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...design for the New State Gallery in Stuttgart, which opened last year. The exquisitely proportioned classic entrance hall is assaulted by a bilious green Pirelli rubber floor covering and the gaudily painted steel frame of the elevator shaft. The circular interior courtyard, with sensuous marble nymphs basking in the glow of golden travertine and sandstone walls, is assaulted by vulgar pink and blue pipes that serve as handrails for a spiraling ramp...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Design: Brilliant Or Cursed By Apollo? | 6/17/1985 | See Source »

...Cheryl Campbell as a coolly amoral aristocrat. Julian Bond's script is curtly literate, Alan Bridges' direction is more Masterpiece Theatre than The Rules of the Game. Still, as Winston Churchill once said, "The old world in its sunset was fair to see," and some of that ironic glow lights The Shooting Party...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cinema: Rushes the Shooting Party | 6/10/1985 | See Source »

Eggs hatching babies, giant toadstools, but her-world creatures climbing up through the village well, and, of course, those amazing lycanthropes themselves; they're all here. And it is all shown to advantage against sets that glow with the medieval luster of a Waterhouse painting...

Author: By Lyn Dilorio, | Title: Visual Howls | 5/10/1985 | See Source »

Thousands of us went to hear Jesse Jackson speak in the Harvard Yard in early April, and were more affected by his angry, cadent rhythms than by his actual words. "Hooray, hooray," we all shouted, basking in the sunshine and the communal glow of self-congratulation. After the speech a few hundred of us, still in the grip of moral ecstasy, stood before President Bok's office and shouted things. An all-night vigil began. It rained, and began to get cold; a few, huddled under umbrellas, stayed the night and then departed the next day. Almost three weeks later...

Author: By Theodore P. Friend, | Title: The Divestment Wonder-Drug | 5/2/1985 | See Source »

...there like an ironic modern sculpture, massive, squat, mocking ... I picked through it item by item, mass by shapeless mass, wondering why I felt guilty, a violator of privacy, uncovering intimate and perhaps shameful secrets. Why did I feel like a household spy? Is garbage so private? Does it glow at the core with personal heat, with signs of one's deepest nature, clues to secret yearnings, humiliating flaws? What habits, fetishes, addictions, inclinations? What solitary acts, behavioral ruts? I found crayon drawings of a figure with full breasts and male genitals. There was a long piece of twine that...

Author: By Ari Z. Posner, | Title: Welcome to America! | 5/1/1985 | See Source »

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