Word: proletariats
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Cross-featured, huge, is Mexico's genial Diego Rivera (TIME, May 6). Expression of proletariat life is his art; conversation his hobby. Last week through his art and his hobby Artist Rivera became the centre of a political controversy...
...with a long line of learned rabbis behind the lawyer. His years at the universities of Bonn and Berlin were studious, lazy-livered, undramatic. He took his Ph. D., fought no duels. He married the daughter of a high government official. His interest always lay in philosophy and the proletariat. After journalistic ventures in revolutionary twilight zones in Cologne, Paris, Brussels, he fled with his wife, three children and faithful servant "Lenchen," to London, world's warmest haven for refugees...
...awarded the annual Fine Arts Medal of the American Institute of Architects.* Artist Rivera's concept of revolution has nothing to do with either Pope or bombshells. It might be described as a patient communism, and it is reflected in his art. For him, art is a proletariat function, growing out of the hot little huts of peons, expressing their lives. "If I try to speak of my painting," he wrote last winter in Creative Art, "I do not know how to do it unless I speak of the life of these comrades of mine." His subjects...
...currency of Imperial Austria, now worth less than half of its former value. It is not news that Catholic War Minister Karl Vaugoin openly advocates the proclamation of a Fascist Dictatorship, while Communist Otto Bauer, onetime Foreign Minister, is quite as eager to proclaim a Dictatorship of the Proletariat. Finally there is not space in which to note that Wall Street is inclined to sell distinctly short on Austria-as is shown by the fact that it has recently proved impossible for the Government at Vienna to borrow in Manhattan $100,000,000 urgently needed to revamp Austria...
...seeing Doctor Means. Fyffe is a consummate actor, product of the English school of generous gesture. He is as far removed from American vaudeville standards as Ruth Draper or George Arliss. Last night he gave three portraits: an old man, a sailor, and a mildly intoxicated inciter of the proletariat. These are fat material, and Fyffe has brought to them a rollicking voice that was born in the sea chanty rather than the inhaled, lyric school of voice culture. A few cravens will want to know that he does not even mention the name of bagpipe...