Word: blooms
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...that shattering, synthetic stillness which is Lamont, a moment of warmth has come to pass. Two of Boston's favorite sons, Jack Levine and Hyman Bloom, have a small exhibit of their early works and a few late ones, under the auspices of Fogg. Had the show been housed in the museum itself it would have reached a larger audience, but the event is sweet news for denizens of the sputtering cell...
Both painters have been much acclaimed in the ranks of American painting, with Levine accumulating most of the accolades of late. Nevertheless, I am quite willing to go out on a limb--an unpopular one at this point--and predict that Bloom is likely to far outshine Levine when the benefit of further retrospect makes itself available, and for several reasons. In this particular exhibit, however, the scales are unevenly tipped. Levine appears at his absolute best as virtuoso and as spokesmen of the art; Bloom, on the other hand, doesn't have his maximum say. In both cases this...
...large portion of the drawings represented are products of the extremely auspicious prelude to these two careers, which began during the late twenties. At the ages of fifteen and thirteen respectively, Bloom and Levine were joined by a common mentor and began to develop prodigiously as draughtsmen. They both took to the old masters, learnt much, and turned out a series of remarkably proficient drawings. Their works during this genesis are strikingly similar; it is obvious that their spiritual mentors were the best...
...needed for a land boom was the old backslapping hard sell. He fixed his selling price at $2 to $5 an acre. What if the land is remote (and no more fertile than tracts being peddled by Mato Grosso State for 35? an acre)? One day the wilderness would bloom. Said Realtor Cage, nobly: "I'm going to work hard and pay back everybody that lost anything in Texas. You betcha, and the first people I'm going to pay back are those little old widows-yessiree, I'm going to call them right...
...sense of Jack's earnestness, his utterly sincere hypocrisy, his damnable stuffiness; Mr. Clark copes somewhat better with Algy, but cannot quite hit off his incorrigibly cheeky lightmindedness. As a result, they appear as a set of almost interchangeably cheerful young men. Gretchen Kanne misses the hothouse bloom of Gwendolyn, who exists in and through Society like an elegant bacterium in its nutrient broth. (In the midst of an ineffably decorous cat-fight, Gwendolyn accepts a cup of tea from her rival with the aside, "Detestable girl! But I require tea!") (italics mine...