Word: screech
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Needs Understood. The noise begins at dawn with the loudspeaker chants of muezzins from minarets, followed by the clangor of bells from Christian churches. Auto horns, the plaintive cries of peddlers, and the bray of donkeys blend with the screech of jet planes. With evening comes the sound of 64 nightclubs, the throb of motorboats carrying gamblers up the coast to the Casino de Liban, and the shrill cries of prostitutes in the block-long Bourg Central Square in the heart of town...
Right now, the most diverting art shop in Manhattan is the Amel Gallery, an outpost of the avantgarde. Among works by six artists are paintings that talk, roar, screech, and make sounds like demented woodpeckers trying to fell a redwood forest...
Roar. Rattle. Bump-bump-bump. Bee-eep beep. Clang. Rat-tat-tat. The illuminated sign at a Nishi-Ginza intersection in downtown Tokyo blinks a tentative 80, then flashes to 82. Red light. Screech! North-south traffic stops. The number blinks: 81, 79, 78. Ready, eastwest? Engines whine. Clutches out. Getaway! Flash goes the sign: 79, 81, 82-84!-See THE WORLD, The Fresh Start...
...light. Screech! North-south traffic stops. The number blinks: 81, 79, 78. Ready, eastwest? Engines whine. Clutches out. Getaway! Flash goes the sign...
...paintings is to hear them. They screech and honk with the aggressive dissonance of city traffic. They have the staccato beat of a pneumatic drill. The strident reds, blues, and yellows blare with neon. And the stray words that seem squiggled from a toothpaste tube onto his paintings are like the hip, harsh expletives that slum kids spew into the summer air. Davis had violence without anger, gaiety without abandon, and his paintings swing and jump with such durable joy that it is as if he had dipped his brush in some eternal fountain of youth...