Word: artistes
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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European Masters of Our Time brings to Boston not only the largest collection of modern art ever exhibited in these parts, but a fresh, welcome and rare approach as well. Not arranged according to school or historical progression, each painting hangs as the artist intended it, as an expressive entity complete in itself rather than as an example of anything generic or contingent. Each master is left to speak for himself...
...memorial at Falls Church, Va. (TIME, Oct. 10, 1955). "Because of the privileges of history," Nivola says with quiet satisfaction, "we have arrived at the point where we do not have to please the king. On the other hand, we do not work to please the public. The artist must give not something that is demanded, but what he finds in his own pocket...
Beginning this week, Adams House is also scheduling several "informal" art sessions led by Morton Sacks, a local artist who helped design the sets for a House production of Alcestis several years ago. Early in January, William Hawthorne, a professor of Engineering at Cambridge University, will stay at Adams briefly and talk with students there about education for engineers...
...dutiful teen-ager slaving away in his German-American father's "Lilliputian delicatessen." Father and mother have taught him that his three brothers and a sister are geniuses, but that he is a dolt. He takes it in good grace: "I sure wish I was an artist, a genius, thought Edward, instead of being dumb like I am." Dumb Ed has a dumb friend, a little pet hen that pecks "feverishly at his lips and cheeks" when he is not busy slicing salami. One day Ed's youngest brother lets the hen out of the coop...
...Casals sits in a straight chair, dough-faced, tubby, so tiny that his feet no more than reach the floor. With eyes closed, and the fat fiddle hugged to his paunch, he looks more like a village baker dozing over a sack of meal than any possible kind of artist. But then he begins to play. Sudden, full, supple, the big contralto of the cello speaks. The music rushes like a river from a cave. And soon the audience may become aware of a peculiar thing. When Casals plays, it is no more possible to sort out the separate notes...