Word: pinnings
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Poshlost, says he, means "corny trash, vulgar cliches, Philistinism in all its phases, imitations of imitations, bogus profundities, crude, moronic and dishonest pseudo-literature, these are obvious examples. Now, if we want to pin down poshlost in contemporary writing we must look for it in Freudian symbolism, moth-eaten mythologies, social comment, humanistic messages, political allegories, overconcern with class or race, and the journalistic generalities we all know...
When Frank Stella's first canvases, consisting of black pin-stripe squares inside of squares, were shown at Manhattan's Museum of Modern Art in 1960, local papers reacted in horror. "Unspeakably boring!" snapped Herald Tribune Critic Emily Genauer. A less determined man might have gone into life insurance-but Stella painted on. His latest canvases, on view at the Castelli Gallery, are newly brilliant with a rainbow of Day-Glo colors, but they are as elemental in concept as ever (see color opposite). What has changed is that instead of being banned for boredom, Stella...
...down the outside of the leg. At the ankle, it is hinged to a semicircular metal yoke that fits loosely around the heel of the shoe. This first hinge-type joint permits up-and-down motion. On the yoke behind the heel is a second joint bearing a metal pin that is screwed into the heel of the shoe. This permits sidewise motion...
Certainly Stokes, with his expensively tailored, double-breasted pin-stripe suits, monogrammed (CBS) shirts and Antonio y Cleopatra cigars, is no leveler. His children go to private schools. And now that he is king of Cleveland's mountain, he can be expected to work from the top to excise the civic decay that has retarded Cleveland's progress...
...Ozawa. Confirming Ozawa's observation that Takemitsu "paints in watercolors," November Steps created a 23-minute mood of hushed mystery that was almost visual in its stunning impact. The strings whirred and chattered, spinning out a web of shimmering sonority into which the winds and brass poked tiny pin points, like stars among scudding clouds. Through it all one black-and-grey-robed soloist warbled the mournful, breathy tones of the shakuhachi, a bamboo flute, while another tapped the strings of the lutelike biwa with a wooden plectrum, suggesting the sharp, dry crunch of dead branches...