Word: bruegels
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...perhaps products of human expression. On the evidence of Talking to Myself, Terkel has rarely sought out people who actually run things. An indefatigable romantic, he prefers the "mute, inglorious Miltons" among the underdogs: the Welsh miner with a taste for the impressionists, the Cockney waitress with a Bruegel print on her wall, the Swedish miner who quotes Gibbon. Terkel is moved by what he takes to be the oppression of such people. As he presents them, though, they seem to be doing very nicely indeed...
...piece than an opera. The evening owes its success mainly to Hal Prince's (West Side Story, Cabaret, Fiddler on the Roof) making his debut as an operatic director. He is a master of illusion. There is a scene of villagers applauding a fire-eater that visually recalls Bruegel, a ridiculous pas de deux between the queen and a giant rooster. In a final Princely touch, darkness envelops the opera house. Then the spotlight focuses on the demon Ashmedai, who is smiling down from a box in the theater; it is a visual grace note that will outlast anything...
...from men as substance and process, not as a sight for a city-dwelling impressionist on an outing. Millet's The Plain of Chailly, 1862, was unlike virtually every previous landscape in Western art. It is neither a bird's-eye "world view" in the fashion of Bruegel nor a meditation on cosmic energy as in Turner. It is not "romantic." Especially, it is not a vision of property, such as Rubens painted. What it offers is a numbing pressure of material substance. The plain stretches away under the winter sky, its bleak horizontality interrupted only by crows...
...Italian drawings, Janos Scholz. What the library now offers is of almost unparalleled rarity, beginning with a black chalk study of devils-spiky, nervous and of an almost hallucinatory vigor-by the 15th century Artist Luca Signorelli, proceeding through works by Pontormo, Filippino Lippi, Dürer, Fragonard, Bruegel and Blake...
...atrocities of the period, they are conveyed in formal compositions that amount to decorations, not disasters. Plague-ridden corpses are artistically strewn on smooth fields; soldiers flash evil grins in cartoon style-one even ecstatically licks the blood off his knife. Clavell has doubtless been studying Pieter Bruegel the Elder: as the soldiers descend into the only unspoiled valley in Europe, the peasants disport themselves with picturesque energy. But always there is the obtrusive sense of the camera, always the feeling that every improvisatory step has been choreographed to death...