Word: tinning
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1980-1989
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Sometimes a very interesting synthesis emerges. Melvin Edwards' small sculptures, made of scrap iron forged and welded together, have a strongly totemic flavor. They allude to the once common practice of bricolage in West African tribal art, whereby mixed scraps of junk (nails, tin, cartridge cases and so forth) were incorporated into carved masks and figures. Junk sculpture has also been a Western convention for decades, but Edwards invests it with a rough, sinewy power, and his larger piece in the show, Homage to the Poet Léon Gontran Damas, 1978, has an almost majestic aura of open...
...next morning, a blazing, mid-west, reverential Sunday, I weaved through the long, tin hangers looking for a plane flying east. I passed a small truck speckled with camouflage paint next to an opened hanger. Inside the hanger a figure with a blue beret, a khaki bush suit and a pipe checked the flaps of his blue and white Cessna. I made my approach. He looked up, checked me over, removed his pipe, grinned, and said, "I went to Groton, where...
...Everything, from the reined jet to a sharp-boned and muscular Doberman, jutted sleek, Steinberg angles. Everything, that is, but an unshaven guy snoring in a wood chair propped against a wall with his boots on a table. He wore a Beech-nut "chaw" cap and kept a spit tin on the floor next to the chair. The Doberman sat poised as it grew dark outside, pointing to the jet with sleek, black skin and a sharp snout...
...Ahhh Jeff, we've got a few boxes of six-inch gaskets for Long Island. Send Marty out will ya?" a voice said over the dispatcher's radio. The dispatcher poked a pencil into Marty. He rocked back to the floor, grabbed his tin and a piece of paper, and ambled out of the trailer. "Yew comin' too boy?" he said to me with a harkening drawl. "Awright...
Marty flicked a series of the jet's decks of glowing switches, buttons, meters, clocks, and gyros. He spat into his tin as the jet blew an escalating, piercing whine. "Shit--oh--God--oh--shit," he said, "I jus' luv doin' this." The jet floated toward the runway, gushing Detroit's air in a screeching rumble. "Hold onto your seat boy, or it'll go right up your ass with the rest of the rig," he said with the deep blue lights of the runway shining in his eyes. He drew the throttle back. The lights turned a thinner blue...