Word: mastered
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...overwhelming impression conveyed by the great baroque masters of the 17th century, from Caravaggio to Rubens, is their delight in optical illusions, soaring space, voluptuous forms and twisting asymmetrical line. Johann Heinrich Schönfeld, a long-forgotten 17th century artist who achieved his first one-man show in 300 years in West Germany this fall, shared his century's delight in asymmetry and illusion, but drew the line when it came to voluptuousness. In the 89 canvases and 107 graphics assembled at Ulm's prestigious city museum, Schönfeld displays himself as a moody, broody...
...Bravo to Boris Chaliapin for the cover drawing! Only a master draftsman such as he could produce this delightfully pleasing and interesting work...
...something of that same crocodilian countenance, if one might judge from some of her expressions while addressing a golf ball. There was never a more machinelike player than Lacoste in his heyday. He won so consistently because his ground-strokes could not be faulted; and he was a past master of that now neglected piece of tennis finesse, the lob. His teammates, Cochet, with his half-volley, and Borotra, with his catlike ballet at the net, were the crowd-pleasers, not Lacoste, whose stroke-production always seemed to be rolling off one of those assembly lines he has since dominated...
...Heidi finally won a 50-year lease from the city council on a prime lakeside park site. Backers were nonexistent. She herself raised or bor rowed 95% of the building's $120,000 cost. Some critics huffily insisted that Heidi had altered too many architectural details after the master's death...
Jean Genet, as a dedicated pervert, might write lyrically of this shameful ?lace, but not so First Novelist Floyd Salas, 25, who spent time in similar institutions before winning a boxing scholarship at the University of California, later a master's degree in English at San Francisco State College. More realistically than Genet, Salas looks back in anger. Unhappily, the anger and obscenity get the better of his prose. On every page, hyperbole and hypertension batter good sense to a pulp magazine...