Word: barings
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There are a lot of ways to study a painting, and one of the best is to get to know the painter. The splash or splatter of color makes a lot more sense when you understand the rage or whimsy or heart behind it. The songwriter, similarly, can lay bare the song, the poet the poem, the builder the building...
...over by a conscientious curatorial staff.When I first visited Germany a few years ago, someone pointed out the conspicuous absence of any symbols of nationalism. Having witnessed the profusion of stars and stripes in the U.S. post-9/11, this struck me as quite odd. Germany’s bare flagpoles were part and parcel of the same sheepishness that has clouded the German consciousness since 1945. To be a proud German was to be a zealot, not too far removed from the Nazi hyper-nationalism that reduced Europe to debris in WWII. This week, stepping out of the Munich...
...National Gallery of Modern Art, India's premier collection, is up a flight of stairs, in a room on the first floor. Usually hanging in a distant corner, it gives you a jolt when it springs on you. It's a rectangular oil panel: a group of adolescent Brahmins, bare-chested and with gleaming, sacred threads dangling around their torsos, sit cross-legged against a burgundy background. One of them stares at you, one turns away, and the central figure, with a white-and-red paint mark on his forehead, looks beyond you, as if seized by an inspiration...
...halt the attack. A former Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter for the Wall Street Journal, Suskind is also the author of the 2004 book The Price of Loyalty: George W. Bush, the White House, and the Education of Paul O'Neill, which won acclaim as one of the first bare-knuckle accounts of the Bush administration's preoccupation with Saddam and its disdain for independent thinking by Cabinet members...
...political apathy ("2+2=5') and death ("Pyramid Song"). For a few short years in the early '90s it was possible to love the British quintet without a shred of guilt or defensiveness. On "Creep," the band's searing 1992 hit single, a self-described "weirdo" strips his psyche bare. "I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul," he laments, Yorke's fallen angel voice almost choking with unrequited love. But by the time Jonny Greenwood's buzz-saw guitar cuts through the pathos on the chorus, Yorke's declaration of creepdom has a become a defiant anthem...