Word: sunlite
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...can’t stand this “lyric little bandbox of a ballpark,” as our own John Updike ’54 so famously stated. It’s not that I can’t bear sitting here and gazing over at the sunlit Green Monster, whose seats security just kicked me out of and whose board shows Boston tied for first...
Even in a serene, sunlit atelier on Paris' Left Bank, the life-size paintings propped against the wall cast a pall of terror. A hulking dog snarls with bared fangs over a naked man lying bloodied and bound on a concrete floor. Naked, hooded bodies lie tangled in a pile. A blindfolded prisoner stands in red women's underwear. The scenes of abuse by U.S. military prison guards in Abu Ghraib, near Baghdad, are unmistakable, almost as much as the painter's style. The Colombian artist Fernando Botero is, by his own admission, best known as "the painter...
Even in a serene, sunlit atelier on Paris' Left Bank, the life-size paintings propped against the wall cast a pall of terror. A hulking dog snarls with bared fangs over a naked man lying bloodied and bound on a concrete floor. Naked, hooded bodies lie entangled in a pile. A blindfolded prisoner stands in women's red underwear. The paintings need no titles. The scenes of abuse by U.S. military prison guards in Abu Ghraib, west of Baghdad, are unmistakable, almost as much as the painter's style itself. The Colombian artist Fernando Botero is, by his own admission...
...maps at all. Cavers tend to "look at their feet and not at the walls, so there could be other art work down there," Clarke says as he adjusts his hard hat before going inside. Years of studying the spiders, beetles, aquatic snails and other invertebrates that shun the sunlit world have led Clarke into many of Tasmania's darkest corners, often by very uncomfortable routes. So for a caver who thinks nothing of slithering on his belly along an underground tunnel just wide enough to fit his body, with only his head above water - "we call it roof sniffing...
...18th century farmhouse in the Luberon, he pioneered the Anglos-in-paradise genre. Every few years now he produces a new book to remind the rest of us worker bees what we're missing by not rolling in honey all day in the south of France, that great sunlit throne room of the middle-class imagination. In Mayle's books, both the novels and the nonfiction accounts of his antic good life among the French, the olives are always plump and succulent, the vin rose tickles the palate just so and the croissants are so delectable that they seem...