Word: artists
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...spoke also of the extinction of ego, the ability to lose yourself into what you're writing poems about, to become like the haiku artist-the bursting of silence, the frog into the night pond, the sound of one hand... And all of this in an age of writing focussed so compulsively inward! In the tradition that extends from Eliot to Lowell and those between, most poets write of themselves, in a style which Bly calls the reporting of "news of the human mind." Involved, ego-centered, almost embarrassingly self-aware, many contemporary poets seem to live to reveal...
...Girl-almost certainly a portrait of Josephine Baker, the girl from St. Louis who discovered early on that Parisians above all people realized black is beautiful. Rouault rarely did portraits of specific persons, and to Cummings this departure from his usual practice suggests "a special relationship" between artist and sitter...
Early Impressionism. The Manet On the Beach is also an unusual work: an important example of the artist's conversion, in midcareer, to the informal open-air painting now known as Impressionism. Painted during the summer of 1873 on the seacoast of Berck-sur-Mer, its lighter palette and sketchier treatment present a striking departure from the indoor lighting and carefully worked-up details of the earlier, sensational Le déjeuner sur I'hérbe-an outdoor scene painted in the studio. Even the Rousseau is a little offbeat, though the famous Sunday painter of imaginary...
...given his first birth, but an artist has to earn his second one. So arduous is this struggle, so embedded in a writer's marrow, that he almost always devotes one autobiographical work to it. Playwright Oliver Hailey's Who's Happy Now? may not be autobiographical, but it has the indelible sound of private experience. His play belongs among the most perceptive portrayals of the son-father relationship that have been brought to the stage. Its special quality is that it is an Oedipal farce, zany, effervescently comic and full of as many crazy laughs...
Such an apologia may be offered by the confused and untalented artist as well as by the gifted one. The Milky Way, in fact, seems made of both varieties. Its shards and fragments remain in the retina long after the film has flashed by. Yet the angry whole is never equal to some of its parts-as if, like a doctor attending a plagued patient, Buñuel had been infected by what he was treating. "We have just enough religion to make us hate," said Swift, "but not enough to make us love one another." It is impossible...