Word: painter
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...opening of his retro spective in San Francisco last month, Wayne Thiebaud gave an aw-shucksy wriggle of the shoulders and declared, "I'm just a sign painter gone uppity." One may, with respect, demur. At 64, after decades of painting in the Bay Area, Thiebaud is one of the most gifted realist artists in America. At a time when so much new art leaves an iridescent slick of depletion on the eyeball, the group of 89 of his paintings and drawings, assembled by Curator Karen Tsujimoto at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, is the real thing...
...nothing earlier than 1961, so that one does not see the transition between the "commercial" artist Thiebaud was--doing cartoons, Rexall ads and Hollywood publicity sets in the 1940s--and the "fine" one he is. Still, this is the fullest look one has yet had at this quintessential California painter. The show will travel to other museums in California and the Midwest, finishing in Kansas City in the fall of 1986. It will not be seen on the East Coast, presumably because it lacks the factitious glamour that might commend it to such institutions as New York City's Whitney...
...buzzing glitter of the whites. Light is trapped in the dense paint, and Thiebaud extracts a lavish, slightly mocking sensuality from the pun between the depicted work of the cake icer--smearing those layers of sweet goo, drawing arabesques with the forcing bag--and the literal work of the painter's brush. A very conscious part of his style is the way he rings his forms (plain geometrical ones, as a rule: rectangles, cones, cylinders) with zips of relieving color, orange, yellow or vermilion. When these work--and often they are little more than a graphic mannerism--they lend...
Occasional cutting vignettes appear--such as the hippie painter asking tourists "to compare the peacefulness they would see on Haight Street with the violence of the beer-drinking college kids at Fort Lauderdale over the Easter holiday"--but the book largely avoids undue sentimentality...
...single-minded writer, Strindberg's interests were strangely diverse. In addition to being the most prolific of authors--throwing his pages to the floor as fast as they flowed from his pen--he was a painter of considerable skill. Before he came to the theater, by way of walk-on parts at the Royal Theater of Stockholm, he studied medicine. Dabbling in alchemy, he attempted to produce gold by mixing copper and iron sulfate. Languages enchanted him. He applied himself to Chinese and Japanese, and although he remained violently anti-Semitic, he decided in middle age to learn Hebrew...