Word: yellowing
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...black, the brown, the yellow man learns of the white race from its cinemas nightly in every quarter of the globe. "And what does he learn ?" asks able sophisticate Aldous Huxley in his new round-the-world travel book (see p. 19). "Standing in the midst of ... [a] crowd of Javanese picture fans, I was astonished when the performance attained its culminating imbecility, that they did not all with one accord turn on us [white men] with hoots of derision, with mocking and murderous violence. . . . The share of Hollywood in low ering the white man's prestige...
...critic, "was in the summer of 1896 ... he was then seriously ill, indeed not expected to live, but he was in high spirits. . . . Although it was a day of brilliant sunshine, the curtains were drawn, and the room lighted by many tall candles. Aubrey Beardsley, clad in a yellow dressing gown, and wearing red slippers turned up at the toes, was working. As I entered he waved, laughed his gay laugh, then coughed horribly...
Beardsley died the next year in France of the disease that made him cough so horribly that sunny morning. Many of his drawings were left to the late John Lane, publisher of the Yellow Book, who at that time had an office-boy named Mitchell Kennerley. Mr. Kennerley has put on sale in the Anderson Galleries, Manhattan, of which he is president, a number of the drawings which Beardsley sold to John Lane...
Illustrations for Poe, illustrations for Oscar Wilde, illustrations for the Yellow Book-marvelously adroit and facile pen and inks. "Salome," epicene and sleepy, the "Woman In the Moon," "Venus" in a modern gown, Pierrots, Sapphos, gigolos, whatnots. None of Beardsley's more obscene drawings are part of the sale...
...adulation of others. So they decided to separate for a summer. Their parting was youthfully emotional, yet she took it easily, and he found himself almost happy to get away. All summer he mooned about her, seeing her in other girls, in trees, in vistas, even in the yellow wallpaper of his village home. He wrote her a long and tender letter, full of confidence in their love, and received no answer. He made futile journeys to the postoffice. Doubtless she was occupied at Moscow. He wrote more, and was slapped by silence. Into the void of Katya...