Word: starks
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...specially commissioned mural by New Yorker Cartoonist Saul Steinberg put the modern designer's dilemma into squiggly perspective. In one panel, Artist Steinberg had drawn a cross-section of a block of walk-up apartments: "modern" studios sandwiched between lead-heavy Jacobean dinettes and cluttered Victorian parlors. His stark plywood chairs were ornamented with fussy crocheted antimacassars, his baby carriages fashioned like battleships. The level-headed modern designer, set loose among America's gingerbread and fake Tudor suburbs and neo-Renaissance row houses, was in danger, according to Steinberg, of having his dearest creations turned into a series...
...Laurent follows a rigid routine. By 9:35 a.m. he is at his desk, once the desk of Sir Wilfrid Laurier, Canada's only other French Canadian Prime Minister (1896-1911). At lunchtime, he usually walks across the street alone (he has no bodyguard) to the staid and stark Rideau Club, where he customarily sits with other cabinet members at the "Ministers' Table." After lunch, he is in his office until about 6:30. Except on the hottest days St. Laurent works with his coat on. It is an unwritten rule that the 44 members of his staff shed theirs...
...Française to see Picasso's latest. Most of the canvases were slightly more rakish versions of pictures Picasso had painted before. He had splashed on his oils thicker and brighter than ever; some of his nudes had developed a disconcerting habit of projecting their faces onto stark white islands above their multicolored and bulbous torsos...
Shop on K Street. But when they had finished, several points did stand out like stumps in a clearing. One of these was the stark evidence of the State Department documents which Chambers had had in his possession. On the basis of an FBI expert's testimony (never challenged by the defense) they had been typed on the Hisses' old Woodstock typewriter...
...these men had sailed away, in the days of the Co-Prosperity Sphere, with a similar purposeful spirit and disciplined jingoist chants. The official welcoming party-talkative bureaucrats, beaming Red Cross nurses, bustling newsmen-waited on a bare wooden dock in Maizuru harbor, with blue, cloud-flecked hills and stark rusted cranes of the former naval base as backdrop. The 2,000 lined up rigidly, listened stonily to the effusive greetings, responded with chilling precision. A close-cropped ex-army captain stepped stiffly forward. "Some of us," he barked, "have not seen home in ten years. All of us have...