Word: slab
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...sense of internal pressure confers urgency on these big surfaces and turns them into something other, and more physically compelling, than flat pattern. It's not that Scully has any strong sculptural impulse; when he makes one slab of a painting project an inch or two above the adjoining surface, it is still not meant to be seen in the round or to suggest material weight. But he does want to give the image the distinctness of a body, asserting itself against your gaze...
...Foreman keeps mowing them down. At Pride Pavillion in Phoenix last month, Slab-of-Meat No. 18, a cruiserweight named Bert Cooper, was served up. A Joe Frazier protege, Cooper was billed as one of Foreman's toughest challenges yet. Midway in the first round, the ex-champ caught him with a right to the middle that pirouetted Cooper 90 degrees. The pummeling got worse. When the bell rang for Round 3, Cooper sagely refused to come...
...number of influences glow in Nakashima's work. His admiration for New England rustic is evident in slab coffee tables that are halved cherry and walnut logs. He interprets Shaker design in a 10-ft.-long bench made from a single plank of black walnut set with a spidery backrest of hickory spindles. But his genius is essentially Oriental, akin to that of Zen rock gardening and Oriental flower arranging. Nakashima selects the exact natural object needed to serve a particular purpose. For a recent table, he used an 8-ft. cross section of redwood root. The wild energy...
...dismantled Ronald Reagan's former bungalow, donated the pieces to charity and erected a Moroccan palace with five domes, an art gallery, ten baths and two reflecting pools. "We would have liked larger reflecting pools, like the Taj Mahal," explains general contractor David Conrad, whose desk is a marble slab that was once Reagan's shower, "but the street...
Madness descended. Motorcycle cops jumped curbs, machines roaring over the grass in a ballet of aimless panic. The crowd on the grassy knoll looked like it had been swept with a giant scythe. The street was empty, a stark, lifeless slab of concrete that smelled of disaster. Kennedy's motorcade had been chopped in two like a luckless centipede, the front end blown to God knew where, the rear end writhing and thrashing...