Word: artes
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...same complaints might be made about Clarke's Miracolo d'Amore, which is rescued by being exquisitely beautiful. Clarke usually credits a painter with inspiring her imagery. This time it is Tiepolo. But the ancient crone sweeping and cackling, the commedia dell'arte clowns, the quartet of nude women gently interweaving in a dance, the men employing a variety of bird noises, the eerily believable copulation between a girl and a skeleton also bring to mind Cocteau and Gertrude Stein and Picasso and Diaghilev. If more explicitly violent and more frequently nude than necessary, Miracolo is nonetheless a fitting tribute...
...have provided workers with VDT basics like more comfortable chairs and detachable keyboards and have introduced voluntary safety standards resent government intrusion. Memphis-based Federal Express started dealing with issues of computer-screen safety and comfort as far back as 1983. The company has since installed state-of-the-art workstations and provided 100% coverage of vision care...
...usual case for boxing as art or science is rougher to make in the face of this face. Valor can be redeeming; so can grace, poise, bearing, even cunning. But this is a nightmare. The monster that men have worried was at the heart of their indefinable passion, of their indefensible sport, has come out in the flesh to be the champion of the world. Next Monday night, he will be served Michael Spinks...
Perhaps it is anachronistic to mention only men. Maybe boxing is an anachronism: the manly art of self-defense. Take it like a man. Be a man. In Archibald MacLeish's play J.B., Job told the Comforter, "I can bear anything a man can bear -- if I can be one." But nobody talks about being a man anymore. When it comes to bloodlust, female gills pant up and down too. In the matter of boxing's fascination for writers, gender has certainly not been disqualifying. Still, the suspicion persists that males secrete some kind of $ archetypal fluid that makes...
...occupy him outwardly, it swirls inside him as well. Modern moviemakers are good at capturing the choreography of fights -- they understand the Apache dance. But in their Dolby deafness they overdo the supersonic bashing and skip one of the crucial attractions: the missing. Making a man miss is the art. Fundamentally, boxers are elusive. They vanish one moment, reappear the next, rolling around the ring like the smoke in the light...