Word: goddess
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Peter W. Kaplan '76, president of the film society, presented a "Screen Goddess of 1974" award to Cybill Shepherd, an actress in many Bogdanovitch films, as well as the plaque to Bogdanovitch "for intelligent, sensitive movies...
...disconcertingly dominant feature of the theater, alas, is a campy, Daliesque mural by Spanish Painter Enrique Senis-Oliver called Homage to Terpsichore, which all but swallows the proscenium. Immortalized in an agonized, thrusting morass of naked dancers is a chastely gowned portrait of Mrs. Harkness, making obeisance to the goddess of dance. The painting almost glows in the dark, which means that the audience can still glimpse undraped breasts and genitals even during a performance...
...presidency, a modern religious crisis, and the politics of the Nobel Prize. The fatty results of these labors are always an elaborate story line, with the action dictated by a clash of differing characters. The Fan Club has that kind of plot too, and the idea of a love goddess turned doughty liberationist is a nice embellishment. It is of course ridiculous, but that does not much matter in a book whose characters say things like "We don't have a chance to fulfill such a dream," and young Adam compares Sharon with something out of Christopher Marlowe while...
...romantic fascination with the image of woman as sphinx, Medusa, castrator or remote, implacable goddess -the belle dame sans merci in her numerous fictive avatars-also figures in symbolist painting, especially in the world of Fernand Khnopff (1858-1921), another member of Péladan's circle. Art or The Caresses conjoins a mysteriously smiling sphinx (looking not unlike a satisfied Rossetti redhead in a leopard coat that has grown onto her skin) with a puzzled-looking boy who has presumably come to answer her riddle. It is painted with a high, pale elegance that altogether removes it from...
...snatched from the funeral pyre by his fellow romantic, Trelawney. Or of Dylan Thomas, a sacrificial votary of drink (Olympian draughts, of course). Since the winter day in 1963 when Sylvia Plath turned on the gas and laid her head in her kitchen oven, she has become a goddess of the thanatophiliacs...