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I meant to make a laudatory post last week to the effect that, where other than The New Yorker might you find a smart, funny, informative article on a literary figure as obscure as Alfred Lord Dunsany

I took that test when we applied to adopt! Picture was from the 30's: any idiot could tell that you were supposed to translate the stallion and the shirtless man in the picture into something sexual.

Mitchell is right on this precise point, though: as a classical music fan, I find its use in classical venues to be an outrage.

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  • 2 weeks later...

That was a good read.

I picked an old New Yorker off the shelf over the weekend. A hefty tribute to Broadway, with stories, images and covers from the past. A hilarious profile of the Schuberts by Liebling; St Clair McElway on Walter Winchell.

Date: May 1993. So this must have been a New Yorker I bought at Moroni's, the international magazine store on Old Compton Street in Soho, and brought to the U.S. with me...

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I've tried to get over hoarding magazines. Being a weekly, the New Yorker would pile up fast; and in any case, the entire run is online (and in hard copy at the NY Society Library). 

So I only keep selected issues...

Over the last year, I've been trying to sell my back issues of Modern Painters on eBay. They do not go like hot cakes.

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16 minutes ago, Wilfrid said:

I've tried to get over hoarding magazines. Being a weekly, the New Yorker would pile up fast; and in any case, the entire run is online (and in hard copy at the NY Society Library). 

So I only keep selected issues...

Over the last year, I've been trying to sell my back issues of Modern Painters on eBay. They do not go like hot cakes.

We have the DVD collection they put out some years ago. Plus I can access everything through the Columbia library (although it's not easy to read the scans)

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  • 5 weeks later...

A timely visit to the Met, where I did re-admire the one (or maybe two) Frankenthaler on display (they own close to 100 works, I believe).

As Adam Gopnick reviews a new biography (by Alexander Nemerov) of Helen Frankenthaler in the current issue;  (It even alludes (coincidentally, I'm sure) to one of the current shows.)

Helen Frankenthaler and the Messy Art of Life

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Nemerov worries, too, about the possibility that bourgeois collectors found her subtle intimacies merely soothing. Yet the idea that New York collectors would seek out pictures they thought comforting is a misreading of the psychology of New York collectors; they like to collect what they don’t think likes them. The prestige lies in showing that you don’t need to be flattered by the art you own. This is why, in the apartments of Manhattan collectors, sweet photographs of the grandchildren are hived off in the bedroom, while kinky Koonses and Bacons take places of honor next to the coffee table. (The people who thought of Frankenthaler’s art as in any way “easy” were, in that period, teaching in colleges, not collecting paintings.)

 

 

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