Word: painterly
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...seemed foreign to Jean Cocteau because it was in such bad taste. In the sweep of French life and letters, he was the incomparably protean, mercurial, acrobatic, magical virtuoso-"a one-man band," as he called himself. He was the eternal dilettante-novelist, poet, farceur, essayist, film maker, actor, painter, sculptor, choreographer, composer, actor-and above all, talker. "Nothing he has written," said one of his friendly critics, "is worth half an hour of his conversation." He despised the limitations of professionalism. "The only way to make a good film is to know nothing about film making," he once said...
...writer, not as an expert, he marshaled an impressive array of abilities. He had good taste, an educated sensibility, an unusual breadth and warmth of appreciation, a scrupulous fairness. Recalling some of his critiques, his colleagues chose as one of their favorites a passage from a story on Painter John Chumley's work: "A painting of three children's swings, hanging empty from a leafless tree, is filled with yesterday's laughter. And the open window of an abandoned house fills one canvas with mystery, like a mouth that has much to tell but cannot speak...
...Grande Premio went to 60-year-old Adolph Gottlieb, a founder of the New York School that helped make abstraction the international style. And the prize for the best foreign painter was won by Alan Davie, who at 43 is considered by many to be Britain's fastest-rising abstractionist...
...usually pronounced even by himself as if it were French (Main-beau-chez), but he is as American as blue jeans. He was named Main Rousseau Bocher (pronounced Bosher) when he was born 72 years ago on the West Side of Chicago. His mother wanted him to be a painter, his father wanted him to be a violinist, he wanted to be an opera singer. He had to change his plans when, just as he was about to go onstage for his debut in Paris, he lost his voice...
...character is seen with some compassion only when she feels as Miss McCarthy might feel; for instance, when Dottie Renfrew, a proper Bostonian, declares her love (on the eve of her marriage) for a no-account Village painter who deflowered her the year before...