Word: candidoes
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Last week in Manhattan, another Latin-American exhibition was getting installed at the Riverside Museum. Most of its paintings were as postcardy as the usual Latin-American run. But a group of 25-odd canvases stopped visitors in their tracks. They were by a little-known Brazilian, Candido Portinari. His landscapes and figure paintings had gusto. Some of them swarmed with quietly horrifying surrealist doodads, some showed Negroes sweltering under Yale-blue Brazilian skies. A few, weirdly spotted with vultures, skulls and blowing bed sheets, depicted odd, forbidding calvaries with scarecrows hanging from crosses. All of them were painted with...
Disliked in his native Brazil because he insists on painting Negroes-who make up 30% of Brazil's population although most high-brow Brazilians like to ignore the fact-37-year-old Candido Portinari has had hard sledding in the salons of Rio de Janeiro. Second of twelve children in a family of impoverished Italian immigrant coffee workers, he got his first ideas about painting at the age of eleven, when a group of itinerant muralists did a job in the church of the little Sao Paulo town where he was born. They let him help mix their paints...
...myopic bartender and consisted almost exclusively of washed-out imitation of European academicism. That a native art of considerable vigor is budding in Brazil, World's Fair visitors have already learned from murals in the Brazilian pavilion by Rio de Janeiro's popular, roly-poly Candido Portinari. There was nothing by him in the show...
...Theodore Roosevelt was moving out of the White House, a Brazilian army engineer named Candido Mariano da Silva Rondon, running a telegraph line through the untracked fastnesses of central Brazil, glimpsed the headwaters of an unmapped river that flowed he knew not whither. He called it Rio da Dúvida-"River of Doubt...
...inch spot between the great shoulder blades. The bull stormed off, the sword waving like a reed from the hump of his back. With a mighty shake the bull tossed the weapon high into the air. It hurtled down, point first, to pierce the breast of one Candido Roig Roura, who at 4 o'clock that afternoon had been standing in line to buy a fifth row seat in the shade. With a scream Candido Roig Roura pulled the espada from his chest and hurled it away. It landed in the lap of a sports reporter busily writing...