Word: gauguins
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...Gauguin is more to us than a great painter. He's our ultimate escape artist, the stockbroker who hightailed it to the breadfruit and warm surf and nipples of the South Seas, where his palette and his libido flourished, the man who said no to civilization and really meant...
...turns out, refusal ran in his family. Gauguin's maternal grandmother, Flora Tristan, was a spiritual fugitive of another kind, a pre-Marxist socialist visionary who traveled across provincial France in the 1840s, preaching a gospel of class justice and the liberation of women. In The Way to Paradise (Farrar, Straus & Giroux; 373 pages) Mario Vargas Llosa, the Peruvian novelist, onetime presidential hopeful and perennial Nobel candidate, lightly fictionalizes their stories in alternating chapters, portraits of two literally kindred souls in revolt against the horsewhips and hypocrisy of the bourgeois order. Both of them rejected the world as they found...
...last bed was in the hospital, but the Gauguin posters she loved and the photographs of my family everywhere are enough to break anyone. But there’s no time for this. Within hours I’m watching my mother stand with the other immediate bereaved, enacting the custom of having their shirts cut with a blade...
Edouard Vuillard and Paul Gauguin are an odd couple: one famous for his depictions of drawn-curtain bourgeois interiors, the other for bare-breasted Polynesian reveries. But the link between them is direct. In 1889, Vuillard joined a band of fellow art students who called themselves Les Nabis - "prophets" in Hebrew and Arabic. Their credo was "the simplification of form and the exaltation of color," and their guru was Gauguin. Now, the two artists are sharing the same roof, in a superb pair of exhibits at the Grand Palais that round off a blockbuster fall art season in Paris...
What genuinely excited him was the roaring palette of the Post-Impressionists, the way that Gauguin or Van Gogh pumped color to convey feeling, without regard to whether a green face had ever been green in reality. This turned the key in Chagall's mind. Whole floods of vermillion and cobalt and purple came forward. It was this discovery he had in mind when he wrote, "I brought my objects with me from Russia. Paris shed its light on them...