Word: onwards
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...chance-based collages and mock rituals. Surrealism became a common ground for bourgeois intellectuals agonized by the futility of their expected social roles. But it smacks of artificiality to confine either Dada or surrealism too closely to any group or period. Some of Picasso's paintings, from 1913 onward, are regarded as major surrealist icons by virtue of their aggressive, oneiric distortions, though he was never in any formal way a member of the movement...
...days swing onward, galumph-galumph, students leap from their carrels out into the snowless Yard ("I am not a prodigious leaper, I am a bird"). Lights burn late in House rooms ("Look at it this way, Silas, Louis Quinze is to Pompadour as you are to..."). Some seek recourse to the warm reassurance of love not dependant on academic achievement ("Sally, if I were stupid, would you still love me the way I love you?"). Others seek recourse to the warm reassurance of physical exhileration independent of academic achievement ("I'm not going to get out of shape this exam...
Thus both sides can take-or lose-heart. In the hallowed jargon of yesterday, herewith the bottom line: "Are we not drawn onward, we few, drawn onward to new era?" That, too, can be read backward and forward...
...great casualty was large-scale sculpture in the round. From Constantinople to Italy, there are plenty of low-relief carvings after the 4th century. But not for a thousand years would there be bronze heroes on horseback to match the Marcus Aurelius on the Roman capitol. From Constantine onward, the Christian emperors preferred flat hieratical art, especially mosaics, whose multiplicity of shapes suited a power based on ceremony. The "otherworldliness" of those gold-and purple-sheathed Byzantine nobles, glittering in mosaic on the walls of Ravenna and points east, is propaganda; there could have been no better medium than mosaic...
OVERHEAD, the graffiti-bedecked subway trains clatter onward, dragging the sardined hordes of humanity away, in towards Manhattan. Down below, on the street--a saloon-infested, neon-gaudy strip called Roosevelt Ave., deep in the heart of Elmwood, Queens--the people muddle on, oblivious to the noise and to everything else. On the side streets beckon the bars, little Irish holes-in-the-wall where the Hugheses and McAfees gather to put away their beers and spill their guts, and flashy dives where the Puerto Ricans and Blacks, so new to the neighborhood, huddle in self-protection. This...