the controversy, even if for only a few moments.

Starting this week, Warhol completists may see this portrait at the Albright-Knox Art Gallery, in Buffalo, New York. Included as part of the exhibit, “Eye to Eye: Looking Beyond Likeness,” Portrait of Seymour H. Knox is one of 14 Warhol pieces owned by the gallery—12 of the others are in storage, and its 100 Cans is enjoying a vacation at the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, in Bentonville, Arkansas. All due respect to Bentonville, but Warhol and Buffalo are a better fit: one is a silent, post-industrial synecdoche for the banal beauty of decay, and the other is a city on the shores of Lake Erie.

Buffalo could learn something from Warhol. He defanged critics by revealing his own sharper teeth (Yes, making money is art. Yes, I like boring things. Yes, I want to be plastic.). What if Rust Belt Buffalo tried being so honest? It will never be what it once was, but no other American city can claim such an impressive collapse, nor such a stubborn commitment to rebirth. The post-modern bohemians have finally moved in, bringing excellent coffee and high rent; existential gentrification seems not far behind. The result isn’t as traumatic as one expects because Buffalo still remembers what it was like to be one of the cool kids. The Albright-Knox is proof of this legacy, a gorgeous, neoclassical temple set among crumbled curbs and empty sidewalks, housing one of the world’s best-curated modern-art collections: Pollock’s Convergence, Rothko’s Orange and Yellow, de Kooning’s Gotham News, Picasso’s Bacchanale, Lichtenstein’s Head, and Krasner’s Milkweed share space with Miró and Dalí, Magritte and Rauschenberg, Kahlo and van Gogh. Art lovers have visited much better cities to see much worse, making this impeccable gallery perfect for the adventurous weekender; come for the Warhol, stay for the revival.

Micah Nathan is a novelist, short story writer, and essayist. He is originally from Buffalo.