Word: painting
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Green is such a calming color that many school walls are painted "educational green" to reduce the restlessness of students. Now educational green may have to yield to an even more soothing tint: "jailhouse pink." According to Alexander Schauss, director of biosocial research at City College in Tacoma, Wash., the sight of the color pink changes the secretion of hormones, thus reducing aggressiveness. A jail commander in San Jose, Calif., who has tested the theory says it works-for a while. Lieut. Paul Becker found that prisoners were less hostile for the first 15 minutes in a cell that...
Still's sense of mission is, to put it mildly, imperial. "I had made it clear," he wrote in 1963, "that a single stroke of paint . . . could restore to man the freedom lost in 20 centuries of apology and devices for subjugation." The Met's catalogue is stuffed with this kind of rant and salted with fulminations against the demons of the "corrupt" art world that make the Ayatullah's views on the Shah seem, by comparison, mere tickling. Nevertheless, Still's notes on the history of abstract expressionism, which sharply contradict some...
...whereas in the greatest romantic painters (Turner, for instance, or, in our own century, Pollock), there is a wide range of feeling, apportioned and understood, between the small, exactly registered perception and the grand, generalized effect. Still's colors tend to repetition, the drawing is clumsy, and the paint surface is often crude; he has a way of crushing his pigments into clots and straggles of shiny impasto that works badly against the mat ground. Thus his visual language can look dour and forced...
...machine guns, and last week they began the trial of two I.R.A. defendants charged with planting the bomb on Mountbatten's boat. Though the two, Francis McGirl, 24, and Thomas McMahon, 31, are pleading innocent, detectives testified that they had traces of gelignite explosive material, sand and paint from the boat on their clothing...
...plane's engine coughs and sputters, its pilot sitting at the controls with a frayed Red Sox cap and a parachute. "Let's go," he yells. The jump master arranges us in a small Cessna with flaking paint. I sit next to the pilot, my back to the controls, staring out the window of the door through which I will soon exit. I watch as the plane rumbles down the runway, lifts and spirals over the center, the lakes, the large clumps and bands of trees and the long strings of high tension wires. The master standing at the door...