Word: knee-deep
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Painter Levi alternates his sketching on the beach with work in a Manhattan studio that is cluttered knee-deep with marine subject matter: old oars, cork floats, shells, broken pilings, sandpiper decoys, fishnets and other briny flotsam & jetsam. His new show at the Downtown Gallery-ten sea-dominated landscapes and four portraits-is probably a fairly proportioned cross section of the artist's enthusiasms. Says he: "As a secondary interest, I cherish the human physiognomy...
Smart Blast. By last week it was clear that the Germans had made perhaps their smartest move in their play for time by blasting the floodgates of the Schwammenauel dam. The Roer, usually only 75 feet wide and knee-deep, at some points was more than 1,000 feet of brown water spilled over forested flatlands. At others it was a raging, narrow torrent...
...First Canadian Army fought for four weeks across the oozy Dutch polders, plodded relentlessly through knee-deep mud. Floods, pouring through demolished dikes, were so deep that often troops had to push through captured towns in amphibious vehicles. A British correspondent described the battleground as "the abomination of desolation." For days on end, he said, the troops had to stand waist deep in water. Canadian Pressman Alan Randal claimed that "conditions were the worst that the Western Front had seen in this war." He found two Canadian units that had been "fighting twelve nights and twelve days without rest...
...this in mid-spring when the Ukraine is knee-deep in mud was a mili tary masterpiece. Marshal Malinovsky, commanding the part of the front directly adjoining the Black Sea, had probably done as well as could be expected, since his way lay across the broad estuaries of the big rivers. Marshal Zhukov, at the northern end of the Ukrainian front, had done very well by breaking through with heavy concentrations of guns and tanks into Bucovina. But Konev, in the center, had pushed farthest. He had already crossed the Bug and the Dniester. This week his army held...
...side of the curtain was a tense cast, on the other a tense audience. Suddenly the director flung out on the stage, spluttered that there would be no performance. Ording had had the last laugh on The Last Cry-he too had disappeared. He and his wife trudged through knee-deep snow for three hours with a howling six-week-old baby, reached Sweden and safety...