Word: portraited
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
What becomes a diva most? Part ownership of Planet Hollywood is good, but a Polaroid camera is better. DEMI MOORE has snapped a self-portrait (yes, that's her) and penned a piece for Details' Mondo Hollywood issue. Apparently, divadom isn't all it's cracked up to be. Moore complains of being thrown onto powdered cement, walking "small, repetitive distances in uncomfortable shoes" and standing around in a G-string with tissues stuffed up her nose. "I have even gone so far as to roll around in a semiclad state on piles of money and Michael Douglas," she says...
...personal rather than a primarily critical biography, Mapplethorpe succeeds, to the reader's relief, in its study of the artist's life. Though occasionally turning to psycho-babble, particularly in her discussion of Mapplethorpe's relationship with his conservative Catholic parents, the author gives a clear and well-rendered portrait of her subject. Even those turned off by the artist's work should find the odd story of his life compelling, if unsavory, reading. Her unsentimental rendering of Mapplethorpe's funeral is particularly successful in capturing the strange convergence of influences that made...
Regardless, Morrisroe has created a memorable portrait. She knows her subject well, though in the end, it was Mapplethorpe who may have been his own best critic. In a chilly bit of self analysis, a passage that comes closest to untying what Morrisroe calls the "Gordian knot" entwining art and sexuality. Mapplethorpe says: "When I have sex with someone I forget who I am. For a minute I even forget I'm human. It's the same thing when I'm behind a camera I forget I exist...
...easily: as the cowardly G.I. in The Young Lions or the sodden gambler in Some Came Running. He spends most of 1959's Rio Bravo, his best film, staring mournfully at a whiskey bottle he'd like to suck dry. Defeat glazes his eyes; it's the rare movie portrait of an alcoholic that skirts both sensation and sentiment...
...post-Marxist pedant can wring out the usual insights about patriarchy and property in 17th century Dutch bourgeois life, none of them touch on the peculiar magic of Vermeer's images. Like Piero della Francesca, Vermeer was a highly inexpressive artist. He didn't even paint a self-portrait, as far as anyone knows. You come out of the exhibit knowing almost as little about Vermeer the man as when you went in. Biography, faint: Lived in Delft, a backwater. Son of a silkworker. A Papist in a Calvinist town. Quite successful nonetheless. Married Catharina Bolnes, about whom equally little...