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Marilyn Monroe’s giant blowing skirt sculpture brings out the worst


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Sandler, on the other hand, has never been interested in pushing art one way or another. He claims his role is "participant" and "witness." Actually, he's not so much the art world's Boswell as its Walt Whitman—a calm observer in the moiling thick of things, embracing every aspect of his subject with equanimity. Sandler says he approaches a work of art with the simple question, "Why would anyone want to do that?"

Back in the Abstract Expressionists' day, Sandler says, everyone partook in polemics: They vigorously took sides, debating which art was most significant, which artists were good, which were mediocre, which the best, which philosophical positions—"action painting," "non-objective art," "formalism," "purity," etc.—were the most valid. The artists believed deeply in their art and, in spite of their separation from mainstream culture, that it mattered, that seeing it and comprehending it could make a difference in people's lives. That contrasts starkly with today's artists, who generally tolerate all kinds of art ("pluralism" is the ism that, over the last couple of artistic generations, has buried all other isms) and remain politely indifferent to it if they think that it's bad. Today's art conversations lack the philosophical heat of conversations back then, and are less concerned with who's aesthetically right and who's wrong than with who's hot in the market and who's passé.

Sandler believes the decline in polemics—angry and bitter though they frequently were—translates into a lack of conviction in today's art. Having observed art for more than 60 years, he's convinced that without some kind of impassioned talk about art—even if it's full of delusion—there's nothing to spur on deep artistic visions. The Club, formed in 1949, had been the major forum for the polemics of the Abstract Expressionists. Moving from place to place—often the studios of downtown artists—the Club was what Sandler likens to a "floating crap game." It was where New York School artists hung out, talked about art, and held their passionate panel discussions.
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tubohotel

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changes coming for 2nd ave and houston


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artists beware


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sri threads

tblrbw

A Cotton Kasuri Furoshiki: Alternating Dark and Light Indigo

Boro Kumanozome

Hiro koTa keda

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Bob Dylan on Roy… From Bob's the New Bestseller, Chronicles - Volume One" "I was always fishing for something on the radio. Just like trains and bells, it was the soundtrack to my life. I moved the dial up and down and Roy Orbison's voice came blasting out of the small speakers. His new song "Running Scared" exploded into the room. Lately, I'd been listening for songs with folk connotations. There had been some in the past: “Big Bad John,” “Michael Row the Boar Ashore,” “A Hundred Pounds of Clay,” Brook Benton had made “Boll Weevil” a contemporary hit. I liked the Kingston Trio. Even though their style was polished and collegiate, I liked most of their stuff anyway, Songs like “Getaway John,” “Remember the Alamo,” “Long Black Rifle.” There was always some kind of folk type song breatking through, “Endless Sleep,” the Jodie Reynolds song that had been popular years before, had even been folk in character. Orbison, though transcended all the genres-- folk, country, rock & roll or just about anything. His stuff mixed all the styles and some that hadn't even been invented yet." "He could sound mean and nasty on one line and then sing in a falsetto like Frankie Valli in thenext. With Roy, you didn't know if you were listening to mariachi or opera. He kept you on your toes. With him, it was all about fat and blood. He sounded like he was singing from an Olympian mountaintop and he meant business." One of his early songs, “Ooby Dooby”, had been popular way previously, but this new song of his was nothing like that. “Ooby Dooby” was deceptively simple, but Roy had progressed. He was now singing his compositions in three and four octaves that made you want to drive your car off a cliff. He sang like a professional criminal. Typically, he'd start out in some low, barely audible range, stay there a while and then astonishingly slip into histrionics. Hisvoice could jar a corpse, always leaving you muttering something to yourself like, "Man, I don't believe it." His songs had songs within songs. They shifted from major to minor key without any logic. Orbison was deadly serious--- no pollywog or fledgling juvenile. There wasn't anything else on the radio like him. I'd listen and wait for another song, but next to Roy the playlist was strictly dullsville...gutless and flabby."

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reclaimed woven redwood ceiling

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working in the warehouse blues


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in ground fiberglass swimming pools


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rip Sherwood Schwartz


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not enough jazz in your life? stream from the phil schaap radio archive. a slew of hour and twenty birdflights (university of charlie parker), plus a bunch of five + hour birthday tributes and memorial shows. + more more more swing.


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calder foundation


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"I want to ask you a question," Sonnabend says, "if you are creating yourself as you painted your picture?" In other words: Does a human being's dynamic experience create life's meaning? Or, does human life already have a meaningful essence?

De Kooning greets this existential inquiry with genial aplomb, before waving it away like a bothersome housefly. A common question in the period's critical discourse, it is clearly one whose answer he has recited many times.

"Everything is already in art," the painter gently demurs. "Like a big bowl of soup. Everything is in there already, and you stick your hand in and you find something for you."

"Like a big bowl of soup." De Kooning is talking the way artists talk among themselves, not the way critics, curators, theoreticians or historians write about art — and not even the way artists describe their practice on formal occasions. In the intimate environment of his studio, among fellow painters and friends, the high-flown existential mysteries and profound philosophical dramas of painting are handily reduced to soup.
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made in france


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seg

willy guhl cement outside seat published in 1954


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erwin hauer modular constructivism


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spray-on duct tape


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OPEN THE DOOR RICHARD

Open the Door, Richard" started out as a black vaudeville routine. Pigmeat Markham, one of several who performed the routine, attributed it to his mentor Bob Russell.[2] The routine was made famous by Dusty Fletcher on stages like the Apollo Theater in New York and in a short film [Archive.org]. Dressed in rags, drunk, and with a ladder as his only prop, Fletcher would repeatedly plunk the ladder down stage center, try to climb it to knock on an imaginary door, then crash sprawling on the floor after a few steps while shouting, half-singing "Open the Door, Richard". After this he would mutter a comic monologue, then try the ladder again and repeat the process, while the audience was imagining what Richard was so occupied doing.



Jack McVea was responsible for the musical riff which became associated with the words "Open the Door, Richard"[4] that became familiar to radio listeners and as many as 14 different recordings were made.



The recording by Count Basie was released by RCA Victor Records as catalog number 20-2127. It first reached the Billboard magazine Best Seller chart on February 7, 1947 and lasted four weeks on the chart, peaking at number one.



The recording by Dusty Fletcher was released by National Records as catalog number 4012. It first reached the Billboard Best Seller chart on January 31, 1947, and lasted five weeks on the chart, peaking at number three.[6]



The recording by The Three Flames was released by Columbia Records as catalog number 37268. It first reached the Billboard Best Seller chart on February 14, 1947, and lasted three weeks on the chart, peaking at number four.[6]



The recording by Louis Jordan was released by Decca Records as catalog number 23841. It first reached the Billboard Best Seller chart on March 7, 1947, and lasted two weeks on the chart, peaking at number seven.[6]

The recording by Jack McVea, recorded in October 1946,[4] was released by Black & White Records as catalog number 792. It first reached the Billboard Best Seller chart on February 14, 1947, and lasted two weeks on the chart, peaking at number seven.[6] As stated above, this was the original recording.

For all the artists above except Jordan, this was their only hit on the charts. (This even includes Count Basie, despite his great fame, and despite the fact that this was a number-one hit for him.


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chicken tractors

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fredericksburg sunday houses


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A-G and Kitsch clem greenberg


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Analemmatic sundials: How to build one and why they work

pdf more info / wikipedia entry / notes on kitsch
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Big Al solar brewery seattle wa


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