Word: darke
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...benevolent force out there. I see it as basically a really cool survival game. You get on the right side of the tracks, and you now are actually working with what some people would call magic. It's not. It's just you're not in the f___ing dark anymore, so you know how to get along a little better, you know?" Um, sort of. "That's O.K.," he says. "I'm not imagining that you're going to follow all this until you hear it [on playback] later...
More than one critic has argued that Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes is the father of modern art - a pioneer in his searing portrayal of the dark side of human nature, and in his uncanny ability not only to capture the horrors of his own age but to foreshadow the atrocities to come. If earlier generations have found in the Spanish painter's work clues to their own iconography of despair (The Third of May as a precursor of Picasso's Guernica, the Black Paintings as preparation for images of Auschwitz), the Prado's "Goya in Times...
Which is not to say that the exhibit is unrelentingly grim. The early years of the 19th century were a time of tremendous creativity for Goya, and the full range of his talent is on display in this show. His modernity is evident not only in his dark depictions of human irrationality, but in his psychologically acute portraits. From his warm, intimate portrayal of Spanish King Charles IV and his family, to the petulant knowingness of the young Marchioness de Montehermoso, to the vague disappointment of the slightly mustachioed Doña Juana Galarza, who clutches a crumpled...
Today, it is possible to spend hours exploring the town's labyrinthine covered streets, venturing into dark alleys that end in ancient studded doors or wandering along sandy pathways that lead to pristine mosques. Tour guides can also take you into some of the houses, whose interiors are painted with intricate red patterns and hung with colorful mirrored cloth. Here visitors are often invited to enjoy a hearty meal of camel stew...
...fled through the dark rooms of his mansion, Frederick tried to erase the image from his mind. He tried to think of Felicity, of the housemaid, of the governess who had seduced him when he was twelve. But no bevy of bosomed beauties could match the burnished biceps of the stable boy and the masterful motion of his fingers as he coaxed music from the violin. The vision haunted him, and it would keep haunting him, a vision that even the oceans of port he imbibed that night would not wash away...