Word: aix
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...grave humane fullness of his great model Rembrandt; the landscapes are like nothing anyone had painted before. No wonder the little asylum, with its worn flagstone corridors and pine-shadowed garden, remains one of the sacred sites of modernist culture. Here, as in Manet's Paris and Cezanne's Aix-en-Provence, art turned on its pivot in the 19th century to face the 20th. One does not see many exhibitions like this in a lifetime...
...Cote d'Azur, that strip of Provence that runs from Nice to Hyeres. If ever a littoral was changed from a place to an idea by the efforts of painters, this one was it. Paul Cezanne, a Provencal rooted in the limestone and red clay of his native Aix, had made backcountry Provence around Mont Ste.-Victoire one of the sacred loci of the modernist imagination. Among them, Pablo Picasso, Henri Matisse and Pierre Bonnard would do the same for the coast...
...Catalan; her paintings remind those sated with cross-cultural quotation that major art is more apt to spring from deep allegiances to specific experience than from isms. She did not go to Europe until she was 65. When she saw Mont Ste.-Victoire from Cezanne's studio above Aix-en-Provence, she characteristically called it "a poor little mountain" -- which it is, in a way, compared with the landscapes that surround her Ghost Ranch -- and wondered why so many words had been piled on it. Before her 30th birthday, in small watercolors of epic space like Light Coming...
Jack and Ann Riddle, a California couple visiting France, think their greatest bargain was getting their daughter Susan to transfer her studies from Wellesley to Aix-en-Provence, a saving of about one-third. "I've lived here so much more comfortably than at Wellesley," agrees Susan. "There I pinch every penny. Here I can eat out." Says another Wellesley student, Virginia Baskett, newly returned from Greece: "Half our class is missing, studying abroad...
...moment poetry and art are forever dead among us, and we will have nothing but grammar and mathematics left. The only way poetry can ever reach one is through one's brute instincts. 'Charge of the Light Brigade,' or 'How they brought good news to Aix,' move us in exactly the same way that one of Mr. Shue's runs or Mr. Yont'* touchdowns do, only not half so intensely. A good football game is an epic, it rouses the oldest part of us. Poetry is great only in that it suggests action...