Word: staring
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Dates: during 1970-1970
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...recapture the war in all its grisly tedium. Looking deceptively like a cocktail-table art book, Duncan's gloom-shrouded pictures of American fighting men are packed more with fatigue than fight. There are no heroic actions; men shave, take muddy baths, clean up after shellbursts, write letters, stare vacantly at absolutely nothing while waiting for the next pointless action. The photographs have the stink of death, the feel of futility and, on any cocktail table, far surpass alcohol as a depressant...
...very busy ordered lives we're pushing and pushing to get somewhere or to get something done and we don't stop to stare at or wonder at some really beautiful things. Artists do. Children do. I guess it's up to artists and photographers and children to help busy people see what's around them...
...leaves Currier House at 11:45 a. m., just lucky enough to pass by a row of workmen who have quit work for lunch. All six of them immediately stop eating to stare at her, whistle, and make obscene remarks under their breaths. Since she is a brunette, they have no way of greeting her. If her hair were blond or red, they could have screamed, "Hey, blondie" or "Hey, red," and razzed her just that much more...
...Some moviehouses close their doors only four hours out of 24. Many of the sidewalk food stands never shut up shop, and the blocks on either side of Times Square offer a pungent cosmopolitan tour of cheap cookery-hot dogs, pizzas, pastrami, chow mein, hamburgers, tacos. Garish neon lights stare down on cameras, transistor radios and the other gadgetry that will soon be bought by gullible visitors or grace the lockers of soldiers and sailors who have been on leave in New York. Record stores blare their wares onto the street while teen-agers flip through album after album. Prostitutes...
...could be read as pure metaphor. The outside form was always clear-as sharp and infantile as play blocks-sphere piled on cube piled on rectangle. But as inside space, the designs are illegible, and probably were meant to be. Imagine the buildings from the sketches: what rooms stare from those endlessly repeated window bays? Where do those interminable corridors go? Does anyone ever walk up that colossal staircase? They all reflect the processes of totalitarian politics-explicit in their demands, obscure in their workings...