Word: somber
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...down the center aisle, chatting, shaking hands. A small, bespectacled man, he speaks rapidly in French Canadian patois, his jokes homey and telling. At meeting's end, as party workers pass cardboard ice cream containers for campaign contributions, he says to his audience of stubble-chinned farmers and somber-faced workmen: "Give if you can, but don't be shy if you can't. And if you really need some money, take...
Cousins Galore. But the best laugh getters, as usual, were the guests of honor. President Kennedy was in top form. With the issue of Government-managed news still a hot one, he began his talk with the greeting "Fellow managing editors." In mock-somber tones and with almost professional timing, the President went on to describe the discovery of a serious new Soviet threat. Khrushchev sent his son-in-law Aleksei Adzhubei over to subvert the Vatican, the President noted, and there was talk that the touring Russian had left some Marxist bibles behind in caves around the Holy City...
...most moving works, Goodman painted four fear-ridden figures staring out of the canvas, a vast landscape spread out behind them and a storm gathering above, all pictured in strong, somber greens and browns. What are they looking at-the end of the world? Goodman calls this painting simply The View-and, as in almost all of his work, the impact grows as the mystery deepens...
Elastic Medium. Argentine-born Mauricio Lasansky, 48, who has created a U.S. printmaking capital at the department of graphic arts of the State University of Iowa, often combines acid etching, drypoint and engraving in a single work to express the somber subjects that are his specialty. Says Lasansky: "The print is a medium which you can fight your way through. It is very elastic; that is why I like it. It leaves quite a lot of room for improvisation. I use practically every technique of the last 400 years, plus a couple we are developing here in Iowa...
Dickens takes the count after approximately two minutes and 35 seconds of the first act. As the curtain goes up on Sean Kenny's somber hewn-wood set, a dozen or so boys are released from their kennel-like pen. They slink up to their empty gruel bowls like wan, spiritless animals. For a long instant, a pang of pathos hangs upon the air. Then the game little troupers raise their obviously steak-fed voices and wham a sappy-happy song, Food, Glorious Food, right up into the dingy rafters...