Word: flooringly
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...Degas the arched back of a woman bathing herself in a tub. He also drew on sources from far outside art, things like an illustrated medical text about illnesses of the mouth. He worked from reproductions, and from photographs of all kinds pinned to walls and scattered on the floor of his studios in a muck of paper, rags, used brushes and broken furniture that he dived back into for ideas...
...Beijing Paralympics, having placed 5th in the world in the 50-meter freestyle and 8th in the 50-meter backstroke. Kolbe said she has no regrets about the accident. “You’re surrounded by team U.S.A., and you go down the ramp to the floor of the national stadium which has 90,000 screaming fans,” Kolbe said. “It was pretty surreal experience. That’s when it hit me.” BEIJING-BOUND Every four years, the Paralympics follow on the heels of the Olympics. Elite athletes with...
...through the bustling streets. He attracted little attention. Who would distinguish him from among the fishmongers, tinkers, tailors, beadles, gentlemen, and dogs? Quickly, he made for one of the city’s more disreputable neighborhoods, where he entered a brothel.Lamps flickered weakly in the smoke-filled room. The floor was covered in sawdust, spit, tar, and drink. The Stable Boy’s eyes were some time in adjusting to the gloom. But, yes, there he was. It was hard to make him out in the tangle of fleshy limbs that occupied the loveseat in the far corner...
...education department—will remain close by in the Sackler. Still, not all of the museum’s departments have been relocated. The Strauss Conservation Center, which will move to a conservation lab in the off-site facility when renovations get underway, remains on the fourth floor of the Fogg and is actively aiding the museum as it prepares objects for transport. The Fine Arts Library, currently located in the Quincy Street building, will remain for now, albeit behind a security barrier that forces students to enter from Otto Hall on the Prescott Street side for the duration...
...going to convince me that mixing vinegar, yellow food coloring, and rocks could make “real” gold. Afternoon Alchemy was a bust, and I wanted a revolution. “This is so mundane!” I shouted, slamming my backpack onto the linoleum floor of the Alchemist’s Lair. My classically pre-Harvardian outburst won me more than just scornful laughs. Instead of revolution, what I got were two weeks of isolation from my imagined comrades. And while it may have been lonely actively refraining from the plebeian trappings of the other...