Word: dulling
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Show of Force. Shortly before 8 o'clock, as fleecy pink clouds gave way to a dull sun, motors revved ominously within the prison compound. A motorcade of 15 Jeeps, paddy wagons, buses and police cars wheeled out and off into the traffic, headed for Hoyo de Manzanares. Near that town was a conveniently isolated artillery training facility in rolling, rocky hills. "Orson Welles has a house up here somewhere," remembered one of the reporters trailing the entourage. "It used to be a great place for making westerns." Guardia Civil lined the routes in pairs at intervals and also...
Since Cezanne, one of the stumbling blocks of figurative art had been mod ern dress. Cloaks and perukes are all very well, but what artist in this century has made anything of the dull flaps and tubes that constitute a business suit...
...when Kubacki talks about art or ballet or his music history course, his dull blue eyes widen. He says that he is interested in just about everything. And, when asked about his future, an odd smile spans his sculptured face. "Right now there's nothing I want to be when I grow up." The Kubacki chuckle. "I don't even living one day at a time, enjoying everything and everyone he can. His teammates will tell you that Kubacki is "loose" in a huddle. It is the looseness that comes, perhaps, from living with the uncertainty of whether he will...
...resembles commercial art, but that commercial art is good because it has learned the practical lessons of Mondrian, Picasso and modern art. Because of their plentifulness and familiarity we take for granted and deprecate the superb graphics of magazines like Playboy, Esquire, and National Lampoon. But how many boring dull articles have we been snared into by eye-catching graphics? And in a hundred years, how many architecture students will be studying the prefabricated simplicity and functionality of a Jack...
...girl in the front row stood for the first time since the game began. All the men around her had left, and the usher beckoned noisily from the exit for everyone to leave. She stood gazing at the diamond, where the ground crew was rolling out the dull green tarpaulin to close out the night. Slowly I made my way to the first row. The arena was all ours. My heart beat harder than a Baltimore chop under my jacket. She was oblivious, still staring languidly out at the empty field...