Word: brushed
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...ebbing. British soldiers during the Crimean War gained a fearsome respect for their fearsomely foliaged Turkish allies, and many of those who survived proudly bore a bristle back home. Such pubigerous leaders as Kaiser Wilhelm, Hitler, Stalin, De Gaulle and Chiang Kai-shek maintained the military tradition of the brush-style upper...
Like Daumier, Yeats was a master of the candid snapshot (see color), but unlike Daumier, he was not out to scourge the human race. By the time he painted The Horse Lover in 1930, his technique was loose, almost wild. The brush often surrendered to the palette knife; flat statement gave way to poetic suggestion; line and color broke and quivered with emotion. "Yeats," said Austrian Painter Oskar Kokoschka on hearing of the Waddington exhibition, "was an outsider who did not follow or belong to any school. All his work bears the mark of fantastic imagination and individuality...
...subject folds her hands." Then, after several days of thinking about the subject-planning "the color, the composition, what should be left out and what put in," Bouche paints rapidly. "Painting," he says, "has to be spontaneous, to leap from the guts to the brush. It's like a bullfight. The man has 25 minutes to fight the bull. He can't think during that time, but all his life goes into the preparation...
...receded into the new artist competitors loomed. The most threatening: Eugène Delacroix. Ingres was now the champion of classicism, though it was his own brand. Delacroix and his followers were romantics who worshiped not Raphael but Rubens. While Ingres exalted line and form and insisted that the brush stroke should never be visible, the new painters reveled in color and pigment. "Yes. to be sure," grumped Ingres, "Rubens was a great painter, but he is that great painter who has ruined every thing." He flatly refused to let his students even look at the Rubenses in the Louvre...
Without a Brush. He almost never uses a brush. He dribbles paint onto a loose, unstretched canvas, swooshes it around, sometimes "kneads and hauls on the canvas as if it were sail." The triumph is that, even when dry, his canvases manage to look fluid. The colors float into view as if they had been poured like cream into iced coffee and for a moment were suspended. They merge or resist one another, but they are never smeared. To some of Jenkins' abstractionist colleagues they seem a bit too slick, but no one denies their flowing grace...