Stories tagged art

Waiting for "Barney" (Mordecai Richler's version)

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But there’s a special place in my heart for Richler’s tour de force of a novel, his grand finale, Barney’s Version. It has everything — humour, a whiff of mystery, poignancy, a suggested reading list for a literary illiterate like yours truly, the Falstaf

Beauty

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"If only we could all look like that." "Truly lovely … such a perfect face." The gallery was busy that day. But still the man and woman stood.

Frida with Monkey, 1940

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It has scent, your heat, of jonquils and lime, of spices seared in a hot black pan.

Jung and Freud

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Should we blame Bardot for Van Gogh losing his sanity?

Progress

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We drown in the details— what to bring to potluck, where to meet for coffee. There's a Starbuck's on the corner where we once sold lemonade, our homemade sign coming apart in an attic somewhere. We sift through the rubble for the…

Insomnia

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They sit, they create, they watch.

Ego

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He said that clouds were most problematic, but the human form was easy to recreate. The nudes invited his sketch; the sketch invited his brush.

Study-A-Broad

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Love and headphone static radiating like an old address sticker peeling from a rusty mailbox.

Bangs

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His own laugh, which Martinez had not expected, broke his bad-cop pose. Again, the mirror. The kid’s face was still sour with sass, barely concealing heavy worry, but there was something new in it. Relief, like the lonely show when company comes.

The Artist

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The story itself is not much longer than a snippet. What is a snippet anyway?

The Immediacy of White

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But she is snow-blind, twice stunned by day and the immediacy of white –

Discovering Gattorno

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When she opened the door of the place for me that first time I saw a painting on the opposite wall that immediately grabbed my attention. I mean it spoke to me. Loudly. It looked like something by Goya, Di Chirico or Dali. I was transfixed.

The Explosions Sound Like Gunshots

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The explosions sound like gunshots. Antonio Gattorno, absorbed in his work, flinches. He curses as he smears the brush across the canvas. He’s been painting since mid-morning. It‘s a hot summer day. Tomorrow is the fourth of July.

The Garden of Earthly Delights

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When I come to suck fresh raspberries' juice from your hair pressing the clasp of my mouth's purse on the oyster of your ear;

Geo. Washington, or the Mona Lisa

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Tell me. George Washington and the Mona Lisa. Brother and sister? Distantly related? Or the same person? Which is it? Same huge forehead, same eyebrows. That manly, knowing smile. What did they know that we don’t?