Word: lifelessly
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Dates: during 2000-2000
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Insipid, tepid and vigorously lacking in originality, the Pucker Gallery's current exhibit of pastels by Mallory Lake, Italy Light and Shadow, is a fuzzy romantic nightmare, Hallmark style. These lifeless, flat and relentlessly maudlin landscapes do the impossible: resurrect the bourgeois landscape of the 19th century without even the slightest hint of irony. Such unremitting cuteness might just as well have been the result of Snuggles the detergent teddy bear's experimentation with a paint-by-numbers kit while on vacation in Tuscany. To Lake's credit, several of her horizontal compositions are unusually strong in their geometric structure...
...mainly a study of a diseased mind. The Son thinks in music. He is a child prodigy at the piano, and his musings flit around the tones of baseball bats, humming power lines and clicking typewriters. But he becomes disillusioned with music after the accident. The piano is a lifeless manifestation of the comfortable suburban lifestyle that is wrecked forever...
...phrase in your article on Larry Harvey's Burning Man festival [LIVING, Sept. 18] hit a nerve: the comment that he moved the "punk-pagan celebration" from San Francisco to a "lifeless" desert northeast of Reno. I just spent four months working with people of the Paiute, Shoshone and Washoe tribes, who are indigenous to the Reno area. For them, the desert brims with life--animal, vegetable and human. How self-centered and arrogant it is for whites to think that a landscape without their culture and accumulated junk in it is lifeless. The puerile horde that invades the desert...
What sort of image is McMahon trying to project here? When the first kick returner gets nailed and lies lifeless on the turf, are we supposed to moan or cheer? Will the XFL on NBC commentators say things like, "Whoo! The Hitmen sure took that guy out! I'm thinkin' he's done from the waist down, at least! Glad we ditched that rule...
Harvey, a San Francisco bohemian, started the tradition 14 years ago as a punk-pagan celebration on a San Francisco beach and moved it to a lifeless desert northeast of Reno in 1990 when the S.F. beach patrol kicked him off. Since then, he has nurtured his festival into a lengthy ritual that this Labor Day attracted 30,000 campers to its mix of art, raves, nudity and spirituality. In the process, much has changed. Harvey has driven out some of his original anarchy-loving partners, instituted streets and rules (no guns), and now controls much of the art through...